#whisper rock estates

[inlibrisveritas]

Home Bar Galley Large tuscan galley limestone floor seated home bar photo with an undermount sink, shaker cabinets, dark wood cabinets and granite countertops

[sepiasims]

Phoenix Powder Room Example of a tuscan powder room design with dark wood cabinets and an undermount sink

[neotattooart]

Phoenix Mediterranean Dining Room Small image of a kitchen/dining room combination with a tuscan limestone floor, white walls, and no fireplace

[smileysuh]

after the seminar

🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. In truth, Wonwoo has been tired. You haven’t fucked since the first night of the seminar, and although that was only two days ago, you’re definitely feeling the loss. On top of that, being wined and dined and looked after always makes you hornier than usual, and Wonwoo has been extra ‘husband’ today. He’s just so perfect. Well-mannered, kind, educated- God, you want him so bad.

tw/cw. sugar daddy Wonwoo, gentleman in the streets/softdom in the sheets, reader doesn't want to make choices, daddy/control kink, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral, blow job, deep throating, dirty talk, praise, masturbation, unprotected sex, holding hands while fucking, implied breeding/fullness kink, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey. (his) daddy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.3k

🍭 aus. sugar daddy au, established relationship, fiance!Wonwoo, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know not everyone is into this level of sugar daddy control, but I think there's something to be said about the trust that reader has for Wonwoo. Sometimes I just wanna shut up and let a man do all the work, and today, that man is Wonwoo

Wonwoo’s had few loves in his life. During university, he’d had a love for law, a need to do what was right. In his thirties, he’d found a new soulmate in legislative procedures related to the sustainability and efficiency of whole cities. Finance had been another long-winded lover, and now, on the cusp of forty, Wonwoo’s found the one thing in the world he loves most, you.

Holding your hand while he drives through the city, Wonwoo can’t help but keep some of his attention on you. 

Dressed in a tight-fitting red dress he’d bought you for your six-month anniversary in Paris, with your hair and makeup done, you look as stunning as ever. There’s a fat rock on your wedding finger, an engagement ring signifying his loyalty to you, and Wonwoo can’t help himself but play with it a little anytime your hands are linked.

As he makes a turn onto a busy street, the sun practically blinds him, and Wonwoo immediately lets go of you to adjust his visor. You make no movement, so he pulls yours down too, enjoying the way you flash him a small smile and whisper a ‘thank you.’

“You look lost in thought,” he muses, having noted your gaze fixed on the sidewalk trees passing by outside your window. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about seminar topics,” you admit. 

Over the past three days, you’ve accompanied him to multiple talks focused on accessibility, affordability, and green solutions within cities like yours. Tonight marks the last evening of the event, and the two of you are headed to a meet-up with some of Wonwoo’s closest lawyer friends. 

Wonwoo loves how diligently you’ve thrown yourself into his work-focused world. Not only do you attend the seminars with him, but you truly make an effort to learn, and that’s never more obvious than when conversing with his colleagues.

Wonwoo’s best friend, Kim Mingyu, has entertained a string of sugar baby relationships, and despite inviting three or four of those women to events like the one you’ve just accompanied Wonwoo to, none of Mingyu’s girls ever took to it the way you do.

You’re one of a kind, and Wonwoo knows how lucky he is to have you.

“I’m sure Seungcheol will have a few things to say about the housing crisis talk,” Wonwoo notes. Choi Seungheol, who had started in law and made the leap to real estate. He now owns half of the new developments being built downtown, and Wonwoo knows this will spur a contentious discussion later.

“He can’t argue with the stats,” you sigh, turning to look at Wonwoo, who threads his fingers with yours again. 

“He can try,” Wonwoo smiles softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

You return the smile, turning your attention out the window again. 

You’re not voicing anything, but Wonwoo can read you like a book. It used to be his job to pay attention to body language, and while he tries to stay humble, people have called him something of a mind reader.

“It’s been an exhausting three days,” he notes. “We don’t have to be out for long tonight, I’m sure we both need our rest.”

“Hansol flies to New York tomorrow morning,” you remind him. “I want you to have as much time with him as you need before he’s gone.”

Your relationship is always something like this, the two of you caring for each other so deeply that you constantly make small concessions. As always, though, the ball is in Wonwoo’s court. He appreciates the way you can feel to him like an intellectual equal while still being submissive in other senses, although he never abuses this power over you.

He’ll keep an eye on you tonight, and when he notices you getting tired, or your energy depleting, he’ll excuse the both of you from drinks and take you back to his place. Then, he’ll take care of you in the ways only he knows how. 

You love Wonwoo. You love him for the big things, his character, his good heart- but you love him for the little things too, the way nothing slips past his line of focus. He’s always a hundred percent on and present with you, holding open every door, guiding you by the small of your back, and pulling out your chair first when you join his friends on the top floor restaurant in the most expensive hotel in the city.

“You look amazing,” Mingyu compliments you, flashing you a toothy grin before standing to greet Wonwoo with a hug. “You definitely know how to pick them,” he praises his friend.

“And look at that ring,” Seungcheol has zeroed in on the diamond on your finger, and he reaches across the table to take your hand and get a better look at it. Wonwoo’s eldest friend has always had an eye for luxury, and he studies the oval rock and silver-colored band. “I’d ask if this is sterling,” he muses, “but if I were a betting man, which I am, I’d say it’s white gold.” 

Seungcheol lifts his eyes to meet yours, waiting for an affirmative, which you give with a nod. “You know your metals, Mister Choi.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” he lifts your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingers, “It’s Seungcheol.” 

“Stop flirting with Wonwoo’s girl,” Hansol tuts, pushing at Seungcheol’s shoulder.

The elder man makes a face, brushing off his expensive suit. “Not flirting,” he clarifies. “Although,” his gaze shifts to you again, “if you have any hot friends-”

“Aish,” Wonwoo has rejoined the conversation after greeting Mingyu, and he takes the seat next to you, his arm casually coming around the back of your chair to pull you closer. “What have I told you about asking her for favors?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sungcheol sighs, sitting back and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “She’s one in a million, aren’t ya, little miss future Jeon to be?”

“Try one in a billion,” Wonwoo corrects, hand finding your thigh now that he’s pulled you close enough. “Have you three ordered drinks yet?”

“We were waiting on you,” Mingyu says, handing Wonwoo a cocktail menu, which he settles between you both so you can also read it. “Their margaritas are pretty good.”

You quickly find a drink you’d like to try, and you wordlessly reach out a manicured nail to tap on it. Wonwoo follows your motion, giving a curt nod, then he leans in to press his lips to your cheek. He waves down the waiter a moment later, and orders you your drink, sparing you the socialization.

This is yet another one of those little things Wonwoo does for you that you find incredibly sexy, and you tuck closer to him, placing your hand over his own on your thigh. 

“We should talk about the elephant in the room,” Mingyu sighs, drawing all eyes. You have no idea what he’s about to say, and then he hits the four of you with, “Cheol, you have to admit your new high rises aren’t sustainable or affordable.”

“They’re called luxury suits for a reason,” Seungcheol scoffs. “I’m not in the business of affordable housing.” 

Wonwoo grins next to you, looking down and squeezing your hand gently. It’s funny how amusing he finds this whole thing. 

“Don’t smirk like that, Woo,” Seungcheol tuts. “As if you didn’t do a walk-through of a penthouse suite in my new highrise last week.” 

This is news to you, and you turn to look at your boyfriend. You’re generally not one to question him, and luckily you don’t have to, because Kim Mingyu is just as nosey as you’d sometimes like to be. “You checked out a penthouse? I thought you loved your apartment?”

“I’ve had it for years,” Wonwoo says, and you can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “However, I can admit that the amenities at Cheol’s new builds are quite impressive.”

“Amenities,” Seungcheol scoffs. “As if that’s what you were actually interested in.”

The two powerful men share a look, and it’s a battle of wills that makes your heart thump loudly in your chest. 

What was Wonwoo interested in?

He’s never talked to you about moving, and you’ve been living with him for nearly a year. Besides, Mingyu’s right, Wonwoo adores his apartment. He’s had it forever and it’s decorated exactly the way he likes it. Your bedroom is a lovely corner location with views of the whole city, and his home office is a sanctuary you’ve loved to desecrate. 

“We’ll talk about this more another time,” Wonwoo says finally, looking up as your waiter appears with a tray of drinks. 

Your cocktail is set in front of Wonwoo, and he gently pushes it toward you before reaching down to give your thigh a squeeze under the table. He picks up his Old Fashioned with his free hand, and Seungcheol raises his own glass in a toast. “To friends and new engagements!”

Seungcheol nods to you before taking a sip of his scotch, and it fills your body with heat to know his friends truly respect and like you. They’re happy to have you joining as a permanent member of their social sphere. 

You place your hand on top of Wonwoo’s as you bring your cocktail to your lips. 

The discussion moves to details about sustainability, and the men at the table trade opinions on the seminars. Mingyu is fast in his manner of speaking, always intent to prove his point. Cheol is loud and boisterous, scoffing at opinions that don’t align with his own. Hansol is often quiet, but he makes good notes ever so often, and they make the whole table sit and think. And your Wonwoo is as calm and judicial as always, listening to his friends with a contemplative expression even while his thumb draws small circles on your thigh. 

You give your own two cents a few times, and your musings are always the most well-received. None of the men at the table are about to pick a fight with you, and they’re attentive whenever you open your mouth, nodding and making one or two comments before getting heated with each other again. 

The waiter comes and Seungcheol orders a few appetizers while Wonwoo opens the menu for you. When Wonwoo begins to list three of his own items, you tap your finger on the one you’d like most and he voices that as well.

God, how you love the fact that you only have to lift one little finger with Wonwoo while he does the rest. You really aren’t in a super talkative mood, especially when it comes to mundane tasks like ordering food and drinks. You save your voice to join in on the intellectual conversation taking place, and you prefer things this way.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo begin to argue over rezoning laws, and Hansol turns toward you, leaning closer. “Congratulations on your engagement,” he smiles. 

“Thank you,” you grin back. 

“Have you guys talked about wedding plans yet?”

Out of all the people in the world, you didn’t think Chwe Hansol would be one of the first to ask you about wedding details. 

“We’re thinking destination,” you admit.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” Hansol laughs. “And an expensive honeymoon too I bet.” 

“Of course,” you grin, playing with the stem of your cocktail glass. “Although, if I’m being honest…” you lean closer to Hansol, lowering your voice while Wonwoo and Seungcheol continue to argue, “as much as I like the lifestyle I have with Wonwoo, you know I’m happy just to be with him.”

“But the expensive trips are a bonus I bet,” Hansol grins. 

“I mean… would you say no to a trip to the Maldives?” 

Wonwoo’s friend shakes his head, still smiling. “Never.”

“When are you going to find someone?” you ask. Out of all of Wonwoo’s close friends, Hansol is the most level-headed. He’s stable, and kind, and if you weren’t so into Wonwoo, you’d even admit Hansol is quite handsome in his own way. 

“Someday,” Hansol sighs. “Maybe you’ll have cute bridesmaids at your wedding.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you,” you assure him. 

Hansol laughs. “I’d appreciate that.”

Food begins to arrive at the table, and you sit up straight again, tucking close to Wonwoo. He’s done this thing, ever since your first date, where he helps plate food for you, and for some reason, it’s always been a huge turn-on.

You like getting baby girl treatment, and you watch Wonwoo with a grin while he cuts through some carpaccio and sets up a piece for you. He makes sure to get a little bit of everything on your plate before putting anything on his own, and his friends are already digging in by the time he’s gotten the both of you settled.

“Do you want anything else?” he asks, always the type to be certain he’s pleased you.

“This looks perfect,” you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, lingering by his ear so he’s the only one who can hear you when you say, “Thank you, Daddy.”

Wonwoo reaches down and squeezes your thigh, the only sign you have that your words have done something to him. He’s not the type to be big on PDA, and it’s the little things like a constant touch, or acts of service, that remind you he loves you as much as you love him.

You wait for Wonwoo to lift a carpaccio bread spread to his lips before you reach for your own, mirroring his motions so you can experience the food together. 

You hadn’t been a carpaccio fan before meeting Wonwoo, but he’s expanded your pallet in the time you’ve known him, and you’re extremely thankful for this opportunity - as well as others - that he’s provided for you.

“Look at you two loved-up foodies,” Seungcheol sighs from across the table, watching you with eyes trained to assess. 

Wonwoo only grins, reaching for his drink to take a sip. You follow that motion too, smirking over the rim of your glass before downcasting your eyes. 

There’s no need to respond to Seuncheol’s comment because it’s an apt description of the pair of you.

“Stop being jealous,” Mingyu grins, reaching out to push at Seungcheol’s shoulder. 

“Never going to happen,” Seungcheol retorts. 

You know he’s in the market for a sugar baby, and Wonwoo’s told you how often Seungcheol brings you up when you’re not around. Apparently, his eldest friend is adamant that you’re one of the most perfect sugar babies he’s ever seen, and you wonder if maybe you should try to hook him up with one of your friends at the wedding. Give Cheol the Hansol treatment. However, in contrast to Hansol’s laid-back expectations, you’d have to give your Cheol-intended friend a cheat sheet booklet on how to please a rich man.

“Just watch,” Seungcheol continues, “these two are going to sneak off early and go to the bathroom or something. They’re sitting much too close together, and we’ve all noticed Wonwoo’s hand under the table.”

To show his innocence, Wonwoo lifts the hand in question. “We’re not doing anything,” he assures his friends calmly. “Although… unfortunately, we will have to leave early after appetizers.”

This is news to you, and you look at Wonwoo for further clarification, which he gives when pressed by Seungcheol.

“It’s been a long seminar,” Wonwoo explains, letting out a sigh of exhaustion. “I’d say Honey needs her beauty rest, but I think we all know I’m not so nice when I’ve been sleep deprived.”

You love it when he calls you Honey, in fact, he uses that name for you more than your legal one. 

Seungcheol lets out a groan, but he doesn’t push further, because Wonwoo’s excuse is true. He’s never been rude to you when tired, but he definitely has a ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. 

“We’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning,” Mingyu agrees. “Maybe I should get another drink and call it a night too.”

“Come on Gyu,” Seungcheol scoffs. “I’ll let these two ditch, but this is Hansol’s last night in the city, I thought we could go to a roof on one of my new waterfront builds and hit some golf balls at the sea.”

“Right, because that’s very environmentally friendly,” Wonwoo tuts.

“Jesus, you are tired, aren’t you?” Seungcheol laughs. 

It’s a rhetorical question, and Wonwoo simply lifts another appetizer to his mouth, chewing with a tight-lipped grin. 

In truth, Wonwoo has been tired. You haven’t fucked since the first night of the seminar, and although that was only two days ago, you’re definitely feeling the loss. On top of that, being wined and dined and looked after always makes you hornier than usual, and Wonwoo has been extra ‘husband’ today.

He’s just so perfect. Well-mannered, kind, educated- 

God, you want him so bad.

You take a sip of your cocktail again before resting your hand on Wonwoo’s thigh, and he stops what he’s doing to look down at your fingers toying with his pants. Then his gaze rises to you, and he cocks his head slightly, obviously a little stunned by how forward you’re being tonight.

It’s such a small motion, but it speaks volumes, and when paired with a small flutter of your lashes, Wonwoo reads you like he reads the books in his impressive office library. 

Part of you wants to toy with him, wants to tease your touch up to his crotch just to see if you can get him hard at dinner with his friends, but you know that would lead to something akin to consequence. 

As easy as it is for Wonwoo to read you, he’s not such an open book and his reactions vary drastically. You don’t want to push your luck today, not after you’ve been such a good girl for him for three seminars straight.

You remove your hand before playing with fire gets you burned, and the two of you continue to finish your appetizers. Each bite is one step closer to leaving with Wonwoo, but you try to take your time, try not to be too glutenous to make way for lust. 

Wonwoo finished eating and he lifts his drink with his left hand, his right palm finding your thigh again. His touch is soothing, gentle, but it still stirs a fire within you.

You shift your knee, letting it rest against his, and you sip your cocktail trying to pay attention to what Mingyu’s saying about the stock market. 

Wonwoo is generally quite the stocks man. He pays attention to Mingyu, but you can tell his focus is still partially on you, and you reach down to play with his fingers, enjoying how pretty his hands are. 

You need him so badly. 

That’s when you realize Wonwoo has almost finished his drink, and you quickly grab at yours too, wanting to reach the bottom of your own cup. 

You’ve not been drinking since the seminar started, and the booze in your cocktail definitely heightens your senses. An electric tingle consumes your form, and it’s getting harder to ignore the panties sticking to your core. 

The conversation reaches a lull,  and Wonwoo lets out a sigh, squeezing your legs. “Well, it’s been fun,” he says, “but Honey and I should get going.”

“One more drink,” Seungcheol practically begs, already lifting a hand to call over a waiter.

“Not tonight,” Wonwoo says, soft but firm. 

He stands up first, grabbing your hand to help you out of your own seat. “Good luck with your flight tomorrow, Hansol,” he nods to the man on your right. 

“Good luck with wedding planning,” Hansol retorts, rising from his chair to pull you and Wonwoo into a hug. 

Hansol’s not usually a touchy guy, and the hug means something. It’s a true acceptance that you’re permanently a part of Wonwoo’s life, and it means the world to you. 

“Now I want a hug,” Mingyu also stands, holding out his arms for you and Wonwoo.

With a laugh, your fiance’s hand finds the small of your back and he guides you into Mingyu’s warm embrace, trapping you between their large bodies. 

Now you’re really turned on. 

Seungcheol doesn’t stand, he simply watches, lips all pouty. “Let me know about that penthouse,” he muses. “I’ve got some foreign buyers already wanting a walk through and I won’t hold it forever.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Wonwoo promises, giving one last nod to Seungcheol before he begins to guide you out of the restaurant.

As you make it to the front desk, Wonwoo stops and addresses the staff member there. “I’m going to take care of my table’s bill tonight.”

“I’ll put it on your tab, Mr. Jeon.” She nods, typing something into the ipad infront of her.

“That was kind of you,” you muse as Wonwoo escorts you into the elevator that will lead to the underground where his expensive Mercedes is parked.

“We’re leaving early, it’s the least I could do.”

“You know… I hope we didn’t leave on my account,” you say, thinking about the conversation you’d had in the car earlier.

Wonwoo leans down close to you, grinning. “I can safely say we left due to my own personal needs, although they’re not sleep-related.” 

“You really like this dress, don’t you, Daddy?” you smile, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck while his hands settle on your hips.

“I like what’s under it,” he retorts, which is a cheeky response by Wonwoo’s standards.

“Been missing my body, haven’t you?”

“More than you realize.”

Wonwoo had kept his composure on the drive home. He’d even kept his hands mostly to himself on the way up to your apartment, but your stoic lover is on you the moment the door to your home is closed behind you both.

He presses you up against the wall, grabbing your waist and tugging you close while simultaneously blocking you up against the hard surface at your back. His lips are hot against your own, his tongue invading your mouth and making you giggle as you grab the front of his shirt, already popping buttons open.

You release a moan when he reaches down and cups your core, pushing up your dress to access your lacey panties. “Where do you want it, honey?” he asks, biting at your lip.

“I don’t want to think tonight,” you admit, tired from days of brain power.

You love that Wonwoo likes to check in with you. He’s not the type to simply throw you over a kitchen counter and rail you when you might prefer the bed or even the shower- but at the same time, as soon as you give him full control, Wonwoo’s very good at taking charge.

“I’ll take care of you,” Wonwoo promises, pushing your panties to the side so he can slide two fingers against your heated core. You can feel how wet you are, and the contact against your clit has you whining, grabbing his face to bring his mouth to yours again while he pushes two digits knuckle deep into your aching core.

You’re sensitive from a few days without being touched, and it feels like heaven to have Wonwoo worshipping you like this again. You tangle your fingers in his hair as he draws his mouth down to your jaw then your throat, peppering your skin in kisses that have you shivering with pleasure.

“Daddy-” you whimper, your hips thrusting toward his hand as he works you open, palming your clit with delicious pressure. 

“I know, Honey, I know,” he soothes, and between gasped breaths and moans, you can hear your pussy squelching already. 

It’s getting harder and harder to stand on your shaky legs, your heels not meant for standing sex or heavy petting like this. But it’s also clear to you that Wonwoo has no intention of stopping his motions until you’ve cum on his fingers, so you do your best to grab his shoulders, steadying yourself while that wonderful feeling builds in the pit of your stomach. 

“I’ve missed this pussy,” Wonwoo tells you, voice low. It’s not often that he uses vulgarity, even in the bedroom, and his words betray how much he truly needs you. Your skin tingles with excitement, pussy throbbing, heart thundering in your chest-

It’s crazy how one sentence can nearly shortcircuit your brain when paired with Wonwoo using his hands like this- stroking the parts of you that he knows better than anyone else in the world.

Your fiance has taken his sweet time getting to know your body, and it shows in moments like these. 

“I’m so close-” you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders. You should care about his expensive suit jacket, but you don’t- all that matters is the orgasm you’re desperately chasing, hips moving to ride Wonwoo’s hand while his unrelenting fingers get you closer and closer to the edge-

“Come on, honey,” Wonwoo grins, mouth returning to the spot on your neck that always makes you go feral, “cum for me.” 

One more rough thrust with his fingers has you moaning, tumbling past the edge as your orgasm overtakes you. 

If you’d nearly been falling over before this, you almost crumple to the floor with all the pleasure coursing through you now. Wonwoo’s free arm loops around your waist, and he presses you closer to the wall, keeping you propped up while his hand continues between your shaking thighs.

He releases a low groan, and you can feel his cock pressing through his pants by your hip. You feel delirious already, body pulsing, skin tingling. Wonwoo’s broad shoulders are your lifeline, and you grip them desperately, taking everything he has to give you like the good girl you are.

“Wonwoo-” you whimper, seeking out his lips, cupping his face to draw him closer. His tongue glides against your own, and you’re enough of a distraction that his fingers begin to slow inside of you.

Finally, he pulls his hand away from between your thighs, dragging his lips from yours so he can sink his digits into his mouth. You watch him lick them clean, listening to the groan of satisfaction that escapes him while you do your best to catch your breath.

“You’re always so good for me,” Wonwoo tells you, lifting his gaze to yours again. 

You swallow thickly, mind swimming, searching for a response. “You deserve it,” you assure him finally.

“And I know what you deserve tonight,” he retorts. 

In one quick motion, he lifts you up bridal style. One of your stilettos crashes to the floor from the sudden way your body has just been swung like a rag doll, but neither of you care as Wonwoo carries you through the apartment toward the bedroom.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you. Wonwoo always makes you feel like a princess, and he looks like a classic prince while doing it. His side profile is so regal- all sharp bones and pretty lips. God- how did you ever get this lucky?

When you get to your destination, Wonwoo is gentle when he sets you onto the mattress. He straightens and looks down at your form, letting out a deep breath.

“Can you take that pretty dress off for me, honey?” he asks, already shrugging off his suit jacket and setting it over a chair nearby. 

“Of course, daddy,” you grin, reaching down to grab at the hem of the silky outfit, dragging it up your thigh.

His eyes are glued to you even as he works on his cuff links, and you take your sweet time as he makes it to the buttons of his shirt. The dress has a corset style back, and you tug on the ribbon before slowly working it open.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, but you can see his breathing pick up as the fabric gets less tight on your chest, revealing more and more of your bralessness. 

When he makes it to his pants, you remove the dress, leaving you in nothing but your thong, which is soaked through. 

Your fiance swallows thickly. “Panties too, honey. I don’t think I have the patience to wait any longer tonight.”

His lack of patience is clear in the way his cock slaps up against his abdomen, released by the pants now pooled by his feet.

Wonwoo looks like a fucking God, especially while naked. He’s lean but muscled, and you’ve spent hours tracing each ridge and bone. His cock is an impressive length of around seven inches, it’s pale like the rest of him, but when he’s really turned on, it flushes in colour.

Right now, his cock is a pinkish red, and you can see the angry tip already leaking desperately. 

You stand up, sneaking a kiss to his lips while hooking your fingers in your panties. Pushing them down, you get onto your knees.

“Honey, you don’t have to-”

“Maybe I’m impatient too, have you ever thought of that, daddy?” you ask, grabbing the base of his length and leaning forward to kitten lick the tip.

Wonwoo releases a low groan, reaching down to thread his fingers through your hair.

“I’ve missed you,” you murmur, enjoying the way he reacts when you kiss his cock gently. “Missed the weight of you in my mouth.”

“Fuck-”

It’s not often that Wonwoo curses, and the word goes straight to your core.

“Can I touch myself while I suck you off, daddy?” 

“I’d be upset if you didn’t,” he admits. “I want you dripping when I finally pull you off my cock and fuck you the way you like it.”

You whimper, your whole body alight with energy as you take him into your mouth. You’re already practically drooling from his fingers earlier and the dirty talk now, which makes it easy to coat him in spit. 

