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#››    I’M JUST ACHING TO REACH FOR THE LIGHT       ‚   character   !
joshfutturman · 2 days
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'hunted'
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oneshot - derek has a vivid dream in which he's being hunted. (for a writing group im a part of, basically he has a memory in the form of a dream from the timeline of the movie!) (1k words) character - derek danforth (the beekeeper) tags: angst, nightmares, cussing, brief drug mention
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.
derek wasn’t normally the type to get too many nightmares. he would never really remember his dreams at all. when he went to bed at night in whichever bedroom in his house he desired, beside whomever he desired, he was knocked out like a light. that’s just what happens when you have all the money you could ever dream of and stink of privilege, that was derek danforths life. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.
it wasn’t like he never experienced stress. in reality derek was more stressed than he would ever let on. running his business wasn’t easy despite what people would say. a nepo baby who never had to want for anything. legitimacy and morals aside, derek worked his ass off. danforth enterprises was what it was today because of him. not anyone else. not his mother. and certainly not his father.
so it was no surprise that his nightmare that night rattled him.
from the get go, he felt a swirling sense of paranoia invade its way around his skull like a ghost as he slips into the nightmare. it seeps through every crack, every crevice it can worm its way into. that same fear spread down his limbs and across his back, making his shoulders grow tense.
this didn’t feel like work stress, it felt worse. it felt more intense. it felt more threatening. more than just mindless work shit was on his mind. why couldn’t he place it?
derek felt cornered, sitting in his mothers office. his eyes dart between the windows and the doors. it felt as though the walls were closing in, threatening to crush him. he shrinks back into the chair, his hand coming up to pick at the side of his face - a habit his mother loathed and never kept quiet about.
but mom wasn’t here. no one was. it was just derek, alone.
his phone buzzes and he jumps in his seat, frightening him more than it should. shakily, his hand reaches out to pick it up, holding it so tightly that he might snap it in half if he’s not careful.
there’s breathing on the other end, and that causes his back to straighten. “who the fuck is that?” he spits out, feeling his breathing pick up pace.
the other line stays eerily quiet and this freaks him out more. fuck. were they already nearby? his eyes dart towards the windows again, expecting to see a figure only to be greeted with. . . absolutely nothing. an impending sense of doom spurs in his mind, unsure of where to go to alleviate it. he felt trapped, cornered. and derek didn’t like that. he didn’t enjoy feeling like a prey animal, when all his life he always presented as predator.
“i said who the fuck is that?!” he calls out again, gripping the arm of the chair.
still nothing on the other end. until.
“i’m coming.” is all the voice says.
derek holds back a gasp, the voice confirming his fears.
he swallows hard and prays his voice not to shake, “fuck off. you can fucking try, bitch.” derek growls, but it’s clear to anyone who knows him just how much he’s rattled. before the other person can reply, he presses the disconnect button and throws his phone across the room.
breath escaping him, he pants, raking his fingers through his hair.
no one would let anything happen to him, right? there was no way. he was too important. there were so many people he could pay to protect his life. he could hear his fathers words ringing in his ears, ‘i told you so.’. derek lets out a whine and covers his ears.
no, no, no. this wasn’t happening. this absolutely fucking wasn’t happening right now.
every creek within the old walls had him jumping, completely on edge. his heart races away from him. he’s seconds away from calling for his mom, hands aching to grip onto something real, something that could ground him. he feels pathetic for wanting his mother, but something deep inside him tells him that not even she could make him feel better.
and he’s glad no one else can see him like this. he’d never act this way in front of anyone. derek wasn’t known for his calm and collected manner, but he tried to never show weakness in the form of fear. he kept it bottled up, hidden away until he could get his hands on something that made him feel at ease, usually in the form of that sweet white powder he loved so much.
so now, completely alone, he comes undone. he can feel tears form in his eyes as he grits his teeth. derek wasn’t ready to die. he had his whole life to live. who’d provide for his mom when he was gone? no one else could do the job like him. they’d just fuck it up. she’d lose her position and it’d be all their fault.
derek didn’t want to die. he couldn’t. silently he begs for more time.
until he’s ripped from his sleep with a gasp. derek grips the sheets as he sits up, gasping for breath over and over. for a few seconds, it feels like he’s still in that office. but after a few blinks, his surroundings come back to him. he’s home.
but it doesn’t feel the same. it doesn’t feel safe. he doesn’t feel so untouchable now. he almost feels. . . vulnerable.
he grabs at the bedsheets beside him and realises that no ones there. he suddenly regrets sleeping alone. he releases shaky breaths from his nose and reluctantly lays back down. gathering the duvet against him, he wraps himself tightly within it and lays with his back against the headboard, eyes scanning the room.
his bedroom suddenly felt too big. his eyes move between each object as if looking for any form of a threat. did the curtain just move? fuck. he was losing it.
the digital clock on his nightstand blinks: 3:21am. it was a long way to go till morning. and derek couldn’t bring himself to move.
instead, he sat like this until the sun crept into his bedroom, bringing a small sense of safety. but that feeling of unease stayed in his mind, pricking him whenever he got too comfortable. no time to relax, always on high alert.
he realises he isn't as untouchable as he once thought. and that thought. . . fucking terrifies him.
derek wasn’t ready to die.
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.
‧₊˚ dedicated tags: @helen-on-earth @fatinhadesiners06 @boonam @sun-spider13 @laurrrelise @sammygirlism @sleepyhutcherson‧₊˚ ily all sm!! thank you!
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.
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𝒐𝒉, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆
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pairing: vampire!acheron x gn!reader
genre(s): au (unspecified), light angst, eventual fluff, hints of hurt/comfort, strangers to friends to lovers
word count: 3.4k
warnings: written before acheron's release and v2.1, blood, mild descriptions of violence, slight nsfw (it's just during the bite scene and is nothing too intense)
notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my mind, so I hope you enjoy it! I decided to write this as a chronicle almost, of spontaneous meetings before a more conclusory end. I would be up for a part 2 eventually if you'd like to see it! I should also note that because only her trailers have been released, and this is an au, some elements of her character may be missing or not fully expanded upon, but I hope that doesn't interrupt your reading! :)
Read it on ao3!
~~~
Water trickled down from the murky sky, leaving shadow-wrapped puddles on the stone street. The step of a steady heel interrupted one’s stagnance as a figure emerged unshrouded from the alleyway. Another walked to her right, clothes beginning to soak from the rain. Blood trailed behind them, tainting the clear water with flowing scarlet.
“Why did you follow me?” they queried, pausing to lean against a nearby lamp post.
A violet gaze cast in their direction, yet the woman did not speak. She simply watched her momentary companion wince at the persistent ache of a flesh wound. Her fists tightened at the sight – the innate response to a long-held desire. A rising heartbeat flickered in her ears as she observed the form before her. A quirked brow, torn and stained cloth, a slight shiver from the chilled rain.
Striding forward, she was soon halted by their hand.
“Please, answer me.”
Instead, she took that cold limb in hers and brought it over her head, resting it on her left shoulder. She placed her other arm around their waist, and guided them from the lamp post with careful ease.
Calmly, they walked together.
The storm began to intensify as the wind picked up, flurrying droplets against the pair while lightning crackled across the sky.
“To fulfill my duties.” she spoke, strong and smooth.
“Pardon?”
“Why I followed you.”
“Oh…”
“Those beasts have been permeating the city. I seek to remove them. One had been following you to your destination, and I became involved as early as I could. I apologize for your injury. Had I been sooner it could have been avoided.”
“As long as I remain alive, I will consider you a savior."
She hummed, a calm and thoughtful sound in time with the rolling thunder.
"What constitutes a savior to you?"
A thin burst of light painted the dark sky lavender, casting the surrounding buildings in a haze of purple rain.
“A person who protects others, whether doing so is simple or difficult, and will see their work through no matter the cost.”
“I see… Rest your eyes, we will be at an infirmary soon.”
She felt their head fall on her shoulder, hair tickling against her neck. Their breathing had not yet evened out, but their heart rate had begun steadying.
There was a doctor at the end of the block, seeing patients out of his office and an emergency tent that had been placed on the empty lot next door. This would be the seventh time in three days that she would bring a new victim of the ongoing crisis.
She knocked on his door before being greeted by a disheveled man. He quickly understood the situation and turned back into his practice to grab supplies while she lay them down on one of the beds. A hand grasped hers tightly as she began leaving, walking toward the door.
“Wait…”
Their quiet voice reached her ears and beckoned her back to the bedside.
“Thank you, drifting savior.”
“Acheron.”
A small smile grew on their face. “Thank you, Acheron.”
“There’s no need, but… you are welcome nonetheless.”
“Will you stay here?”
“I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere, but you will see me somewhere in the future.”
“Then I wish you luck and safety in your endeavors, until we meet again.”
The weekend market still bustled despite the city’s circumstances. Shoppers in a variety of outfits and colors paced up and down the streets, carding through wares, food, and clothes. A basket rested in the crook of your left elbow as you approached a fruit stand. Greeting the shopkeeper, you asked for a few peaches before perusing through the lemons.
You squeezed each one gently, hoping to find one filled with enough juice to add to a marmalade. When two were to your liking, you exchanged payment with the shopkeep and received your produce bag of white peaches, placing all of your main ingredients into your basket.
Bidding farewell, a flash of familiar violet caught your eye amongst the crowd.
You weaved through the people quickly, hoping to catch up to Acheron. A throb began developing in your side, but you did your best to ignore the increasing pain. Finally, you had the opportunity to meet her again, and in a much less dire setting this time. You watched as she strode with an aloof confidence, the crowd slowly moving out of her way.
When you reached the end of the sidewalk, you had the chance to reach out and tap her shoulder. She turned abruptly and faced you, however, before you could make contact.
“How did you know I was coming?”
“I could hear your footsteps approaching.”
You questioned how with the amount of activity there was. Deciding to ponder it later, you reached into your basket.
“Would you like a peach?”
She looked hesitant for a moment, before lightly shaking her head. “I have already eaten.”
“Alright.”
"How is your injury?"
Her question brought your attention back to the dull ache in your left abdomen.
“It is much better, though it will still become irritated from a lot of activity."
“Let us sit down, then. Hand me your basket.”
“Oh, thank you.”
The cool metal of a nearby bench slowly warmed under the heat of your palms. You sat in silence with Acheron, who was leaning against the back of the bench with one leg crossed over the other. It was not uncomfortable – far from it in fact. You felt safe around her, and resting became much easier.
You crossed paths next at a gently lighted bar.
She quietly slid onto the stool beside you, a sharp gaze watching your movements. After taking a sip of your cocktail, you met her eyes.
“Would you like to dance?”
“Of course.”
Rising first, she took your right hand in hers and brought you out to the sparkling dance floor. In a swift motion, you were spun into her arms. Deft fingers grasped your hips, turning you around to face her. She brought your arm up over her shoulder, stepping backwards for four beats before bringing her hand to rest delicately at your nape. Shifting your hand to replicate the same, you placed your other hand at her left elbow, and began shifting rapidly from side to side with each step toward her you took. You remove yourself from her, running your hand down her arm and casting her away in a spin. When she returns, she steps at your right foot, sending it back in a kick before it arrives up at her hip. Her hand cups the underside of your knee as yours sit at the back of her neck. She elegantly drags you backward before letting your foot fall to the floor. After, she sets her left hand on your shoulder, walking around you before stepping away, and spinning back into your hands. You dip her and catch her eyes for a moment, watching a flame stoke behind them.
When you bring her back up, a pair of your hands remain connected until you’re within arms distance of each other. You walk in a circle like this – watching her predatory gaze. It’s not an uncomfortable sensation to be underneath, if anything it makes you want to match her pace more. You come back into her arms, in the same position you started in. Your back is to her front, breathing heavily as her fingers ghost over the site of your injury. Only now do you note it’s stinging tenderness, but it slowly begins to dissipate as she rubs over it. You glide together like this over the floor before she sharply turns you out in the hold of her hand. The scene becomes muddled, but a part of you feels an odd joy at the usually uneasy sensation. When you’re finished, she brings you back to her. Your fingers land awkwardly at her sternum and your dance is complete.
As you catch your breath, you begin to notice the lack of a second heartbeat thrumming beneath your fingers.
Yet, that couldn’t be, right? You were mellowing from the performance, yes, but you still would be able to tell if there was a beat outside of your fingertips. When you caught Acheron’s eyes, you could see what seemed like a cloud of thoughtful storm behind them. Without another word, she left.
You remained on the floor, wondering just what lies underneath her violet gaze.
A soft wind blew against your cheeks as you rested underneath a large willow tree. The sky glowed in beautiful warm shades, followed by a vibrant indigo. Flipping a page of your book, you attempted to block out the sounds of the park. Children ran and played together as some walked their dogs. A few people stopped at a stand for snacks while talking or heading home.
A shadow and a wisp of white clothing appeared before you, the color of coming evening blending into her hair.
You closed your book and gave her a small smile. “How have you been?”
She looked in your eyes pensively, before reaching out her hand. “Would you like to go for a walk with me?”
“I don’t see why not.” you replied, taking her hand and standing up.
Together you strolled down the paver path, watching as the street lights turned on. The tip of your shoe caught on one of the uneven layers, causing you to stumble forward. Luckily, Acheron caught you carefully, bringing you to a standing position and helping you regain balance again. You lightly laughed off your blunder, doing your best to calm down again after the momentary scare.
As the moon rose higher in the sky, you felt a tired relaxation start to well within you. When you looked to your left, you realized the opposite could be said for your companion. She seemed alert, and ready for combat if the need arose. Her head nudged to the right, signaling for you to turn there, no doubt so you could go deeper toward the forest and avoid others.
“I apologize for what I must do. Please find somewhere safe until I am finished.”
“It is alright.” you responded, deviating to find a temporary shelter from whatever beast was trailing you.
A grotesque, dripping, jet black creature with multiple ice blue eyes came from seemingly nowhere, with a small group of winged beasts accompanying it. You rushed underneath a bench across the small courtyard space, doing your best to breathe silently but your book fell loudly to the ground. Your eyes met the cold ones of the monster, but a flash of purple soon bloomed as horrible screeches filled the air. A shadow expanded over the scene not long after, removing Acheron and the wretched animals from your field of view.
Although they seemed to be gone, you didn’t dare move.
She emerged not long after, a lovely shade of red disappearing from her arms – yet her hair remained white. Another row of creatures came from the forest, and she fought each one effortlessly with a strength and capability that most would not have. Although, the closer you looked and the more little hordes that came, you could feel a sense of exhaustion coming from her. There were a few hits that she couldn’t dodge in time, and one that looked especially deep from where you hid.
As she dealt a final blow, her breath became heavy. She did her best to walk to you with a stoic air. You quickly left your cover, jogging to meet her where she was and watching as she stumbled forward. Surprised, you caught her in your arms, trying to keep her upright.
“Thank you for the concern, Bertha, but there is truly nothing to worry about. Care for a jar of marmalade before you go?”
“Oh, that would be excellent! Thank you very much.”
You walked over to the kitchen counter, grabbing one jar of the peach spread you made two days prior. Returning to the entryway, you handed it to your neighbor with a smile. After exchanging goodbyes, you shut the door and made your way back to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of clean water.
The door to where Acheron was resting sat half-closed, a sign that she had probably begun leaving before resigning to sit back on the bed. With a gentle kick, it opened all the way and revealed your contemplative… friend, now. After many bedridden chats over the last week, you felt closer than before, even if a chilled distance may still remain.
“How are you this morning?” you questioned, placing the bowl on the bedside table and grabbing a fresh cloth from its drawer.
“Better. There is still a persistent fatigue, however.”
You hummed, “I have noticed you sleeping more. I assume it is not helping, then?”
“You would be correct. I am not sure how much longer I want to stay in this bed.”
“Is it not comfortable?” you teased, walking to her side to remove the bandage on her arm.
“No.” she replied with a hint of a smirk.
“Well then, you’ll just have to start moving to other areas of the house.”
“You want me to follow you around all day?” she quipped.
“Maybe. I wouldn’t be entirely averse to having you with me more often. Our chance visits are beginning to be too little for me, I’m afraid.”
“I guess I will have to fix that. Where would you like me to be?”
You felt a light heat grow in your cheeks, and did your best to keep a straight face as you softly rubbed the wet cloth over her cuts.
“Right beside me.” you whispered.
She hummed, looking almost regretful.
After you finished, you offered her a hand. She took it, and calmly you helped her get to a chair in the small dining area off of the kitchen. Her speed and strength had definitely improved since the first day she woke up. Faint and injured, she had tried to rise and leave, but you stopped her. She needed to rest and be given care for a while. Within the minute, she had already fallen back asleep, and you began tending to her stressed wounds once more.
Her hair has yet to fade from a gleaming white.
Putting a slice of bread in the toaster, you didn’t bother asking Acheron if she would like a piece. In all of the time that you have known her, she has never eaten or drank anything.
“Do you want to ask me something?” she queried, head tilting slightly in your direction.
She always had such attentive hearing – too honed almost. Impressive strength and stamina, something that was almost inhuman. She had no heartbeat that you could sense, either. From all of the tales that you have heard in your life, you could only find one conclusion.
“Actually, I do.” Taking a seat across from her, you folded your hands over the table. “Are you a vampire, Acheron?”
A beat of silence crossed the room before she replied, “How adept of you.”
The toaster popped, and you paused a moment before rising to check it. Placing it on a plate, you opened the butter dish and retrieved a knife before spreading it over your toast.
“You need blood, then, correct? In order to soothe your fatigue.”
“Yes.” she returned simply.
Brushing your fingers on a nearby towel, you slowly strode to her side of the table.
“Use me.”
It was a bold request, and one that she could very possibly turn down. Still, you were going to see her care through to the end. Even besides that, you were starting to consider her a friend.
She seemed stunned, although her face could never communicate the extent of which. As if betraying her features, her hands started traveling around your waist, bringing you slowly onto her lap.
“Are you certain?”
“Of course.”
With no hesitation or restraint, she licked up the right side of your neck, bringing her left hand up to tug at your hair and angle your head over. Your fingers curled into the front of her shirt, one that she had borrowed from you. The tip of her tongue crossed the cusp of your ear, making your grip tighten. Her thumb started rubbing your scalp as she bit down. It burned initially, but within an instant became truly pleasurable. Her lips tightened around her bite as she sucked and licked the area, drawing blood out and leaving you in a daze. One hand remained tightened around her shirt while the other drifted to her hair, holding her closer. Your breath echoed in her ear, one that was likely catching the soft whimpers that left you, only spurring her on more.
Your body moved against her, seeking any more of her you could get. A small nick from one of her teeth made you whine as you repeated the same motion. She did it again. Her other hand fell from your waist to your hip, sliding underneath your shirt and rubbing your lower back. You relaxed into her, sliding your hand further down her body, shifting closer to her as that hand moved to her stomach, stroking underneath the borrowed fabric.
You felt her begin to pull away below your left hand, and so you brought it out of her hair and down her cheek. The white started leaving her hair, but your gaze remained only on her eyes – and the remnants of blood on her lips. In a swift motion, you licked her bottom lip, tasting what she so craved. Before you could shift backward, she tightened her grip in your hair and kissed you with the same passion you danced with weeks ago. She leaned back and you cupped her cheek, bringing your other hand up to her bare waist. Tracing over the cool skin, you remained on her for a small minute before finally, she parted from you.
A knock hit your door right before you were set to leave for the day.
When you opened it, none other than Acheron greeted you.
“I remember you dropped this during my battle, so I came to return it.” she stated, handing over your leather-wrapped book.
“Thank you.” you replied, turning away to leave it on the table by the door. When you looked back, she had something else prepared.
“I also wanted to bring you this gift.”
You accepted a white box with purple and red ribbon. A letter rested underneath the bow, and you saved it for last. After undoing the neat package, you opened it to find a well-forged dagger.
“I wanted to give you something to start with, so that if the time comes and I am not there, you will have a weapon.”
It was a beautiful present. A winding snake wrapped around the hilt, its head resting on the tip. It had a sharp shine to it, and weighed light under your hands. It was held in white leather, and displayed a dark metal when you removed it. You would be sure to cherish it.
Exchanging the blade for the letter on the table, you slid a letter opener under the seal and lifted out the paper. While it was not very long, it seemed incredibly heartfelt.
I must start this letter by telling you how much I appreciate all that you have done for me. I am not accustomed to such care, much less the tenderness that you showed me. It is an… odd feeling. But one that I am not very against. Though I cannot say that I can stop my drifting across the country, I can say that I will always return here, to you. I want to stay for the next few months, and teach you some of what I know. I hope you will consider my offer, and me.
Sincerely yours,
Acheron
Wordlessly, you set the letter down and crossed the threshold, placing a kiss on her cheek and wrapping her in a hug. She hesitated at first, but soon crossed her own over your back.
In a whisper, she posed a question. “Will you accept?”
“Of course!” you returned quietly.
“Great. We will begin tomorrow.”
A complementing smile grew on her face, one that showcased a great amount of joy that you had never seen from her before. It was lovely, and you were sure that the next few months with her would feel the same.
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valeskafics · 1 year
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"The Hunt" - Cregan Stark x Velaryon!Reader
Part 2 HERE.
Summary: Your mother sends you, her eldest child and heir, North to garner support for the Blacks.
TW: profanity, innuendo, uses female pronouns and AFAB description, NSFW NSFW NSFW P IN V SEX, breeding kink, primal kink, lots of sluttiness, mentions of luke's death, mentions of prior incestuous relationship, very slutty times idk, unprotected sex wrap it before you tap it kids
Word Count: 3,679 words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
When your mother sent you as an envoy to Winterfell, you know she did so hoping to earn Cregan Stark’s loyalty with a marriage pact. A marriage to bind the Wolf in the North to you, her beloved daughter. While you always thought you’d be betrothed to your beloved twin, Jace, the light of your life, circumstances made it imperative that he marry Baela, to secure Princess Rhaenys’s support in Luke’s claim to Driftmark. Jace and you mourned the loss of your love before it began, but swore to do your duty, setting all dreams of being together aside for the good of the Realm.
Then, Aegon usurped your mother’s crown and the time came for alliances to be made. Luke was sent to Storm’s End, Jace to the Vale, and you to Winterfell. Being your mother’s eldest child, the Princess of Dragonstone now, you were to go the furthest distance. The strongest of her children. The bravest.
As you and your two younger brothers readied to mount your dragons, you quickly ran over and embraced them both, as tightly as you could. First, you turned to Luke and gave him an almost motherly kiss on the forehead, urging him to be careful. Then, you turned to Jace and shared a kiss. Just one. It was chaste and it said a thousand words, and it was over before it began.
As you and your brothers took to the skies, you had a sinking feeling in your heart, and you didn’t understand why. You’re not a dreamer like Helaena. You don’t know the future. You just knew… Something was going to happen. A feeling in the pit of your stomach.
When you reached Winterfell, your suspicions were soon proved correct. When you landed your mighty beasts at the gates of Winterfell, Lord Cregan Stark and his retainers are there to greet you. The young Lord Stark’s handsome features were the first thing you noticed. Those piercing gray eyes that seemed to see right through you and knew all your secrets. His mouth was set into a grim line as you hopped off of your dragon.
“Lord Stark,” you spoke calmly, “What has happened?”
“Your brother, my princess. Prince Lucerys… He is dead.”
Such awful words had never been said from such a beautiful mouth. You felt as though your whole world had come crashing down on you. But, you managed to calm yourself, taking a sharp breath.
“Thank you for telling me, Lord Stark,” you said quietly, giving him a polite and what you hoped to be kindsmile, “I’m sure it must have been very difficult for you.”
The first few days you were at Winterfell, you hardly emerged from your guest chambers. You sobbed and sobbed, wanting nothing more than to be reunited with your little brother. Your precious Luke. The first baby you ever held, the one who you took for his first dragon ride. The ache in your heart was unbearable.
On the fifth day of your stay, you finally emerged, feeling slightly more like yourself. Cregan approached you.
“My princess, would you mind very much if I showed you my favorite place in Winterfell?”
You looked up at him, eyes still red from the oceans of tears you’d cried, “Yes, Lord Stark, please lead the way.”
And Cregan Stark smiled at you. From all the rumors you’ve heard, he’s a gruff and serious man, his life tainted by tragedies no one should have to suffer at such a young age. But he gave you the kindest, most beautiful smile you thought you’d ever seen. He led you to the Godswood, telling you that is where he went when his beloved younger brother died. And his father. Cregan, it seemed, had suffered much as you had.
And so, the two of you were drawn together, constantly spending time together. He took you through the worst of your grief.
And he fell in love with you. So deeply that it terrified him. The Wolf in the North wasn’t used to this feeling that overtook him when he was around you. This warmth in his chest. The quickening of his breath and rapid beating of his heart. But, he knew. It was love. He was in love with you. And judging by the way you snuck glances at him whenever you thought he wasn’t looking, he was quite sure you felt the same.
You weren’t like anyone he’d ever met before. Certainly, Northern ladies had their own charm. Honest and hardworking, kind and strong. But there was a playfulness about you, a certain mischievousness that he found entirely irresistible. He found himself adoring every moment he spent with you, craving your presence like a starving man in the desert craves water to quench his thirst. And of course, his thoughts did not remain entirely free of more… Unmentionable desires for long.
The way your dresses seemed to be fitted a bit more than the ones he’d seen Northern girls wear. The way your hips swayed when you walked, effortlessly enticing him. Your sweet scent, your voice. Everything.
Cregan read your mother’s letter the day you had arrived, but chose not to mention it quite yet, wanting you to take your time to grieve. The letter proposed a marital alliance, joining the houses of Stark and Targaryen by wedding the two of you. The Lord of Winterfell and the rightful Princess of Dragonstone. Cregan was not opposed to the idea, of course, rather he supported the notion wholeheartedly. He simply wanted to wait for the right moment to broach the subject.
That moment comes this night, the night of a feast to celebrate your twin’s success in garnering alliances for the Blacks. Hearing news of Jace’s endeavors warms your heart, the news that he remains safe and out of harms way, away from the vengeful wrath of your uncles.
Tonight, it is a full moon. And despite the feasting and celebration, there is a heaviness in the air. At least there is when your gaze meets Cregan’s from across the table. You aren’t a fool. You know he desires you. Just as you desire him. But tonight, it seems to go beyond that. Those gray Stark eyes are filled with something deeper than lust when he looks at you.
This is no mere man. This is a wolf and his only desire is to devour you whole.
After the feasting is done, you wander out to the Godswood, sitting on a bench in front of the Heart Tree, in hopes that he follows you. And like a moth to the flame, he does. He comes and gives you a low bow, taking a seat beside you.
“My princess,” his voice is a low rumble in your ear that sends a thrill up your spine, “I am glad you are finding Winterfell to your liking.”
You nod, moving to sit even closer to him, not really giving a damn about the danger to your reputation. There is something so intoxicating about his presence. Ever since you came to Winterfell, any moment you have spent not in his company has felt downright torturous.
“I certainly am, Lord Stark, your home is beautiful,” you give him what you hope is a normal enough smile that doesn’t betray your absolutely depraved thoughts about the man standing next to you.
“Princess, how many times must I ask you to call me Cregan?” he gives you what you might have thought to be a soft smile, if you didn’t see the dangerous gleam in his eyes.
“As many times as it takes for you to remember to call me by my name, Lord Stark,” you retort.
Cregan chuckles, his eyes traveling the expanse of your body, taking in your form-fitting dress, “Might I say, Princess, that you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”
A lesser woman would be terrified, sitting in the company of a man who is so imposing, with that much hunger in his gaze. But you? You are a dragon. You’re quite sure your eyes must betray your intentions as well. And so you smile and take his extended arm.
“You are very kind, Cregan.”
Cregan has to hold himself back from pushing you down against the stone bench and taking you right then and there at the mere sound of you speaking his name. Just a little longer, he thinks to himself, Just a little bit longer.
“Walk with me, Princess?” he asks, standing up and extending a hand to you.
When you smile and stand to take his hand, he can’t help but think how much smaller your hand is than his. How different it would feel to have the smooth, soft skin of your hand running up and down the length of his cock. His mouth nearly waters at the thought, but he’s soon snapped back to reality when you break the silence between the two of you as you stroll through the Godswood.
“You’re quite tall, you know,” the words sound stupid coming out of your mouth the moment you say them.
Cregan gives you a smile you can only describe as one a starved predator may give before advancing on its prey, “Yes, it’s a trait with us Northerners. Though, it certainly has its advantages.”
“I can imagine,” you laugh, squeezing his hand gently.
His breath catches in his throat at the feeling. No one has ever made him feel this… Out of control before. No one can drive him as crazy as you do. The two of you walk for a while longer, under the light of the full moon. Then, you let go of his hand, disappointing him for but a minute, to go lean against one of the trees.