You’ve never been able to take all of Wonwoo in your mouth, but you do your best, gripping the base and bobbing your head while you begin to toy with your clit.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Wonwoo groans, taking a deep breath as his hand guides you on his cock. “Always so good for me.”

The praise only makes you suck on him harder. You sink so far down onto him that his tip hits the back of your throat. You feel yourself constrict around him and Wonwoo lets out a loud moan, fingers flexing in your hair. 

“Careful, honey, I don’t want you to choke,” he tells you, but his voice has lost it’s usual commanding tone. He’ll let you do anything you want to him, even if it means gagging on cock- but he’ll do his best to be gentle with you verbally at least.

You get lost in the feeling of pleasuring him, closing your eyes and letting your mouth show him how much you’ve missed him… however, not in so many words. 

Actions speak volumes, especially in this case.

You continue working on your pussy too, eventually slipping two fingers into your wet core, which makes you moan around Wonwoo’s cock.

“Honey-” he groans.

You can tell that he’s on the verge of breaking, so you pull off his length, looking up at him while catching your breath. “Ready to fuck me now, daddy?”

“I’ve been ready all night,” he grins, reaching down to grab your hand and help you to your feet. 

He kisses you then, cupping your face and leaning forward, taking your breath away all over again. His palm flatens against the small of your back and he dips you backward- then you’re falling, a small squeal escaping you-

The fall is only an inch or two, and you hit the mattress, Wonwoo bearing down on your form almost immediately. You grab at his shoulders as his lips find yours, your legs wrapping around his lean hips to tug him closer.

His cock is still wet with your spit, and it rubs deliciously through your soaked folds, bumping your clit and making you moan into the kiss.

As impatient as Wonwoo seemed to be, he’s not quick to adjust himself against you- or at least, not quick enough for your liking, so you reach between your bodies and grab his cock, lining him up with your wet hole. 

Wonwoo grins against your lips, and in one motion, he sinks into your core.

You moan loudly, digging your nails into his strong shoulders and throwing your head back as he fills you perfectly, stretching out your walls.

Your fiance takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, finding your sweet spot.

He feels like heaven- you’re really not sure how long you’ll be able to last tonight, but that’s never mattered with Wonwoo. You have forever with this man, which means you can be as fast or slow as you’d like to be.

He begins to thrust in and out of your core, and it makes you cry out again, walls contracting around his cock. You can feel him so deeply, especially as he adjusts your legs, pushing your thighs closer to your chest.

“Wonwoo-” you whimper, not a care in the world for using a ‘correct’ title. Your fiance might enjoy the daddy kink, but he’s never been the type to punish you for slipping up and calling him something different.

It’s clear to both of you how far gone you are, and Wonwoo only grins against your throat, picking up his pace.

“How about you rub your clit for me, honey?” he asks. 

You’re not one to question him, and your hand slips between your bodies to seak out the sensitive nub. More sounds of pleasure escape you as you begin to rub yourself, and your moans only push Wonwoo to fuck you harder.

Each thrust has his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you, and it’s making you delirious. 

Wonwoo finds your free hand, threading your fingers and using you as leverage as he presses you against the mattress. His breath is hot on your throat, but soon he’s seaking out your lips again, and you eagerly kiss him as if your life depends on it.

There’s an orgasm building in the pit of your stomach, spurred on by your fingers on your clit and the cock filling you up with each rough thrust.

Wonwoo doesn’t need to check in on you, and you don’t need to tell him you’re close, you’re certain he can tell. He tightens his grip on your hand, a silent invitation to let go whenever you want.

Each drag of his cock against your inner walls draws you closer and closer to the edge, and when he breaks the kiss to lick your throat, it allows you to focus entirely on the pleasure between your legs.

“Fuck, daddy-” you whimper, back arching as you shift below him.

“I know, honey,” he groans. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” Your body jitters with near orgasmic bliss. “Can you cum with me?”

“Of course, just tell me when.”

“Please-” you moan, writhing against the sheets as he fucks you even harder. “Please, daddy- I want you to fill me up-”

Wonwoo groans, teeth dragging by the sensitive skin of your throat. 

“Please, please- fuck, I’m almost there-” you rub your clit harder, body tensing on the precipice of your orgasm-

“Shit,” Wonwoo tightens his grip on your hand to the point where it almost hurts- and even though he doesn’t say it, it’s clear to you that he’s reached his own high.

The thought that Wonwoo is so turned on he’s just cum before you - something that never happens - is enough to drag you over the edge, your core clamping down on his cock, eager to milk him for everything he’s worth while you cry out in ecstasy. 

He’s gasping against your throat, thrusts even deeper now- slow, steady little ruts as he coats your insides with him cum, filling you up perfectly. 

You get lost in the feeling of him, squeezing his hand back as a silent encouragement while your pussy continues to squeeze his cock, eager to get every last drop.

When he finally comes to a stop, he simply lays on top of you for a moment, the both of you breathing heavily.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I’ve just remembered-” you pull your hand away from your clit, instead moving to stroke his hair, “What did Seungcheol mean about the penthouse you were looking at?”

Wonwoo lets out a small chuckle. “Do you really want me to spoil the surprise?”

“Yes, please.”

Your fiance pulls away from your throat, looking down at you. “I’ve been thinking we might need a bigger place… one that could accommodate a few extra rooms.”

“Extra rooms?” you cock a brow.

“For any kids we might have, you know, after we’re married.” 

Your entire body tingles with excitement. 

While the two of you have talked about children in a general manner before, nothing has ever been set in stone. But you suppose now that you’re engaged, it’s natural this sort of thing would be on Wonwoo’s mind.

“How do you feel about that?” Wonwoo asks.

“I feel like…” you swallow thickly, “I want you to fill me up again, and also that I should book a doctor's appointment to discuss going off birth control.”

“I can definitely help you with that first one,” Wonwoo grins, pressing chaste kisses all across your face while you giggle and hold him tighter.

“We’re really doing this,” you whisper.

Wonwoo’s thumb brushes by the ring on your wedding finger. “Honey, I couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else.”

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🔮 preview. You pull away just as his lips are about to meet yours. “You know how appreciative I am whenever daddy gets me a present,” you say, acting innocent. This only makes him laugh, and he grabs the back of your head, pulling you into a passionate kiss. You know buying things for you does the same thing to Wonwoo that it does to you. He loves seeing the excitement in your eyes, the way you light up at gifts. He truly lives to provide for you. 

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, mentions of breeding kink/wanting to get reader pregnant, sugar daddy Wonwoo, daddy kink, soft dom!Wonwoo, oral, pussy eating, fingering, breif edging, squirting, groping, sickly sweet loved up sex, crying during sex cuz reader is so in love, mentions of pain kink, hair pulling, teasing, dirty talk, fucking on a kitchen counter, Wonwoo talks about reader getting ‘plump’ with pregnancy, he adores the ‘soft bits’, etc.  I petnames. (hers) honey (his) daddy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 4k I teaser wc. 300

🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

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“Can I take this off yet?” you ask, wobbling in your heels as you grab at the silk blindfold blocking your vision.

“Be patient, honey,” Wonwoo breathes in your ear, his hands firm on your hips as he guides you to whatever surprise destination he has in store for you tonight. 

Christmas is a week away, and the last time he blindfolded you like this was for your birthday. He’d taken you to a Mercedes dealership to let you choose any car you wanted. You have no clue what he has in store for you now, and you’re practically shaking with excitement. 

You know he’s driven you somewhere, and you’ve been in an elevator, so it must not be another car- your list of gift possibilities is somewhat thin. You have a hunch, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself just in case you’re wrong about where your fiance is leading you. 

Wonwoo’s lips find your throat, and his hands stop you in your tracks. His breath is hot by your ear a moment later, and he lets out something like a contented sigh. “Okay. Let me help you take this off.” 

His deft fingers work at the loose knot behind your head; soon the blindfold slips away.

Your eyes adjust to the light, and you blink while taking in the space in front of you. You’re in a large open-concept kitchen, a living room sprawled in front of you with views of the whole city. The decor is lavish luxury, and you recognize the design concept as a Choi Seungcheol special when you notice a specific lighting fixture that Cheol puts in all his expensive builds. 

“Wonwoo-” you breathe, mind spinning.

The man behind you flattens his chest against your back, wrapping his arms around your frame while he rests his head on your shoulder. “Do you like it?”

“Is this…”

“It’s ours,” your fiance confirms. “I wanted to show it to you on Christmas day, but I couldn’t help myself.”

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[coryosbaby]

i need more felix shit from u 😣😣

—Jealous Girl !

Fandom: ‘Saltburn’

Pairing: Felix Catton x fem! Best friend! Reader (also minor mentions of: Oliver quick x fem! Reader)

Synopsis: Tension and jealousy finally come to a head after you see your best friend Felix fucking another girl.

Content warning . Drug & alcohol use, watching without permission? possessiveness, friends to lovers with slight angst, dark! Ish reader // degradation & praise, facefucking, pnv, size kink, choking, breeding, mean! dom! Felix

If you ever explain how your best friend usually treats you, it can only be summed up into one word: gentle.

He treats you like glass. A beautiful, priceless artifact that requires great care. He pays for everything you own— your dresses, handbags, shoes. Even where you live, the infamous Saltburn estate. Every time he speaks to you, it’s like he’s speaking to a pet— sweet, gentle, but commanding all at once. In his eyes, you’re an innocent angel…or, as he puts it, a sweet bunny.

And you fucking hate it.

It doesn’t bother you in the sense that Felix cares for you; quite the contrary, in fact. You like his warmth, how protective he is, how sweet and kind he can be.

But he treats you too kindly. Too much like his other friends, too much like his sister, too much like a companion.

Not enough like a lover.

It seems that he’s completely oblivious to your longing stares, the way you follow him around and practically worship the ground he walks on. He never seems to grasp why you sit in his lap at parties, squirming around just a little too much, or why you cuddle up to him in his room when you’ve had a nightmare in your skimpy nightdress. He stares off into a space between and kisses girls right in front of you.

You want him to treat you like the sluts he brings home.

The whispers of how the boy fucks is something you’ve grown accustomed to. The girls you had become acquainted with who had slept with him, giggling to you about how much of a good lay he was. How mean, how brutal he was. How big he was.

‘This doesn’t bother you, does it? God, I know it’s weird because he’s your best friend ‘n all, but I don’t understand why you haven’t done him yet. I would’ve thought… y’know, given how close you two are...’

It makes you sick, knowing he does it to other girls and not you.

And now, sitting on a couch at one of Felix’s infamous Saltburn parties, you watch as he does it once again.

Your nose slides across the glass table in front of you. Two people sit beside you, making friendly conversation, but you can’t focus on them. Your nose is filled to the brim with glittery white powder as you stare at Felix’s new side piece through your faux lashes.

He’s got her in his lap, this girl. Olivia is her name, or something like that. You don’t like her. She’s too needy, clinging onto him a little too much for just a simple hookup. His hand grabs her hip as she presses kisses to his neck. He’s laughing, splayed across the leather couch across from you, as she whispers dirty phrases into his ear. You can tell that that’s what she’s doing because she’s grinding against him like a bitch in heat. It makes you stomach churn.

“(Y/N!)”

Your head looks up, and Farleigh stands in front of you. You give him a smile, though it’s mostly fake. You love him, but you can’t stop thinking about Felix.

Felix and her.

Farleigh chats with you about some guy he’s about to go and hook up with, telling you his whereabouts as a safety precaution. You nod to him as he leaves.

Felix has his hand up her skirt, now. He’s gripping her ass and rocking up into her clothed cunt.

You can’t look any longer.

You stumble to your feet, the room spinning a bit before turning to normal. An intoxicated kind of giddiness flows through you, and you brush past the couch and try to get Felix off your mind. You spot one of his new companions— Oliver. He’s quite handsome, you think. A little weird, a little quiet, but he’ll do for sure.

It isn’t long before you’ve got him in between your thighs in an empty corridor, a buzz flowing from your toes up to the crown of your head as he thrusts his tongue mercilessly into your drenched heat. He draws circles into your clit and laps at you like he’s parched. Oh, he’s good. Practiced, precise. He loves to please.

But he isn’t Felix.

Although Oliver’s tongue is skilled, it isn’t necessarily that that gets you to your peak. When you cum, you think of a familiar brunette with an eyebrow piercing, a wide smile, and dreamy eyes.

You let Oliver fuck you against the wall, after that.

It feels good. He’s big, rough, mean. Just how you like it.

Just how you want Felix to be.

You decide not to return to the party.

—

Your bare feet pad against the tiles of the Saltburn estate, your heels in your hand . The hallway is empty, save for one or two stragglers. No one really comes to this side of the house. You’re attempting to walk— or in this case, stumble— to your room. But everything is blurry, your feet dancing, and—

Shit, is this even your hallway?

You don’t know, really. You’re drunk, high. You don’t give a shit.

Your fingers are dancing across the walls, admiring the intricate paintings placed on each one. You lick your lips and taste a tequila shot, your dress askew. Fuck it.

You’re admiring The Fallen Angel by Alexandra Cabanel when you hear them.

It starts out slow— a deep, guttural moan, from the door to your left. It translates into a familiar voice, growling.

“What?” It teases. “Is my cock too much for you? Too big, huh?”

And then another sound comes through the thin walls and slightly opened door. A high pitched whine, pleading.

“Felix! Please, it feels so good.”

Your brows furrow. Drunken confusion. You silently creep up to the door, wondering. Your eyes peek through at the scene.

The color drains from your face.

Of course it’s Felix. Felix and her.

He’s got her bent over an expensive wood table. He’s pulling her hair, pressing his hips into her with every push and pull. She’s got her mouth open as her eyes roll back in ecstasy, and her cunt swallows him whole.

Your shoes drop to the ground in utter shock.

Now that seems to grab the pair’s attention. Felix looks back, and his eyes catch your dilated ones. He curses, slipping out of her and trying to conceal himself as he pulls his pants up. The girl catches sight of you, too, and she’s instantly pulling down her top and throwing her clothes on.

“Christ, Bunny!” Felix exclaims, flushed. “The fuck are you doing all the way over here?”

Your bottom lip wobbles, but you won’t cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of his whore.

You turn before you even know what you’re doing, and you scurry away from the scene with tears running hotly down your cheeks.

So much for parties.

—

When you wake in the morning, you’ve got a pounding headache and you’re sprawled out on your bed.

Your body aches, and you whine as you turn over on your side. The memories of last night flood back into your psyche, and you want to throw up. Of course the one thing you don’t want to remember is buried so prominently into your skull that it’s the first thing you think about.

It’s not like Felix hasn’t fucked anyone before. But seeing it, actually watching him do it to another girl, makes you sick. You don’t know how you’re going to look him in the eye at breakfast.

You stand up on wobbly legs. You make your way to the bathroom, throw your guts up at least twice, and then brush your teeth. A warm shower calms you down, though your head still hurts. You’ll have to take some ibuprofen later.

You make your way to the dining room in a juicy tracksuit and brown ugg boots. You slide a pair of sunnies on your face to protect you from the blinding sun, letting out a pained moan when it shines through the large stain glass window.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Farleigh coos from the table. You give him the middle finger before plopping down in a seat beside Oliver. His eyes scan over you, taking in your appearance. His knee bumps against yours, and he whispers a quiet ‘good morning’ to you.

God, he’s a clingy little shit, isn’t he?

Felix’s eyes follow your every move. Usually you sit next to him in the mornings, but as of right now, why bother? The closer to get to him, the more vivid the image of him fucking her comes into your mind.

You swallow down a few pieces of toast and some orange juice. Elsbeth is talking about a party reserved for Oliver for his birthday, one that they will host this weekend. How absolutely and utterly fan-fucking-tastic.

Oh, well. You’ll be able to dress up, at least. That’ll probably be the best part.

You ignore Felix for the entirety of the day. There’s still that fire coiling in your gut everytime you look at him, that hot bubble of rage and jealousy. Oliver looks up at you through long eyelashes during a game of tennis, and you find the way to satiate that heat.

—

It’s an awful idea. A terrible, mean, despicable idea.

You knew Felix would be out. It was around five pm— the time when he usually begins coming back to the house from his afternoon run. He would be back in twenty to thirty minutes.

“You’re incredibly fucked. Do you know that?”

Oliver whispers it huskily, pleased, as you push him down on a set of familiar satin sheets. You smirk, your cunt grinding down onto him.

“And you’re not?”

He grunts as you unbutton his shirt. You kiss down his chest, soon getting rid of your bra and top. You rock back on him slowly, teasing. His hand moves around to grope your ass, but you grab ahold of his wrist.

“Are you going to behave?”

A smirk plays on his lips. You want to slap it off of him.

“No.”

You snake your hand down to his bulge, giving it a considerable squeeze. He lets out a tiny gasp, biting his lower lip.

“What was that?” You say, almost threatening.

He gulps. He looks almost cute with the blush dusting across his face.

“Yes.” he whispers. You ghost your fingers over his waistband.

“What was that?”

“Yes, I’ll behave.”

He hisses it, and you’re pleased.

“Good boy.”

And then when he’s inside you, you bounce on him like your life depends on it. You look up above Felix’s bed, at the framed picture of you and him. He had hung it up, and for that you’re thankful. You concentrate on the way photo Felix’s fingers tightly grip a shot glass. Oliver lets out tiny whines as you clench around his cock, and you grind your clit against the base of him. You know that Felix catches you both when you look back at the slightly cracked door and see him there— blue headband, muscle tee and shorts. When you lock eyes, he moves away from the door and down the hall with a clenched jaw and cheeks blooming red.

—

The days pass from one into three, and soon it’s Oliver’s birthday. Felix has avoided you, much to your dismay. You thought he would give in sooner. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that he was trying to pretend the situation didn’t happen altogether. But the hard stare he gives you whenever he sees you, the clenching of his hands, and the plain ignorance of your presence gives him away.

You’ve decided to dress as a Bunny for Oliver’s infamous costume party. Your favorite animal, but also another way to piss Felix off. Wearing a pink bodysuit, sparkly fishnets, and pink bunny ears, you make your way into the party beside Venetia, who’s ranting about her current situationship with some girl she met at a club. Scanning the crowd, you take notice of Felix from across the room. Angel wings sit on his shoulders, his eyes lined with a black eye pencil. He’s wearing a white wifebeater.

You go to the bar and take a few shots to stifle your nerves. Felix’s eyes follow you as you grab a bottle from the bartender and make your way outside.

It isn’t long before you’re absolutely plastered. Giggling to yourself, you make your way towards the hedge maze in the backyard. Felix’s voice, the one he hasn’t used to talk to you directly for a few days, interrupts your diddle daddling.

“We need to talk.”

You keep walking, him trailing behind you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Felix.”

His big hand grabbing your arm and spinning you around to look at him surprises you. He glares.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You back away, winding through the labyrinth of bushes. Felix groans as you begin to skip around each corner.

“This isn’t a game, y’know!” He calls, as he tries his best to keep up with you. It isn’t long before you’re both standing in the middle of the maze. The stone statue overpowers the both of your bodies as it leers down in a violent pose. You smile crookedly when Felix stalks over to you, making a beeline for the other side of the statue. It doesn’t seem to be funny to him.

He catches you when you least expect it, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, (Y/N)?!”

He yells it, infuriated, deep vocal cords strumming. It makes you jump. He never calls you by your real name.

He purses his lips, anger evident on his face as you smile up at him still.

“‘M jus’ having fun, Fel. Whats wrong with that?”

“What’s— what’s wrong with—“ he laughs, dry and humorless, as he pushes you away from him. “Whats wrong is that you fucked my friend in my room! What the hell went through your head?!“

You clench your teeth.

“I don’t know, Felix,” you utter sarcastically. “I really don’t know. Call it irritational horniness. But tell me. Are you mad? For once, once in your fucking life, are you mad?”

“Of course I’m mad!” he seethes, as if it’s obvious. “But why do you want that? What prompted this?”

You avert from his piercing gaze, turning your back on him. Your cheeks are flaring with heat from how he’s treating you, your inner thighs wet and sticky.

God, this is so wrong.

“I think you know.”

Genuinely confused, Felix throws up his hands. He’s exasperated.

“No, I don’t. I don’t, (Y/N), so tell me. Tell me the damn truth!”

“The truth?” You say, finally. “‘S that what you want?”

You whirl around, anger finally taking over in your usually pliant, doe eyes.

“The truth, Felix, is that you treat me like a kid!” You yell. Your voice cracks, and you hate it. “You treat me like a fucking child! Like your friend! Like a… like a—“

Your breath heaves, and you try to find the words you’re looking for. Felix looks at you, his brows furrowed.

You can’t open your mouth anymore, too distraught, too open. You’re saying all the things you promised you’d keep buried deep inside you.

Felix takes a step forward. You take a step back. Your lower back hits the stone statue, and you wince at the way it digs into your skin.

“What are you saying?” He asks, careful with his words. You laugh bitterly in his face— at least, as close as you can get to his face. He towers over you like a giant.

“I’m saying that after all this time, after all these years, I thought you’d notice how badly I want you. But clearly not, with the way I caught you fucking that cunt last weekend.”

The words finally come out— slurred because of your drunkenness, dry because you’ve given up. You’ve given up on Felix, on the possibility of him ever returning the feelings you’ve always had for him. You’ve given up on your friendship, on his kindness. You don’t want it anymore. Why continue this if it’s only going to hurt you?

The boy is stunned into silence for a mere moment.

“What?”

You turn away from his stare, looking down at the ground.

“You heard me, Felix.”

His eyes follow your lips, nose, eyes. His lips part ever so slightly, and his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black as realization settles over him.

“So that’s what you want?”

It comes out hushed, like a secret. His breath is hot against your lips as he leans in close to you.

“All this time you’ve been acting like this.. all because you want me to fuck you? Because you’re jealous?”

You stare up at him in a daze, silent. Your cheeks flare with embarrassment. You jump when Felix lets out a chuckle, something grating and deep, that permeates your bones and worms its way inside your guts.

“God, you’re sick.”

He scoffs, moving forward on his long legs. His big hand wraps itself around your hair and tugs. You let out a gasp as he tilts your head back, the burn of your scalp making your legs clench together.

“You’ve been torturing me for weeks—“ he spits, yanking at the roots of your hair even harder, and you let out a squeak. “— Not speaking to me, making me question what I could’ve possibly done wrong, fucking my friend in my bed, all because you want to me treat you like some whore?“

Your mouth gapes open, and you’re frozen like a deer in headlights as Felix finally gives you what you want. He continues to speak, but not before his knee is coming up to rub in between your thighs. It’s such a sudden movement, so aggressive, that your legs buckle and you grab onto his shoulders for purchase. His hands splay across your hips, moving you in tandem across the fabric of his jeans.

“Don’t worry.” He says. “You’ll never have to worry about that again.”

“Felix—” you start, but his hand slapping you clear across the face makes you lose all words. Your cheek flares with heat from his hand coming down on it, and you grasp the red mark in pain.

“Was he good?” he growls, grabbing the hand touching your face and putting it in his much larger one. He places it over his crotch, and you feel the giant bulge against the fabric. “Was he as big as me? Did he fuck you the way you thought I would?”

You shake, stuttering on every phrase in your vocabulary. Felix grinds into your hand.

“You think that I don’t want you like this?”

It comes out strained, tortured. Like it’s painful for you to even assume that. Your mouth waters at the feeling of his girth underneath your palm.

“I’ve never been this hard for anyone,” he breathes. “I jerked my cock every night when you were in my bed because I thought it was the closest I could get to you. I fucking…God, do you even know what you do me?“

He works his thigh against your pussy, and you whine desperately as you pull away from his assault on you. You kiss your way down his chest, worship his body, lave your tongue over the skin peeking out from his unbuttoned shirt as you sink down to your knees. Your hands fumble with his belt, waiting for the moment when his cock will be released and you’ll finally get what you’ve been begging for. He grunts, tilting his head as he watches you desperately fumble with the leather around his waist.

“Already trying to suck me off? You’re even more pathetic than I thought.”

You press your mouth against his thigh and practically drool at his words. He looks down at you like a God, golden angel wings splaying out in the moonlight for you to gape at. How ironic it is, that he decided to wear this costume tonight.

“All for you, Felix,” you say, pulling his cock out of the confines of his jeans. You gape at his impressive length.

“That’s right,” he agrees, his thumb brushing over your lip. “Now put me in your mouth. Show me how much of a fucking slut you are.”

You do as you’re told, tongue lolling out to lick a stripe up his shaft. He clenches his jaw, watching as you hold eye contact with him when you take his dick into the warm, wet confines of your mouth. His hand wraps around the nape of your neck and he pushes you down onto him. Choking, your nose hits the soft bed of pubic hair trimmed neatly at his base. Your eyes roll back as he begins to fuck your throat, pleasure and electricity flowing through your head and down to your toes. The corners of your mouth burn as he stretches out your mouth.

“Didn’t know you could take dick so good,” Felix muses, his balls slapping against your chin. “If I would’ve known how badly you wanted this, I would’ve slid my cock inside you the night you caught me with that girl.”

That girl. He can’t even remember her name. It satisfies something dark that’s been blooming in you since you saw him sticking his dick where it didn’t belong.

You moan around him, spit trailing down your neck as you tongue at his slit. Your hands grip his big, meaty thighs, and it occurs to you just how strong he is. He could break you, rip you apart piece by piece, and you couldn’t do anything about it. The thought arouses you to no end.

“You pissed me off so fuckin’ much that night, y’know that?” He rambles, his thighs squeezing the sides of your face. He’s practically trapping you against his cock, and you try your hardest to breathe through your nose but you can feel your vision blurring at the edges. “You caught me in the middle of it, didn’t even say sorry. Didn’t help me finish. You’re a sick little bitch for watching me fuck her. I bet you touched yourself after that, didn’t you? Touched your little cunt thinking about the way I used her?”

You whimper around him, your fingers attempting to move down and rub against your clit. But Felix lets out a sound in the back of his throat and kicks your hand away.

“Don’t. You don’t get to cum tonight. You put your hands on me, or you don’t put them on anything at all.”

Your hands wrap around the back of his thighs, then, as you hollow your cheeks around him. You’ll do anything he demands you to.

After a long moment of being face fucked with only a few breathing breaks in between, your throat is scratchy and raw. Felix yanks you off of him, and you wheeze as you’re thrown to the ground, your hand going to your throat as your eyes drip with citrine tears. Felix stands for a moment to let you catch your breath. He’s still your best friend, after all— he cares about your well being, as angry as he is right now.

It isn’t long, however, before he’s grabbing you up by your elbow and bending you over the marble statue. Your cheek lands on the cold stone, the crotch of your bodysuit is ripped open, exposing your lace panties and the fat globes of your ass. You stick yourself out for him, moaning as he rips your underwear off of you and throws it on the ground. He spreads your legs and coos at your dripping cunt.

“Oh, look at that,” his fingers go to either side of your pussy lips, spreading them apart and revealing your teeny tiny hole. “It’s clenching s’much, isn’t it, sweetheart? It’s all swollen ‘n red. It’s been so worked up all night, I bet.”

“Felix,” you cry, a blubbering mess. “Please.”

He chuckles, rubbing the tip of his finger against your clit. You quiver underneath his touch, gasping when his aching cockhead suddenly brushes up against your entrance.

“I want to know how badly you want me. Tell me, darling. Tell me how pathetic you are.”

“I want it,” your voice comes out small, weak. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t feel my legs. Wan’ you to stretch me out on your fat cock, Felix. Give it t’me, pleasepleaseplease…”

He lets out a dreamy sigh, feeling you trying to clench around the tip of his cock, trying to suck him in. Your head is fuzzy, your cunt throbbing. You need him more than you need air.

“Okay,” he lets out, whispering. It’s an oddly gentle tone, and you know it’s because this situation could change the outcome of your friendship forever. “Okay, sweetheart.”

He pushes forward, the fat tip of his cock popping into your entrance, and you let out a mewl. Felix is big, and not just in his height or his shoulders. He stretches you so deliciously to the point where it’s borderline painful.

“Oh my god,” he grits his teeth, his head tipping back. “God, you’re a tight little thing. So tiny..”

You know he’s talking to your pussy now, drunk off the way you’re wrapping around his shaft. He moves slow, gentle strokes against your aching pussy, his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he struggles to contain himself.

Your cheek is smushed against the hard surface below you, but that doesn’t stop you from speaking.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, moaning. “Destroy me, rip me apart.. I don’t care, Felix.”

He moans along with you, a sound of pure, unleashed pleasure. His hips speed up, and he fucks into your cunt with reckless abandon as your nails dig into the marble below you. His cock is so deep that you can almost feel him in your throat.

He angles at a spot inside that has you keening, your hips fucking back onto him as he rams into you. Your nails scrape against the statue, tears running down your cheeks.

“Felix,” you moan out, but it’s hard to speak as the breath is being knocked out of you.

“Mmm,” he hums, grabbing your hips. “‘M gonna cum. ‘M gonna cum in your sweet little pussy.”

“Please,” you gasp. “Please, fill me up, fill up my pussy!”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” His arms lift your body up, and his biceps curl around your neck. Your eyes widen as he tightens his grip, placing you in a chokehold underneath him. His hips slap against yours, his steady words bordering on a whine. “You want me to cum inside you? Get you all pregnant and full? Mmm, that’d be a pretty sight, wouldn’t it…”

You clench down on him. He growls, a sigh of your name tumbling out of his mouth. His hips stutter. And with one last harsh thrust, he’s cumming. His warmth fills you to the brim and spills over the cusp as he fucks into you, teeth scraping against your neck as he bites down and leaves a mark. Sweat drips drown your temple, small pants escaping your lips as you try to swallow oxygen into your lungs. Felix’s arms are still wrapped around you neck, but they aren’t wrapped tight enough to cut off your air completely.

Definitely tight enough to bruise, though.

He slows, after a few more moments. You still grind onto his overstimulated cock, and he squeezes your throat in warning.

“What did I tell you? You don’t get to cum tonight.”

Your face becomes blotchy with tears, and you sob as he pulls out of you. His cum spills down onto the concrete floor, your pussy gushing with his seed, and you want to scream.

“But Felix,” you babble, grabbing onto his arm as he tucks himself back into his pants. “No, baby, please—“

“This is what you wanted,” he replies, nonchalant, as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out. His glances down at the creamy spend that had fallen out of you and onto the ground. Grabbing you by your hair, he pushes you down onto your knees. He gestures to his cum, licking his lips.

“Now clean that up,” he demands. “Wouldn’t want to leave a mess, would we?”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry

[rafeandonlyrafe]

separate lines

words: 600 (+ three images)

warnings: entire fic is through phone calls/text messages, parental death (ward), established relationship, kinda protective rafe but its cute he just misses his girl, includes pictures of "readers" face/body, kind of illusions to sex (like barely!), overall pretty fluffy

“rafey!” you squeal as you answer your phone seconds after it rings. “how's it going?”

“well, everything is still standing.” rafe huffs out. you can practically hear the stress in his voice.

“that's good, baby. i miss you a lot.” sure, he just left this morning to drive back to the outer banks, but that doesn't change the fact that you miss him anytime he's away from you.

“god, i miss you too. if rose didn't need me here id still be-

“i know.” you cut rafe off. “you're back for three days with your family. it'll be fine and then we will be back together.”

you know being back in the outer banks is stressful for rafe after everything that happened. the mess with barry, the pogues, and then all culminating in his dad dying. when you decided to go a couple hours away to college, you still thought you'd have to persuade your boyfriend to come with you, to leave the only life he's ever known, but he jumped at the chance.

you live in a luxury townhouse right near downtown. you're even able to walk to most of your classes, of course with rafe by your side.

“you're right.” rafe hums. “we are figuring out the will stuff tomorrow morning.”

“i wish i could be there for you. text or call if you need anything.” you have classes tomorrow, but you'd drop anything if rafe really needed you.

“yeah just… text me updates, please? even if you just do the laundry or something. it helps to know.”

“of course i will.” you smile, hearing some commotion in the background. “and rafey? give wheezie a hug for me.”

“is that y/n?” you hear her voice in the background, then the fumbling of the phone being handed off.

“y/n!” wheezie squeals.

“wheezie, my girl!”

--

--

“how are you getting to class?” rafe asks, looking into the room where proceedings are about to start, going over his fathers will and who gets what. he knows most of it will go to rose, most likely the house and the real estate company. he doesn't really care. he has a new life now, one with you.

“amber is gonna drive me and pick me up. and no, her boyfriend will not be there.” you giggle, knowing even though amber and her boyfriend steven have been together since third grade, rafe would still worry with him around.

“and you're going to poli sci and then your geology lab, right?” rafe has your schedule memorized, but he likes to hear your confirmation anyways.

“yup!” you nod, even though rafe can't see you. “im excited for todays lab, actually. it's not rock identification, which you know i suck at.”

rafe let's out a soft laugh, having sat and listened to your complaining about rocks for hours already this semester.

“rafe, it's starting soon.” rose says, her words being picked up by you, otherwise rafe probably would have just ignored her in favor of keeping talking.

“alright, baby. hope it all goes well and doesn't take too long. i love you.” you coo into the phone.

“love you more.”

--

--

“home tomorrow.” rafe whispers softly, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the house. he's exhausted, so they must be too. it was a long day with lots of legal jargon, but everything got divided up about how he expected it to. 

most to rose, then the additional savings divided up evenly between him, sarah, and wheezie.

“im glad.” you whisper back, matching his tone even though you're home alone. “i ordered a cute pair of pajamas to wear to help me sleep. you know how much i struggle without you.”

“your insomnia cure.” rafe smiles, remembering what you called him after you first started sharing a bed, able to easily relax into him and fall into a true deep sleep.

“mhm.” you hum out, letting out a yawn. “do you mind staying on the call until i fall asleep?”

“baby, ill stay on all night.”

--

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie

[neoneun-au]

IN EARNEST; J.WW

―PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader, yoon jeonghan x fem!reader ―GENRE: regency au, romance, fluff, angst, love triangle, childhood friends to lovers ―WORD COUNT: 13k ―WARNINGS: rigid gender roles, historical setting, angst & family in-fighting

―AUTHOR'S NOTE: this fic was rewritten from one on my old blog. it was majorly overhauled and i added around 1k worth of words. its one of my favourites, so i would appreciate hearing any thoughts you might have on it. please enjoy

The long, warm rays of the sun stretch over the fields of your childhood as you sit on the stone fence at the edge of your family’s estate, legs swinging in a manner unbefitting a young woman soon to be engaged. A gentle spring breeze stirs at your hair, blowing over you as it moves westward across the countryside on its journey as you sit, book in hand, wrapped in the warmth of the afternoon light. Words dance on the page before your eyes as you try and focus on the story, pulling your attention into the narrative only to have it drawn back out towards the horizon over the golden fields of wheat and rye. With a sigh, you snap the book shut and slip from atop the rock wall, landing on the soft earth below. 

Skirts dragging against the long grass as you walk, you make your way through the field--wheat stalks brush against your bare arms, parting for you as you stride forward past the cows and sheep and towards an old grove of trees tucked back at the edge of the property by the meandering creek where you spent so many of your days in childlike rapture and leisure. Amongst the flurry of balls, social gatherings, and visits expected of you these days, you’ve hardly had a spare moment to come and sit among the trees for the past few years. Social propriety and demands have all but replaced the imagination of your youth and yet the trees welcome you in as an old friend–beckoning you forth into their shade and kissing your cheeks with the morning dew. 

One old tree, of gnarled roots and rough bark, sits chief among them in the center of the grove. Images of your sister and you swinging from its long branches and knotted limbs spring to mind as you stride closer. Days long past spent nestled amongst its jutting roots for a midday picnic without a care for the mud on the hems of your dresses. With a smile you walk towards the tree, hand outstretched in greeting, and feel your way across the trunk. The knots and rough bark ripple under your fingers--a map of the tree's life spread out under your touch, and you move around it until you meet a familiar dip in the bark. A carving of a memory long forgotten.

Your fingers trace the loops of the heart, the curves of the letters, and a face swims into your vision to join your childhood self as she runs through the fields and trees. A boy of honey brown hair and an even sweeter voice with whom the days seemed to stretch onwards into infinity. A boy you had made promise you at 11 years old that he would marry you when you were both older so that you could live together until eternity. A boy with the spark of love buried in the dark browns of his eyes, obscured by the frames of his wire glasses, waiting for age and maturity to bring it to the forefront. A boy who just smiled, laughed, and chased you through the dawn soaked fields until you both collapsed from exhaustion by the river. A boy who leaned over with a soft smile some long hours later and whispered “I promise.” 

The promises of youth are delicate. They are made in the heat of summer, under the swell of the sun and the naive feelings that blossom in the hearts of every young person as they grow and change with daily discoveries. They are a glass vase, thin and ready to be broken–or simply tucked away on a high shelf to be left forgotten and collecting dust as time obscures them. 

Now, standing in the dawning of  your adulthood in the place of your youth, that promise is but a lingering nudge at the edge of your mind–a loose thread dangling free in the wind, waiting to be tugged on and unraveled. The boy stands with it, a denizen of the memory of a time when the sun shone down on you in smiles and in hope, lighting up your world with the wide-eyed exhilaration of young love.

You smile down at the carved imprint of a heart, transported back for a moment to that time, before someone clears their throat behind you, “what are you doing out here?” You spin on your heels, body moving unconsciously to shield the glyph from prying eyes, and see Jeonghan standing at the edge of the grove–sunlight filtering down through the tree tops and sprinkling him in flecks of golden light. He stands with a wry grin, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you regain your composure after the sudden interruption of your daydreams. 

“Nothing,” you reply after a moment with a light laugh, returning his smile–closing the lid on your memories as you take a step towards him. “Just out for a walk.” 

“Well, don’t wander too far,” he extends his arms for you to take and you accept, looping your arm through his and walking side by side out of the shade of the tree grove and  into the sunlight. “You might not be able to find your way back.” 

“I think I know my own family’s grounds, thank you,” you counter, peeking up at him as he stares ahead towards the estate in the distance, sprawling out over the field in a mass of grey stone. The wry smile has softened slightly, but still remains pulling gently at the corners of his lips. 

You hadn’t known what to make of Jeonghan the first time he stood off to the side of the village ball. New to the community by way of both work and friends, he was a source of fascination and aversion in equal measure by everyone in town. A community where everyone had known everyone and everyone was in everyone’s business made a newcomer stick out like the sorest of thumbs. You watched as he stood, making polite yet stiff conversation with the men of the village and keeping largely to himself  until your mother, not one to ever waste an opportunity, strong-armed your father into introducing the entire family to him. 

He seemed to sense in you a kindred spirit–someone there in a similar situation, bemused but disconnected from the gossip and frivolity of the ball. Placed at the center of it all regardless by mere social expectation and family ties. You spoke for a while, easing minute by minute from fateful acquaintances to fast friends, until you both succumbed to decorum and he asked  for a dance; after which your mother adopted him immediately as a friend of the family and he has not known a moment of peace since. 

A fact which you love to tease him about at any given opportunity. 

“What are you doing out here today, Jeonghan?” You ask as you walk past the cows grazing in the field, arm still tucked securely into the crook of his elbow. 

“Your father asked me round to discuss the merger of the mill in town,” he shakes his head and you laugh at what you can only imagine was an incredibly dry conversation. “Dreadfully boring. Then your mother noticed you wander off into the woods and sent me to fetch you.” 

“Scandalous,”  you tease, nudging your elbow into his side and eliciting a brief laugh. “A young man and woman out to pasture together? Unchaperoned and unmarried? My mother must really trust you.” 

“Yes, well if only she knew that the only reason I agree to come and talk to your father about all of this nonsense is to have the chance to speak with you,” the teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed; you can tell it’s meant as a joke, but there is an air of truth to it as well and the comment sinks under your skin, stilling the air around you. Suddenly, his arm against yours feels too real, too solid. You feel altogether too close to him and yet not close enough. You glance up and see his gaze still fixated forward towards your home, the sunlight gleaming over him and bathing him in the golden light of its rays. 

“When do you return to town?” you shift the conversation, eager for a reprieve from the constricting of your heart in your chest. 

“In three days time,” he replies, releasing your arm to step through the gate into the gardens–holding it open for you to pass through behind him. 

“So soon?” you glance at him in surprise. In the month he had been here, visiting in the afternoons and attending dinner parties, he had not made mention of the date of his inevitable return to town, so hearing the answer now was a slight shock. 

Jeonghan nods, and you loop your arm through his once more as you ascend the stone pathway towards the front of the house. “Unfortunately,” he sighs, “it was meant to be next month but I’ve been called away sooner than I had planned.” 

“I see.” Your voice trails off and you slip your arm free from his as you step through the doorway. A strange sense of melancholy takes over, sweeping the sunshine away from your thoughts and replacing them with the grey clouds that precipitate a sky before a storm. In barely two months time, you’ve come to enjoy Jeonghan’s company and his consistent appearances in your daily life. They became a comfort to you in a way you hadn’t felt from anyone’s company in a long time. Not since you were young, running wild and free without thought of propriety or the looming threat of your future. 

“I was hoping, actually, to talk with you before I left,” he starts, breaking through the clouds in your mind. You can hear the hesitation clear in his voice as he talks, a small shy smile painting his handsome features. 

“About what?” The heat of curiosity builds in your mind, swirling thoughts joining the fray. A buzzing excitement building as you watch him formulate the words–the wheels in his mind turning into place behind his soft brown eyes. He’s building to something, grasping onto a thread of courage and you silently pray that he manages to keep hold as you feel your heart rise into your throat. His fingers twitch at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach for your hand and you feel your skin prickle at the thought. 

“I was hoping–” Jeonghan starts but is cut off just as quickly as your sister, Lydia, comes crashing through the parlour shouting your name, skirts billowing behind her. She skids to an abrupt halt as she sees you and Jeonghan both staring back at her. 

“H-hello, Mr. Yoon, I didn’t–umm,” she thumbs the letter clutched in her hand, nerves plain on her face as she tries to regain some sense of calm after her frantic entrance, “I didn’t realise you were still here.” She offers an awkward curtsy in his direction and you can hear the stifled laughter as he bows back. 

“Hello Ms. Lydia, I trust you are well?” 

“Very, thank you,” she nods, swallowing, and you have to stifle your own laugh at the awkwardness seeping out of her and infecting the room. She turns towards you, eyes pleading, “may I speak with you a moment?” 

You glance at Jeonghan and he smiles, “I should be going.” All hints of what he had been planning on saying before the interruption are wiped clear from his expression and you can’t help the slight bitterness towards your sister that rises in your stomach like bile as he turns to leave. 

“Your mother invited me for dinner tomorrow evening before I take my leave,” he adds, hand on the brass knob of the door, “I hope we can finish talking then.” With a final nod and smile he closes the door behind him–you watch through the window as he walks down the stone pathway towards his horse before your sister calls your attention back to her with a pointed cough. 

“Did he ask you?” she asks, eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“Ask me what?” you move away from the entrance and flop down onto the plush cream settee at the side of the room–legs grateful for the relief after an afternoon spent traipsing through the fields outside. 

“Don’t be daft, I know that you know full well he is planning on proposing to you,” she sits down next to you in a huff, splaying her skirts out below her and knocking you on the shoulder with a closed fist–envelope still clutched tight in her hand, but evidently forgotten for the moment.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were in his confidence regarding the matter,” you tease, drawing a flustered expression from her as she pouts at you. 

“I don’t need to be to know,” she grumbles, “everyone says. Especially Mama.” 

The rumours had been circulating since that first ball and you were not oblivious to them. It would be impossible to be oblivious when the gossip that roamed through the village was as subtle as a bull. But rumours were just that: rumours. Unsubstantiated whisperings passed around by bored mamas and nosy servants at parties and in parlours, and you preferred to keep your hopes out of their baseless grasp as long as you were able to. You couldn’t deny, however, that the hope was there. That it had wound its way into your heart, filling your mind and soul with a buoyancy you hadn’t anticipated to feel. 

The thought of Jeonghan in front of you, extending his hand for yours, and asking to keep it forever is a thought that you couldn’t deny having had more than once. 

But you were not going to give your prying sister the satisfaction of knowing this. Instead you stare deadpan at her as she sits with a pout on her face, waiting for a reaction. The standoff continues for a moment in silence before she resigns and sighs, thrusting the letter she had been clutching in her hand towards you, “here, it’s for you.” 

You pluck the paper from and examine the envelope–torn open already by prying fingertips and eyes. “You opened it?” The accusation is more tired than biting, but she cowers under it anyway–crossing her arms in defence. 

“No,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in a decidedly unladylike manner–a habit of which your mother had tried to scold out of her for years now. “Mama opened it.” 

“And then you read it,” you sigh, running your eyes over the script of the envelope. Handwriting both familiar and unfamiliar. A name you haven’t seen in years scrawled in the top left corner in looping cursive–Jeon Wonwoo. Your heart leaps into your throat at the sight, your sister's protestations fading into background noise, as you focus on the name written on the sheet of white before you–transfixed by memory and recognition. 

“Are you listening to me?” Lydia’s voice bleeds through the swell in your mind as you slip the letter out of the envelope–delicately, as if it might crumble to dust at the barest whisper of a breath–and unfold it in your hands. You brush aside her attempts at getting your attention and fix your gaze on the words unfolding on the page. 

Dearest ______,

Firstly, I hope you receive this letter in good health, and that your family is well. I am sorry we never kept up correspondence as we had promised when I first left for the city. I have so much to tell you and yet I feel that most of it is entirely pointless, so it might be better left unsaid for now; at least until we are able to speak in person. 

I’m not sure when this letter will arrive, but my intention is for it to precede my own arrival by at least a day or so. I had been planning on visiting for quite some time, but it was a thought always pushed to the back of my mind as life and present matters took over, but receiving your letter resurfaced the desire to return. 

I must say your letter was a slight shock, but certainly not an unwelcome one. Truthfully, there hasn’t been a day that has passed that I have not thought of you or of the time we spent together as children and adolescents. I hadn’t dared to hope that you remembered, or even returned the feelings that I had held close to my heart since those days, but reading your words brought that hope back to life. 

I look forward to seeing you again at last, 

Yours Truly, 

Wonwoo

You sit in silence for a moment, staring blank faced down at the letter as your sister leans over your shoulder trying desperately to read the lines of ink scrawled delicately over the page. “Well,” she whines, giving up on the task, “what does it say?” 

Without a glance spared in her direction, you stand up and race out of the parlour–brushing past your confused mother as you dart up the staircase towards your bedroom. 

“Oh, did you get the letter?” your mother calls after you as you run, leaning over the bannister, but you staunchly ignore her as you careen into your room to tear into the trunk at the foot of your bed. No mind paid for the mess you’re creating as you pull out ribbons, books, and trinkets from the large, ornately carved wooden box. Buried at the bottom of the trunk lies a small box of letters, hidden from the prying eyes of your family–or at least you had thought it was hidden from the prying eyes of your family. Looking now, as you sit splayed out on the floor of your bedroom amongst a haphazard pile of items, it’s clear that it has been rifled through since the last time you had bothered to check it. 

From amongst the pile of letters hidden away amongst your treasures and belongings, only one is missing. One tear-stained, hastily written piece of parchment snatched from the stack of otherwise inconsequential papers by the fingers of someone who was incapable of minding their own business or of leaving well enough alone. 

“Don’t be mad,” your sister’s voice pleads from behind you as she stands in the doorway playing with her fingers, watching your back as you begin to gather up your things with a sigh–tossing them back into the trunk and closing the lid with a snap before turning to face her. 

A slow seeping mixture of anger and embarrassment has overcome your thoughts and swells near to bursting as you glare at her through a fog of red. She opens her mouth to speak, fear dancing in her eyes as she scrambles for some words that might placate you. Tries to form some meagre explanation for her actions. You take advantage of her immobility and move towards her with a fury you didn’t know you possessed. A moment before you can catch her sleeves she turns and races down the hallway, leaping down the staircase, and hiding behind your bewildered mama–a desperate shield from your wrath. 

A sliver of clarity leeches through the haze surrounding you, sounding out like a bell through your angered mind, and instead of reaching for her with clawing hands like you’re itching to, you push past them and stalk straight through the front door and out into the gardens. A light drizzle of rain has begun to fall in the time between your walk through the fields and now, but you pay it no mind–only too grateful for the company of the raindrops alongside the tears that begin to fall from your eyes. 

You can hear the door open and close behind you, footsteps crunching along the dirt and gravel of the path you are currently trodding on towards no destination, but you don’t give them the satisfaction of turning. Instead you pick up your pace, hastening your already brisk gait until you’re nearly running towards the creek at the edge of the estate–searching for some escape, some reprieve, from the suffocating presence of your family to gather the frayed edges of your tormented mind. 

Missing the hint as usual, they persist. Voices call out from behind you, entreating you to turn and face them but the pleas and demands only serve to heighten the flush of rage through your veins.

By the time you reach the edge of the water your body is shaking. Whether from the cold or the overwhelming emotions you’re not sure. You stand, staring out over the water as it rushes downstream, blinking away the tears stinging at your eyes. “Oh, will you stop being so dramatic,” your mother finally catches up with you–her curls and skirts soaked in water and mud, a fact of which you know you will never hear the end of. “Apologise to your sister.” 

You baulk at her, mouth gaping with shock and horror, “me? Apologise to her?” 

“Yes, you scared her,” she nods, arms crossed and eyes set in a determined stare, “besides, you shouldn’t be racing down the stairs like a child at your age. Not when you are so close to being engaged, just think; what would your fiance say about this behaviour?” 

“I don’t have a fiance,” you shoot back, mirroring her stance, “and if I did, and if he were a man of any brains at all, he would say I have every right to wring her neck for what she’s done.” 

“Mama,” Lydia whines, still hiding behind the impenetrable figure standing before you in rain-soaked linens. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I just sent out a letter.” 