“It’s a beautiful night,” you comment, turning your eyes to the sky.
Cregan stares at you unabashedly, because in this moment, you look like some fallen deity come to earth. The moonlight illuminates your skin in a way that makes you look almost ethereal. He takes a deep breath and takes his first step. He stands directly in front of you, towering over you, as he rests one hand on the tree behind you, effectively caging you in.
He moves his other hand to hold your chin, running his thumb across your bottom lip, admiring how soft it feels against his skin, “You’re beautiful. You know that?”
You gaze up at him, “Thank you, Lord Stark. You aren’t so bad to look at yourself.”
His laugh isn’t really a laugh. It’s more of a bark of laughter. Something like a wolf howling. The way he gazes at you, with those hooded gray eyes, makes you wonder…
Does the honorable Lord Stark intend to let his inner wolf run free tonight? Seven hells, you hope so.
For his part, Cregan wants it noted for posterity that he really has tried everything not to turn into a wild beast tonight. He tried to keep a respectable distance, which didn’t go according to plan. He tried not to stare at how the curves of your body were perfectly accentuated by your dress, but failed miserably. He tried not to let out a low growl of appreciation when he felt the bare skin of your hand touch his.
And now, with you leaning against a tree in the Godswood, not a soul in sight save for the two of you…
He wonders just how far you’re willing to indulge his… Animal instinct.
“What are your thoughts on the alliance my mother proposed?” you ask curiously.
Cregan can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face at the fact that you’re the one who brought up the subject first, “I find it to be an excellent idea. And you, Princess? I know you Southerners find us to be quite different.”
He moves his hand from your chin to run down your neck, caressing it. The further to the curve of your waist. Cregan pulls you flush up against him and smirks at the quiet yelp of surprise you let out.
“Are you alright, little one?” he smirks, “Are you too delicate for this Northerner?”
You scoff, “Cregan Stark, I am the blood of the dragon. The blood of Old Valyria. I assure you that I can handle anything you throw my way.”
“Oh, can you?” Cregan chuckles under his breath, leaning in toward you, his nose nearly brushing against yours as he whispers hoarsely, “Do you desire me, little dragon? Do you yearn for me the way I yearn for you?”
You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. Perhaps it’s the magic of the full moon or the spirits in the Godswood, but you don’t think you can resist this man much longer, nor your desire for him. The Starks value honor and honesty. So you admit it to him.
“Yes, my lord, I do desire you,” you murmur, biting your lower lip.
His eyes follow your actions and he shakes his head, “No, little dragon,” he gently presses his thumb against your lower lip, making you stop the action, “Don’t bite that pretty lip. That’s my job now.”
And then his mouth descends upon yours. He tangles one hand in your hair as he presses your body up against the tree, using his other to hike one of your legs up onto his hip. His lips are chapped from the bitter cold of Winterfell, but the passion, the desire, the hunger with which he kisses you makes you forget that entirely. He tugs on your hair, making you moan into his mouth.
His voice is gravelly with desire as he speaks, angling your face so you meet his stormy gray eyes, “Do you fear me, little dragon? Do you fear your wolf?”
“Dragons have nothing to fear from wolves, my lord,” you tease.
He peppers kisses along your jawline, down to your neck, where he nips at your sensitive skin, “But what if this wolf were to bite?”
“I think you’re all bark and no bite,” you goad him on, running a hand through his hair, “All talk and no-”
You let out an audible gasp when he bites down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, leaving what is sure to be a sizable bite mark. He laves attention on the mark with his tongue and lips, soothing you after that brief moment of both pleasure and pain.
“You’ve been claimed by a wolf, little dragon,” Cregan presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat, “How do you feel about that?”
“I’d hardly call a little nip from a wolf pup claiming,” you retort.
He pulls back and gives you a devious grin, “Oh? How would you suggest I claim my pretty dragon then?”
You give him a coy grin in return and speak, lowering your voice, “Why, by hunting me down in these woods and claiming me properly.”
His pupils are blown so wide you can hardly see the gray of his eyes. His lips pull back in something halfway between a snarl and a smile.
“You wish me to hunt you, Princess?” he grips your jaw in one of admittedly large hands, “I’ll hunt you down and claim what is mine if that is what you desire.”
“It is,” you whisper.
He nods, his body almost trembling with excitement, “I shall give you a head start then, my sweet princess. You’d best get to running and hiding. I know these woods like the back of my hand. Wherever you go, I promise you, I will find you.”
You step away from the tree and give him a cheeky smile before darting off deeper into the woods as he counts to twenty. You can hear his low baritone, almost taunting you as he calls out the numbers. You continue running, your cheeks flushing from excitement and exertion all at once.
Then, he reaches the number twenty and he begins chasing after you. You hear his footsteps and break into a sprint, dodging branches and jumping over tree roots. The chase is exhilarating for him and you both.
Cregan watches as your figure weaves between the trees. He licks his lips. He can almost taste you on his tongue as he chases after you. Just barely out of his reach.
You duck behind a tree, watching him run past, holding back a laugh at having so easily bested him. But you also feel slightly disappointed that now he won’t find you and thereby won’t claim you as he said he would. You step back out only to be shoved up against the very tree you hid behind.
“Found you,” he growls before his mouth descends on yours again.
You wrap yourself around him, wanting to feel him as close to you as you possibly can. Your hands are in his hair, legs wrapped against his wait as you grind yourself against him, craving whatever friction he can provide. He sets you down for a moment.
“Get that fucking dress off, little dragon.”
It’s not a request, it’s a command. And one you’re happy to oblige. Your fingers shake as you begin to undo the bodice of your dress. But apparently, you’re going a bit too slow for his liking. He lets out a quiet snarl, pushes your hands away, and rips the bodice of your dress in half. You stare up at him in shock.
“I…”
He quickly tears the rest of the dress off of you, leaving you in only your small clothes. He makes quick work of your shift, ripping that as well. You absently wonder how in the world you’re going to sneak back into the castle without any clothes. You’re now only in your underwear and corset.
“Never understood why people wear these,” Cregan’s breath is a low hiss when he tears the corset open, licking his lips when your breasts spill free.
Immediately, he’s pushing you down to the forest floor, his mouth on your neck, your breasts, anything he can test. He mouths at one of your nipples while his rough hand squeezes the other, making you whimper slightly.
“Fuck, Cregan…”
He pulls back slightly, tossing his cloak aside and making quick work of his own clothes. Before you know it, he’s standing in front of you, bare. The sight of his already hard, weeping cock makes you rub your thighs together in anticipation. He leans back over you again, his body more than covering yours. His hand moves to stroke you between your legs. He chuckles darkly.
“It seems you won’t need much preparing, little dragon. You’re already soaked for me.”
And with one thrust, he sheathes all of himself inside of you. You let out a choked gasp, surprised at just how good he feels inside of you. He fills you so completely that you wonder why you even bothered trying to resist this feeling for so long.
“When I get started,” he breathes sharply, “I’m not going to stop. Do you want this?”
You nod.
He shakes his head, gripping your chin in his hand, “I need you to speak plainly, my love. Do you want this?”
“Yes, Cregan.”
He gives you a devilish grin and picks up your legs, wrapping them around him as he begins pounding into you without abandon. You bury your face in his neck, mewling little whines that sound vaguely like his name. But your thoughts are incoherent. All you can think of his long, thick cock that’s filling you up so perfectly, driving deeper and deeper into you with every powerful thrust.
He hits a certain spot inside of you that makes you arch your back up off the ground and let out a loud squeal of his name, “Fuck, Cregan, yes, right there!”
He nips at your throat and continues fucking into you harder. He feels you squeezing around him tighter and tighter with every movement, your warm wet walls gripping him like a vice to the point where he thinks he can barely move until he feels your arousal coat his cock. He glances up to meet your eyes and grins, picking you up off the ground and shoving you against the tree, fucking into you with a renewed vigor. It’s almost too much for you as you babble incoherently, begging him to go harder, faster, as he continues his efforts.
You feel him spill his seed inside you, coating your walls as you reach your peak for the second time that night. His lips meet yours in a lazier, less hungry but just as passionate kiss.
“I love you,” he murmurs into your ear, “And I want you to be my wife. To bear my children. To be the one I share my life with.”
“I want that too,” you whisper back as you feel him grow hard against your leg, “Seven hells, Cregan, you are insatiable.”
He kisses you and turns you around so your bare chest is pressed against the tree. He leans forward to kiss your neck before whispering in your ear.
“You’ve set this insatiable wolf free, my dragon. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
You let out a loud moan of his name as he takes you from behind, the angle feeling different but just as pleasurable as both ways he took you before.
“I’m going to spill my seed inside you again,” he growls into your ear as he fucks into you, “Watch your belly swell with my babe.”
“Yes, fuck, Cregan,” you whine as he squeezes the flesh of your ass, pulling out and slamming himself back into you.
When the two of you have finally become so exhausted that you simply must sleep, Cregan wraps his cloak around you and carries you back to the castle. You’re half asleep, simply gazing up at him, while he smiles down at you.
He takes you to his chambers and has a warm bath drawn for you.
Then, his maester comes to him.
A visitor has just arrived and wishes to speak with both Cregan and you.
Prince Jacaerys is in Winterfell.
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kentobb · 3 months
Text
The Promise
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Character: Ushijima Wakatoshi x F!Reader
Warnings: Heavy angst, cursing, slight comfort on the end.
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It has been a rough month and Ushijima knows it. He has been overworking himself, pushing his limits at each practice. His typically calm and composed face is now etched with stress and strain. His temperament, once steady as a rock, is now volatile and erratic, akin to a stormy sea. The month had been grueling, a relentless onslaught of training sessions and personal workouts. His body is aching, his mind is strained, and his spirit is beginning to waver.
Today, he returns to his apartment later than usual, bone-tired, his muscles screaming in protest, only to be greeted by your sight, his sweet and loving girlfriend. Your smile always warm, eyes filled with concern, having dinner ready, a hot bath drawn, and comforting words falling from your lips.
He should feel guilty for his recent behavior, matter of fact he should apologize. He was not a man prone to emotional outbursts or thoughtless actions, and yet, he had allowed his stress to control him, to turn him into someone he hardly recognized these days.
He had ignored you, brushed off your attempts at conversations, and retreated into himself. He had been mean, cold, distant. He had forgotten your presence, forgotten the warmth you brought into his life, forgotten the love that had once made his heart flutter.
And tonight was no different, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders, his mind foggy and his spirit was weary. As he kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket on the hook, the tantalizing aroma of dinner wafted through the apartment. He followed the scent into the kitchen, his eyes landing on the sight of you, sitting at the kitchen table, a spread of dishes laid out in front of you.
You looked up the entrance and your face lights up with a smile that reaches your eyes. A sight that used to warm his heart, a sight that used to make him forget about exhaustion, a sight that used to make him feel loved.
“‘Toshi, you’re home!” You smiled happily.
But today, he could only muster a tired sigh in response. He saw you on your feet in an instant, your chair scraping against the floor as you rushed towards him. Your arms wrapped around him in a tight hug, your warmth seeping into him. But he didn’t return the hug, didn’t wrap his arms around you, didn’t press a kiss to your forehead like he always does. He just stood there, his body rigid, his mind elsewhere.
You pulled away, you don’t know if it is out of embarrassment or…due to a sudden heartbreak due to the neglect you have been suffering, but your hands suddenly cup his face, eyes searching his for a sign of the man you loved. “Um, we should, well, you should go eat,” You urged, your voice soft and your touch gentle. But he shook his head, his voice coming out gruff as he muttered, “I’m tired.”
But you didn’t back down this time, didn’t let him retreat into himself like he has done all this month. You tugged at his hand, tried to lead him to the table with the dinner you worked very hard for, trying to make him eat. “Come on, Toshi, you been avoiding me this past month,” You insisted, your voice firm, your grip tight. “Just be here, yeah?” You smiled.
But he snapped. “For fuck sakes Y/N, I’m tired!” He barked, his voice louder that he intended, his tone harsher than he meant. He yanked his hand out of your grip, his eyes flashing with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “You have been nagging me all these past nights to have fucking dinner and you don’t understand that I am tired.” He yelled again.
The silence that followed was deafening, the tension in the room palpable. You took a step back, embarrassed that your boyfriend had to yelled at you like that, “Ah, sorry, I just thought—“ You were saying but were cut off immediately by his sharp words.
“Thought what? Thought what, Y/N?” He yelled in disbelief, “That you have been a pain in the ass for the past few days?” He asked as he raised his voice louder, tone meaner.
“I-I’m sorry,” You apologized, trying to mask your disappointment, “I have missed you…” You mumbled embarrassedly, trying to hide your flushed face from him.
“Missed me?” He yelled, “We live in the same fucking apartment and we see each other every night!” He yelled, his voice echoing in the quiet apartment.
“I- I know, I know, Toshi,” You said, trying to calm him down, “B-But we haven’t been able to talk, you haven’t kissed me or touched me…” You admit painfully as you looked at him with teary eyes.
“God, you’re so fucking clingy and needy,” He yells as he rolled his eyes out of frustration. “All of this mess because of that?” He chuckled, “I am tired for this crap right now.” He said.
The room fell silent, the tension hanging heavy in the air. He watched your face fall, your eyes reflecting the hurt his words had caused. And guilt washed over him like a tidal wave, his heart clenching at your sight.
You know he didn’t mean any single word of it, right? He was just tired, so incredibly tired. His days were filled with endless practices, his nights consumed by restless sleep. He was pushing himself to the brink, his body and mind paying the price.
He didn’t mean it.
“Sorry,” You mumbled, “I will clean the mess,” You said as you hid your face away from his, walking towards the kitchen again.
His mind raced, guilt and regret swirling within him. He wanted to apologize, to explain, to make you understand that fuck, he didn’t mean any of it. But the words wouldn’t come, his throat tight with emotion. He was trapped in his own guilt, his own exhaustion, his own regret. And he didn’t know how to escape.
He watched from the doorway as you busied yourself in the kitchen, cleaning up the dinner he had refused to eat. His heart clenching at the sight, guilt gnawing at his insides. He had been harsh, mean even, and he regretted it.
Your movements were mechanical, your usual cheerfulness replaced with a somber silence. He watched as you wiped the table clean, packed the uneaten food, and washed the dishes. Your shoulders are tense, lips pressed into a thin line.