“A letter that was never yours to send,” you shout, earning yourself a withering glare from your mother. Thunder rumbles in the far distance and you sigh, feeling the rain as it falls against your tired limbs and a tired mind. The idyl of the morning feels so far away now. Jeonghan’s easy smile, the light filtering through the grove, the feeling of the rough bark under your fingertips. A morning of reminiscence scrubbed away so easily by the foolishness of one insolent sister. All the hope that had lifted in your chest now falling away from you with each raindrop and disappearing into the ground below. 

You open your eyes to watch your mother standing in defence of the sister that might have ruined both your past and future. All life, all fight drains from your body, and you’re left now with the only question that matters hanging in the damp, cool air between you. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer. She stares back at you, an expression of haughty defiance painting her face, and after a minute of silence–a cold standoff at the edge of the river–you brush past them once more and stride back towards the house. Resigning yourself to never knowing; to life never being that same as it was mere hours ago when you were standing peacefully in the midday sun, unaware of the storm brewing for you in the shadows of the day. 

Your mother hurries to catch up with you, “you’ll forgive her. She is your sister, after all, you’ve only got each other.” 

You feel the urge to shout again, to admonish her for always taking the side of your younger sibling even when it was clear she was in the wrong, but the feeling dies in your throat before you can even think to act on it. You’re too tired. Instead you halt in your step and turn to face her, another question pressing at the forefront of your mind, “you read the letter?” 

“I suppose we’ll be having two guests for dinner tomorrow night,” she muses, managing at least to look somewhat apologetic for your current state of affairs despite the obvious delight swimming behind her eyes. Two potential love matches for her daughter, and all the drama that a bored mama could possibly dream up, had finally planted itself in her lap and she was enjoying every second of it. 

“Don’t you have any shame at all?” you ask, knowing how fruitless the question was but unable to refrain from voicing it. Enough anger was still lingering at the edges of your mind to give voice to the words. 

“Oh, don’t pretend like you’re not excited to see the Jeon boy,” she says, trailing after you as you resume your brisk pace towards the house. “I always thought you two might get engaged when you were older, but then he left and well, Mr. Yoon seems an excellent second choice.” 

You pointedly ignore her as she continues to monologue her fantasies for life, following behind you as you head up to your room in search of dry clothing and some reprieve from her aimless talking. “Mama,” you spin towards her, stopping her at the threshold of your bedroom, “I can tell you are gleaning some great joy from this situation, but please for once in your life have some pity and leave me alone.” 

She opens her mouth to speak again but you close the door before she gets the chance, blocking out her protestations as you sink down onto the oak floor in a puddle of linen skirts and despair. 

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.

.

Dinner is suffocating. Your father relishes in the rare silence at the table while you coldly pass bowls of potatoes and vegetables to your sister, avoiding eye contact even as she nudges you under the table with her foot. You know your behaviour is childish–unbecoming of someone your age, as your mother would say, despite her own childish actions–but you can’t bring yourself to come to a place of peace and forgiveness quite yet. The letter still looms in your mind like a parchment monolith, a cloud hanging over all of your thoughts even as you try to distract yourself after dinner with a book by the fireplace. Even as your mother tries to entice you into friendly gossip about how you think Wonwoo might have changed over the years, how he might measure up to Jeonghan as a potential match. 

The evening drags on into night, darkness swallowing the estate, and your sister sits staring at you over her untouched needlework from the other side of the parlour. You raise your eyes to meet hers for a moment before turning back to your novel, resuming the standoff and sinking back into the staunch silence you’re treating her with. 

In truth it has been this way since childhood. The moment she was ushered into this world, the weight of responsibility settled onto your shoulders. The expectation of being the eldest sibling; of acting mature and setting an example for her to follow as she chased you through the fields, inserting herself in every possible situation with the carelessness of one who knows that they can get away with anything, should they so choose. 

Your only reprieve from the insistent pressure of responsibility was when cousins and family would visit, capturing her wandering attention for long enough that you were able to slip out unnoticed and find solace outside, in a book, or with Wonwoo. Peace from her endless questioning and imitations–from following you around like a lost, unceasingly precocious child. 

The heat of her unwavering gaze burns into the top of your head as you try to follow the narrative of your story in the dim light of the fire. Eventually you give up, slipping the book back into its place on the shelf, and dismissing yourself with a good night to your father–absorbed in his own book and entirely uninterested in the dramatics brewing within his home. Your sister scrambles up after you, following in your footsteps and rushing to say her own goodnights before chasing behind you up the stairs. 

“Stop following me,” you spin around in the doorway to your room, arms crossed in defence–levelling her with a glare that you can only hope she takes seriously for once in her life. 

“You have to forgive me eventually,” Lydia says, matching your posture and meeting your gaze with her own determined stare. “You can’t be upset about it forever.” It’s clear the silent treatment you’ve been giving her has wormed its way under her skin–plucking at the exact nerves that she tries so hard to ignore. Her disdain for being ignored–for being disliked, even momentarily–working against her now in the safety of her own home. 

“Yes, I can,” you state flatly, half-turning away from her towards and moving to close the door before she stops you with a hand on your arm. 

“That’s not fair,” she whines, “what are you so upset about anyway? That you have two men in love with you?” The truth seeps through her words and you find the answer to your question from earlier finally in the subtext of her complaints. “You’re jealous?” 

“I’m not jealous,” she bites back, but the pout that accompanies the statement indicates the exact opposite. “I just think it’s unfair that you’re marrying someone without telling them that you’re in love with someone else.” 

“I’m not marrying anyone,” you grit your teeth to keep from shouting and rousing your parent’s attention. The last thing you needed at this moment was the less than helpful advice of your mother. “I’m not even engaged. No one has asked me to marry them–no one.” You turn away from her, eager to shut her out for the night and sink into the comfort of sleep, “and I’m not in love with Wonwoo.” 

She snorts, unconvinced, “that letter said otherwise.” 

“That letter was written when I was fifteen and he was leaving,” you reply with a glare, “things have changed.” 

“If you’re not still in love with him,” a small smile quirks up the corner of her lip, bringing another wave of rage crashing through you at the sight of it. Her smug expression lit low by the lanterns burning on the walls, “then why are you so mad?” 

With a huff you close the door, blocking out any further comments she might deem necessary to add–anything further to provoke you to anger. You pause a moment, staring at the dark wood of the door, and breathe. The urge to scream floods your thoughts and you move to lie flat on your bed before it bursts free completely. 

Sleep comes in fits and starts. Your dreams chase you through the labyrinth of night cloaked in signs and symbols–always beginning and ending in that grove of trees on your family's estate. Each time you stand at the entrance to the greenery, hopeful anticipation bubbling up in your chest, and take a step forward. Everything is silent–still. No chirping of birds, no rush of the wind, no sound at all save your own footsteps over the trodden soil as you walk towards the gnarled oak at the centre of the grove–your hand outstretched towards the bark. 

The carved heart greets your fingers, initials swimming before your eyes. Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Lydia's, your own. They all traverse and coalesce on the expanse of broken brown wood, mingling with each other and transforming endlessly in front of your eyes. Before they have a chance to settle, a branch snaps behind you and you turn in anticipation to see who it is; a glimpse of muted fabric, a vaguely formed face, flashes in front of your vision before you are transported back to the field outside the trees–feet itching to carry you forward once again. 

You repeat this process, over and over, until the light breaking through the window above your bed stirs you to consciousness. You sigh and squirm deeper into the blankets, desperate to sink back into the embrace of dreams and avoid the inevitable disaster of the day waiting for you outside your room. 

A sharp knock on the door cuts off any hope that you had of delay. “Mama says to come down for breakfast," Lydia warns and you listen as her footsteps disappear down the staircase before slipping out of bed and preparing for the day. 

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The scent of eggs and ham greets you as you stumble down the stairs some time later; dressed in a simple frock belying the anxiety bubbling in the pit of your stomach in anticipation of the day. Your mother greets you with a cheerful “good morning”, the tone ignorant of the tension that underlay your last interactions with her. You offer her a tired smile in response–content with staying in silence for as long as possible this morning and avoiding any further bursts of anger she might provoke. It takes you a moment to notice the extra figure sitting at the table, one at the same time so familiar and unfamiliar. Wonwoo’s eyes, obscured as they are behind the glass of his spectacles, betray a similar mixture of delight and wariness at your presence. He offers you a hesitant smile over his plate of food and you feel your heart leap into your throat, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. 

“Wonwoo,” you exclaim, earning an admonishing tsk from your mother at the noise. He stands, bowing slightly in greeting–smile broadening marginally as he does so. 

“Hello,” he replies. You can hear a million different restrained thoughts and questions in the greeting. So many unspoken words it makes your stomach knot. You remain, mouth agape, standing feet away while the force of it hits you while your sister, on the other hand, laughs aloud at the look of pure alarm on your face. 

“Oh, sit down before you fall down,” she says, rolling her eyes and reaching for another roll from the centre of the table. “It’s only Wonwoo, you knew he was coming.” 

You resist the temptation to openly glare at her and instead gather yourself into the seat across from Wonwoo–returning his smile, finally, with your own. “You’re here much sooner than expected,” you say, offering it as the only excuse for your astonishment at his presence during your family breakfast. 

“I arrived rather early this morning,” he explains. The tension held in his shoulders ebbs away slowly, hesitation diminishing now that you’ve settled across from him. “Thankfully your father was awake and willing to sit down over a cup of tea.” You nod in acknowledgement. He and your father had always gotten along rather well, being of similar disposition. You would often find them sitting in silence together while your mama chased you around with her many complaints. “You look well,” he adds after a moment, a soft smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

He’s older now than the last time you saw him–his jaw defined by the sharpness that comes with age, the loss of the soft roundness of youth–but he still looks exactly as you remember him. His brown eyes still hold that same kindness and quiet humour that you were so fond of. His smile, though grown hesitant with years of distance, is still as bright as it always was; a warm smile, both welcoming and genuine. A smile that makes you wish you had sent that letter out years ago. Maybe it would have kept him here, with you, at this table. Maybe you could have watched these transformations occur instead of seeing them all now. Maybe you would have had time to accustom yourself to the new angle of his jaw, to the mature slant of his cheekbone. Maybe…

“I am well, thank you,” you reply, cutting off your wandering thoughts and into your breakfast. Turning away from the warmth of his gaze for a moment’s reprieve. “And you? Have you been–” Hesitation stops you in your tracks as you form the question. Keen awareness of the curious eyes at the table fixed firmly on you, intruding on this reunion with their unceasing attention. The knowledge that both your mother and sister are highly aware of the undercurrent of feelings–whether present or past–running between you stalls your speech. “Are you well?” you finish lamely, clearing your throat and gathering yourself into a state of stoicism.

“Very well, thank you,” he replies with a nod, similarly reserved. Knowing your family as he does, you’re sure he senses the shift in the atmosphere. Sure he’s adjusting himself accordingly. 

“Well,” your mother leans forward, towards Wonwoo, a conspiratorial glint in her eye as she begins speaking, “we are so glad to have you back with us after such a long time away. I can’t imagine why you didn’t visit sooner, but no matter. How long will you be staying?” 

“Only a week,” he replies, “I return to town next Sunday.” 

“And what brings you here so suddenly?” The brazenness of her question in light of everything she knows would shock you if you weren’t so used to her meddling. You bite your tongue, woefully resigned to allowing her to play out her machinations while you suffer under the brunt of them. A mere tool in her game of matchmaking and gossip-mongering. Lydia stifles a laugh next to you with a cough, drawing Wonwoo’s attention. 

“Ah,” he starts, watching you closely for any hint of caution but you remain as neutral as possible. “I had been meaning to return for years now, I’ve been too long overdue for a visit. It has been years, even, since I’ve seen my own family’s estate.” 

“I see,” your mother sighs, correcting her posture and sitting upright, disappointed by the lack of spectacle. Her desire for a dramatic breakfast proposal being thwarted, she changes topic and shifts to Wonwoo’s current business practices. How is he getting along as a barrister in town during these troubled times? He answers her inquiries, offering up tidbits of gossip from town that might interest her, and you feel a rush of gratitude towards him for so easily flowing with her changing moods and temperament. A feat not easily undertaken. 

Conversation continues late into the morning, with even your father chiming in here and there; forgoing his usual habit of staying entirely silent until reproached by your mother and instead offering up comments entirely unprovoked to the surprise and delight of the same woman who is usually provoking him. You pick at the food on your plate, watching Wonwoo from across the table even as your sister silently teases you for it from her own seat. Finally, the plates are all cleared away and you stand, ready to stretch your stiff muscles outside of the house.

“Why don’t you three kids take a walk,” your mother prompts–taking notice of your fidgeting. “I have to make preparations for dinner tonight.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to go to such trouble on my account,” Wonwoo holds his hands up as if to ward off the worst of your mother’s efforts. 

“It’s not just for you,” Lydia sighs, a sly grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, “it’s for Mr. Yoon.” 

“Who–” Wonwoo starts, glancing at you, a ripple of confusion passing over his face before your mother cuts him off. 

“Don’t be rude, Lydia,” she admonishes her, “it’s for both of you, Mr. Jeon. Mr. Yoon has become a very welcome part of our family gatherings since he arrived not two months ago.” She moves behind you, hustling the three of you out of the dining room and towards the front door in a manner befitting a sheepdog rather than a mother. “The girls will tell you all about him, I’m sure.” 

The door is closed on you before you have the chance to protest and you turn towards Wonwoo with a heavy sigh, “I guess we are taking a walk, then.” 

“Your mother certainly has not changed over all these years,” he laughs, more relaxed now that you’re away from the presence of your parents. He offers his arm for you to take as you descend down the stone path leading through the gardens and out into the fields.  The rain of the previous day is all but gone, leaving nothing but the odd puddle dotting the path as you walk along at an easy pace--grateful for the warm, golden sun as it streams down on you. 

You slip your arm through Wonwoo’s and marvel at the naturalness of the gesture. Though it’s been years since your last exchange of letters, and even longer since you last saw each other in person, the ease with which you slip back into old comforts in his presence is nothing short of remarkable. You spend the first half of the walk catching up–exchanging stories of the goings-on around the village and in town since you last spoke. Lydia walks a ways ahead of you, constantly looking back as if desperate to invite herself into the conversation before inevitably thinking better of it and turning around to resume her striding. 

The silence emanating from her is a worrisome gnat that wheedles its way into the back of your mind, but you brush it aside and focus on the feeling of your old friend back at your side. The feeling of his arm against yours, his voice no longer a mere echo in your mind, but a real sound to be heard and listened to. It feels as if he had never left; that despite the growth in each of you as a person, both physically and mentally, there had merely been a pause put on your relationship. A brief interlude that served only to bring you to this exact moment in time where you could be together again. 

The comfort is at once welcome and disconcerting. The thought of Wonwoo’s letter, the implication of his feelings, presses at the forefront of your mind alongside the image of Jeonghan with his hand outstretched towards you in the sun of the grove. As much as you want to ignore these worries, they sit there staring at you, tugging at your attention as you try and focus on what should be a joyous reunion. And as Wonwoo talks, regaling you with tales from his time at college and in his current employment, you can see those same worries brewing behind his eyes. The same hesitation keeping him from broaching either topic. You’re each waiting, hearts held on the blade of a sword. Enjoying each other's company while expecting someone to slice into it and spill the blood at any moment. 

“So,” your sister struts over to you as you sit in the grass by the river, knees tucked tight to your chest. She sits down in front of you, her skirts pooling around her in a puddle of blue and white. You brace yourself for whatever she had been planning during her extended silence on your walk. The tension built up from yesterday had still not eased and if you knew your sister as well as you thought you did, you knew she would not allow herself to be the first one to heal the rift. 

You fix her with an even stare. Careful neutrality painted on your expression in an attempt to dissuade the worst of her plotting. “Yes, Lydia?” 

“Did she tell you about Jeonghan yet?” she asks with a mirthful grin, and you feel the question jolt through your body. Wonwoo glances up at her, dropping the blade of grass he had been idly running between his fingers, and lifting a hand to adjust his glasses. 

“Ah, no,” he admits. His eyes flicker to you briefly before returning to Lydia–so quickly you might not have noticed had your own eyes not been watching him from the corner of your vision. “I don’t believe so.”

“And you’ve never met him before?” Her grin widens slightly, glee shining bright in the depths of her coal dark eyes. She was truly her mother’s daughter. 

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, no,” he says, tolerating the leading questions with more patience than you would have ever been able to muster. But then, he always was more patient than you. 

“So you don’t know?” she asks, smile widening even further. 

“Lydia,” you warn, using every ounce of strength and resilience in your body to resist leaping forward and tackling her to the ground before she can spoil anything further. 

The warning in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Wonwoo. You can feel him stiffen next to you; the fear of whatever is being left unsaid creeping under his skin and nestling there like a slumbering bear at the cusp of spring.

“Know what?” he asks, curiosity overwhelming the fear. He plucks up the thread your sister has laid bare and you know there’s no going back once she’s said what she wants to say. You want to grab him by the hand and race away–towards the trees, to a place used as solace from her nearly everyday in your youth. To hide from her and from the realities of the situation you find yourself currently stranded in. To stay in this moment in between forever. 

Lydia smiles again, pleased to command everyone’s attention so completely. You wait, the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightening, and watch Wonwoo out of the corner of your eye. Waiting to see the regret over his return show itself plain on his face. 

“They’re engaged,” she says finally, pulling the pin and leaning back on her arms to watch Wonwoo’s face fall. His mouth pulls to a thin line and you feel a cavern open up in the hollow of your chest, ready to swallow you whole. 

“Lydia,” you all but shout her name, startling a bird resting on a nearby bush and sending it flying into the air with an alarmed chirp. “We are not engaged.” 

“You might as well be,” she shouts back, balling her fists up in her skirts and fixing you with a glare, “I know that’s why he’s coming for dinner tonight.” 

“You don’t know anything,” the cold anger seething in your voice surprises you, but the buttons have been pressed and you can do nothing now except ride the wave. “I don’t know what games you’re playing, Lydia–whether you’re bored or just jealous or what–and frankly, I don’t care. It’s not funny. Leave me alone.” 

Whatever outcome she had hoped to garner from engineering this confrontation, this was not it. You watch as she picks herself up off the ground in a huff and stalks back towards the house–no doubt seeking the solace of your mother’s ever-forgiving arms. The rage subsides as she disappears from view, leaving in its wake a hollow in the pit of your stomach as you’re left staring out over the meandering creek as it carves its path through the fields. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, glancing sideways at Wonwoo. He sits still, in a state of mild shock at the outburst, and makes no indication of either moving or speaking. Birds fly overhead, singing their soprano songs as they make their way towards some unknown destination–wings disturbing the otherwise still air surrounding you. Silence stretches onwards, and you sit with your head resting on your arms, wishing you could travel back in time to prevent this from ever happening. 

But what time would you travel back to? To prevent Lydia from ever finding the letter in the first place, would you not have written it? Would you have instead bottled up those feelings that, at the time, were so overwhelming they demanded a two-page long letter to express? 

Would you go back and refuse to meet Jeonghan at the ball? Spend your time against the wall and accepting dances from the unwed sons of families you rarely associated with? 

Or would you travel back the span of a day and make peace with your sister. Approach her not from a well of anger but from a space of understanding and diplomacy–if only to smooth her ruffled feathers and prevent the fight that had been brewing in the pot of tension between you. 

The answer never comes. All of the possibilities–of what could have been or what might have been–dangle before you, but you know there is no going back; you are left now simply to pick up the pieces in the aftermath of what is. 

Wonwoo breaks the tense silence himself after a few minutes. “Is it true?” he asks, the potent mixture of hope and fear in his voice sends a pang of guilt through your heart–piercing the already bruised organ further at the sound. 

“We’re not engaged,” you say, unsure of how else to phrase the inbetween state of being that exists between you and Jeonghan. That period of time when both of you know what the next step is but still have not moved a muscle to take it. 

“Why did you send the letter?” He asks, twisting the knife of guilt and shame further and deeper into you with the tone of despair leaking out over every word. You turn to look at him, meeting his gaze head on to see the heartbreak glistening in his warm, brown eyes. 

The threat of tears prick behind your own as you look at him, desperately searching your brain for an answer that will make all of this go away–but none surface. Instead you are left with nothing but a confused tangle of emotions churning inside of you, clouding your thoughts with the force of them. You brace yourself for his possible reaction to the truth, averting your eyes back towards the blue river, “I didn’t send it.” The confession rolls out of your mouth like a prayer for peace and you can hear Wonwoo’s sharp intake of air as he takes a steadying breath beside you. 

“Do you love him?” The question hangs in the air between you, bringing you at once closer together with the weight of it and thrusting you further apart in the implication. 

“I don’t know,” you had never been able to lie around Wonwoo. Not since you were children, forcing him to steal bread and cheese from the kitchens with you for your own tea parties in the garden. Not since you were youths of twelve telling each other your deepest secrets as you laid next to each other in the field watching the clouds pass overhead. The truth, however painful it may be, was always the only route you were ever able to take when held under the weight of his gaze–transfixed by the warmth in his honeydark eyes. 

“Could you love him?” 

“Yes,” you sigh, nodding. “I could.” 

His next question comes out as a whisper, barely heard of the sound of the water below and the birds overhead--almost as if he was too afraid to ask it, “do you love me?” 

What could you say? What answer was there to give? ‘Of course, Wonwoo, you’re my best friend.’ While it remains true, you know that it isn’t what he’s asking you; you can read the deeper meaning hidden in the question, you know the significance of the words he is choosing. You turn towards him, twisting the knife in your heart one final time, severing completely the hope he had sent by letter. “I don’t know.” 

Another moment of silence passes. You stare unblinking over the horizon, waiting for the rain clouds to form in the blue expanse overhead–to match your mood with their dreary presence–but the sky remains unashamedly clear. 

Wonwoo lets out a long sigh beside you. You keep your gaze forward as you feel him stand up until he reaches a hand out to help you up. You glance from his hand to his face in surprise at the gesture after your confession, but he just smiles down at you sadly. “Come on,” he prompts and you slip your hand into his hand. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, unclear as to his intentions now that everything has been laid bare under the afternoon sun. 

“I’m walking you home,” he says simply, before pulling you to your feet and heading back down the path away from the running water and golden fields of wheat. 

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The afternoon drags on, spent in the midst of an uncomfortable silence in the parlour with your sister and mother. Wonwoo excused himself to his family home shortly after returning back under the guise of getting ready for dinner. A part of you had been expecting him to feign illness and retire for the entirety of the evening, but no doubt the pressure of social graces–as well as his own unwavering politeness–entreated him to keep the engagement. 

The book open between your hands may as well be blank for all the attention you’re paying it; your mind swims with thoughts of your fight with your sister, and of the subsequent conversation with Wonwoo–replaying it over and over relentlessly. His face, crestfallen and sad, lingers in the forefront of your mind–a portrait reminder of the sharp ache in the centre of your chest. Lydia sits across from you, puncturing the fabric of her needlework aimlessly as she switches between pouting and glaring in your direction while your mother pointedly ignores you both in favour of hemming the dress her own sister recently passed down to her. 

Your father, attuned as usual to the shifting moods of the house, avoids the parlour entirely. 

The silent contemplation brings you no sense of reprieve by the time Jeonghan arrives for the evening. Hours spent pondering your options–alternating back and forth between him and Wonwoo and your confused feelings for both men–have brought no clear conclusion forward. In the wake of the afternoon, you prepare yourself for what was sure to be a bizarre dinner party, begging your mother not to sit you next to Lydia at the table for everyone’s sake. 

Thankfully she obliges, seating you instead between Wonwoo and Jeonghan for her own amusement–the latter of which being entirely unaware of the state of affairs he is about to enter into with this dinner. The table is set, the people are seated, and your mother begins with an overwhelmingly passionate monologue of gratitude towards the two young gentlemen joining your family that evening. 

“Mr. Jeon,” she smiles, passing a bowl of potatoes towards him, “how happy we are to see you at long last back home, as I already said this morning.” You roll your eyes at the emphatic speech, catching the gaze of your sister in a similar state of reproach and almost laughing with her before you correct yourself and turn back towards your plate of food. “I do so hope you will be back to visit much more in the future.”

“Of course,” Wonwoo nods his gratitude towards her, a placating smile stretching over his lips as he passes the bowl towards his aunt who had invited herself over as soon as she heard about the occasion. 

“I’ve already admonished him, Gloria,” she laughs, scooping a healthy serving of the starchy vegetable onto her own plate before handing it off down the line. “It has been far too long since I have seen my nephew and what does he do when he arrives? He comes to your estate for breakfast without even first saying hello to anyone in his own family.” She shakes her head and shares another laugh with your mother. They are, as always, two birds of a feather when in the company of each other–delighting in gossip and unwarranted comments as often as they can catch a breath to share them. 

“Now, Mr. Yoon,” your mother shifts her attention towards the man at your right side, smiling at him as if he were a newborn baby, “I am saddened to hear that you have to leave us so soon, but we have very much enjoyed your company these past few months and do so hope you will be back again soon.” 

“Of course,” he returns her smile with his own. You can feel the heat of his thigh next to your own under the table, the closeness of him on your one side and Wonwoo on the other nearly suffocating you in your seat. “There is a lot to come back for.” 

The comment doesn’t go unnoticed by either your sister, who has to feign a brief coughing fit to cover her laughter, or Wonwoo whose hand tenses around the fork in his grasp even as his expression remains impassive. The conversation is dissolved and dispersed amongst the table throughout the meal; your father catches Jeonghan’s attention and, unusually talkative, entreats him with a renewed discussion of the progress on the new mill’s construction. Both family matriarchs trade local gossip, as well as any anecdotes they can remember from the most recent ball, to keep each other entertained while you and Wonwoo sit in abject silence next to each other–eyes focused on the food on your plates in front of you. 

Everyone retires to the parlour after dinner, mingling in small groups with you and your sister sitting in silence at the edge of room–watching as your mother’s laugh grows louder with the heat of wine and your father’s passionate discussions about the price of rye take on a life of their own, while Jeonghan just nods patiently and listens. Gravity and familiarity pull the two of you closer together, seeking some solace in each other as the only two outsiders in your own home. 

“You were right,” she heaves a sigh, turning to you with a brief glance. 

“What was I right about?” You keep your eyes trained towards the room, watching as Wonwoo and Jeonghan strike up a conversation with each other and desperately wishing you were close enough to be able to hear what they were discussing. Lydia calls your attention back to her with a dramatic sigh. 

“I was jealous,” she admits and you look at her in surprise at the frank confession. “It was stupid, and I’m sorry. In my defence I didn’t know it was going to be so–” she pauses, waving a hand in a dramatic gesture towards the rest of the room, “dramatic.” 

You choke back a bark of astonished laughter, completely at odds with how you had been feeling for the first portion of the evening; all fight had been entirely drained out of you and despite the desire to continue dragging her over the coals for her sin, you give in to the shared bond that exists between you as sisters. “Me either,” you say simply.

“Do you forgive me?” she asks, a spark of hope lighting up her voice at your acceptance of her excuse and you laugh. 

“No,” you reply, grinning at her, “but I will.” 

“I suppose I can accept that,�� she nods once, smiling back at you before drifting towards your mother and inserting herself into a conversation around pregnancy rumours in the village–a topic that is sure to keep all three of them enraptured for the remainder of the evening, as nothing is more exciting than the threat of children to women who have none to worry over anymore.

Left alone, you wander towards Wonwoo and Jeonghan; buoyed by the reconciliation with your sister and resigned to swallowing the rest of your fate as it stands before you. “Are we still discussing mills and rye?” you ask, nodding towards your father who has taken it upon himself to sink into silence with a book in front of the fire, having exhausted all avenues of conversation that he is even remotely invested in. 

Jeonghan laughs, shaking his head with a mock grimace, “no, actually. As it turns out, once you’ve already talked about the price of grain for well over an hour, there isn’t much left to be said.” 

Wonwoo nods, laughing–all hint of earlier heartbreak has washed clean from his expression for the moment and you can see that he and Jeonghan are getting along despite themselves. The confusion returns anew, revitalised in your mind, and you can’t be sure whether this development is good or bad even as you stand by to watch it unfold. 

“No,” Wonwoo says, “I was just asking him about his time in London.” 

“A truly horrible place,” Jeonghan shudders at the thought of the city, drawing another laugh forward from Wonwoo and plucking another thread of nerves inside your throat. “No, I am quite happy to be away from there for the time being. The peace and quiet of the countryside suits me, I think.” 

“It is certainly quiet,” Wonwoo nods just as a loud bout of laughter sounds out from the group of women on the settee near the fireplace, a wry smile dancing on his lips. 

“And you are from here originally?” Jeonghan asks, glancing over at Wonwoo’s aunt as she stands to deliver her well practised imitation of one of the other mamas from the village. 

“Yes, we grew up together,” he nods, gesturing towards you with the reply. Jeonghan glances between you, the new knowledge clicking into place in the wheels of his mind. 

“You must have a lot of stories from that time,” he says, following the thought. You watch it spin behind the firelit brown of his eyes. 

“Many, yes. We spent a lot of our time together,” Wonwoo affirms, and the truth of the statement sinks into you as he says it. Your past is filled with memories of him–painted with images of him splayed out in the fields, or leaping into the water, or simply falling asleep at the breakfast table after a sleepless night spent reading by candlelight. “If you want,” Wonwoo muses, lifting a hand to his chin with a sly grin, “I can tell you about the time she lost her shoe in the–”

“Stop,” you reach a hand out in panic, yanked unceremoniously out of your memories by the suggestion, and grab onto Wonwoo’s arm to cut off the story before it can begin. “No one wants to hear that story,” you let out a nervous laugh.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” Jeonghan says, glancing down where your hand sits lingering on Wonwoo’s arm; you pull it back to your side and resign yourself to the embarrassment that is sure to follow. He turns his attention back towards Wonwoo as he begins the story–more than happy to offer up your pain as an anecdote for the evening. 

“We were having a foot race through the fields after a particularly intense summer storm,” he begins with and you groan inwardly, already dreading the narrative that you know will follow, “of course her skirts were at least an inch deep in the mud and were weighing her down rather heavily,” the story continues and Jeonghan stands as a ready audience as Wonwoo weaves the image together for him. You can picture that day so clearly in your mind, the feeling of the mud sucking you down into the field, Wonwoo nearly tearing your sleeve off while trying to pull you out, and then diving in to rescue the shoe that you were sure your mother would kill you for if she knew you had lost it. 

The rain beating down on you as Wonwoo carried you on his back towards the house–tears streaming down your face and the both of you covered head to toe in mud which earned you an, admittedly deserved, verbal lashing from your parents as soon as you tracked it inside. 

“I must say,” Jeonghan looks towards you when the story comes to its conclusion, laughing softly at the thought, “I can’t quite picture it.”

“Why not?” you ask, curious as to the reason behind his statement. 

“I suppose,” he pauses for a moment in thought, “you seem much more put together now. I can’t picture you as a wild child.” 

Wonwoo snorts, as if some inside joke has been shared, and shoots you a conspiratorial glance, “she’s definitely much more put together now.”

“Well, I’m glad you two have had fun bonding over my embarrassment,” you sigh. The clock on the wall chimes the hour and you see from the corner of your eye your father yawning wide over his book. Even the laughter and chatter from the other women in the room has died down–everyone now sporting a tired, weary expression in the lateness of the evening. 

Wonwoo’s aunt stands, thanking your parents profusely for the meal and the bed, before retiring upstairs to the guest rooms. Your mother and sister follow her in short order, with your father not too far behind, ushering the three of you towards bed as well. The wooden floors of the stairs creak under the weight as everyone files up towards their respective rooms for the evening; the house has not seen this many guests since the last time your cousins stayed with you, and despite the bizarre circumstances you were grateful for the company as a welcome change of pace from the everyday routine. 

You slip into bed after saying your goodnights and feel the weight of the day sinking into you. Left in solitude finally after hours of entertaining company, your thoughts return to the circular confusion that had been clouding your mind before dinner. They flicker back and forth between faces–Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Jeonghan–both men swimming up to eclipse all your thoughts once again. You remember Jeonghan as he was the day you met him, cheerful and witty in the presence of a room full of strangers. The best company you had kept in months–more than willing to converse and joke with the ease of someone you could have known for years. 

And you remember Wonwoo, as he was when you were children–bright, kind, and willing to go along with every place you could cook up despite his own shyness and reserve. And you remember him as he was today, beside the creek in the fields; bathed in the light of the afternoon sun, face fallen in the wake of your confession. He had come all this way on the wings of hope towards you after years of separation, and you had to be the one to ground him with reality. Not once, in all your years of knowing him had you seen that expression on his face until today. 

Sleep consumes you after you exhaust your cyclical thoughts; you pray for a dreamless slumber–only too ready to sink into the relief of darkness–and for once, your prayers are granted. 

.

.

.

The house is abuzz with activity in the morning. Everyone wakes for breakfast early, eager to continue last night’s conversations or to strike up new ones, and you feel renewed after a blessedly restful sleep. The weight of indecision still rests heavy on your heart, but it isn’t as cloying and suffocating as it had been the night before–trapped between Wonwoo and Jeonghan at the table all while wrestling with your own thoughts. Instead you find yourself smiling more easily, even laughing openly at your sister’s jokes over breakfast. Relief washes through you at the reprieve from your tortured feelings until the meal once again comes to an end and Jeonghan stands, turning towards you with a question. “If I may,” he begins, capturing the attention of everyone still seated despite the attempt at keeping his voice to a low volume. “Could I request the privilege of an audience with you,” uncharacteristic nervousness shimmers in his voice and you feel it similarly ripple through your body, “alone?” 

In a rush your mother stands, abandoning her half-cut slice of ham and ushering everyone out of the dining room with glee and answers for you. “Of course, of course,” you sit paralyzed, your own nerves tying a knot inside your throat as you watch them leave the room. Wonwoo looks back at you, meeting your eyes with his own worried gaze before the door is closed and you are left in silence as Jeonghan gathers his thoughts to speak. 

“It should come as no surprise,” he begins, and you stand to face him–eyes slightly averted from his own to avoid the intensity of the moment, “that I–” he pauses, hesitating. The nerves that were in his voice before have built to a fine point and you watch his hands as they clench and unclench into fists at his side. 

“Jeonghan,” you start, hoping to offer some words to ease the palpable tension in the air but coming up entirely speechless. 

“I return to town soon, and I was hoping you would also–” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration before giving up on whatever speech he had half-planned. “I love you,” he says, plainly, brown eyes seeking yours for any confirmation of the feelings he wishes to be returned, “quite a lot, actually, and I had to ask before I left if you feel the same, if–” he inhales, breath shaking with the force of his confession–with the fear of rejection or acceptance or both. “If you would do me the honour of marrying me?” 

The question hangs between you–caught in limbo as you ponder it. You had expected it, as much as you had tried to ignore that expectancy, it was there. Standing here, in the centre of your family’s dining room facing him now–the buzzing excitement, the sweeping sense of anticipation, and warmth that you felt before–it’s all miles away. The hope you had previously held for this exact moment is racing away through the fields, running free and far from you. The feelings that bore the hope exist still, they sit nestled in your heart, but they aren’t attached to Jeonghan; here in the light of day you finally come to the realisation that you have known all along where your heart belongs. 

It belongs in the fields of your childhood, running through the mud with your hand clasped tight in Wonwoo’s firm grip. It belongs at the feet of the boy who promised you at thirteen years old that he would never let you go. It belongs to someone on the other side of the door from you–whose heart you shattered only a day prior. 

Jeonghan stands silent–waiting for your response–and you wish in this moment you could give him something other than the truth that has formed on your lips, but it has broken free into the air between you before you can catch it. “I’m sorry,” you say, “I wish I could. I really do, but–”

He smiles, the expression not quite meeting his eyes as he nods in understanding, “I know.” The resignation in his voice catches you off guard and he laughs at your surprise, “I knew last night that this was a losing game for me, but still,” he sighs, “I had to ask.” 

“So,” you start, at a loss for what social decorum expects of you in this situation. Sinking into the relief of his acceptance of your rejection. “What will you do now?” 

He pauses a moment in thought, fixing his gaze on the ceiling before turning back to you with a slight grin, “maybe I will invest in the new mill.” 

Laughter cuts through the tension, dissolving the atmosphere of the room back into one of calm camaraderie, “I really am sorry, Jeonghan. For what it’s worth, if you had asked me five days ago I would have said yes.” 

“Missed my chance, then,” he smiles sadly, turning towards the door only to have it swing open under the weight of your mother and sister pressing against it. “Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am,” he bows towards your mother and, before she has a chance to inquire, leaves through the front door and heads off into the morning sun. 

“You rejected him?” your mother asks, surprise and astonishment colouring her voice. She glances between you and the door as it closes behind Jeonghan, mouth agape. 

“Where’s Wonwoo?” you ask, taking note of the absence of him from the small group gathered at the door to the dining room. They all glance around at each other, matching bewildered expressions, until, with a roll of your eyes, you push through them and head out the front door–propriety be damned. 

For a moment you hesitate; you have no idea where he might have gone in the span of time you spent talking to Jeonghan but a voice in the back of your mind directs you across the golden fields towards that old familiar grove of trees. Your mother and sister, accompanied by Wonwoo’s aunt, hover at the front step of the house, watching as you stride through the tall grass, through the stalks of wheat, past the cows and sheep, and towards the greenery beyond. 

You pause at the entrance to the grove, framed by old willow trees and inhale a steadying breath. Your feet sink into the soft earth as you step into the shade of the trees and you see Wonwoo standing, as you half-expected he would be, next to the gnarled oak tree in the centre of the clearing. A small smile plays at the corners of your lips as you approach him in silence, startling him when you come to a stop beside him–eyes trained on the carved heart in the rough, brown bark. 

“Do you remember when we did this?” he asks, tracing a finger over the old memory. You nod, waiting for him to continue the story, “a month before I left for town.”

“I remember.” 

“You told me I wasn’t allowed to leave without first promising to come back when we were older,” he laughs–a light, breathless laugh. “Do you remember that?” 

“I do,” you nod, turning towards him. “I remember you saying you would always come back for me.” 

“Right,” he nods, removing his hand from the wood of the tree and straightening his posture. You stand for a moment, in the silence of the morning broken only by the chirping of nesting birds in the treetops above. The shared memory lingers between you–wrapping you together in a knot of knowing. A knowing of each other, unlike anyone else–shared history, shared memories, shared feelings. 

“Are you going to marry him?” Wonwoo asks, breaking the silence first and glancing at you–fear of your unspoken answer, of what he imagines it might be, dancing in his brown eyes as he stands in the sun-dappled wood. You can’t help but feel strange in this moment, standing with the boy you’ve stood with so many times surrounded by these same trees. He looks the same–older, yes–but the same. The same brown eyes alight with hope and love, the same golden skin glistening in the light of the sun, the same tremor in his voice as he gives voice to a question that he fears the answer to. 

You pause a moment in thought. “Jeonghan would make an excellent husband,” you say, consdiering the possibility out loud. Wonwoo's face falls; a subtle almost imperceptible shift in his expression. Fear of an unknown solidifying into fear of an almost certainty in his mind.

He clears his throat, nodding, "he would." The tremor in his voice remains even as he tries to hide it, speaking softly and trying to steel his gaze. "You would be," he stammers, averting his eyes back towards the bark of the tree, “you would be an excellent match."

"We would, but Wonwoo," you say, catching his attention again with the mention of his name. You capture his gaze once more as you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. Your fingers itch to reach out and take his hand in yours; standing here alone in the middle of a copse of trees you're already laughing in the face of all decency. All it would take is one of you to reach out–skin to skin–as you had when you were children. Without care, without worry. No thought to anything save the moment. Save the feeling that trembles in the space between you. 

"Wonwoo," you begin again, steadying your hands at your side, "how could I marry him when I'm still in love with you?"

The dawn of realisation breaks over his face–clearing away the storm clouds that had been brewing behind his eyes–and his mouth falls open in silent shock. You stand there, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun as it filters through the tops of the trees overhead. Trees that have witnessed your growth together through life; running wild as children, escaping your parents as youths, and sharing your first, fumbling kiss at fourteen years old after racing each other through the rain to the solace of the grove. Trees that now stand witness as Wonwoo finally speaks, breaking the silence that had stretched taut between you for a moment–a silence filled with so many unspoken memories and words. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice a mere breath in the air; if you hadn’t been standing so close already you might not have heard him. 

You reach forward, allowing your itching fingers to finally grasp onto his–the shock of his warm hands in your own sending a chill over your body. Slowly, you raise his hand to your lips and press a chaste kiss to the knuckles, murmuring a soft “yes,” into his skin there. 

All the awkwardness of youth is gone; the stiff hands, the hesitation, all of it melts into the past as Wonwoo raises a gentle hand to your cheek, bringing you towards him. A sharp inhale in the wake of anticipation, and then your lips meet. His warmth sinks into you as you press forward into the kiss, deepening it as you feel the flood of feelings held back for years pour forth.

Wonwoo pulls back with a smile that lights up the browns of his irises as he looks at you. “What would your mother think of this?” he teases, entwining his fingers with yours. 

“Don’t ruin this please,” you grimace, and he laughs–bright and clear before pulling you back to him. You feel his smile against your lips and sink into the warmth of it, wrapping your arms around him and allowing the world outside to melt away. No thoughts of your family, no thoughts of your past, no thoughts of the future–just here and now, in the arms of the one you’ve loved and waited for. 

And it’s in this moment, as Wonwoo encircles you in his arms, that you know you’ve made the right choice. 

© 2024, neoneun-au. all rights reserved.

if you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging and letting me know. its what keeps me writing

[monocaelia]

fragile.

' you have broken down my defenses, and i don’t really resent it. ' - vita sackville west

in which you really don't want to care about him and his careless attitude, but you always find yourself coming back to him. always. feat. diluc ragnvindr & gn!reader w.c : 5k warnings : childhood friends to lovers, diluc lore spoilers, minor angst but ends w fluff, diluc ragnvindr. note : happy new year! sorry for the delay hehe, but this is for @seraphiism's 2023 collab event !! please support the other authors and enjoy the fic ^^

your mother had always instructed you to stay close to her side, to never stray far away from her lest you find yourself in trouble with the master of the winery or the other servants working the orchards and tending to the land of the estate.

but with a beautiful land of ripe grapes and friendly staff greeting you as you rush past them, how could you ever just sit still beside your mother as she did her job around the winery?

the late summer breeze rushes past your face as you weave through the wooden stakes holding the wiry vines of grapes above you. the warm sun rays heat your skin as you leap over the small rocks that litter the passage leading into the main area of the ragnvindr estate. the wind whispers in your ear, making you grin as your little legs take you wherever it guides you.

you feel free, the wind pushing past your wings to lead you to your newest adventure around the manor.

your feet land firmly on the grounds behind the manor when you hear the gentle sniffles coming from behind a couple of barrels. despite your mother's warnings echoing in your head, you take gentle steps towards the sound as curiosity takes over.

you're not expecting to see a young boy with fiery red hair and matching eyes that hold the warmest, flickering fire glaring up at you with tears at the corner of his eyes and holding a bleeding knee.

"...are you okay?" you ask, kneeling down beside him. you begin to frown when he pulls his knee away from you and his glare deepens.

"i don't need your help," the young boy hisses at you and you roll your eyes.

"really? you don't need my help even though you're crying in a corner all by yourself?" you scoff at him. he doesn't say anything in retaliation and you take it as an okay for you to help him.

you pull a handkerchief from your pocket; nothing too fancy as your family couldn't afford the finest silks like the nobles could. it's cotton, white, and had a simple design of a little sparrow emroidered in the corner.

"i don't have any bandages on me," you mumble softly. your little fingers gently wrap the handkerchief around the young boy's knee several times before tying a small knot on it. without even blinking, you lean down to kiss the wounded knee.

"what are you doing?!" the young boy exclaims, yanking his knee away.

"kissing it better," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "my mother always does that when i get hurt. she says it takes the pain away and makes it heal faster."

"that's stupid," the boy mumbles with a glare.

"says the one who tripped and fell and hurt himself," you argue back. you stick your tongue out when the boy shouts out a 'hey!' and roll your eyes.

"who are you and what are you doing here anyways?" you ask the young boy, kneeling beside him once more. he's still glaring at you, but it's less hostile than it was a few moments ago. "my mom said strangers aren't allowed to be here."

the young boys eyes are red, vibrantly so. the life in them burn brightly, reminding you of a fire as it flickers with warmth and a promise of a brighter tomorrow. like the hearth of a fireplace, the young boy seems to be the incarnate of warmth itself with the way he's filled with the flame of life.

"i live here, dummy," he quips back at you with a frown and your eyes widen.

"really? i've never seen you around, and i've been everywhere on this estate," you reply, bringing your thumb and forefinger to your chin as you remain deep in thought. truly, the only people you've managed to catch were all adults working for the master of this winery. never once have you seen a kid running along.

with a bright smile of your own, you lean towards the young boy. "we should be friends! since i don't know anyone else to play with here, we can play!"

the boy looks you up and down with furrowed brows, but he slowly nods. "...okay," he mumbles and you grin brighter.

"great! what's your name then? i'm-"

your name is shouted as hurried footsteps rush towards you. your mother pulls you aside as she looks at the young boy in front of you with panicked eyes.

"young master, i'm so sorry if my child said or did anything to hurt you," your mother says in a rush. she pushes your head down to bow in front of the young boy. she hisses something into your ear and you stutter out your own apology too, even if you did nothing wrong.

you find out the young boy you helped earlier that day was the son of the nobleman your mother works for, diluc ragnvindr. apparently, he's some big deal because he's the young master, but what kind of big deal hurts himself and hides between the barrels instead of asking for help?

you huff as you kick your feet sitting down by your bedside. because of the whole debacle, your mother had ordered you to stay inside to prevent even more debacles from happening even if you explained that the young master getting injured was not your fault. the sun shining from your windowsill feels so far away as you stare outside and ponder what to do.

until you hear a light pattering sound come from your window.

your curiosity is piqued as your small frame approaches the glass panes, wide eyes peeking over the wooden frame as your eyes scan the scenery.

the foliage of the trees surrounding your home cast shadows over your house with small animals running back and forth from the greenery above, causing the rustling of the leaves. the sun trickles in through the gaps of the leaves and your eyes settle on the boy with red hair standing outside your window, a small rock in his hand.

there's a proper bandage on his knee now as it was properly dressed, and his fiery eyes meet yours. he looks hesitant at first, but his brows furrow and his lips open to prepare to speak.

"...come outside and play with me," he tells you when you push open the window in your bedroom, a slight pout in his voice.

"you got me in trouble," you reply shortly, "and now i'm stuck inside because of you."

the young boy bites his lip, pondering what he could do or say to make things better. from the way he's thinking hard enough for you to see steam coming out of his ears, you could tell that he was trying really hard to think of anything to say.

"i'm sorry," he mumbles, kicking the dirt with his shoe.

"sorry, what was that?" you ask, holding your ear out.

the young master huffs, his cheeks puffed out in annoyance. he stomps his foot before-

"i said 'i'm sorry'!"

you smile at him smugly before crossing your arms on the windowsill. it was amusing to see the supposed young master like this; for such a renowned young boy, he was such a cry baby.

"okay, i can't go outside, but we can still play inside if that's okay," you tell him with a bright smile. "i'll let you in!"

"diluc..." he says, red eyes meeting yours. he reminds you of a fire with the way he's looking at you; so full of life but almost burning you if you get him too riled up. but the flames are tame now compared to the anxious flickers you saw earlier before he apologized.

"okay; i'll let you in then, diluc!"

ever since that warm summer, you and diluc have been inseparable; every afternoon is spent exploring the land of the winery but never straying far enough to get lost or end up on the other side of the lake where monsters lurk.

you were there the evening master crepus brought home another young boy around your age home; his blue hair reminding you of the blueberries your mother bought from mondstadt for you to eat. it was a bit of an adjustment with another young boy to play with, but soon you got along well with him as well.

his bright blue eyes always sparkling as you invite him to play alongside diluc and his little hand held in yours. he reminded you of the stars above with the way his eyes twinkle with youth and reflect the night sky above you when the three of you snuck out of your homes to stargaze with your hands holding onto each other until the morning sun began to rise over the horizon.

with your hands held tightly with diluc's and kaeya's, your youth together was only just beginning.

it's a cool morning where the early frost is beginning to melt as the sun continues to rise over the horizon, spreading her warmth and love across the fields of dawn winery. the young master has been gone for a couple days now; something about some sort of knight exam or whatever happening in the city of mondstadt. you would have gone with him, but your duties lie in caring for the winery whilst your friends head off to the heart of mondstadt to finish their training and hopefully become part of the knights of favonius that crepus ragnvindr had always encouraged them to be a part of.

you know having their father's praise meant a lot to your dear friends and you could only hope for the best for both diluc and kaeya as they were off doing their duties.

your ears perk as your name is shouted through the winery along with the sound of hooves rapidly against the dirt road. over in the distance, you can make out a red haired young man galloping over on his steed at near full speed. with wide eyes, you try to tell him to slow down before you get trampled and-

"oof!" you groan as a heavy body slams into you, both his weight and warmth tackling you to the ground. you're thankful that his arms cradled your head as you both go tumbling into the dirt road underneath you and the only pain was that of your body against the floor.

you don't even get to question why diluc had tackled you to the floor when he pulls his face away from you, giving you a clear view of his expression. he's smiling brightly, a wide grin on his face and his eyes of rubies twinkling brighter than any flame you've ever seen. the flames of his soul flicker brilliantly in his excitement and you can't help your own match his energy.