And he noticed, noticed how you tried to compose yourself, how you tried to hold back the tears. But despite your efforts, a few escaped, trailing down your cheeks and disappearing into the collar of your shirt. Each tear was a stab to his heart, a painful reminder of the hurt he had caused.
Once you were done, you turned off the lights, plunging the kitchen into the darkness. The only sound was the sound of the soft padding of your feet as you made your way to the bedroom, where he was waiting.
Both of you sat on opposite sides of the bed, an uncomfortable silence hanging between both of you. He watched as you changed into your sleeping clothes, your movements slow and deliberate. You climbed into bed, your back to him, body curling up on your side.
He was at a loss. He didn’t knew what to do, didn’t know what to say. He was worried, his mind filled with the thoughts of you, of the hurt he had caused. He knew you had taken his words to heart, knew that you were hurting. And it was all of his fault.
In the dimly lit room, his silhouette was barely visible as he climbed into bed next to you. The only sound that broke silence was your soft, muffled sobs. His heart clenched at the sound. He reached out tentatively, his hands finding their way around your waist. He drew you close, his chest against your back, both of your hearts beating in a rhythm that was painfully off sync.
He leaned in, pressing his lips against your swollen and teary face, tasting the saltiness of your tears. “I’m sorry,” He whispered into your hair, his voice barely audible. His words hung heavy in the air, a confession and a plea all at once.
You remained silent, sobs subsiding into quiet sniffles. And he could feel your body stiffen at his words. It was an unspoken tension that made his heart race with worry. He wanted to say more, you deserved way more, to explain, to ask for forgiveness, but the words stuck in his throat.
“Talk to me, love.” He implored, his voice barely a whisper. His fingers tracing circles on your waist, a silent plea for you to respond.
But you don’t. Your silence was deafening wrapping you both in a shroud of uncertainty. And he held you tighter, his mind racing with thoughts and fears. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, and that scared him.
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The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open to a new day. His body felt heavy, his heart even more so. The events of the previous night replayed in his mind like a haunting melody.
He found you in the kitchen, a solitary figure bathed in the morning light. You were cradling a cup of coffee, your gaze fixed in the steaming liquid. Your face was pale, eyes rimmed with red. The sight of you, so vulnerable and distant, twisted his heart.
“Good morning,” he tried, he really did, his voice echoing in the silence. But you didn’t respond, didn’t even lift your gaze to meet his. It was as if he was a ghost, unseen, unheard. He felt a pang of guilt, a sharp reminder of his words last night.
“For fuck sakes Y/N.”
“You have been nagging me all these past nights to have fucking dinner and you don’t understand that I am tired.”
“God, you’re so fucking clingy and needy.”
His mind was whirlwind of thoughts. He had hoped that giving you space would help, that it would give you time to heal, time to warm up to him like you always do. But as the day dragged on, the silence between both of you grew. His phone remained silent, devoid of your usual messages.
No updates about your day, no reminders about dinner, nothing.
It was a silence that spoke volumes, and it terrified him.
Who would have thought? Ushijima Wakatoshi, the man who faced countless opponents on the court, was scared. He was scared that his actions had created a chasm between you, a distance he didn’t knew how to bridge.
As he returned from practice on the night, the apartment was dark. The usually welcoming lights were all turned off, a stark reminder of the cold silence that awaited him. He knew you would be in bed, probably feigning sleep. There would be no warm welcome, no home-cooked meal, no soft smiles.
He lingered at the door, his hand hovering over the knob. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the silence that awaited him. As he stepped into the dark apartment, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread that clung to him. He was walking into a battlefield, and he didn’t know how to fight this war.
The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the noise of the world outside. He stepped in, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words. The sight of the shared room, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, was a painful reminder of the happier times.
There you were, a small figure curled up on the bed, your back to him just like last night. Your eyes were open, staring blankly at the window. The sadness in your gaze was palpable, a silent cry for help that tore at his heart.
He took off his shoes, placing his gym bag in the kitchen before making his way towards you. He tried to speak, to break the silence that hung between both of you.
“How are you?” He asked softly, but his words fell on deaf ears. You didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge his presence.
Undeterred, he climbed onto the bed, his large frame curling around your smaller one. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, making you face him. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, each kiss a silent promise to make things right.
And then he hears it, he hears you crying. Tears falling like rain, burying your face on his chest and soaking his shirt. Your sobs were heart-wrenching, a testament to the pain he had caused.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. He held you tightly, as if his touch could somehow ease the pain he had caused. His apologies were a soft murmur against your hair, a desperate plea for forgiveness.
He gently lifted your face, fingers tracing the contours of your features. His lips found yours in a tender kiss, a silent vow of his love for you. He kissed away your salty tears, each one a testament to her pain, each one a reminder of his mistakes.
“I love you,” He whispered, his voice barely audible. His words were soft, filled with emotion so raw yet so powerful that it took his breath away. He repeated the words over and over, a mantra of love and regret.
Slowly, your sobs subsided. Your breathing evened out, your body relaxing against his. Falling asleep in his arms, your tear-streaked face buried in his chest. He watched you sleep, his heart aching with relief and regret.
He ran his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle and soothing. His eyes welled up with tears, the guilt and regret overwhelming him. He kisses your forehead, a silent promise etched into your skin.
“This is the last time,” He vowed to himself, his voice chocked with emotion. “This is the last time I’ll make you cry,” He promised.
He held you close, his arms a protective shield around you.
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Reblogs, notes and comments are appreciated <3
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hold-me-lovely · 1 month
Text
how they coax you back to bed
featuring: gojo satoru and geto suguru
warnings: none?, sfw, fluff, they’re so in loveeeee with you </3
jjk x g/n reader
a/n: this was super fun. I’m still getting the hang of my characterization of jjk characters but I think I like how this turned out. let me know if you want any other characters with this prompt
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Gojo Satoru
the feeling of harsh sunlight hitting your face greeted you as you slowly opened your eyes. the tv remote was still loosely in your hand. somehow, you had managed to keep a grip on it throughout satoru’s nightly ventures. you vaguely remembered the night starting with the two of you in bed, bickering about the movie you’d be watching. eventually, you had clicked play on the first recommended comedy you had found and kept the remote glued to your side to ensure toru didn’t try anything.
the last you recalled, you had been leaning on his chest, head tucked against his neck with his arms lazily wrapped around your waist. the last you recalled. that was before you had both fallen asleep and the true depths of his clinginess came to the surface. gojo satoru in an unconscious state of being was like a magnet, finding you easily and determined to remain next to you. throughout the night, every movement you made was met with two of his, every shift away leading to grumbling and a long leg thrown over your hip. there was no escape for you.
although this was a nightly occurrence, the position you woke up in changed every morning, telling a new, harrowing tale of how he managed to find you once again.
this morning was a new one. as your eyes adjusted to the bright lighting, you spotted toru’s white hair peeking from the blanket and finally made the connection between that and the weight on your leg. his head rested on your upper thigh as his arms wrapped around your knees, a content look on his face. you chuckled at the fetal position he had managed to contort his long limbs into. it was always constant entertainment with this man.
you debated staying in bed with him but the ache in your bladder won that battle. you attempted to quietly shift out from under him but you moved no more than a millimeter before you heard sleepy grumbling followed by the grip on your legs tightening. you looked down and saw one of his eyes peeking up at you and quickly closing. “how long have you been awake, satoru?”
you rolled your eyes at his attempts at snoring and gently peeled his arm off of your leg. you stifled a giggle as he pretended to unconsciously roll over, his body weighing down on your legs. you whined, “satoru, I need to pee.”
he only continued to ignore you, his snoring getting louder. after feeling you struggle for a moment, he peeked at you once again, “I don’t even know a satoru so who are you talking to??”
you rolled your eyes with a huff, carding your fingers through his hair, “baby, please let me go.”
he pretended to think it over, tapping his chin with his free hand and looking up at you through his lashes, “promise you’ll come right back?”
you nodded eagerly, “I’ll use the bathroom and come right back, I promise.”
he hesitantly rolled off your leg and you hurried to the bathroom before he changed his mind.
as soon as you finished and swung the door open, you were immediately being lifted in the air. you grabbed at his arm and yelped, “toru, what the hell?!”
you could hear the grin in his voice as he princess-carried you back to the bed, “just making sure you came back.”
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Geto Suguru
for some reason, thursdays were the hardest for suguru. they were so close to the end of the week and yet not close enough.
you had grown used to the routine of your alarm going off 30 minutes before suguru’s as a warning. you had learned quickly that one alarm was never enough. he reminded you again this morning.
the shrill of your phone going off woke you up from your position on suguru’s chest immediately. you haphazardly reached towards the nightstand before managing to turn the alarm off. as soon as you silenced your phone, you felt him shift onto his side, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you back into his chest. he muttered sleepily, “yours or mine?”
you grinned as you turned to bury your face in his chest, “mine.”
he sighed happily and his grip on you loosened, knowing he would get to stay with you like this for a bit longer. his hand remained on your waist while the other shifted upward to rub circles on the nape of your neck. he smiled as you went limp against him, knowing you’d drift back to sleep soon. he couldn’t help eyeballing his phone on the nightstand, tempted to disable his alarm to keep you here. sadly, he knew you had work and opted to leave it be. as he held you, his eyes fluttered and he fell back asleep to the sound of your breathing.
his alarm went off too soon for his liking. as soon as he felt you begin to shift as you woke up, he squeezed his arms around you and rolled you on top of him. “suguru, wha-” you were interrupted by him pressing you against him tighter, kissing the top of your head before feigning unconsciousness. “go back to sleep, sweetheart.” he mumbled with his eyes closed.
you whined, “I have work this morning.”
he hummed, his eyes still remaining closed. he tried to fight the smile that threatened to take over his face at the sound of your morning voice trying to ward him off. when you continued struggling to roll off him, he rubbed your back slowly, “shush, pretty. some of us are trying to sleep.”
he chuckled at the sight of your pout and your prompt smack to his arm. still, your efforts weren’t enough to loosen his grip. finally, you gave up, slumping and allowing your head to dangle off the side of his body. you grumbled, “whatever, I give up. it’s too early to try to fight you right now.”
he smiled at his victory, gently lifting your head back onto his chest to make you comfortable, “I think you wanted me to keep you here.”
your response was muffled, but he heard no sounds of denial, continuing his gentle ministrations on your back. eventually, you looked up, your chin resting on his sternum. he looked back down at you with a soft smile. your tone was serious, “you’re right. I totally could’ve gotten out if I really wanted to.”
with that, you laid your head to the side, trying to go back to sleep. he let out a breathy laugh and kissed your hairline, “of course you could have.”
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thank you for reading <3
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chiwhorei · 8 months
Text
Bésame
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Miguel O’Hara x reader
Tags: 18+ ONLY mdni, College AU, roommates to lovers, tooth-rotting love for this man, pussy-devouring, fingering, squirting, I wrote this in one go so you get what ya get
Word count: 2.3k- written in one, prolonged blackout
Notes: I’m fucking back bitches. I missed you, I missed this. I hope I stick around this time. This was supposed to be a blurb about squirting but the melancholy romantic won again.
Cross-posted to Ao3!
There’s something about the smell of crisp summer morning, the feeling of gentle air, humidity whispering across your face. The inescapable heat of late July is hidden from the world in its earliest hours.
“Keep up Mamí, I’m not getting stuck in the rain because you’re daydreaming.”
You pick up the pace, jogging in quick steps to catch up to Miguel. He’s farther ahead than you realized, strong muscles and wispy brown hair outlined by dark storm clouds.
Your breath is heavy, rattling against your ribs while you match the canter of Miguel’s long stride. He’s never gone easy on you, but your labored breathing makes him ease up a bit.
“What’s got your attention this morning? Or were you admiring the view behind me?” Miguel reaches up to adjust the cloth headband keeping his hair out of his face. His arms look like they’re chiseled from marble, strong, tanned skin flexes under the cutoff he wears in some iteration every morning.
Your eyes glaze over, not realizing the intensity of your gawking until Miguel’s eyes find yours. The color is deeper than usual, darker and melting into the black of his pupil. You write it off as the gloomy weather above, but he licks his bottom lip before relinquishing your stare.
You forgot what he asked you, but he doesn’t press the subject any further. Out of character, but appreciated.
“What time is your last class over tonight?” He asks, you fix your eyes on a stop sign ahead to avoid getting lost in his stare again. You see him from the corner of your eye, the angle making it seem that his gaze is focused on the bounce of your chest.
It’s just the angle, you sound even less convincing in your own head.
“Uh- well it’s Monday, so I have lab until 4:30.” You groan out the last part, ruminating on the long day ahead of you.
“My evening class got canceled for today, so I can take care of dinner tonight.”
You hum at him, his offer settles against your shoulders like honey. Something to look forward to at the end of a long day.
Sometimes he almost feels real.
He folded you into his life like melted chocolate. An easy, peaceful affection towards you since you moved in all those months ago. An offer to join his morning runs, filling a thermos of coffee for you to grab before leaving the apartment, coming home to dinner with that casual dismissal that makes your head spin.
“It’s no problem, mamí, that’s what roommates are for.” He’s always been so plain and earnest, smoothing over any objections with a sugary term of endearment and those big brown eyes.
Your heart aches so deeply when you forget that he’s just your roommate. Stabbing and twisting in your breastbone when you think about how much effort he must put in with dates.
You stop abruptly, feet cemented to the sidewalk and chest heaving rapidly. Miguel slows to a stop when he notices you missing from his side.
“Hey, don’t tell me you’re quitting, we’re two blocks from the apartment.” His voice is light, but his eyes fall from amusement to concern when he sees how hard your breath falls from your lungs.
“Whoa, what’s wrong, are you feeling okay?” He paces towards you and another deep inhale fills your senses with his musky scent instead of the rainy morning air you desperately need.
“I- I’m fine,” you struggle against the words, lifting your gaze to see Miguel’s sweat-slicked curls flop against his forehead.
You blame the early hour, or light-headedness, or a moment of delirium as your hand comes up to tuck the stray hair back under his headband.
“You’re so beautiful, Miguel.”
Your words tumble out, breaching the filter in the back of your mouth that keeps you from saying stupid shit to the man you’re stuck in a lease with.
Miguel’s breath hitches, concern falling away and filling its place with an unreadable expression. His eyes pace between your pupils, freezing the blood flowing under your skin. Why does his proximity make you act like a love-sick puppy? The frustration wells up, lining your tear ducts.
“That- I- I’m sorry.” You return his look with an awkward laugh, coughing around the lump in your throat.
Your body moves on autopilot, sidestepping his frame to make a run for it, but Miguel circles your wrist with a large palm. His skin is callused and warm as he pulls you to stand in front of him once again.
He holds you in his stare, burning eyes and the light grip of your wrist is more than enough to keep you in place.
There’s nothing more you can do but stutter around your tattered pride. Racking against your brain to find an excuse for your weird behavior. A possession? A moment of psychosis? You’ll call a priest later, but you first need to get away from Miguel and the sweet smell of cologne and sweat so you can think clearly again.
“Mi hermosa,” your balance is kicked out from under you as he holds both wrists against his chest.
Miguel’s lips dip down to you, you can almost taste his cherry chapstick as he traces his words above your mouth. You feel the first drops of rain as they hit Miguel’s cheek and bounce off your nose. Before you can taste that distinct cherry flavor, the angry crack of thunder pulls your bones from your skin.
“We need to get home,” you see a flash of lightning as it reflects in Miguel’s eyes, it splits the clouds and opens up a swollen reservoir- rain pounding down on the two of you, “we’re getting soaked Mig-“
“Say the word, Mamí,” He interrupts you, barely fazed by the storm that was ripped from your soul and clawed itself into the sky, “Tell me to fuck off and I’ll never try this again.”
Miguel drops his grip on your wrists, moving those eclipsing palms to the juncture of your neck. His lips beg for your touch once again and for the millionth time.
“Bésame.” Your accent is rigid and unpracticed, remedial at best but music to Miguel’s ears. His mouth meets yours in a wide smile, fingers finding purchase on either side of your neck.
His kiss is dripping and desperate, if you’re not careful you could drown right here and sink into the concrete.
All of the times you’ve imagined this moment are nothing compared to the real thing. He’s aggressive and hungry, licking into your mouth and vibrating your tongue with a growl.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Miguel bites at your lip before pulling away, his face is obscured in the pouring rain, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
How wrong he is, you think.
Miguel pulled you through the threshold of your shared apartment as soon as the door was unlocked, the only sense he has left is depleted- used up from keeping his composure while you fumble with your keys. His strong, broad arms circling around your waist to tug you ever closer, keeping your mouth open and whining against his.
Your feet lift from the carpet as Miguel lifts you up with the same effort as a paperweight. The feeling of his hands settling on your ass is the last pull against your unwinding composure. You’re legs wrap around his middle and you grind down hard against his abdomen.
“Fuck, I can feel your pussy through your leggings.” His words make you dizzy, grinding against him with a brainless rhythm.
“We don’t have to,” his lips trace down your neck between each word, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
The sincerity in his eyes hits you squarely in the chest and moving across your skin like fever.
“Miggy, I need you. Please, anything you give me- I’ll take it.”
Your even tone shocks the both of you, the most confident you’ve sounded all morning.
“Fuck, I almost want to make you regret those words.” His teeth graze the tender spot under your chin.
“But the first thing I want is a taste of that sweet little cunt.” You’re sure your knees would buckle if Miguel wasn’t holding you, the rough tambor of his voice will be the death of you- you’ll take your chances.
Miguel carries you past the small kitchen and living area, you don’t notice where he’s sat you until he pulls his lips away from yours.
His room smells like fresh laundry and pine, the bedspread he’s set you on is tucked neatly on either side and soft under your touch. You’ve sat in this exact spot plenty of times, to study into the late night, to watch reruns of your favorite show on lazy Sunday afternoons- but never like this.
Miguel pushes you lightly so your back hits the mattress, he spreads your legs apart at the knee and you feel the tight fabric of your leggings as it shifts against your pussy.
Your running set is tight against your skin, sweat and rain covering your trembling body so that every inch is sticky and damp.
Miguel’s pointer and middle finger rub against your pussy, memorizing the outline of your plush lips under thin nylon. He’ll tuck the image into the back of his mind in case he needs it later.
“Mmm, no panties this morning,” he muses, pressing his thumb against your clit.
Miguel pulls at the fabric on your pussy, letting it snap back against your skin, you can feel the tight material drenched from your aching pussy. You want to tell him that you can hardly take this teasing, but all that comes out is a wobbly string of please, please, please.
“Don’t worry, Mamí, I’m gonna take care of you.” Your thoughts don’t catch up to him until the chill of open air hits your bare cunt. Your soaked leggings are tossed to the corner of his almost clinically clean room.
Miguel takes a moment to marvel at the sopping wet pussy he’s got trapped against his mattress.
“Que maravilla,” he kisses his words flatly against your puffy lips before coaxing them open with his nose. His face is covered in you already, glistening across his lips and chin. But it’s not enough, it won’t be enough until you drown him.
His tongue laps at you like you’re what’s keeping him alive. He kisses with his mouth open, collecting your offering to him and drinking it down with every flat lashing of his tongue.
You taste tangy and sweet, a heady mix of sweat and pheromones that pulls him in ever closer. Desperate to drink his fill of you. Every long swipe at your sloppy hole is dotted with a kiss, every inch of skin is electric- zapping against your clit with every measured nip.
Miguel’s fingers find their way to rest against your pussy, pushing in gently when he’s satisfied with how well his tongue worked you open.
Once the digits are wettened, Miguel pushes two in to the first knuckle. He groans at the feeling of how welcoming your pussy is, how responsive you are to his touch.
He licks his praises against your soft skin as your muscles relax around the thick intrusion. His vision fuzzy at the edges thinking about how you’ll take his cock. The thought is pushed back for now, lingering on it could break you when he’s just gotten started.
Your hips rock down against him, catching your clit with his wide palm.
Your whimpering emboldens him, cock weeping in the waistband of his shorts. He’s harder than he’s ever been, the frustrating ache in his balls is poured right into the quickening pace of his fingers. He needs you to break- crumble into pieces so he can put them back together.
“Miguel, fuck, I need- you need to slow down or I’m gonna“
Your pleas fall on deaf ears, Miguel is hypnotized at the sight of your pussy spilling over against him. He doesn’t relent even as you cry out and shake under him. He doesn’t miss a beat as your pussy squelches, clear liquid splashing against his chest.
“Oh fuck, you didn’t mention you’re a squirter.” His pace is torturous, pumping against that spot deep inside you that turns you into a puddle.
Once his other hand comes down to circle your clit, you know that you’re done for. The fear of letting loose like this is something that holds your rigid body from completely letting go. No one’s ever pulled you from that damn before, but Miguel has torn it down completely.
“Let go for me, Mamí, need to feel you cum against my fingers, need to see you squirt for me again.” The words drip from his mouth like hot syrup and coat your stiff muscles.
He pulls more out of you with each pump of those skilled fingers, more than you ever thought you had in you, more than you could imagine.
You cry as you cum, tears spilling over your cheeks in fat streams. The feelings you’ve kept inside for Miguel, the schoolgirl crush, the craving, the primal need all splashes against the both of you with the telltale spasm of your cunt against his fingers.
Your mind feels like it’s been dipped in wax, dripping from it’s fixed position to coat your shoulders. He makes quick work of tugging you back down to earth, lying next to your limp body with an anchoring hand on your stomach. He coos you, whispering praise into your hairline.
The sun peeks through Miguel’s window, clouds moving on to the next town and leaving the still early morning to brighten up the sky. Your face feels hot in realization.
You’ve got a long day ahead of you.
* * *
All work is mine blah blah I don’t wanna go find my old copyright thing but I’ll piss in your water supply if you steal this.
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lvandrskies · 3 months
Text
— from eden
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synopsis: eve found a snake in her garden, and then fell in love with the fruit it offered.
tags: god au, past lives, soul bonds, angst, smut
warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, oral (fem. receiving), corruption kink if u squint, character death
word count: 18.3k
m.list
a/n: if you've read this before, it's because i deleted my old account and then decided to come back. as a disclaimer, religion is pretty broad in this fic. "god" in this fic is not god from the christian/catholic religion. also !! thank u @yeonjunszn for betaing this last year, love u pookie!! <33 [photo creds]. MINORS DNI
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❝all the fear and the fire of the end of the world, happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl.❞
When God created the universe, he first created light. He separated the light from darkness and called them “Day” and “Night”. Then He made the sky, separating the water with a dome to keep it in two separate places. Then he made the sun and the stars, weaving his essence to light up his beautiful creation to help guide those who will soon live on it. Then He created animals, for both the sky and the water. He blessed them and told them to live in the sea and the sky, to fill the ocean and the earth with bustling cycles of life.
On the last day, he created humans. He created man and woman, and told them to have children so they may produce their own descendants to walk over earth and bring everything into their control. The first two humans he created were Adam and Eve.
He provided them with an abundance of fruits and grains for them to eat in a beautiful garden he called Eden.
In the garden of Eden, they were to fall in love and create many children. Adam was the first one to fall in love with Eve, and she pliantly went along with it. 
But, something in Eve felt… empty. Like Adam was not the one she was to be with. Adam was not the one she was to share this beautiful, vast, garden with. But, she wasn’t sure who she was to share this with. Eve knew she couldn’t delve much more into the unsettling pit in her stomach at the thought of her fate already sealed by Adam’s side, as it was not smart to defy God. 
“God knows best,” she would tell herself as she lay with Adam in the garden of Eden.
________________
I’m dying.
If the blood flowing around him wasn’t enough of a tell, or the way his sight blurs in and out. The heavy rain pelting against his dying body is a desperate, yet pathetic, attempt of the universe trying to save him and wash the red sticky liquid away. His breathing is shallow, hitched. He feels the urge to cry, to mourn the life he’s no longer going to be able to have. He was so close to reaching his goals too, and now they’re all washed up and ruined, like trash washing back up on the shores of beaches he visits. Or, in just a short while it’ll be visited.
“I’m sorry, m—” Chan chokes. “Mom. I did everything I could.”
Just as he is about to slip into eternal sleep, a bright light opens up in the sky. It’s blinding, and warm? 
Why is it so warm? Is this heaven?
Suddenly an otherworldly amount of pressure is pressing on his body, like the weight of the skies is laying flat along where he lays in the road. The air slowly leaves his lungs, deflating like a balloon that wasn’t tied. His entire body relaxes, and he feels himself being pushed further into his body, into his own mind.
Is this really what dying feels like?
Chan wakes up in a hospital room. 
His body is aching, and his head is filled with an uncomfortable pressure. Breathing hurts, and he’s sure his ribs are broken. The machine that’s keeping track of his vitals beeps rhythmically, and he lets out a, albeit pained, sigh of relief at it. 
He looks up at the ceiling, like he was looking up towards the heavens and thanking whatever God was gracious enough to let him keep living. 
“Ah! You’re awake!” A voice says, cheerily. A woman in her late thirties is standing in the doorway. Her slick black hair is pulled into a low ponytail, a few strands falling into her face from being up for what Chan presumes to be hours. “I’m your nurse, Eunkyung. I’ll go grab the doctor.” Chan barely has the chance to respond before the nurse leaves, the sound of her shoes squeaking steadily quieting as she hurries down the hallway.
The doctor follows her into the room a few minutes later, inspecting his eyes and the nasty bruising around his ribcage. “Do you remember your name?”
“Bang Chan,” he answers. “Do you know how I got here?”
“You walked yourself here, do you not remember?” The doctor asks, bewilderment encasing his wrinkled face. “You were a sight to see. I don’t know what kind of God has your back but, you should have died last night. It’s quite literally a miracle.”
Chan’s head pounds at the doctor’s words, and he flinches. He pinches the bridge of his nose as an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.
“We’ll keep you here for another day or two to see how you’re feeling. Do you have any family we can call?”
“Oh, uh,” Chan looks down at his scraped hands, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “No, I don’t. My emergency contact should be Seo Changbin, though.”
Changbin does make it up to the hospital that same night, with Han Jisung bounding in right behind him. Changbin and Jisung aren’t one to shy away from theatrics, so when they finally enter the room, the younger of the two is loudly shouting in distress as he practically launches himself onto the bed to lay with Chan. 
“Oh, my precious hyung! I can’t believe you almost died!” He wails out, wrapping his arms around Chan’s shoulders and obnoxiously crying out, the sound of his faux wails echoing into the room and piercing Chan’s eardrums and racking his brain even more. 
“Ah, Sung. I love you, but please don’t yell. My head feels like it’s splitting.” He whines out, pinching the bridge of his nose once again. 
“Yeah, the doctor said you have a pretty nasty concussion,” Changbin says. Chan nods, trying his best to move his shoulders to shake the younger boy off, but to no avail. Han Jisung is glued to his side, no matter how much pain it’s bringing to his ribs, but he eventually decides to give up and relaxes in the younger’s hold. Before he can fully relax, though, boney knuckles are making contact with his bicep, which then makes him groan and lurch up, shooting more pain into his torso. He opens his eyes to see that the worry is wiped clean off Changbin’s features, and instead replaced with a feign look of anger. “You idiot! How could you get yourself hit by a car!” Chan flinches at the rising level in the man’s voice. 
“Did we forget that I said my head hurts?” Chan whines. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was crossing the street and then the next thing I know I’m laying in the middle of the road.”
“The doctor said you walked here,” Jisung says. “How did you even manage to do that, hyung?”
“Funny thing is, I don’t even remember doing it.”
— 
Chan’s discharged after three days, and given a stern order from Ms. Eunkyung to “take it easy” until his head fully clears. He chuckles to himself, because he knows he’s not exactly going to follow that order. 
Not if he wants food on the table. 
Speaking of food; his fridge is empty. Save for a stick of butter, a gallon of milk Chan is more than a hundred percent sure is expired, and a singular tomato staring at him pitifully. Even the tomato looks like it’s on its last leg, too. He cringes.
Suddenly, his head starts pounding again. He groans, shutting the fridge door and stumbling to his couch where he throws himself down on it. He lets out a pained whine as the pressure in his head builds, and he’s almost convinced his head is going to explode.
“Am I dying for real this time?” Chan whispers to himself. The pressure feels almost familiar, like how it did when he was dying because soon it’s encasing his entire body again and his eyes slip closed.
When Chan awakes again, he feels so far away, like he’s not fully in his body.
He must have taken a harder hit to the head than he thought. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, let alone when he moved to his bed. He thinks maybe he should call Minho over to watch him in case he passes out like that again. Maybe he really is dying this time.
Fuck. This isn’t entirely how he wants to go out. Alone, in his shitty apartment with no one around, barely any food in the fridge and nothing to his name that can be tied to any sort of legacy.
Though, he isn’t surprised he’s dying this way. It’s just his luck.
“Can you stop thinking so loud?”