"i got in!" diluc says, his boyish smile growing wider. the small divots in his cheeks are cute and evidence of how hard he was grinning at the news. "i passed the trials got to do the oath swear and- oh, i wish you could've been there!"

despite growing up into a more mature-ish teen, it is moments like these where you're reminded that even as time passes and he grows taller than you, diluc is still the bright eyed boy that you've known since you were young. he looks so cute, in an endearing way, when he eagerly tells you all about his trials and how tough they were.

you really hope that the young master stays the same as he is now.

with a gentle hand, you reach up to ruffle his hair; it's soft to the touch and your eyes don't miss the way diluc pauses in his excitement as your fingers weave into his hair. you assume it's because he's not used to your praise and brush it off, even as he leans into your touch and waits for your words.

"why don't we head inside first? i want to hear everything that happened, but inside where it's warm and comfortable rather than on the dirt floor, diluc," you say to him, a slight lilt in your voice. you laugh softly when you see his cheeks flush a little in embarrassment before he gets off of you.

"i apologize, i was just so eager to tell you," diluc says softly, reaching down to offer a hand to you. you take his hand; you can feel the natural warmth emanating from his body through his gloves and, before you know it, you've been pulled up from the ground. his arm wraps around your waist to assure that you're balanced as you stand up.

"i just," diluc begins. you watch him as the young master of the winery averts his gaze briefly before he meets yours, warm rubies enveloping you with nothing but the comfort he holds for you ever since you were both younger.

"i wanted you to be the first person i told and to tell you."

a wave of something pleasant washes over you knowing that diluc, the heir of dawn winery and one of the most hardworking and talented man in all of mondstadt, rushed back home on horseback in the early hours of this chilly morning just to announce the news to you in person.

just so he could be your first in regards to his good news.

you laugh softly as something warm settles into the pit of your heart, squeezing his hand in yours as you tug him towards the main mansion of the winery estate with no intentions of letting his go for the time being.

even with the budding flowers of youth begin to bloom and the happiness that was promised to you has yet to come, you would have never expected for the spring of your youth to end so abruptly.

it happened all so quickly; crepus ragnvindr wielding a delusion, his death and the anger of diluc exploding, and the fall of your friendship with kaeya and diluc.

you weren't given the details of either one's situation, just a witness of a near death experience and the unforgiven apologies spewing from kaeya's lips as he held his injured eye in the midst of the rain washing down on them as if mourning both the loss of crepus ragnvindr and the wound wedged deep between the relationship of the ragnvindr brothers.

it was like in a mere second, the once warm diluc that would blush and hold your hand so delicately had been wiped away and replaced by a diluc grieving the loss of his father as the flames of his anger and betrayal of both his own brother and the knights of favonius for trying to brush the murder of his father under the rug explode and engulf his entire being.

he doesn't even give you a proper goodbye, leaving only a letter dedicated to you and his vision dimly glowing on his nightstand behind.

it feels like a fever dream when you hear the news of diluc finally returning after all of these years. you don't even hear it from the man himself; rather, from the whispers and excited chatter that the master of dawn winery had returned home.

part of you is excited at the news that he's alive; with no news of his existence after he ran from home in search of the truth behind his father's death other than the faint glow and warmth radiating from his vision clutched in your hands when you missed and worried for him, you were ecstatic knowing that he truly was home now.

that he's alive and breathing and still with you.

and yet, another part of you twinges in pain that he didn't come to you and announce that he was home. he had left you without even a single goodbye, not even bothering to visit you and explain his situation before leaving you questioning whether or not he even cared about how you felt about him.

of course, you aren't entitled to being the first to know, but after growing up together and usually being the first to know of everything in your youth, your heart aches knowing you were one of the last to hear of this at the winery.

it doesn't help knowing that you have not even caught a glimpse of diluc after his supposed return.

so imagine your surprise coming home one evening, the cool night air biting against your skin as you return home after a long day's work, seeing a figure leaning against your home.

at first, your blood turns cold as your heart races in your ears; it couldn't be anyone bad... the winery is a safe place and any suspicious figures are dealt with accordingly before they even step close to the winery grounds. you don't even have anything to defend yourself against if they did happen to be someone with malicious intent.

you take a step back to turn tail back to the estate but freeze when you begin to recognize the figure outside your door; red curls resembling that of flames flickering in the air and warm ruby eyes that you could recognize anywhere. despite standing in the dim evening light and having only the glow of the lantern outside of your home, you could make out the injuries through his dark clothing.

just what did he get himself into?

you hesitate at first, but eventually let your instincts take control as you begin to walk over to your home. it's as if you were both in the blooming stages of your youth again, bringing diluc home to mend his wounds after training for the knight exams.

caring for him was like muscle memory to you, even after all of the events leading to him leaving you in the dust.

you don't say a word as you open the wooden door and guide diluc in, pulling out a chair by the fireplace. wordlessly, he sits in it as you leave to prepare to clean his wounds.

your fingers shake ever so slightly as you remove diluc's coat from his shoulders, the heavy fabric falling to the floor with a thud. you apologize softly as you begin to unbutton his shirt and, as each button is undone and reveals more of his skin, your fingers begin to flinch every time your skin brushes against the skin of his chest.

his breath is warm, you can feel it against your skin as you slide off the remaining clothes on his torso. his chest is bare to you, and normally you would be gawking at how much he has physically changed since you were younger. but you cannot help but stare at how much he had been injured in the last few years you have seen him.

aside from the scratches from the most recent scuffle which led him to your quaint home beside his manor, scars litter his chest and arms. although most of them are healed, the damage that he had experienced was still evident on his skin and you hold back a gasp at how deep some of them had been; there's a huge scar that runs diagonally from the top of his chest to his stomach and you could already feel your stomach churning at the pain.

you couldn't imagine having to sustain those injuries for so long, and being alone through it all.

and, now, you hope that the injuries currently on his body heal faster knowing that he isn't alone this time. not when he has you by his side.

diluc's eyes burn holes into your skull as he watches you dip a towel into the bucket of warm water at your side; you pretend to ignore him. twisting the soaked cloth to rid it of the excess water, you gently begin to clean the wounded man in front of you.

a man you consider an old friend, but you fear he doesn't hold the same sentiment. not anymore.

it's quiet, the only sound shared between the two of you being the occasional sound of the towel dumped back into the bucket and the crackling of the fireplace in your living space. the moon casts her illuminating rays through the window of your home, but her light is nothing compared to the comfort of the fire in your home.

the comfort of the man in front of you, even if you didn't want to ever admit it to him now.

the glass jars containing the disinfecting ointment for diluc's wounds clink gently as you open them to spread over his skin.

"why are you helping me?" his voice breaks the thick silence between you two. his sudden question makes your hands pause, but you don't raise your head as you think of something to reply.

"and let an old friend bleed to death outside my door? you think i'm that heartless, diluc?" you ask him. your fingers resume their previous job of slathering the medicine over his new wounds. "i could say the same to you, why show up to my house like this?"

another silence follows your words and you assume he's done interrogating you for your kindness to him.

"i had nowhere else to turn to," diluc says after a while. your eyes catch his fists tighten on his lap as he takes another breath. "you've shown me nothing but kindness even after i was so cruel to you."

you exhale softly at his words. of course he thinks dealing with his own problems this entire time was the worst thing he could do to you. if you were being honest, it did hurt when he seemingly pretended you didn't exist or pushed you away when he had returned home from whatever he was dealing with away from mondstadt.

you had hoped for a joyful reunion, one filled with tears as you finally welcome home your old friend. but he never announced when he was coming home and you only figured out through the grapevine. he was never home when you looked for him and when you finally caught a glimpse of him, your eyes would meet for barely a second before he rushed off elsewhere and leaving you in the dust.

according to kaeya, his brother whom you've kept in touch with throughout the years. diluc had changed even more ever since his return; he kept his feelings to himself and his face remained 'constipated,' as per kaeya's words, due to his inner turmoil.

but from everyone else, he had always been so kind to them. the old women in the city would always praise how gentle the young master was, helping them walk across the city or carrying their groceries if they needed it. the young women also constantly swooned over how mysterious, yet warm-hearted diluc was; seemingly cold in nature but treating children and animals with such tenderness.

"it did hurt knowing you were ignoring me," you confess as your fingers begin to unravel the gauze to wrap over his wounds. "even if you wanted everyone to think you've changed and have become cold and guarded, i know you're still the same caring boy i've known since we were young. i hope so, at least."

his skin is warm to the touch, another feature you realize has never changed about your old friend. with bated breath, you lift your head to let your gaze finally settle on diluc's own. just as you predicted, despite the physical changes, you can still see the diluc you once knew within the scarred and older man in front of you.

diluc has definitely gotten older; the baby fat on his face slimming down slightly to reveal a more defined jaw and the bags under his eyes were evidence of his restless nights away from mondstadt. there are light scars on his face, nothing too deep to keep from his princely demeanor but are definitely proof of a troubling journey, and he has grown taller than the last time you had seen him in your youth.

but one thing that has never changed is the fire the lights up his eyes. so red and warm, you're tempted to hold his face in your hands to get a closer look. they're so vibrant, alive like the embers that flicker in the fireplace that lights your home, as they stare back at you in anticipation of your next words.

"you would never intend to hurt me on purpose. so if i should have to wait forever for you to be ready to come to me like you've had in the past, i don't mind doing so."

diluc's stoic expression wavers at your words. a sliver of guilt shines in his eyes and he looks away briefly as he digests the words you've spoken to him.

he couldn't tell you the reasons why he always kept you at arm's length; was he wary of your intentions for always being kind to him despite how he treated you or was he so used to people close to him lying to his face that he feared you were also pulling a facade?

or was he scared of you sharing the same fate as his family should he loved you with his heart on his sleeve, a fate of being held in his arms as he feels the warmth that once comforted him when you were young fade away like the embers in the hearth of a fireplace?

diluc did not want to know and he did not need to know, not when you're looking at him with such trust and compassion that he finds it hard to even hold any distrust towards you.

his dear friend from his youth who was always there to pick him up when he fell.

you did not break through the walls shielding diluc's heart for you had already found your place beside it, holding he's life with your gentle hands and protecting his soul's flames with your faith in him.

"i'm sorry," diluc apologizes to you, looking into your eyes. one of your hands is grabbed to be held by him, rough and scarred and so calloused as it held the memories and grief of what he went through to become like the man in front of you, the gauze held in your other. his warmth seeps into your skin, heating up your skin as the flames of his heart grow and encase your entire being within its embrace.

your lips part to say something, but he continues to speak.

"i thought keeping you away would benefit us both," he takes a breath as his eyes scan over your own features, taking in all that has changed since the last time he saw you in your adolescent years; how much you've grown both physically and emotionally. you look so much more mature than the naughty child who ran around breaking their mother's rules just to play with him or the dear friend who would bicker with him endlessly during their teenage years.

the years of their beautiful youth, years that he wished so dearly he could go back to and live in that peace for eternity.

but while the winds continue to blow and move time along, you've continued to stay the same despite the change.

you're still so kind, so inviting to someone like him.

you treat him like the friend you've remembered in your adolescence, even if his hands were bloodied with vengeance and his heart is scarred and wounded from betrayal and deceit.

he is still diluc, just diluc in your bright and beautiful eyes; he always had been.

his hands squeeze yours tightly, hoping that he has the courage to say what he wants to say.

"i don't deserve your kindness, or your love. but if i imagine a life where i have succeeded in pushing you away and we no longer talk," diluc begins, the fire in his eyes wavering as they hold your gaze.

"i don't think i would ever want to live a life where you're not in it."

diluc's words shake you to your core; it's something you wouldn't expect him to say now after all these years. as much as you want to immediately forgive him and push back the years of agony, waiting for any sign that he was alive while leaving his vision behind, or even watching as he ignores you despite being home after all these years, your heart aches knowing knowing he even did this to you in the first place.

"how can i know that you won't leave me like you did?" your voice is small despite being so close to him. in fear of having him see how much his actions have affected you, you face tilts down to your lap to avoid his gaze. "i can't just wait for you forever, it hurts sitting here all these years with a promise i don't even know if you'll keep."

you take a shaky breath as you speak again.

"you didn't even say goodbye."

your voice breaks as you say those words and you can feel the burning sensation as the tears threaten to spill over your eyes.

there's a moment of silence between the two of you before you hear him gently call out your name. his free hand reaches up to cup your face, tentatively guiding you to face him. he says your name again, softly as if even saying your name too harshly would cause you to break, and you hesitantly meet his gaze.

there's a tenderness that you recognize deep in those fiery pools in his eyes, one that flickers like the hearth of your fireplace and suddenly you feel like you're experiencing the most beautiful yet fleeting moment in life once more. diluc's thumb gently presses against your cheek to wipe away any tears that overflowed from your already wet eyes.

his pinky links with your own, a childish thing to do but one that you still hold dear to your own heart.

a promise between the two of you bathed in firelight and your youth reflected back at you in the shape of the young man sitting before you.

[justauthoring]

Hii, can i ask for a little comfort drabble with Sanemi, where his s/o has nightmares and she wakes up crying, so he comforts her

a/n: we gonna be rocking with the drabbles for a hot second until my knee is healed lol

also, implied spoilers for the final battle but nothing is explicitly stated!

despite the tremble of your body, you’re being held tightly the second your eyes flutter open.

it’s dark which tells you it’s some time in the middle of the night and it’s quiet, nothing but the sound of the wind rustling outside sanemi’s estate which provide a light lull.

you can feel sanemi’s firm chest pressed against your back and the weight of his arm over your waist, the palm of his hand pressed against your bare stomach where it slips underneath your yukata. he’s warm and present and reassuring in all the ways he normally is, and usually that’s enough but the nightmares seem to be a little tougher that night because you’re still shaking and you know you’re crying.

a shaky exhale leaves your lips, staring out into the pitch black as your mind recalls the nightmare that had plagued you seconds before. dark and isolating and blood—there was always blood—as the demons raged and you lost everything you loved right in front of you.

defenceless to do anything.

“a nightmare?”

you hadn’t known sanemi was awake so his voice startles you, a gasp leaves your lips as he shifts and gives you room to turn and face him. his arm remains around you, unrelenting in his grip but you don’t mind.

even in the dark you can see the frown on his face when he sees your tears.

“you’re shaking,” he whispers into the night—soft and so unlike who sanemi used to be. the truth was, neither of you were the people you were before that fateful battle and there’s not much of a reason for sanemi’s anger when at a result of it, he’d lost one of the most important things. “was it bad?”

you nod small. “it was that night. all over again.” you take in a shaky breath, chest stuttering, and raise your hands to your face. “there was blood everywhere.”

sanemi let’s go of your waist, trading it for grabbing your hands into his own and gently coaxing them back down to your sides. then, he uses that hand to brush away the tears relentlessly streaming down your cheeks.

“it’s okay,” he whispers. “that nights over and you’re here. with me.”

and with broken eyes, you meet his equally the same ones. “all the people we lost—”

“shh, shh,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “don’t think about it. at the very least, we have each other. that’s enough for me.”

you nod, eyes still tearing and blurry, but nod all the same. because it is enough for you too—it’s just hard to accept the loss even all these months later.

sanemi watches you for a moment longer, brushing your tears and then he shifts so he’s on his back. he guides you as you move, pressing yourself against his side, head resting on his chest as you wrap your arms around him. sanemi’s firm arm locks around you again, elating you with that feeling of security once more, and uses his free hand to lace his fingers with yours.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into the following silence. “i promise.”

and the loss remains, the blood too—that night will never leave you and you don’t think there’ll ever be a time where you aren’t plagued by the nightmares as a result. but sanemi’s words leave you with a instant flood of relief all the same because even if you lost everyone, you found him as a result so you aren’t truly alone.

that’s enough for you.

[vsimp]

greed (nsfw 18+)

pairing: kamisato ayato x f!reader word count: 1.3k genre: smut minors pls do not interact

Ayato knew that it was his duty to give an heir to the Kamisato Clan. It was one of the reasons why he had agreed to a marriage in the first place. He always kept his expectations low, as he knew a marriage with love was more rare when it came to nobles like him.

When he had met you, however, you had exceeded his expectations. He was never the type of man to get so close to just anybody, maintaining his boundaries with everybody else. He even kept you at a distance for a bit, but then you broke down his barriers, loved him for who he truly was, not who he displayed himself to be.

That was why he was no stranger when it came to you. You made him smile on the days when he was stressed out, and you never judged him for any of his weaknesses, the ones in which he had done everything to conceal. You helped him around the household by assisting him with his work, despite him telling you that it was unnecessary; yet you kept telling him that it was no problem at all and that it was your duty as his wife and lady of the estate.

He was no stranger to the nuances of romance, finding some acts quite puzzling, but he never questioned you as you pulled him to rest his head on your lap at times, or when you would ask him to play some strange “pocky” game with him, only for your lips to sneakily make their way against his once you “accidentally got too close.” He started to crave for your affection more and more the closer he got to you. You were like the moonlight to his darkest days, all of the stars that graced the skies in the endless void. You were his only flower amongst fields of grass and the rainwater to his arid soil. At some point during your relationship, he realized that you were more than just any other woman to him; you were his light, the love of his life.

He wanted to give you everything you could possibly dream of and spoil you rotten, for your smile was enough to get him through even his hardest days.

Ayato, however, had always expressed some hesitation when it came to producing an heir. He didn’t know if it was fear or nervousness that set him back. All he knew was that he didn’t want to lose you for whatever reason, be it from pressuring or scaring you away when you weren’t ready to get intimate.

But as you sat in bed with him, the dim amber light illuminating all of your features, as the silk robe slid down your shoulders to the sheets, he felt like his breath was being taken away. You told him that it was okay, that you were ready for him, but he still held some reserve. After all, he had spent his entire life all by himself, and then you somehow came in and managed to rock the world he built so sturdy that it seemed impenetrable. Was he truly ready to be vulnerable in front of someone, just as you showed your very own vulnerability to him at this very moment? 

And then you kissed him. Slowly and gently, your lips moved with his. Your warmth emanated from your body as you encouraged his hands to caress your soft skin. There were no other thoughts running through his mind but you, you, and you.

He was turning greedy. He craved you more and more. He wanted to drown in your lips, drown in the sound of your moans. His arm wrapped around your back, pulling you closer and closer to him. 

“Ayato…” You whispered softly to him. “I love you…”

He felt his resolve to resist you waver right then and there, his breath trembling slightly as he felt something in his heart burst open. He loved you, he loved you so much that he was willing to do anything for you.

Ayato truly wanted to spoil you rotten, to let you sink into pure pleasure from him, and him alone. He kissed you, his tongue departing your lips as he lapped up every single drop of your taste. Your sweet moans filled his ears as his hands wandered everywhere, from your breasts, pinching your nipples, down to your thighs. You felt so soft, so supple and welcoming. He wanted to worship your body, drench you in all of his unchaste desires, making you completely his.

He wanted to possess you.

These thoughts were uncouth and remained hidden in the deepest parts of his mind. He didn’t want to frighten you, but his actions and the way he looked at you had spoken otherwise, betraying his desire to upkeep his composure.

His hands started making its way down your body before rubbing you through your underwear, giving you shockwaves of pleasure as you moaned sweetly in his ears. His tongue lapped up the sensitive buds of your nipples as he started to rub at your clit, before slipping his hand under the thin fabric, dipping one finger and then two into your wetness. He was breathing harder from how much he desired you, and his hot breath beat against your skin, letting out low groans whenever you whimpered or cried out. 

Sweat started to gather at his forehead as he pulled your underwear off, before he lapped up your slit, making you moan even louder. He drank you as if you were sweet honey, oozing all over his tongue while he licked your most sensitive areas. His tongue even buried deep in your pussy, all whilst his hands gripped your thighs, pushing them as far back as they could go as he allowed himself further and further into your sopping cunt. His lips kissed your clit, your moans filled his ears as he felt himself growing harder and harder. Even after you cum, he continues to devour you, savoring your every taste.

When he departed, he looked down at you as you pant, trying to recover from your high. Your body looked utterly enticing, and he knew he had to have you.

But before anything, he wanted to throw in some tenderness, to convey his true feelings for you.

“My love…” Ayato uttered softly as he pressed his forehead to yours, his elbows on either side of your head as he positioned himself in between your legs, all while his azure blue eyes stared straight into yours. “I love you very much…”

You’d let out a gasp as his cock entered, before any sound you could make was blocked by his lips. His lips kissed you so gently despite how your body had started to tremble in pleasure.

Ayato would start panting, his groans growing louder as he buried his face in your neck, his hips starting to move at a slow pace. Your body would rock in time with his thrusts. His teeth would mark and claim you, leaving pink and red bites all down your neck. Your pussy would slosh with wet noises as he slid his cock deeper and deeper, in and out, your sweet moans filling his ears.

“Y/n…” He groaned, his half lidded eyes stared down at you in pure lust. “You’re so beautiful, my love…”

He would adjust his tempo and strength, holding back based off of any discomfort you may or may not feel. Once you’ve fully acclimated to him, he wouldn’t be able to hold back, increasing his thrusts until he was pounding into you all whilst playing with your body. He would caress your entire body, pinch your nipples, squeeze your breasts, anything to make your pussy clench tightly against him, to which he would hiss in reaction to. He would fuck you hard and deep, changing his angles based off of your reaction, make you cum so hard until the only words that you could mutter out was his name. He would turn your brain into pure putty, knowing very well that the only thing wracking through you brain at the moment was just him and his hard cock inside of you.

And whenever you came, he would kiss you deeply, his tongue intertwining with yours as his seed filled your inner walls, coating you so lusciously in his sinful desires.

That was right, if you two wanted to make an heir, he would have to claim you like this every night. He was looking forward to pumping his children into you, and the various methods that will get your body wracking in pure pleasure once more.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Could you maybe write like obsessive gp Donna x Fem reader (they're dating btw)? Like Donna just absolutely going feral on the reader like losing all sense of control idk. No shy Donna chat, we die w feral donna going on abt how much she loves reader n all that, how reader is like a drug to her and she can't live without her bcs she's like hella hooked on reader. Waiter waiter! Smut pls! (U don't have to do it if ur not comfortable w it dw)

Yessss!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes :)))))

Trust me

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, slightly dark themes, slightly dark Donna, jealousy...

Word count: 6,763

Summary: You love that obsessive and jealous doll maker...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

The night covered that place with a sinister breeze. The sound of the waterfall seemed to bounce off the rock with more intensity. The cold was starting to be unbearable. Your walk was slow but determined, you were returning home.

After a fun night with friends, the way back was always relaxing, despite the shivers that crossing that forest alone caused you. Well, actually you could consider yourself almost lucky to have left the estate. It wasn’t something especially usual.

You sighed in relief as you approached the old mansion. The windows didn’t reflect light, only darkness, there seemed to be no one awake, good.

Slowly, you opened the doors, whose creaking echoed disturbingly in the old house. No light, no dolls in sight.

With extreme care not to disturb your girlfriend's rest, you closed them again, walking almost on tiptoe and adjusting your eyes to the darkness.

Everything seemed calm, it seemed like the house itself was comfortable with the silence, something that shouldn't surprise you. Step by step, you walked through the living room, with the same subtle step, not wanting to disturb that calm. It was a pity that it didn't last long.

“Shit!” you screamed when, unexpectedly, the light in the living room turned on, and in the middle of it there was someone waiting for you, Donna. “Ugh, hey, Donna, don't do that,” you protested with a hand on your chest, smiling embarrassingly

“What you don't want me to do?” she asked with a cold look, with a dark pose that startled you. “I was waiting for you.”

“I see, but... Did you have to scare me to death?” you said calmer, approaching the lady in black, trying to steal a kiss from her, something she prevented, studying your gaze.

“You've been drinking,” she stated, with her only eye fixed on yours, on the shine that was present in them. You laughed and shook your head, moving away from the lady.

“No...” you said without confidence, making a gesture with your hand to emphasize your lie. “Well, maybe.”

“Have you seen what time it is, (Y/N)?” the woman in black asked, with an accusatory look, allowing you to finally capture her lips with yours quickly.

You shrugged, glancing sideways at the clock hanging on the wall.

“Mm, two o'clock,” you whispered embarrassed, with a good girl face.

Donna sighed, crossing her arms.

“It's late, (Y/N), I was really worried about you,” the lady said, approaching slowly, placing a hand on your cheek, checking your condition more closely.

You shook your head with a tired smile, joining your hand to her caresses and sighing, controlling her breathing to calm her down, she seemed nervous.

“Oh, come on, Donna, you have nothing to worry about,” you whispered with a sweet voice, placing your lips on hers again.

She stepped back, shaking her head, frowning.

“Haven’t I? I'm your girlfriend, of course I was worried,” she said with a strange expression, as if you had denied an absolute truth for her.

“I know how to take care of myself, besides, I was with my friends,” you said with a passive tone, leaning on her desk.

The lady in black opened her eye wide, emitting something like an angry growl.

“That's what worries me,” she whispered, looking away, turning her back to you.

You rolled your eyes, resting both your hands on her shoulders, massaging them in a comforting way.

“Donna...” you murmured, continuing with that relaxing massage. “You have to calm down... I'm not a child. Besides, you already know that they are harmless. They would never dare to lay a finger on me. They know who you are.”