What the fuck.
That was his voice. But he’s sure he wasn’t talking. 
“Oh you mortals and your need to constantly think, think, think!” He feels his palm hit against his temple. 
What..
“You’re not dead, kid. Well, not until I leave this vessel,” He says… to himself. He sighs. “I’m a god. Gotta say, you decided to go and get yourself killed at just the perfect time too. I didn’t even have to find you.”
What?!
“Don’t yell! You echo in my head and it’s giving me a headache!” The god scoffs, rubbing at his temples. “I’ll explain it to you in a second I just…” just then, Chan’s stomach growls and the god groans. “I’m fucking starving. When’s the last time you ate? You mortals love treating your bodies like shit.”
I ate… Wait, what time is it?
“It’s the next morning,” the god responds. 
The next morning?!
“Yes! Gods, stop yelling!” Cato shrieks, gently knocking his fists on the top of his head in an attempt to quiet the human in their shared consciousness. “You were out for quite a while. I was convinced I completely shoved you out of your body. Just my luck I got someone who holds on, though. Tsk.” Chan watches as the god moves his body to sit up in his bed, swinging his legs over to firmly plant them on the ground. He groans, his body is sore and his joints are aching. Chan groans too, still able to feel everything. Just a little more dulled, but he still feels that incessant knot in his neck he’s never been able to get rid of. “You really let this thing get this rickety? How old are you?”
Twenty five.
“So young,” the god says, an almost mournful tone in his voice as he stretches his (their?) arms above his head. He walks out of the tiny bedroom and into the main apartment. “Cute place,” he chuckles. Chan doesn’t respond, as he watches the god look around the small apartment and take in everything. The god’s curious gaze lands on his stack of records, old vinyls he’s collected since he was about fourteen. “Nice collection.”
Thanks. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?
“After I feed myself,” the god quips. “So impatient.” He rolls his eyes as he makes his way into the kitchen. Chan doesn’t miss the grimace that paints across his face as the god stares at the stack of dirty dishes in the sink.
Don’t roll my eyes at me.
“I’m piloting this plane right now, so they’re my eyes.” The god snaps. 
Can you at least tell me your name?
“Cato,” the god responds as he opens the fridge. Cato lets out an indignant sound at the sight. The same stick of butter, expired milk, and pathetic tomato are glaring back at them once again. “You have no food, you useless man! How are we supposed to eat!”
I haven’t had the time to go grocery shopping. 
“How have you not died earlier?” Cato asks, sarcastically. 
You’re so not funny.
“It’s still a sensitive topic, I see,” Cato quirks his eyebrows. “Where can we get food?”
There’s a convenience store down the street I usually go to when I’m in between groceries.
“Is this your definition of in between groceries?”
Shut up. I’m a busy guy. 
Cato doesn’t respond as he goes and gets himself dressed. He pauses putting on the tee shirt he chose to look in the mirror the human has hanging on his wall. He’s bruised heavily on his torso and his face is scraped up. He and the god both grimace at the damage done to his body. “How did you even manage to do this?”
It’s not like I was playing chicken with the car. It just happened.
“You got hit? And they didn’t take you to the hospital?” Cato presses down on the bruise along his ribcage, which sends a sharp pain to crawl up his spine. Chan whimpers quietly in his head at the touch. Cato whimpers out loud. “That’s why I had to walk us there myself.”
That’s usually what entails in a hit and run. Stop touching it! That hurts. Wait – you were the one that took me to the hospital?
“Yeah. I was in a lot of pain… You can feel that?” Cato asks, eyebrow raised as he looks in the mirror. He presses on it again. Chan lets out a whine.
Yes. It hurts. A lot. My ribs are broken. I don’t know if you remember, but that’s what the doctor said. At the hospital. That you walked me to.
“You lost a lot of blood last night,” Cato says. “I don’t know how I managed to heal your cracked skull but not the bruises and your ribs. But also, this isn’t just your body you stupid mortal. It’s mine, too.” Chan sighs, annoyed.
Maybe they weren’t life threatening? 
“No, it’s not that,” Cato murmurs. He places a finger on his chin, eyebrows scrunched as he racks his brain (or, his borrowed brain) for an answer. His stomach growls again. “Oh, man. I can barely think. Food first, everything else later. Oh, and try not to talk to me. I don’t wanna look like a weirdo talking to myself on the street.”
You could just not respond out loud.
Go fuck yourself.
Walking to the convenience store was quick. The cold winds nip at Cato’s nose, painting it a delicate shade of red by the time he enters the store. The heat from inside the building wraps him in a hug, thawing his frozen nose and hands as he steps in almost instantly. The store itself is small, maybe four aisles at best with a line of freezers and fridges lining the back wall. There’s a table with a microwave and two two-seater tables next to it. 
Cute.
The old lady that owns it gives me a discount because I help her stock sometimes. 
That’s called a job. 
I don’t work here. 
But you do — whatever I’m not arguing with a stupid mortal. 
Didn’t know God can get hangry. 
I’m not “God”, I’m a God. Did you not hear me when I made that exact distinction when you woke up earlier?
I see I’ve hit a nerve.
It’s like if I called you an animal when you’re a human. It’s rude. 
To whom?
To me! And to the big man himself, but that’s not who we’re concerned about right now.
Sorry, God.
Are you not going to apologize to me?
No.
“Fucking mortals.” Cato whispers under his breath as he walks the aisles.
I heard that. 
You were meant to!
“Chan?” a soft, pretty voice speaks out from next to him. Cato whips his head to find a girl. She has a look of uncertainty on her face, but once she realizes it actually is who she thought, a bright smile paints across her angelic face. “Hey! Missed you in class yesterday.”
Cato stands there, shell shocked. His mouth drops open and he’s standing there, gawking at her for a full ten seconds. For some reason, after seeing this girl, a hole feels as if it’s torn open in his chest, where his heart should be. It’s painful. Raw, carnal pain shoots through his chest and it makes his eye twitch.
Answer her, idiot! Don’t make me look stupid!
“Oh!” Cato sounds out, plastering a nervous smile on his face. “Hey, you…”
Y/n. Her name is y/n.
Y/n. Why does that sound so…familiar?
“Hey?” You say, confusion lacing your voice. The confusion is wiped away once your eyes settle on the scrapes along his jawline and eyebrow, concern replacing it instead. An attentive hand reaches up and carasses against his cheek, and both Cato and Chan have stopped breathing. They both can feel how their cheeks heat up at your touch. Cato has half a mind to flinch away, and he does. Your hand retracts immediately, your mouth pulling to the side in regret for accidentally hurting him. In truth, you didn’t touch him. But the heat of your hand so close to his skin felt as if it was burning. Your pretty eyes are filled to the brim with worry, and you ask, “What happened to your face? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just took a pretty nasty fall last night,” Cato responds, sheepishly. He scratches the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile. “That's why I wasn’t in class yesterday. Had to go to the hospital and get my head checked out.”
“Oh, that’s awful! I’m glad you’re okay, though!” You respond, your bright smile coming back to your face, though it is tainted with worry still. “Since you missed class, we were partnered together for a project. Maybe we can meet and I can go over the notes and the project with you? Or I can just… send them to you.”
Tell her we can meet tonight. 
What happened to ‘taking it easy’?
Chan only laughs in response.
“I’m down to meet you tonight, if that’s okay.” Cato smiles down at you. 
“Yeah, for sure!” You chirp. “I’ll see you at your studio tonight, then? I get off work at seven!” 
Studio?
Y/n and I major in music production. 
“Cool, I’ll see you there.” Cato responds. You give him a wave goodbye, making your way up to the cashier to check out your things. Cato was so in shock he didn’t even notice you were carrying anything. 
His stomach growls. He groans quietly. 
For someone who had such a sense of urgency over eating, you sure are taking a long time to get something to eat. 
Will you shut the fuck up?
________________
❝i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door.❞
As Eve bore child after child for Adam, for the earth, that pit she so desperately tried to bury in her stomach grew bigger. More insistent. She watches as more and more of her children experience many things she didn’t get to; exploring, meeting, falling in love with who they choose and so on and so forth. 
As much as she hates to say it, let alone even let it into her heart, she resents her children. She resents Adam. She resents the life that the strings of fate have weaved for her, as she watches her children experience the freewill that God gifted them. Yet she and Adam are forced to simply be their means to an end, to push their future generations along so the human race may flourish. 
As she sits in the garden, weaving a crown of flowers and singing a song she does not think has been orchestrated yet, the stream she sits in front of singing quietly with her, a snake slithers up to her. It’s beautiful brown scales and equally as beautiful brown, slitted eyes glint etherally in the early morning sun. She extends a gentle hand towards it, its forked tongue stretching out to slide across her fingers curiously. She giggles at the ticklish sensation, watching with her own curiosity as he climbs up her forearm and upwards so its head rests gently against her naked shoulder. 
She goes back to weaving the stems, the soft melody she hums lulling the snake to sleep against her shoulder.
________________
So, I’m… your vessel?
“Correct,” Cato responds, watching the electric kettle impatiently. Cato had finally decided on food after you left, a bowl of ramen and a couple seaweed snack packages he managed to find in Chan’s desolate cabinet. Seriously, why doesn’t this guy have any sense of care for himself? “Every God and angel has a vessel on earth in case we need to come down.”
Can you just not come down in the way you look?
“No. Our heavenly form will drive an ordinary person insane,” the god lets out a small noise of glee once the kettle settles, indicating it’s finally done heating the water. Humans, as stupid as they can be sometimes (he’s looking at Chan, specifically), they sure have made quite a few amazing inventions. Just like this kettle. He’s absolutely enamored with it. “We originally weren’t supposed to have access to earth. We were just supposed to observe from the heavens.”
But?
“But, there’s just some things the Big Man dangles in front of you and you take the bait,” Cato pours the water in the bowl of ramen, watching as the spices he added immediately dissolve in the scolding liquid. He chuckles in amusement to himself as he recloses the paper lid, laying a pair of chopsticks over it to keep it closed. “Hey, how long should this sit for?”
Like two or three minutes. What do you mean by bait?
“A lot of god’s fell in love with mortals on earth,” Cato answers. “You ever read any Greek mythology stories? Apollo and Hyacinthus. Eros and Psyche. So on and so forth.”
I mean, yeah, but, I didn’t think they were real or anything.
“Oh, they’re definitely real,” the god chuckles. “Apollo and I are friends, actually.”
No way! So, like, is every God from every religion real, then?
“Yeah.” Cato shrugs. He takes the chopsticks off and rips the paper cover off of the bowl, excitedly using the chopsticks to stir the broth and noodles around.
So, why did you come to earth?
Cato pauses. He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen like an idiot, frozen in real time as he stares dumbfounded into the bowl of noodles. Why… Why did he come to earth?
Hello? Earth to Cato? Your food is gonna get cold.
“Oh, right,” Cato shakes his head to rid him of his internal struggle. “I… I don’t know why I came to earth. I don’t seem to remember.” He manages to make his way to Chan’s kitchen table, which is just a small round table with two rickety chairs in the corner of his living room.
So do vessels usually die before god’s possess them?
“No, not usually – ah! Fuck, that’s still hot,” Cato whines, sticking his burned tongue out and waving air onto it with his fingers. Chan’s laugh echoes in his head, and he makes an offended noise from the back of his throat as he continues fanning his tongue.
So, me dying the same time you came down was just… pure luck? 
“Yeah,” Cato makes sure to blow cold air onto the noodles this time. “I mean, lucky for me. Not so much for you.”
What’s gonna happen when you leave?
“You’ll probably die.”
But you healed me? Shouldn’t that stay when you leave?
Cato shrugs. “Don’t know. You’re technically not even supposed to be conscious like this, either. I’m supposed to have full control of your vessel if I possess it.” 
Comforting.
It’s silent after that. Cato is grateful Chan has stopped playing twenty questions. It gives Cato’s one track mind a way to fully focus on his food and not about the fact that he does not remember why he’s even here in the first place. But it’s not like he can just go back up to the heavens and ask someone. As annoying as he is, he quite likes the human that’s his vessel. It’s a shame that once the god is done on earth, Chan’s fatal wounds will most likely come back full force.
Cato hopes he’s able to leave fast enough to not have to witness it.
After Cato ate, Chan was insistent on switching when it came time for his meet with you later in the evening. It took a lot of bickering back and forth, but once Chan got it through the stubborn god’s head that you would know something was off with him (that didn’t have to do with his head injury) the second Cato opened his, in Chan’s words, “big dumb mouth”.
“Why do we have to pass out to switch?” Chan asks as he steps out of the shower. 
Do you always have this many questions? Gods, I feel like I’m speaking to a toddler. 
Chan copies his words in a silly voice, rolling his eyes as he does so. “Sue me for wanting to know how to work my body with someone else camping in it.” 
The way you said that just sounds so… weird. 
“And a god possessing a human body is just a regular Tuesday, right?” the human jokes. 
For us, yeah. 
“Shut the fuck up, Cato,” Chan chuckles, shaking his head in faux annoyance. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and runs his fingers through his thick curls. For some reason his stomach is buzzing at the thought of being in his studio with you. 
Why are you so nervous to see y/n?
Chan’s cheeks heat up. “I’m not,” he mutters.
You know I can feel everything, right?
Chan doesn’t respond, too afraid that his voice might way to just how flustered he is. It’s true he finds you very attractive, and your personalities mesh well together. You both have a lot in common and since the day he met you he’s felt a weird, otherworldly pull towards you. “You said her name was familiar to you. Why?” Cato doesn’t respond for a minute, and Chan almost wonders if the god even heard him ask. “Cato?”
I… I don’t know. Just when you said it it just felt like deja vu for some reason. How long have you been friends?
“Since she started college,” Chan replies. “She’s like two years below me.”
Chan doesn’t miss the weird boulder that settles in his stomach. But for some reason, it feels distant. Like it’s not his boulder.
________________
❝apollo showed me the sun. told me not to fly too close or else i would be one with the people on the land.❞
The snake visited Eve in the garden everyday, in the same spot, resting its head on her naked shoulder as she weaved crown after crown of flowers every day, humming the same tune. It became a routine, and then it became something for Eve to look forward to. She finally had something for herself! Adam was out every day for most of it hunting so Eve spent a lot of time with this serpent. 
She couldn’t place her finger on why, but when she was alone, weaving her flowers, with the snake on her shoulder, she’d talk. Like word vomit, she vented about her unhappiness in the garden and her jealousy towards her children being able to explore the vast earth and experience things she will never have the privilege to. For she was cursed to stay here, day after day, weaving her flowers in the garden, and bearing more and more children for a man she felt absolutely nothing for. Even the garden, once vibrant and vast to Eve, was now growing dull and shrinking in on her. She feels trapped, she’d say. Her world was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it. 
“Why me?” She asked the snake one day. “Why did I have to be the first one made? Why do I have to carry this responsibility? Why wasn’t I asked first? Where’s my freewill?” 
The snake nuzzles its head, like it was gesturing that it was listening to her. “I wish you were a person,” Eve whispered. “Maybe then I’d have someone who gets me.”
The serpent nuzzles its head again. Eve’s eyes well with hot tears. 
She’s so lonely. 
________________
Chan is reeling. 
It’s hotter in his studio than usual. It’s definitely not because you’re alone with him in his studio and for some reason that’s making him more flustered than usual. Definitely not. He’s definitely not noticing the perfume you used, or the way your fingers flit over your laptop keys almost elegantly, the click of the keys echoing in his ears. He also most definitely was not looking at how your thighs look sitting in his extra chair, or how your dainty necklace falls on your neck, the charm brushing against the low collar of your tee shirt. 
You’re sweating profusely right now. Calm down, you pervert.
Shut up, Cato. I feel like I can barely breathe right now. 
Yeah, I know. That’s why I said calm down, pervert. Did you not hear me?
“Are you okay, Chan?” You ask him, concern washing over your pretty features as he tugs on the collar of his shirt for the fourth time in thirty seconds. “Do you want to cut this short and meet another day? You don’t look so good.” 
Chan all but stops breathing when your delicate hand reaches up and presses gently against his forehead. Your hand is cold, and it works to cool his heated skin almost immediately. His eyes fall close, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “No, I’m okay,” he says, opening his eyes again and giving you a gentle smile. He watches as your cheeks flush the slightest bit. “Just needed a second is all.”
“Let’s take a break, yeah?” You say, closing your laptop as an excuse to not look at him for a second. Chan nods, and then it’s quiet for a minute. Neither of you know how to act around each other. Sure, you were friends but you weren’t best friends. Chan and you also never really hung out one on one, it was really always you, Chan, Changbin, and Jisung or anyone else in your classes. While he didn’t consider everyone to be his friends, always keeping to his close knit circle, he did know a lot of people, and those people also happened to know you. So it was never the right time to get to know you. “So… Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?” You puff your cheek out, shyly. Chan can’t help but let the smile stretch across his face.
“What’s there about me you wanna know?” He asks. Your cheeks flush again, and you scramble to keep your hands busy, opting to twirl your pen between your fingers. 
“I don’t know,” you shrug. “We’ve known each other for so long but I don’t think we’ve ever really had the chance to actually know each other.”
He nods. “You’re right,” he sucks in a breath, letting his gaze fall towards his desktop as he thinks of what to tell you. “Well, I was born in Australia.”
“Yeah, I know that,” you giggle. “You and Felix talk about it all the time. What’s it like there?”
“Hot,” he chuckles, shrugging. “It’s beautiful, really. All my family is still there so there’s… like this part of me that’s still there with them, if you get what I’m trying to say.” Chan lets out another breathy laugh, suddenly embarrassed. 
“I think I do,” you say, nodding your head. “Like a piece of you is missing because it’s back home?”
“Yeah, something like that,” Chan says. “I miss it sometimes.”
“I bet. It must have been hard moving here all by yourself.”
“I mean yeah, but… I don’t know, as much as Australia is my home, this is also home, you know? I love what I do and I’ve found my people. So it makes up for the part of me I left at home,” you both nod along to his words, small smiles shyly turning up your mouths. “What about you?”
“Well,” you sigh, still twiddling with the pen. Your leg starts shaking. “I’m from here.”
“Yeah, I know that.” Chan copies your words, which brings out a giggle from you. His heart lurches. 
I felt that. 
Shut up. 
“I don’t know, I…” you trail off, letting yourself think of what you wanna say. “My moms a school teacher and my dads a realtor, so we’re well off on my dad’s money. They’re kinda the… traditional, married at nineteen, had me at twenty, church every sunday, and have a certain plan for their daughter kind of people.”
“And?”
You shrug. “For the most part I went along with what they wanted me to do. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect boyfriend that I’ll one day have to marry and continue the cycle,” Chan doesn’t miss the way his eye twitches at the mention of a boyfriend. “But, I really rocked the boat when I said I wanted to go into music production.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s… Well they say it’s unrealistic,” you sigh. “I’ve always loved music, and when my perfect, middle class family life got to be too much pressure to uphold, it comforted me. I taught myself all the instruments I know.”
“Impressive.” He chuckles. 
“Right?” You giggle along with him. Chan decides he really likes that sound. “But, they expected me to almost go into something… I don’t know, easy? Something that will let me rely on Seojun when we eventually get married.” 
“Do you want to get married?” Chan asks, eyebrow raising a little. Your fingers stop twiddling with the pen and your leg goes still for just a second before it picks up again. 
“Honestly? No,” you say. “It’s just not something I feel like is for me. Of course, I want to spend the rest of my life with someone but I don’t need a piece of paper or an expensive ring to solidify that I love them and they love me.”
“How long have you been with Seojun?” Chan almost feels the bile that coats the man’s name as he says it. 
“Three years,” you answer. “My dad is business partners with his dad and we met at a company party and it just kind of… I don’t know, happened.” You shrug.
“Is he in college too?” You nod your head yes.
“He’s in finance,” you glance over at him. “He’s actually almost done. He’ll be working under his dad after he graduates. His dad is also paying for his real estate classes after he graduates so he can sell commercial properties.” 
It’s quiet again, and your leg is still shaking. Your face, now pointedly looking away from him, holds a sort of… loneliness. And almost a hint of regret for even saying what you did out loud. 
Don’t ask that. 
“Can I ask you a question?” Chan interrupts the heavy silence, and pointedly ignoring Cato’s warning. You hum, letting yourself look at him again. The loneliness he saw on your face floods your eyes. It’s almost overwhelming. “And you can tell me if I’ve crossed the line and we’ll never talk about this again.” 
Don’t ask that. 
“What is it?”
“Do you… like Seojun?” 
And you asked it. I cannot believe you.
Your face falls, but it doesn’t morph into anger like he thought it would. You don’t yell at him, or tell him to mind his business and storm out. He doesn’t know why he was expecting you to lash out at him like that, though. Call it anxiety, he guesses. Instead, that loneliness intensifies — if that was even possible. You’re quiet for a minute, almost like you were deciding to lie to him or if you were about to spill something he’s not sure he — or you — would know what to do with.
“He’s nice,” you settle on. “We don’t have that much in common, but he treats me well.” 
I don’t like that answer. 
Neither do I.
Chan only nods, though.
“Should we get back to it, then?” You ask, your mouth turned into a tight lipped smile. 
“Yeah.” He smiles.
You both delve into a rhythm of bouncing ideas off each other, and the building almost obsessively on the idea you both really like. Chan doesn’t know why he hasn’t worked with you before this, you’re so smart and your ideas are so unique and full of life. He can really see your love for music and the creative process behind making it. His heart flutters a bit at the thought that you both share this pure love for music in the same way.
“Do you wanna maybe meet again tomorrow?” You ask as you pack up your stuff. By the time you both decide to call it quits, it’s nearing one in the morning. He walks with you to your dorm, and he can’t help but smile shyly at the hopeful look in your angelic eyes. You're holding onto your tote bags strap that sits comfortably on your shoulder. He sees you shiver a little, and then only notices the pathetic little jacket you decided to wear despite it being less than forty degrees outside. He fights giving you his jacket. He would, normally without hesitation, but after learning you have a boyfriend he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, no matter how cute he thinks you would look swimming in his hoodie.
Down boy, down.
Will you stop?
I’ll stop when you stop being such a male.
“We can go to the cafe on campus after class,” Chan suggests. You nod, giving him a bigger smile at his words. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” you say. Your eyes glint with excitement as you nod your head. “Text me when you get home, okay?”
“Will do.” He reassures you as you open the main door to your dorm and walk in. He waves to you from outside and then steps off the porch, walking down the lit walkway, unable to erase the smile from his face.
You like her.
“Shut up,” he sputters out. “She’s always been in my sights, and I always thought she was cute. We just never had the chance to bond like that before. Changbin or Jisung are always usually with us, or my other friends.”
Too bad she’s someone else’s.
Chan rolls his eyes. Quietly, though, he wonders what would have happened had he met you before you met Seojun. Would you be his? Would you be happier with him?
Cato heard those too.
________________
❝didn’t know my world was dark until you came.❞
Eve sits in her usual spot, weaving her flowers once more. It’s another day, but this time she’s by herself. The snake hasn’t showed up yet, but she hopes it's on its way now. She tries not to let herself get too upset over not having her usual companion today, but she can’t help it. This newfound routine of her weaving flowers and talking to the snake while he rested peacefully on her arm has brought her more happiness than anything else in the garden – even the entire world – could.
So when a day turns into two, and then turns into three, then seven, her mood worsens. Even Adam, as unobservant as he is, noticed her change in mood. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong though, of course he doesn’t. As much as he claims to love her, to cherish her with his entire earthly being and his heavenly soul, he never seems to notice her until he wants to bend her over in the grass and give her another baby. Or two. Or three.
On the eighth day, when Eve is back at her favorite spot, weaving flower stems, a frown on her lips, a man approaches from out of the brush. It’s a man she has never seen before, but he is beautiful. Chocolate brown eyes and pretty brown hair to match with them, he gives her a gentle smile. “Hi,” he says. “You might not recognize me.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” Eve says, on guard. She’s covering her body, cautious. “You’re not one of my children. So who are you?”
“I– I’m the snake,” he says. “My name is Cato. I’m a god.”
“Cato,” Eve repeats, the name swirling around her tongue pleasantly. “That means all-knowing.”
“Yes.”
“So, why did you come to me as a snake and not as yourself, Cato?” She asks, sitting up straighter against the tree behind her. “Why not show yourself to me from the start instead of deceiving me?”
“Forgive me, my dear,” he bows his head in apology. “I did not have an earthly body, and my heavenly form would have scared you. I transformed myself into a snake to meet you, and until my earthly body was ready. I am sorry for tricking you.” His eyes, his beautiful eyes, shine with genuine regret.
“What do you want from me?” She asks.
“Forgive me if I sound weird,” he starts. “But I was there when God made you. You are so beautiful, I will never understand how he did not make you an angel. Alas, I fell for you. And then before I could say anything, he sent you down here with Adam. And I had no way of meeting you anymore.” 
“You…” she trails off. “Fell? For me?”
“Yes, my angel,” he says, walking closer and settling himself on his knees before her. “I fell for you. You have my heart. And if you let me, I would love to have yours.” The god takes her delicate hand into his, running his thumb over her knuckles. His hands engulf hers, long, spindly fingers holding hers with such love, such gentleness that she’s never felt from Adam’s rough, calloused hands. 
She finds her heart fluttering at his honey coated words.
________________
When Chan gets home from dropping you off at your dorm, he remembers to send you a quick text before he retires into bed. 
When he sleeps that night, he dreams. He dreams of him, in an earlier time, walking with you through a beautiful garden.
Your cream colored dress encases your body so elegantly, and the way you wore your hair out of your face yet still cascading down your back makes you look so… ethereal. Your arms are linked together, and he can’t help but stare at the side of your angelic face as you giggle at something he says. “You are a character, Mr. Bang,” you say in between giggles. “I sure am glad you came home from the war, alive and healthy.”
“I am too,” he says, his own smile unable to leave his face. “It’s just a shame I couldn’t marry you before I left. I hope Lord Emroy is treating you well, though, and giving you everything you could ever want.”
Your smile falters, and your gaze flitters away from him. Loneliness fills your pretty eyes and you quiet for a second. “He does treat me well, Chan,” you glance up at him for a quick second before your eyes cast down to the ground once more.``But that does not mean I am happy with him.”
“I see,” is all he responds with, his own smile falling. 
“Why did you not marry me?” You ask, voice wavering.
He sighs, stopping your walk and placing himself in front of you. He takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “I wanted to marry you, I still want to marry you. But, I could not let you wait for me, for if I were to not have come back, I would have made you a widow, and you did not deserve that. You are beautiful, Y/n. And you deserve to have the chance to have a long, healthy, and loving marriage.”
“My marriage is anything but loving,” you say bitterly, tears welling in your eyes. “Sure, he doesn’t belittle me like other husbands, but it is not a marriage forged out of love, Chan. It was a business transaction. I was property he wished to buy,” a single tear falls down your cheek, down your neck and soaking through the neckline of your gown. His heart breaks at seeing you cry. He cups your face, letting his thumb wipe the tears falling from your eyes away.“He will never love me the way you did.”
“I am sorry, y/n.”
“I would have waited for you,” you continue. “I would have waited lifetimes for you.”
He wakes up in the morning, confused. The sadness he felt within the dream stays with him as he gets ready for the day, unable to shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. It’s uncomfortable, and he tries to get it to go away by saying to himself in the bathroom mirror, “it’s just a dream. Why are you so upset about it?”
Upset about what?
“Oh,” Chan says, startled by Cato’s questioning voice in his head. “Just… A weird dream. It’s nothing.”
Whatever you say, human.
Chan doesn’t respond, brushing his teeth in a tense, perturbed, silence.
Classes were dragging. He’s unable to fully pay attention to what his professors are saying because he can’t get the dream out of his head. Why did it feel so… real? And familiar? Like it's actually happened before? And the loneliness in your eyes from the dream matched the loneliness he saw in them last night when you were talking about Seojun. 
Your thinking is echoing and it’s annoying me. What was the dream about?
A nicer way of asking “what’s wrong” is just asking what’s wrong, you know.
Chan’s eyes roll, but he doesn’t do it himself.
Don’t roll my eyes for me, I’m the one in control right now.
Sorry, I just had to show you my annoyance somehow. 
This time, Chan does roll his eyes. 
“Hyung?” Minho whispers from next to him, tapping his pen against the older man’s forearm. “Are you okay? You keep rolling your eyes.”
Damn, were they that dramatic?
Roll your eyes quieter next time, idiot.
You’re the idiot.
“I’m okay,” Chan reassures quietly. “Just trying to keep them from falling shut.”