The doll maker turned around with a tired sigh, gently grabbing you by the waist, bringing you closer to her.

“If I lost you, I would go crazy, amore mio...” she whispered in your ear, placing her forehead against yours, closing her eye to relax from the contact of her skin with yours. “I love you so much…”

“Oh…” you sighed with a childish smile, moved by her constant declarations of love, wrapping your hands around her neck in a romantic way. “You're not going to lose me… see? I'm here.”

“You're here now, but… What about tomorrow? Will you still be with me?” she asked with a broken voice, caressing you, as if she didn't want to forget the touch of your skin, as if she wanted to remember it in case her fears came true.

You sighed tired of that pessimistic and distrustful attitude, one you had been living with for a long time.

“I'll never get tired of telling you, Donna, I'll never leave,” you whispered in her ear while she hugged you, holding you tightly against her body. “I always come back, and you know it.”

“You always leave again,” she murmured, pushing you away, with a sad look, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “You don't know how much I suffer when I see you walk out the door, when I think about where you are, if you're with someone else...”

“I've told you a thousand times, that's nonsense, I only love you,” you said seriously, cupping her face in your hands, trying, again, to fight against her jealousy, against that absurd fear of losing you.

“Words are something ephemeral, (Y/N),” she commented, letting herself be caressed with distrust. “If you loved me as much as you say, you would stay with me.”

“Okay...” you sighed, looking at her with sincere eyes, trying to convey with your gaze what your words affirmed. “Donna, trust me.”

“I trust you,” she said abruptly, looking at you darkly. “You're the love of my life, and I want you by my side, you told me you'd be by my side.”

“Oh, wow, I thought I was gone,” you joked, something that, of course, she didn't like at all, moving away from you with a growl.

“Are you laughing at me?” Donna asked offended, pressing her lips together, with fury beginning to run through her body.

“Not exactly,” you said, ignoring the danger of that posture, of that look. “I laugh at your stupid paranoia, Donna.”

“It’s not stupid, just look at you, you're so… Prefect…” she protested, blinking nervously, shaking her head, as if you had said something stupid. “Wanting you to be only mine is paranoia?”

“No…” you murmured, looking at your nails with disinterest. “But believing that everyone wants to flirt with me is.”

“Everyone wants to flirt with you, that's an irrefutable truth,” she said with a proud pose, looking away in a childish way. “Everyone wants to take you away from me.”

“That sounds like paranoia…” you said with irony, arching your eyebrows. “Stop… Worrying that much.”

“(Y/N)…” the lady in black sighed, controlling her agitated breathing. “You still don't understand, do you? You are the only thing that matters to me, the only thing I think about, the only person I love… You are… You are my addiction, my light, the only reason that makes me smile. I think you don't realize how much I suffer when I see that you are not with me, when I’m not able to hear your voice.”

“Wow…” you sighed with a shy smile, your cheeks flushed by those words. You would never get used to that melodic voice, to those words that repeated over and over again, how much she loved you. “Keep talking…”

“Being without you is like the air is missing, I can't breathe, I can't feel anything if you're not by my side, if my my hand is not caressing your skin,” the brunette continued with a smile, slowly approaching, attacking your waist again.

You laughed nervously, biting your lip at those seductive words.

“If you weren't so tender...” you sighed, letting her arms hug you, leaning so your head rested on her shoulder, to fill you with her lavender essence. She pulled away abruptly, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“What? What would happen?” she asked worriedly.

You repressed the impulse to roll your eyes again, silencing her absurd worries with a romantic, slow, soft kiss, noticing how her body relaxed a bit.

“Nothing, Donna,” you said with a tired voice, yawning. “Well… It’s been a long day and I’d like to go to bed, are you coming?”

You moved to walk towards the elevator, being stopped by a strong grip on your wrist, one that kept you in place.

“Let me go, Donna…” you sighed amused, letting the brunette pull you towards her body again, surrounding you with her arms.

“I would never let you go, tesoro,” she said, with a soft voice, approaching your lips to devour them wildly, to kiss you with passion, with eagerness, to let out her fears, her feelings…

You kissed her back, trying to keep up with her fierce rhythm, trying to say with that gesture how much you loved her, how absurd her worries were. You took a breath as those kisses deepened, as they went down your neck without wanting to stop.

“Hey, take it easy, darling,” you said amused, separating yourself from a Donna, who was about to lose control again, if she hadn't already.

“I can't calm down with you by my side... You make my heart beat so fast, (Y/N),” she whispered in your ear, giving you one last kiss before turning you around abruptly, pushing you against the desk.

“What are you doing?” you asked curiously, trying to stand up, without success.

Her hands tilted your head towards the wood again before traveling down your body, caressing your waist, resting on it while the lady in black leaned on you.

You knew what her intentions were. You knew that when something worried her, that the fear of losing you was too much for her, she acted that way, wanting to claim you as hers in a wild way, wanting to feel you in a unique way, reminding you over and over again that you would never belong to anyone else.

“Taci,” Donna said to you with a dark voice, slipping her hands into your dress, lifting it up and leaving you exposed, at her mercy. “You are mine…”

“Couldn't I be yours tomorrow?” you asked jokingly, unable to stop her fingers from pulling down your underwear, her caresses from ceasing to be innocent. “I'm a bit tired.”

“Tomorrow is too late, tesoro…” she murmured, playing with the erection that was already pressing against your body. “I need you now.”

“Wait… Donna!” you squealed when, without warning, she entered you with a silent moan, stretching your walls unexpectedly. Of course, your body didn't object to that intrusion, welcoming it warmly as always.

“Shut up,” she said, pulling your hair gently, tilting your head up as she moved so your body would better adapt to hers. “Così bagnata, mm? Il tuo corpo mi ama…”

“Of course it loves you…” you said, starting to pant from that improvised pleasure, with your hips moving involuntarily to keep up with her thrusts. “That's because I love you, Donna.”

She moaned with pleasure hearing the words that came out of your lips, feeling your body adapting to her, confirming the truth of your statements. You may not have planned to end the night like this, but you weren't going to complain, of course.

“You… You don’t know… What it's like… To love you that much…” she murmured, rambling among moans, grabbing your hips to move them as she pleased. The sound of the old desk moving added a few more degrees of temperature to that dark room. “…Thinking about you all the time…”

“Mm…” you moaned, closing your eyes and letting yourself be carried away by her movements, by her desire to love you, to show you that unconditional and irrational love Donna felt for you. You would never blame her for that, her paranoia didn't matter. You didn't care about anything but her, even if you didn't tell her as much as she did to you.

“Don’t, don't leave me again, (Y/N),” the lady in black moaned, increasing her speed, the roughness of those intense thrusts, resting her hand on your back so you wouldn't move, so you wouldn't stop being hers. “I can't live without you…”

“Donna,” you moaned, repressing the pleasure you felt with a closed fist on the wooden table, sweating, feeling loved, full of her. “The things you say… They just drive me crazy…”

She laughed tenderly, relaxing her movements, leaning over you, grabbing your chin to turn it slowly, kissing you tenderly, almost as if time had stopped.

“You drive me crazy,” she whispered, positioning your head again against the table, resuming her increasingly erratic movements. She was close, and so were you.

“Wait, don't do...” you said when her panting turned furious, when your walls played with her shaft inside them, when her hips danced almost uncontrollably.

It was too late for warnings, her release caressed your wetness, her heat ran through your insides without warning, causing you to have an embarrassing orgasm due to the sensation.

 “… That…” you sighed, relaxing your body after a shy moan, after scratching the wood of the desk.

“Ti amo, (Y/N),” the lady sighed, slowly moving away, approaching your lips as you caught your breath.

You kissed her back and stood up, turning around with your arms crossed.

“Again, Donna?” you asked with your voice cracked by pleasure. Her gaze remained fixed on you, trying to interpret its words. “Honey… You know I don't like it when you do it inside… We could… We could… Have problems.”

“You liked it,” she said, with a sinister smile, one that made you blush. You nodded defeated, with a tender look. “You can lie to me, but your body can't.”

“You know me too well,” you whispered amused, moving from the wet discomfort between your legs. “But, but be more careful next time.”

“Would a child of mine be a problem for you?” she asked shaking her head, with that accusatory look.

You rolled your eyes too many times a day.

“I'm not ready for that, Donna,” you sighed, hugging her waist, kissing her to dispel her paranoia again. “But well, it doesn't matter, darling... Hey, I need a bath, will you join me?”

She looked at you with a radiant face, devoid of fear and jealousy, that tender look that you fell in love with, that you could never stop being addicted to. With a quick kiss, she nodded, letting your hand guide her to walk with you.

Loving Donna Beneviento wasn't a difficult thing. You were a simple villager, one who wasn't special, who was like any other. To think that someone like you, a normal, ordinary girl, could attract the attention of one of the Lords was something you never even considered.

But, of course, once you started talking to her, having tea in her old mansion, wondering over and over again what was behind that black veil, you knew you couldn't, and didn't want to stop doing it.

A sick mind, a deformity on her face, a different body... None of that stopped your heart from beating faster in her presence, letting yourself be carried away by her timid flattery, by those smiles you could see when that black cloth disappeared.

Living with her was the closest thing to the Gods that you had ever experienced. It was a circle of constant love, of kisses, of hugs, of improvised lustful acts. But nobody said that the Black Paradise of the Gods was perfect.

Donna was a lonely woman, who spent most of her life surrounded by absolute darkness. She had no family, no friends; she only had Angie, who was nothing but a part of her own conscience.

Those experiences, that terrible childhood took their toll on her. Even though she was an immortal Lord, she couldn’t be oblivious to the suffering of a human being, to that fear, to that constant Sword of Damocles that hung over her head, threatening to plunge her back into the darkness.

You knew those reasons, the root of her fears, of her obsessive and possessive behavior. You understood and tolerated it, as well as her nervous breakdowns. None of that was a reason enough to stop loving her, to stop feeling the protection of her arms around your body, her healing caresses...

You loved her more than anything, you enjoyed her company, even if you had to deal with her problems, something that was becoming easier and easier for you. Time could be the best remedy for her fears, knowing that in more than a year you were still sleeping next to her should be enough reason for her demons to surrender to the truth. It didn't seem to be, but you were already used to it.

“Mmmm,” you moaned the next day while you were eating. Of course, nothing could compare to her way of cooking, to her eagerness to please you with the simplest things. “You've added spice.”

She smiled, taking a sip of her glass of wine, pleased by your liking, even embarrassed by it.

“Do you like it?” the lady whispered in a tender voice, with a look that could only convey love, that love you adored so much, so far from her obsessions.

“Yes, it's... Delicious,” you joked.

Donna laughed again, shaking her head.

“I'll do whatever it takes to please you, you should know that,” she murmured, keeping that intense look, the one that seemed to adore every part of you. “I know how much you like spicy food.”

“Do you? Well, I don't think I've ever told you,” you said with a frown, trying to remember a conversation that seemed to have never happened.

“Mm,” Donna murmured, looking away with disinterest. “Of course you haven’t, I've read it in your diary,” she said, without any problem, making the cutlery fall from your hands.

“What?” you asked incredulously, laughing nervously, open-mouthed. “Can you repeat that for me?”

“I've read it in your diary,” the lady repeated, offering you a basket. “Do you want a piece of bread?”

“Bread?” you said confused, picking up a piece and shaking your head. “Wait, wait, wait… I don’t think you said that… It’s a joke, right?”

Donna looked up. There was no smile on her face, she was serious.

“No,” she said simply, without giving it any importance.

You searched for the right words to react to that confession. You couldn’t find them. A mix of dangerous emotions began to run through your body.

“Really? Have you, have you read my diary?” you asked confused, incredulous at her words. “But, but if it is, it’s hidden… You shouldn’t even know I have a diary.”

“If you wanted to hide it, there are better places than the laundry room to do it,” the doll maker commented, with disinterest, as if she didn’t realize the seriousness of the situation.

“Oh, I… Um, but…” you stammered, red with embarrassment and unable to react rationally and maturely to that intrusion. “But Donna, why the hell did you do that?”

The lady in black wiped herself with a napkin, sighing in annoyance and looking at you darkly.

“I thought there were no secrets between us,” she whispered with a cocky pose, proud of her action.

“There aren't,” you protested nervously, passing a hand over your forehead. “Don't you know that a diary is something intimate?”

“Didn't you hear me?” she asked, visibly annoyed by your attitude, something that made you even angrier. “There are no secrets between us, (Y/N).”

“Donna… I've been writing that diary since I was a little girl… You can't read it,” you said, unsure of how to act, nervous and embarrassed. “They’re my, my private thoughts.”

“Do you need your thoughts to be private? What are you hiding from me?” she asked, with an increasingly dangerous tone.

“Gods… Nothing,” you said, crossing your arms, opening your eyes wide. “But I like to have some privacy, you know?”

“It's not necessary with me,” Donna commented, with a serenity that made you even more nervous. “You can tell me whatever you want.”

“Oh, yes, of course, why would I tell you if you've already read it? Donna, listen to me, you can't do that. It's my diary, you understand? Mine.”

“Certo…” she murmured, taking another sip of wine, with a much more dangerous look. “I'm convinced that you would have told me when you made up with Ionescu's daughter in the back of the church.”

“Hey, you're so…” you hissed, huffing angrily. “Why do you want to know? Are you interested in my private life?”

“If your private life is full of stupid women who could come back one day to make you fall in love again, yes, I'm interested,” Donna murmured, crossing her arms, with the same posture as you.

“That happened 10 years ago,” you said nervously, shaking your head. “I was 15, Donna. Seriously, I can't believe your jealousy goes that far.”

“I can't believe you don't understand that I need to know everything about you,” she answered. “I can't understand why instead of telling me your worries, you write them in that book.”

“Because I don't want to worry you, Donna,” you said, more confidently. “I know what you're like, I know what you think, and I know how much it hurts you to think that before you there were…”

“Silenzio! Don't go on…” she said, screaming nervously, her jealousy consuming her again.

“See?” you said satisfied, causing him to growl nervously. “I wouldn't have to hide anything from you if you weren't so… Jealous.”

“I'm jealous because I like to keep what's mine, because I'm afraid of losing you,” Donna said, looking away from you. “You don't know how much I suffer when I imagine… Those things.”

“This would be solved if you trusted me, don't you think?” you asked ironically, earning a fiery look. “Gosh, Donna, you’re capable to piss on me just to mark your territory.”

“I would do it if I had to,” she commented in a low voice.

You laughed defeated, shaking your head and letting your shoulders fall, unable to continue with this absurd conversation.

“Do you want some more wine?” Donna asked in a different voice, as if she had never said those things, as if she hadn't delved into your most private intimacy.

You thought about it, but put on a fake smile, extending your glass towards her, which she filled immediately. Before you could bring that wine closer to you, you threw it abruptly at the brunette's face, soaking it unpleasantly.

“That's for reading my diary,” you said satisfied, leaving the now empty glass on the table.

Donna shook her head in confusion, mouth agape, her face covered in that red liquid, trying to clean it with her hand. You got up from the chair, taking your plate of food to enjoy it away from Donna, who did the same, tightly grabbing your wrist with an angry murmur.

“Why don't you go down to play with your dolls? I don't feel like being with you,” you said, moving away from her grip. “And wipe your face.”

Her eye was shining with fury and her breathing was uncontrolled. You weren't afraid, she would never hurt you. You were completely safe. She was probably furious, wanting to scream and break things, but she didn't, she just cursed your name in Italian and turned around, walking away to the elevator hallway.

“Oh, Donna, what happened to you? Have you forgotten how to drink?” Angie mocked, passing by the angry lady, who gave her a look that could scare the bravest.

“Vaffanculo!” the brunette shrieked, with all her rage contained, walking faster and faster.

“Hey! Don't say those ugly things to me! Bad Donna, silly Donna!” Angie shouted, causing you to grimace in disgust at that squeaky voice.

“Arghh!” Lady Beneviento growled, disappearing from your sight.

“Enjoy the wine, darling,” you muttered mockingly, sitting down on a sofa and continuing with your meal.

“Hey, you! Donna said mean things to me because of you!” the doll accused, climbing onto the sofa and pointing at you with her finger.

“Because of me? No,” you said in a passive voice. “It was her fault.”

“Her fault? Stupid lying villager…” the doll hissed, not letting you eat in peace. “Donna would never do anything bad to you. It was your fault, silly.”

“No? Ask her why she read my diary,” you said with a sigh, shaking your head. “That's not right, you know?”

“You're very mean to her, silly…” Angie whispered, dropping down beside you. “Poor Donna loves you very much.”

“Well, let her not love me that much,” you snapped furiously, looking at the hallway where the lady disappeared.

“Donna just wanted to know things about you,” Angie said, in a calmer tone.

“Well, she could ask me instead of gossiping, right?” you said, finishing your food, leaving it on the table. “Angie, I… I don't know how to tell her that she has nothing to fear, that she's not going to lose me…”

“What you say doesn't matter, silly, Donna would never listen to you,” the puppet explained, surprisingly understanding. “She's madly in love with you.”

“She’s madly obsessed,” you corrected with irony, calming your nerves.

“Isn't it the same?”

“Well, in part…” you rambled, leaning your back against the furniture. “You know I love her, right?”

“You say that,” Angie said, laughing amusedly. “You also say it in your diary.”

“What? You too? Oh, Gods…” you sighed, rubbing your eyes, even more embarrassed.

“You are very hard on my Donna, she just wants you to be happy by her side,” the doll said after a moment of reflection.

“Hey, I have a hard time too. You don't know what it's like that no matter what I do, she never trusts me,” you murmured, shaking your head.

“And you, stupid villager, don't know what it's like for Donna to have someone by her side after so much time alone. She's stupid, and clumsy, but that's because someone like you had never appeared in her life.”

“Wow, Angie, that's very… Deep for you,” you said jokingly, with a soft smile.

“You're wrong about me, silly,” the puppet said, with a cocky pose. “I want the best for Donna. And if that's you... Well, I have to accept it

“She should learn to control herself,” you sighed, more relaxed, with the resentment disappearing from your thoughts. “She can't lose her mind every time I’m not with her.”

“You know my Donna has never had her mind on straight,” the doll mocked, whispering in your ear so as not to be heard. “But she's good, I promise.”

“You don't have to tell me, I know,” you said with a smile, remembering the thousands of good times with the lady in black, infinitely superior to the absurd arguments. “Besides, it's not like I dislike her wild side that much...” you murmured amused, winking at the doll, who moved away in horror.

“Disgusting,” she protested.

“Okay... I think I should go to the workshop and talk to her,” you said tiredly, getting up from the sofa.

“Don't be mad at her... She really loves you,” Angie murmured, in a strange, unusual, sad way.

“I'm not mad,” you said smiling, moving away from the doll and walking towards the elevator.

You were right. You didn't hold that much resentment. Yes, she had read your diary, but there was nothing you had to hide from her, besides that old book was full of compliments towards the lady in black, of words of love.

“Are you here to apologize?” the brunette whispered when you entered the workshop. You rolled your eyes, but continued walking, hanging on her shoulders.

“No,” you said amused, kissing her cheek affectionately. “The color red suits your skin very well, you know?”

“If you've come to make fun of me, I'd rather you leave, I'm busy,” she hissed, focused on one of her dolls, but without moving away from your grip.

“Oh, now you want me to leave, huh? I thought you liked being with me,” you said in her ear mockingly, making her stop with a sigh.

“There's nothing in the world I like more than being with you, (Y/N),” she replied, running a hand over yours, caressing it gently while manipulating a small dress.

“Mm, okay,” you said amused, kissing her quickly and settling yourself affectionately on her lap.

She looked at you, sketching a relaxed smile, kissing your lips slowly, holding you so you wouldn't move away from her body while she continued working.

“Your breathing is very funny,” you commented with a sweet voice, attracting her attention again. “When you're focused you breathe very deeply, I love it.”

“I do it without meaning to,” Donna said, with a wider smile. “Do you like my breathing? What kind of compliment is that?” she asked amused, accommodating you more on her lap.

You shrugged sighing relaxed, watching how that delicate hand gave life to another of those dolls.

“Well, the one I thought of,” you joked, hanging on her shoulders to be more comfortable. “I'm sure you've read some better ones in my diary.”

Donna stopped, sighing deeply, closing her eye, but pretending to ignore your words.

Being next to her in the workshop, in silence, was one of your favorite hobbies. Seeing her calm, working on her dolls, only stopping to kiss or caress you, bordered on perfection.

“I'm sorry about your diary,” the lady murmured, with an inaudible whisper. “I didn't know it annoyed you that much.”

“Well…” you murmured surprised by that apology. No, she never apologized. Donna always believed she was doing the best for you, for your love. “People don't like it when you pry into their secrets, you know…”

“No, I don't know,” she answered, with a slightly darker tone.

“Mm…” you sighed, studying the movements of her hand, which was beginning to tremble. “Donna, I'm not angry about that, it's just that… Hey, I don't feel comfortable with you knowing how I threw up in front of my family on Gods’ Coming day.”

“You drank too much,” she commented, with a calmer tone, with a slight smile decorating the beauty of her face.

“Yes…” you said, nodding amused.

“You don't understand, (Y/N),” she said, putting her dolls aside to look directly at you, with a sad expression, gently caressing your cheek. “Everything that has to do with you is fascinating to me.”

“Even a teenage binge?” you joked, with a good girl face that made her laugh. It made her emit that tender laugh that drove you crazy.

“Even that,” she said, kissing you on the lips quickly. “Knowing that you have lived the life you deserved comforts my heart. I’m so in love with you…”

“I know,” you said with a serious voice, with a sincere smile.

“Your life is addictive to me, you are addictive to me, do you understand?” the lady whispered in your ear, brushing your hair away from your face, a habit she had and that you loved. “You have come into my life to change it completely. You have illuminated my darkness… How can I not be interested in you? How do you expect me to not try to get to know you? To know what you think, what your fears are?”

“I only have one fear, Donna…” you whispered calmly, enjoying the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. “You don't trust me.”

“It's complicated, you know?” she said, pulling away abruptly, frowning. “I, I would like to be able to please you, to free you from that fear but… My fear of losing you overcomes it, the thought that you are not here, with me, imagining of you in another person’s arms…”

Her words were fading with anger, with that incipient rage, with the trembling of her body, the hardening of her expression.

“Shhh, stop it, my love…” you said in a soothing voice, comforting her with your caresses, trying to erase the darkness from her face. “I don't want you to get nervous…”

“Of course I get nervous,” she protested, in a harsher tone, clenching her fists tightly despite your affectionate gestures. “No one, no one can touch you, not even look at you. You are mine, and only mine.”

“You haven't said anything I don't agree with, darling,” you commented in a soft voice, kissing the back of her clenched fist. “Only yours, you should know that.”

“I know that but… every, every time…I think that… I'm not the first one who…” Donna stammered nervously, starting to lose control again. You got off her lap, keeping her erratic gaze on yours, holding her head.

“You may not be the first, but you are the last, Donna,” you said seriously, confidently, sure of yourself, sure that what you were saying was an immovable truth. She shook her head, pulling away from your hold with a sigh.

“I love you,” she whispered, not looking at you, slowly standing up and grabbing your waist. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, Donna… Me too,” you whispered back, letting her body dance with yours, her hands gently rocking it, playing with yours. “Come here,” you said amused, making a gesture with your finger, kissing her deeply, melting into her in a comforting, almost balsamic warmth.

“(Y/N)… Sei la mia vita, il mio amore, il mio sogno…” the lady whispered lovingly in your ear, making your whole body tremble.

“You know I melt when you talk to me like that,” you purred, earning a radiant smile, proud of what her words continued to provoke in you.

“Good,” she said with a murmur, cupping your face in her hands. “I want you to melt…”

The kisses became disordered, your hands began to wander over her dress. The panting interrupted the eternal rest of those porcelain dolls, filling that sinister workshop with passion.

“I love you so much…” she sighed, taking you in her arms, sitting you on one of the work tables, refusing to let her lips leave your mouth, to let her hands stop caressing your skin.

You laughed in response, adapting to the ferocity of her kisses, to the rhythm of her increasingly intense caresses. The desire that was always latent in you took control of your hands, which impatiently unbuttoned her dress, sneaking inside it, brushing the skin of her covered breasts, her body warm due to the friction with yours.

Her kisses went down your neck, her hands imitated yours, claiming your breasts, squeezing them intensely, engraving the mark of her nails on your skin, her teeth on your neck, engraving herself in you.

“Donna…” you moaned from the pleasure of that unbridled passion, from the hunger and desire she always had to possess you, to claim you, to tell you and herself, that you were hers, to show it in a passionate way.

Your legs danced until they were around her waist, pulling her towards you, not leaving an inch between her body and yours. The gasps, the moans accompanied that lustful touch, those caresses of the brunette on your legs, the soft dance of her hips desperately longing for contact with yours.

It didn't matter what you said anymore, Donna had already lost control again, scratching your skin, running her hands through every corner free of her caresses, wanting to dominate your entire body, wanting to be its owner, its only owner.

“I can't wait any longer...” she sighed, playing with her dress, releasing her more than evident arousal, brushing it with the wetness of your underwear. “Let me take you.”

You bit your lip, closing your eyes at that lustful contact, at the touch of her erection against your wet entrance, at the barrier that seemed to bother her so much, at your clothes preventing Donna from making her wishes come true.

“Wait a bit, darling…” you joked, biting her earlobe. Donna, already out of control, growled, shaking her head.

“If you don't take it off, (Y/N), I'm going to tear it,” she threatened with a dark look, increasing the rhythm of her hips, moaning desperately at the lack of authentic moisture in her body.

You opened your eyes, pleasantly surprised by that furious, anxious attitude, by that lust that only you could endure.

“Oh, you don't dare…” you mocked, lowering your hand to her trembling shaft, stimulating it to increase her suffering, her uncontrollable desire. “Let me give you a hand…”

She moaned in pleasure at your gentle touch, shaking her head. You didn't know it was that easy to control her instincts with your gentle stimulation, but you didn't want that, not at all.

“Mm, you don't follow through on your threats, huh?” you teased, intensifying your movements, playing with her so she felt unable to possess you, something that obviously bothered Donna, removing your hand from her erection and pulling hard at your underwear, inevitably tearing it. “Hey, they were new!”

“You wanted it…” she hissed, not waiting a second to fulfill her wish, to enter you abruptly with a scandalous moan. “Don't play with me, tesoro.”

“I… I like to play with you…” you moaned, moving to her rhythm, with your body receiving her with the same desire, hugging her, squeezing her with your walls. “Hey, slow down… You're big, Donna.”

“Don't tell me what to do,” she growled, lifting your legs, which desperately clung to her waist, holding your ankles, digging her nails into your skin, forcing you to moan louder. “You're mine…”

“Yes, yes, I am, I'm yours,” you repeated, blinded by the pleasure of her roughness, by that intense way of showing you her love, her desire, her irremediable addiction to you.

“You're not going to abandon me,” the doll maker murmured, moaning angrily, moving inside you tirelessly, deforming your body broken by the sensation, weak with its undisputed owner. “You're not going to abandon me!”

“Of course not, my love…” you said as best you could, with your voice breaking from the movements, from the pleasure, from the shivers that were beginning to threaten your body with tensing, with releasing due to that overwhelming pleasure.

“I trust you, I trust you, amore mio…” she stammered, controlling her effusiveness, not wanting to end that passionate act, not wanting to miss your face when you exploded with pleasure. “But I don't plan on moving away, do you hear me?”

 “No?” you said amused, playing with your hips so your insides would play with her erection, so they would caress it in every possible way, to make her lose even more control, something that you achieved, since her hand stopped on your chest while she held your legs.

“I’m going to cum inside of you so... So you can, you can be mine forever... You will carry my child in your womb... No one will dare to argue that you are mine, no one!” Donna said, rambling, losing control of her thoughts, of her intentions.

You didn't take it seriously, but you knew that deep down it was what she wanted. She wanted an indisputable proof that you were hers, that you would always be. But, luckily, things weren't that simple. Probably nothing would happen, like so many other times, right?

“I'm so close, Donna,” you moaned, stretching your body, fighting your own release, which was not long in manifesting, shaking your body, receiving thousands of electric shocks all over your skin. “Go, Gods!”

The spasms of your body, the involuntary movements of your walls caused the lady in black to stop, with her legs trembling, releasing herself inside you, at the same time as you, surrendered to the burning stimulation of your body.

“(Y/N)… I, I love you… I love you…” she whispered, letting your legs go and throwing herself at your lips, kissing you deeply, not wanting to move, wanting to stay inside of you as long as possible.

You smiled, exhausted, with your breathing slowly returning to normal.

“You know? Nobody had loved me as much as you…” you sighed, caressing her sweaty face, one that returned a tender, almost shy, smile. “I love you, Donna.”

“I know…” she murmured, calmer, slowly regaining the sanity that lust had taken from her. You laughed amused, kissing her quickly, covering her with kisses.

“Have you read it in my diary?” you asked jokingly, with your eyebrows raised.

Donna relaxed, bringing a hand to your cheek, shaking her head.

“No, tesoro… I see it in your eyes…”

[peachesofteal]

Part two of scary bar Simon PLEASE like go insane go crazy go manic

18+ dark content.

The town is sleepy.

So sleepy, most people in the single pub you've managed to find seem shocked to see you. They stare at you like they've never seen a girl before, like your very presence offends them.

And maybe it does.

When you fling yourself at the bartender, eyes wide and frantic, trembling, dirt stained hands trying to reach for her, she only stares at you.

You made it this far. They didn't follow you. They haven't found you. They don't know where you are.

You have a chance.

"P-please. I need help." You whisper. "I've been kidnapped... these men... they took me." Your voice cracks and shakes, rough foundation of your sanity slowing chipping away like peeling paint, layers and layers of lead leeching into your blood. "Please! The men, who live in the old estate, they t-took me."

"What men?" She asks, eyebrow raised.

"Call the police, please." You snuff out a scream, raw and agonized, red tipped with rage. It combats the sinking ship of despair, the one battered by the seas, bow broken and wooden slats splintered.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She tells you, each word bland on her tongue.

"Just... call the police. Call anyone." You turn, glancing at the next closest person, and they avert their eyes quickly, glancing at her before shaking their head.

No.

"What?" You choke on it, the disbelief like a rock lodged in your throat. No one in the pub makes eye contact with you, and the room is silent and still as you stand before them, listless and tearful, begging until your words run dry. "P-please, please. They're... they took me. I want to go home. I need to go home."

"You are home." The Manchester accent rings at your back, and you flinch instinctively, stomach dropping into a bottomless pit. He ducks through the doorway, floorboards groaning beneath massive weight, and they echo across the dead space between your ears.

Your captor. Your abductor. Your everything… now. Dark, fathomless eyes. Heavy, severe gaze, drowning your rational thoughts out easily.

"N-no." You glance around frantically, but everyone's eyes find their feet. No one stands to help you. No one seems to care. "No. No... please."

"It's time to go home."

"Please." You cry, tears blurring your vision. You hold your hands out in front of you, trying to create distance, but it's no use. He's on you without hesitation, and when you twist and squirm in his arms, trying to grab onto one of barstools, he pries your fingers free one by one, clucking his tongue.

"Alright, that’s enough little one. You’re scarin’ everyone in here.” His eyes pinch at the corners, sinister smile twisting beneath the mask. “We’re going home…” he cradles your cheek, rubbing a thumb through your tears.

You can only stare at him in horror when he lowers the black fabric to stick it in his mouth, lips cracking into a grin.

“Now.”

[itsphoenix0724]

could i request an azriel x reader body worship. reader sees azriels body while he works out and gets flustered and aroused. She stares at his arms flexing and abs like omg. he notices her and goes harder👀 or he catches her staring at the most inconvenient time, they’re newly mated and they have a meeting with everyone and reader can’t stop staring at his ARMSSSSS

You Lookin'? (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of sex. sexual thoughts

Word Count: 972

A/N: Hi Anon! Thank you so much for requesting I hope you enjoy what I wrote for you! Please feel free to request again! I hope you have an amazing day love, and as always constructive criticism is welcome! <3

Being newly mated truly was a beautiful thing. 

You and Azriel had taken two weeks to pass the energy surge fully. Your family had cleared out of the townhouse for the time you needed, and you were now finally starting to get back to your normal everyday lives. So, here you are now, reclined on the settees atop the House of Wind with Nesta and Feyre watching your mates train. It was a boiling summer afternoon, the golden sun bouncing off the rock making it hot enough for all the males to strip off their shirts.

Watching Azriel train was like looking at a work of art—strong cords of golden muscle working and rippling as he did a set of sit-ups. You were shameless as you watched the sweat drip off his trapezius, the only thing you could think of was licking the sweat straight off of him. Visions of the nights Az spent over you flash in your mind, in fact, you could still see the faint claw marks from your ceaseless two-week honeymoon. 

Frankly, you were insatiable. 

The Spymaster knew it too, and he may have been showing off just a little. He could see the hot flush of your cheeks and the heaving of your chest from where he was pushing a large stone above his head. Even if he wasn’t looking his shadows were whispering to him, floating on a summer breeze, about your every tell. They talked about the way your eyes snagged on his straining biceps, and what he surely knew was pooling between your legs. Sitting up from the bench he rubbed a hand through the sweaty hair and watched as Feyre tried to get your attention. 

“She’s going to need this,” Nesta shook her head and laughed, pouring a glass of cold water before passing it to Feyre, who then pressed it into your hand. The cold of the glass shocked you out of your dazed state, Azriel had the gall to wink at you before returning to his training, and your two friends now sit snickering at your attempt to focus on something that wasn’t the Shadowsinger. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were currently pressed up against the cold tile of your bathroom wall, the towering form of your mate caging you in, shadows teasing at the edges of your clothes. Azriel might kiss like he doesn’t need oxygen, but you certainly need to take a gasping breath. He doesn’t seem to mind though, he takes advantage of the opportunity to latch onto your neck. 

“Az-” You pant, clawing your hands up into his hair. He cants his hips against yours and you mewl in response. 

“Say my name again and we won’t leave this house for another two weeks.” He growls, going back to his assault on your neck, biting devotion into your pulse point. 

“We have a meeting we have to go to.” You try to pull yourself away, but the Spymaster is relentless in his pursuit.

You’re starting to think you might not make it to this meeting.

That is until you both feel a wave of dark power tap on the shields in your minds. You know Rhys doesn’t actually want to talk, he’s just politely reminding the two of you that you were supposed to meet at the River House five minutes ago. 

“Fucking cockblock,” Az slumps his head against your shoulder and takes a few minutes to compose himself. You rest your hands on his cheeks pulling hazel eyes up to yours.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead he winnows the two of you to the sprawling estate. 

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Rhys purrs perched on a chair in the meeting room. Your cheeks flame when you find your seat as Azriel levels a glare at his brother, slumping into the chair across from you. 

Feyre cleared her throat before starting the meeting. 

You were not listening to a single damn thing she was saying.

You felt a little bad about it, but not bad enough to stop staring at your mate across the table. You just couldn’t help it. He was sitting with his arms crossed over his chest which only made the immaculate muscles pop out in the Illyrian leathers he donned for the meeting, blue light bouncing off the sculpted cheekbones on his face.

You could truly spend hours staring at Azriel, and you fully intend to do so for the rest of your lives.

It didn’t help that Azriel was also shamelessly stealing eyefuls of you from his seat. Hazel eyes tracked you, the green running through like veins of emerald.

You remembered how those eyes looked nestled between your legs last night. 

“Okay, are the two of you even listening?” You snap back into your body and find Rhys’s incredulous stare. Cassian and Feyre look like they’re barely containing laughter, Elain is quietly averting her eyes, and Nesta has a sparkle in her eyes that tells you she’s very amused at not being the one reprimanded for once. “Alright, the both of you fucking reek. Clearly you can’t keep your desire in check.” Rhys says rubbing the crease between his eyes. “If you two can’t focus maybe we should just reschedule the meeting?” He raises one dark eyebrow in question and Azriel shoots out of his chair entirely, rounding the table to you. He hauls you up and against his chest in one smooth movement, and you’re looking at Azriel like he’s grown two heads. 

“Sounds like an excellent idea brother, We’ll see you in a week,” Az sends Rhys a saccharine smile. Cassian starts roaring with laughter so hard he almost knocks his chair over and it doesn’t look like Feyre is far behind him. He sweeps an arm behind your knees and scoops you into his arms before sending Rhys a wink and winnowing away. 

It looks like maybe that energy surge hadn’t quite passed after all. 

[rebelliousstories]

What We Know

Relationship: Spencer Reid x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1,357

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Part One: Did You Know?// Part Two: I Know Now// Part Three: Somebody Knows

Summary: Truth or Dare. Who learns the truth? And who takes a dare?

David Foster Wallace said, “The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.”

“Spence. Oh, my God. Spencer!” She yelled, running through the mass of informs that were trying to keep her away. Her heart was racing a million miles an hour as she ran to her husband. He barely registered that she was there and felt like he was in a haze.

Spencer wrapped his arms around the woman, but could not say anything. He ran his hands over her back and through her hair. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Spencer locked eyes with JJ who was getting checked out by some medics in the background of an ambulance. As soon as their eyes locked, they broke it immediately. The stress and pain of the last few hours were catching up.

“Let’s get you to checked out, honey.” She was ushering her husband over to an unoccupied EMT so that he could be taken care of. Reid let his wife fuss over him as much as she wanted to as he let his thoughts run wild. Words ran all through his mind, and he replayed the last few minutes.

“Thank you. I’ll drive him home,” came her voice, finally breaking through his fog. “Just need to see if he needs anything from his office and then I’ll make sure he gets plenty of rest at home.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered, drawing her attention again. “Where’s is she? Where’s Erin?” Spencer pleaded with his wife with big brown eyes staring up at her.

“It’s okay. She’s safe with Krystal. I wanted to make sure that she was going to be okay before coming to get you.” She reassured him, and got him to loosen his grip just a little bit. He settled back in to where he was sitting. Letting the medics work, Mrs. Reid noticed that far off look returning to Mr. Reid’s eyes again, but just let him be for now. Once he was given the all clear, she walked her husband to their car that was waiting behind the police tape. They sat in their seats for a moment in silence before she turned to the man next to her.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” She asked, reaching a hand up to run through his hair gently. Spencer leaned into her hand when it reached his stubbly cheek.

“Let’s go get Erin. I’ll explain it later.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to her palm. Even though she was not convinced that her husband was alright, she put the car in drive and went to go get there daughter.

The drive to the Rossi estate was a silent one. Both of their thoughts were racing, but for very different reasons. She parked the car as soon as they got to the door and left Spencer in. Knocking on the door gave her the image of Krystal as she cradled their daughter.

“She’s been out like a light the whole time. Such a well behaved baby.” Krystal complimented. Mrs. Reid took her daughter from the woman with a grateful smile.

“I really appreciate you doing this for us. David’s okay by the way. And we got Spence and JJ out. We’re gonna head home now. I’m really glad you could watch her on such short notice.” Readjusting her hold on her daughter, she bid farewell to the older woman and went to get back in the car. She went to go put her in the backseat, but Spencer reached for her instead.

“Please?” He pleaded. Coming back to the front seat, she placed Erin in Spencer’s arms. She was still so little and they wanted to cherish the time they had left with her. Their daughter was just about to turn two years old, but she still slept well through the night. Whenever she could, she watched her husband cradle their daughter in the passenger seat.

Once they made it home, Spencer refused to let Erin go. Even when they made it into her room, he could not bring himself to put his daughter in her bed. He just made his way to the rocking chair in her room and held her close to his chest. Spencer switched her to one of his arms, and struggled to take his tie off with one of his hands. It was just a moment later when another set of hands came into help.

His wife was gently slipping the tie from around his throat. And once that was placed on Erin’s changing table, her hands unbuttoned his shirt. It was only a couple buttons, but the contact made Erin slip further into her sleep. Spencer still had not said much the entire evening, which was concerning to her. She did not know what went down in that store, but it could not have been good if I triggered this kind of response from her husband.

“Let’s go to bed, honey.” She gently tried to pry her husband from the chair, and he followed her soft hands wherever she led him. Spencer placed Erin down in her crib, and stood there for a minute. His wife made her way to the door and placed her hand on the knob to close it. He watched their daughter, and stroked her cheek softly. Spencer took a deep breath and walked out with his wife.

She rubbed his shoulder gently, and went to make her way to the bedroom but Spencer just went to go sit on the couch. Watching her husband with saddened eyes, she just went into the kitchen. Spencer was staring off into space when he finally realized that he was being joined again by his wife. She placed down a couple of mugs in front of them. There was nothing said as they sipped their warm beverages. Mrs. Reid was waiting until Spencer felt like he could speak to do so.

“JJ she, um, she said she was in love with me.” He finally blurted out. Setting her mug down, she sat there for a minute. She just looked to her husband with an indistinguishable expression on her face.

“The unsub, he made us play truth or dare. And he asked Jennifer to tell him something that she would never admit aloud. She said she was in love with me, and always had been.” Spencer explained, setting down his mug.

“And what did you say?” She asked.

“Nothing. I shot him with the gun from my ankle. He took my main firearm.” He replied, looking to his smirking wife.

“Wonder where you learned that from?” She teased with a smirk on her lips. Spencer finally let a smile crack across his face as he chuckled.

“How are you feeling about it, Spence? I know how you used to have a crush on her.” Husband leaned against wife and she ran her hand through his curls.

“I’m alright. I used to want her, but it’s been years since I’ve thought of her like that. I’m not sure what’s going to happen with us though.”

Spencer moved his head off of her shoulder and brought his hand up to her face. He cradled it as gently as he had cradled their daughter moments ago. There was nothing but love in his eyes as he gazed into her eyes.

“Anything else,” came her question. The man only shook his head and brought her in for a kiss. After all these years together, every time they kissed, it was still just as good as the first time.

“Let’s go to bed honey.” And with that, he pulled his wife to stand next to him. Leading her into the bedroom, Spencer made sure to completely change and secure his firearms before moving to the bed. Once his wife was in the bed as well, he pulled her under the covers and into his arms.

“I love you.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“I love you too.” She whispered back, pressing a kiss to her chest.

“Honesty is more than not lying. It is truth telling, truth speaking, truth living, and truth loving.” James E. Faust

[14dayswithyou]

I'm not sure if this was asked before but! It's Angel hug time!! How would the cast hug Angel! (Would love to see a tall vs short Angel for all the tall Angels!)

WARNING... minors/ageless blogs: do not interact. please read my pinned post before you send in anything !!

I left Angel's height ambiguous because there's a loooot of characters now, and it takes a lot out of me to write for all of them at once ^^; But I did keep tall Angel in mind while writing this!!

Ren Big, warm hugs that remind you of home. He'll wrap his arms around your waist and pull you flush against his body with a gentle smile. He's also the type to wait until you let go first before he moves away. Secretly revels in receiving physical affection for the first time in a loooong while.

Moth It honestly feels like a giant bear hug inside of a fuzzy blanket. They're the type to lean into you while hugging, and likes to rest their head on your shoulder if it's one of those longer, "I haven't seen you in a while" kind of moments. Their chest is prime real estate for your head, and they often silently encourages you to lean on it if you want to.

Violet Warm and inviting, kind of what you'd expect from her. She often likes to sway/rock the person she's hugging, and is more of a squeezer than a "pat on the back-er". If she's feeling cheeky, Violet might try to test her strength by picking you up — and you'd honestly be surprised with how strong she appears.

Elanor Motherly and familial kind of hugs. She also won't let go before you do, and often likes to give your back a gentle rub while she hugs you. If she thinks you need it, Elanor might even reach up and stroke your head in a comforting manner. Soft praises and encouraging remarks are usually spoken during these moments.

Conan Another one who gives warm, inviting bear hugs. At first, Conan might be a little rigid when giving you hugs, but that's only because he's your boss and he wants to keep things strictly professional. But if you get closer to him, he'll definitely open up more and give you those longer, more affectionate hugs that you need.

Jae Very much the "hehe XD glomps you" type. Jae puts his entire body weight into his hugs, and oftentimes gets a bit carried away with it. Like Violet, he'll rock you from side to side; but if he's feeling especially hyper, Jae will pick you up and spin you around entirely. His hugs are always coupled with carefree laughter and smiles.

Leon Another one whose hugs feel like home. Leon usually lets you dictate the type of hug you want from him, and effortlessly adapts to it. He'll wrap his arms securely around your waist and let you rest your head against his shoulder if you need it. He'll often whisper about how much he's missed you — even if it's only been a few minutes. If that's the case, he'll be more over-the-top and dramatic.

Teo Brief, one-armed hugs that barely last two seconds. If you're in private, however, his hugs are more relaxed and intimate. His hands often rest just below the small of your back while he rubs faint circles into the fabric covering your skin. Teo can allow himself to be softer in these moments, and usually only reserves these kinds of hugs for the people he trusts.

Olivia Practically throws herself onto the person she's hugging, and usually lets them be the one to lift her off the ground. Olivia isn't one for simple and brief hugs — she wants those boisterous, almost rom-com styled hugs where she gets lifted up and spun around. But if you ask, she'd be more than willing to try and lift you instead. At most, you'll both get a good laugh out of it.

[peachdues]

Succor

Sanemi x F!Y/N

I'm feeling horny and sad, so here's a horny and sad comfort one-shot I had queued, and I know y’all love some soft Sanemi

CW: hurt/comfort; mentions of death? explicit sexual content, creampie, emotional sex/love-making, crying. MDNI.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

He comes back bruised, beaten, and bloodied, but he comes back alive; and that’s all that matters.

But he also comes back a little more broken, and Y/N can see it in his eyes; can see it in how his head and shoulders hang limp under what is undeniably the crushing press of guilt.

There was a loss of life on this mission. Whether it was one or many does not matter because Sanemi will bear the entirety of its weight, and she will lose another piece of him to this war they wage on behalf of humanity.

So when he shuffles through the shoji door of her estate and drops his head into the crook of her shoulder, she wraps her arms around him and holds him close. She holds him tight, and maybe it’s because she’s trying to keep him together when she knows that he is about to fall apart.

And when his arms encircle her waist and crush her to him, and his lips find the side of her neck as he whispers, I need you, Y/N lets him have her completely.

She lets him tug open the sleeping kimono she wears before undressing himself and allows him to lower her to the unmade futon on her bedroom floor. She lets him kiss her soft and needy, while he wraps his arms around her waist and holds her impossibly tight against him, sliding into her with a soft groan.

Sanemi has lost today, and she knows that he needs to feel her in his arms, to know that she’s safe, and still here and breathing with him until the screams in his head subside.

She locks her legs firmly around his waist to hold him to her as he rocks his hips against hers, slow and steady. Her white-haired lover hardly pulls himself out, instead content to grind up into her core because he needs to feel as close to her as possible. But she cannot help but cry out from the friction that is becoming too much to bear, and she feels Sanemi pick up his pace, his hips moving a little harsher, his length dragging in and out of her more hurriedly, and Y/N clamps her teeth down around his clavicle. She knows that he is doing this now solely for her benefit, but tonight isn’t about her; it’s about him, and he needs to be comforted.

So, with great effort, she slides her hand down the rippled expanse of her lover’s back until she comes to his firm backside and presses down, limiting the push and pull of his hips until he slows back to that needy grind against her.

In her ear, Y/N hears Sanemi’s strangled moan of gratitude as he resumes the languid roll of his groin into hers. Y/N’s hand slides back up to grip his hair, tugging lightly until he removes his face from where it has been buried in her neck so that he can meet her eyes.

The lilac irises she loves more than anything in the world are filled with such exhaustion and grief and love that it causes something inside of her to break, and her eyes become mirrors of his own. Before she knows it, they are both crying because they are both so damn tired of having to sacrifice their comrades for every demon they manage to kill.

But Y/N can do nothing but wrap her hand around the base of his neck and pull him down to kiss her, to swallow the broken sob that bubbles up in his throat as his mouth moves desperately against hers.

“It’s okay,” she whispers against his lips as she breaks away to pant, a familiar heat beginning to coil in her belly as Sanemi continues to grind deliciously into her. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

The muscles in Sanemi’s arms flex as he tightens his vice-like hold around her waist, melding every inch of Y/N’s skin into his own as he rolls his hips harder against her. He buries his face back into the side of her sweat-dampened neck, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin of her sides. Suddenly, Y/N feels herself clench tightly around him and she cries out, her vision going white as she comes apart beneath him, thrashing against the blankets while her thighs spasm around his hips. Her back arches sharply, somehow pressing her harder against him, and Sanemi cries out her name in a broken shout. He comes and she loves him, and she loves him, and she loves him.

He collapses against her, and Y/N thinks she could die happily crushed beneath the full weight of her lover’s body. She almost cries again when he moves to pull out of her, wincing at the empty cold that fills her, leaving her only with the sticky warmth of their mixed pleasure between her thighs.

But Sanemi does not move off her completely. Instead, he shuffles himself down between her legs until his head comes to rest against her stomach, his arms still wrapped around her as they lay on her futon, both still panting as they calm their breath. Y/N’s fingers move on their own to stroke his mop of white hair as it rises and falls against her belly with each breath she takes. He presses sleepy kisses against the soft of her abdomen and nuzzles his face against her sensitive flesh; and though she can feel his hot seed beginning to ooze out of her, this somehow feels more intimate.

“Stay with me tonight,” she murmurs, fingers lightly scratching along Sanemi’s scalp as he hums in contentment against her skin. “Let me take care of you.”

Sanemi does not answer her, instead settling harder against her, and she knows that he won’t argue; he’s feeling far too vulnerable to pull away from her now.

Though the enormity of the night’s casualties still threatens to suffocate him, Sanemi thinks it might be a little easier to breathe now that he’s here, with Y/N warm and soft and alive beneath him.

And so, Sanemi sleeps.