“Did you not get enough sleep again? Do I need to start coming over and knocking you out?” Minho balls his hand into a fist, and it takes everything in Chan to not laugh at his friends' antics. Before he can respond, though, their professor clears his throat in annoyance, giving them a glare from his spot in front of the lecture hall. They exchange embarrassed glances before going back to listening to the lecture. 
He quickly makes eye contact with you from a few seats in front of him, and he watches in amusement as you scramble to face completely forward, flustered that he caught you staring at him. He exhales a laugh at your antics, shaking his head slightly as he goes back to typing on his laptop.
Cute. 
Yeah.
After class ends, and Chan’s packing up his stuff, you walk up to him, your tote bag over your shoulder, giving him a shy smile.  “You ready?” 
Minho wiggles his eyebrows at Chan, and he tries not to notice how his cheeks flush at his younger friends' antics. “Yeah, let’s go,” he responds. He turns to Minho, who’s giving him a raised eyebrow. “See you around, Min.”
“Yeah,” the younger male responds. “Bye, y/n!” He waves her a goodbye, of which you copy quite excitedly. The corner of Chan’s lip turns up into a small smile at your antics towards the other male. He knows that out of their whole group, you seem to be closest with Minho and Hwang Hyunjin, always seeing you three together in passing. He wonders if you two will start getting closer, even after the project is finished. He hopes so. He doesn’t think he can go about just being casual to each other – especially after last night's conversation.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Your voice breaks through his thoughts, causing him to shake his head a bit in response. 
Good going, idiot.
Shut up, Cato. As if you’ve done any better with her. Remember the convenience store?
This isn’t about me right now.
He fights rolling his eyes. “No reason,” he answers you. “Come on, let’s get some coffee.”
The cafe he took you to is the one right across the street from the building your class was held in. It used to be a house, now repurposed as a cafe, and it has the perfect homey feel to it to help you feel comfortable and relaxed as you picked a seat in one of the upstairs rooms that has a couple tables in each of them for a little more privacy. The morning sun is shining brightly into the window, and Chan can’t help but let out a small chuckle to himself as he watches the way you squint from the sun as you try and look out the window. “Should I close the blind?” He asks as he sits across from you, pushing your tea to your side. 
“No,” you say as you happily pick up the cup. You blow on your tea to cool it down, and Chan can’t help but let his smile grow at the way your cheeks puff out dramatically when you blow on the drink. “I like sunbathing. Minho’s cats and I will lay on our bellies together in front of the big windows in his living room.”
“I’d love to see that sometime,” he laughs out. He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks flush and you giggle shyly in response. “I’m sure Min has a plethora of pictures of it.”
“Don’t tell him I told you but,” you start, taking a sip of your tea. “He joins us.”
“Somehow I really don’t doubt that.”
You fall into a rhythm once more over your project, and after a couple hours, you both decide to take a break. 
“So, are you seeing anyone?” You ask him out of nowhere, now sipping on a second cup of tea. Chan chokes on his coffee, but he quickly covers it up by clearing his throat.
Cato laughs. Nice one.
Shut the fuck up, Cato.
“No, I’m not,” Chan answers, taking a more cautious sip now. “I’ve never actually been in a serious relationship.”
“Oh?” you say, quizzically. “So, you’ve never had a girlfriend?”
“No, I have.” He answers, his cheeks heating. He doesn’t understand why he’s so flustered with your questions, even if they did come out of nowhere. Well, he does understand why. He just doesn’t wanna say it out loud. 
They weren’t y/n, though, right, Channie boy?
Cato, I swear to God.
Don’t bring the Big Man into this.
“But?” You inquire.
“But,” he copies. “They just didn’t work out. We wanted different things.” He shrugs, and you nod in understanding. “Why the sudden interest in my love life, y/n?” The teasing lilt to his voice causes you to stammer out, falling (rather cutely) over your words, trying your best to come up with a reason. Chan chuckles at the rattled expression on your face.
You know why she’s asking.
I don’t.
Don’t be stupid, Chan.
Chan fights a scoff at the god’s words, not wanting to give you the wrong impression. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to explain who’s camping in his consciousness with him without taking a trip to the nearest psych ward. 
‘Man claims God lives in him’ has been a headline I’ve seen too much in the time humans have existed.
I wonder why.
Before Chan can continue the conversation he has with you (more like redirect it so he doesn’t have to admit to his commitment issues), something – or someone – catches your attention from behind him. The way your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and a flash of disdain that goes away as fast as it showed up cause Chan to turn around. A man is seating himself in the room across the hall, a blonde girl at his side as they laugh at something the man says. He turns back around to see that you’re still looking at them. “Y/n? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, that’s Seojun,” you say. Chan’s stomach drops, turning back around at the exact time Seojun turns to look at the two of you. Something flashes across the other man’s face, but it’s gone before Chan can even fully register what it is.
Seojun turns to the blonde next to him, before he turns back and starts walking towards their table. Seojun is… wow, is he tall. And buff. Chan almost feels intimated.
Oh great, here comes the jolly green giant.
Chan has to force himself to not laugh at Cato’s comment as he turns back to you. You give him a weird face, which he decides to ignore.
Cato, please.
I’m just saying. Why is God so unfair when he makes you humans? He could have given Seojun’s extra height to you.
Stop it!
No one needs to be that tall is all I’m saying.
“What are you doing here, babe?” Seojun asks as he stands next to you at the table, a rushed lilt to his voice. Almost like he’S panicking. Chan watches your face as it drops, the tight lipped smile you give to your boyfriend is clear to no one but him. “Who’s this?”
“This is Chan,” you answer. “He’s my partner for a project.”
“Hey. I’m her boyfriend, Seojun,” the other man says, outstretching his hand for Chan to take. He does, giving it a firm shake and a quick head nod in greeting. “Though, I’m sure you’ve already heard of me.”
Arrogant.
Tell me about it.
“Oh, I’ve heard plenty,” Chan responds, the snark in his voice subtle enough that it seems like a genuine compliment. “She said you were in finance.”
“Oh, yeah,” Seojun answers. “It’s gonna help out a lot, money wise. This girl right here wants a big wedding. Isn’t that right, babe?” 
Chan’s eye twitches as he looks to you for your response. Your smile is that of discomfort, tight lipped as you rigidly nod your head, not making eye contact with Chan.
“Who are you with?” You ask, changing the subject as you strain your neck to look into the next room. “Is that Aecha?”
Seojun’s face drops. “Oh, uh, no. That's my project partner,” he answers quickly. “We have a business plan due in a couple weeks so we’re meeting to get it done early.”
“Oh, okay,” you say simply. Your eyes stay on the girl in the other room, squinting a little in suspicion.“I didn’t know you had a project.”
“Yeah,” Seojun rubs his neck, almost nervously. “Well, I should get back to her. I’ll leave you two alone, now. Don’t forget about the dinner with our parents tomorrow.”
“How could I,” you mutter as he starts walking away. “I’ll see you later.”
Chan’s almost grateful that Seojun didn’t kiss you. It seems you look grateful he didn’t, too. He can’t help but notice the way your mood instantly sours after Seojun leaves, though you try not to show it too much. You give him a forced smile. “Shall we continue with our project then?” You ask him, your voice pitches higher towards the end, and Chan knows you’re uncomfortable.
I don’t like him.
Neither do I.
________________
❝i could die in your arms.❞
Eve is giggling.
She’s resting her head on the soft grass that encases her body, the edges of the blades tickling against her naked waist. Cato lays next to her, chuckling along with her. “So,” she starts as she sits up on her side, picking a flower from the field and rolling it between her fingers gently. “If your name means all-knowing… Does that mean you’re a god of knowledge?”
Cato quiets. Eerily quiet. In the short time Eve has known him as his humanly self, he is never short of words. He always has a story or a joke to tell, Eve wonders how his puny human lungs can even hold that much air for him to talk so much. So, for him to go as quiet as he did, she worries. 
“Did I say something to upset you?” she asks, her delicate fingers stopping its movements. He also sits up on his side, letting his long fingers brush through the front of her hair as a small smile encases his beautiful face. 
“No, my angel,” he responds. “You could never do anything to upset me,” his thumb swiped gently across her bottom lip, and then down her chin before his hand fell back to his side. Eve feels her face heat up. “I’m not the god of knowledge, as you might think. Actually… I’m a calamity god.”
Eve doesn’t respond. “Like… the flood? That kind of calamity?”
He nods. “I was ordered to flood the earth myself.”
“It killed everyone…” Eve whispers, widened eyes filled with tears. “Why?”
“God is…” Cato trails, unsure if he should continue. His eyes, so beautiful and such a deep color, cascade down to glare at the grass blades dancing in the wind, unbeknownst to them that a god is staring them down with a look of disdain on his expression. Eve can see the regret and the anger in his eyes as he stares down at the earth beneath them. Eve wishes she can rid him of the hatred he feels for himself.
He doesn’t have to say anything, though. Because Eve knows how God is. She knows how He is all too well. For she, too, has been forced to be things she does not wish to be, solely because the person who created her says so. Her own eyes well with tears. Tears of anger and sadness, for both her and Cato. She doesn’t think anyone on this damned planet will ever understand them the way they do each other.
“Did you want to?” She asks. Cato shakes his head.
“I didn’t have a choice,” he adds. “It’s what I was created for. To bring destruction.”
“I think you’re more than what you were meant for.” She says, a smile on her face. 
Eve doesn’t expect it, but the god starts crying. And as he cries, she cradles him in her arms, brushing her fingers through his curly hair. “You are good, Cato,” she whispers in his ear, letting her lips ghost gently against the shell of it. “It does not matter what you have done, you are good.”
She presses a gentle kiss to his temple as his wails echo in the garden.
________________
Chan doesn’t hear from you all weekend. You weren’t in class Friday morning, and you haven’t answered any of his messages since before your dinner with your parents. He hasn’t thought much of it. He assumed you had a late night on Thursday and just skipped class the next morning because you were nursing a hangover. 
“Hey, have you heard from y/n?” Minho asks him Monday afternoon, when their whole group is sitting at a table in the cafeteria. “I’m only asking because you two have been… close recently.”
His cheeks flush as he watches his other friends look at him with widened eyes and agape mouths. “Uh, no I haven’t. I was actually just gonna ask you the same thing.”
“Didn’t she have dinner with her parents on Thursday?” Jeongin asks. Chan nods in response. “Last I heard from her was when she was asking me which outfit was appropriate for the dinner, she didn’t seem like she wanted to go, though.”
“Yeah, she was texting our group chat during it and she wasn’t having a very good time. But she never usually does with her parents involved.” Hyunjin adds, taking a bite of his noodles. 
“What group chat? I didn’t get anything in our group chat,” Jisung whines, opening his phone to double check. 
“Me, y/n, Minho hyung and Felix all have a separate group chat together,” Hyunjin answers casually. “She was texting in there.”
Chan tunes them out as Jisung and Changbin start whining that they want a group chat with you, but all Chan can focus on is how you’ve gone completely silent since Wednesday. 
“Hey, hyung,” Felix says, getting the older man’s attention by waving his small hand in front of his face. “Don’t worry about y/n. She’s okay. She goes ghost like this sometimes, especially after an event with her parents. She’ll come back around soon, she just needs to recharge.”
“Are you mad at her for not answering you?” Minho questions, eyebrow raised. The younger male looked as if he was waiting for Chan to answer the wrong way. 
“No, of course not. Why would I be?” Chan shakes his head in response. “I was just worried. We’ve just… been talking a lot recently and I wasn’t sure if I did something to upset her or anything.”
“I don’t think you could ever do anything to upset her.” Felix mutters, and Chan watches in confusion as he and Hyunjin both share a knowing look with one another. Minho elbows Hyunjin in the ribs. 
It means she likes you, idiot. 
Do you know how to be nice?
Chan doesn’t get any response from you until Tuesday night. A simple “can i come over?” was all you sent him.
Now, he’s panickedly cleaning his apartment while he waits anxiously for you. 
Why don’t you clean like this on a normal day?
“Because,” Chan grunts as he scrubs at a particular stain in his bowl. “I’m a busy guy and don’t have time to keep up with things regularly.” 
Just as Cato is about to respond, there's a knock on the front door. Chan stops in his tracks, hurriedly rinsing the bowl and adding the last couple of dishes into one side of the sink to hide them as he runs to answer the door, clumsily drying his hands on his pants. When he opens the door, you’re standing there, glaring at the space where the door was a second ago. “Hey,” he says, which snaps you out of your trance to look up at him. 
“Hi,” you answer softly, smiling. Though it doesn’t match the defeated look in your eyes. “Can I come in?”
Chan nods, stepping aside as you walk into his apartment. He follows you to his couch, where you both sit on opposite ends. Your legs immediately go up, knees pressing against your chest as you wrap your arms around your legs. You’re not making eye contact with Chan, and it makes his stomach hollow in anxiety. You look so sad it almost feels like it’s creeping into his bones, souring his mood and ramping up his anxiety as he sees you cave in on yourself from the other end of his couch. He watches as you bat away tears, rolling your eyes in annoyance as they fill your pretty eyes. 
“Is there something you want to talk about?” Chan asks softly, scooting himself closer to you. He crosses his legs on his couch and turns his body to you, giving you a softened, welcoming look. The hand that isn’t propping his head against the back of the couch is twitching on his legs to reach out, to hold yours to comfort you. But he doesn’t want to over step and make you uncomfortable. You don’t answer, seemingly falling back into a spaced out trance, if the unfocus in your eyes is anything to go by. He lets his finger gently rub against your shin to get your attention, and he watches as your eyes fill with tears once more as you look up at him. “What’s wrong, y/n?”
“Nothing,” you shake your head, biting the inside of your lip. “Just… wanted to see you.”
Chan doesn’t believe it, giving you a raised eyebrow. “Just to see me?” 
“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing. “I missed you is all,” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving him a small smile. “I got used to seeing you all the time now.”
Chan’s cheeks flush, and he tries not to let his smile get too dopey as his heart flutters at your words. 
Oh! You pathetic man. 
Stop. 
“How was the dinner with your parents?” Chan asks. You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your throat as you look away from him. “Was it bad?”
You’re quiet. You look as if you want to say something, the words on the tip of your tongue and threatening to spill over. But you hesitate. You’re biting your tongue as you contemplate your next words. It almost concerns him. 
“If I do something,” you start quietly. “Would you be mad?”
Chan’s eyebrows scrunch, his head tilting to the side in question. “What is it?”
“Can I try something?” Eve asks, tilting her head as her eyes flicker between Cato’s mouth and his pretty dark eyes. Cato nods, watching in nervous anticipation as Eve climbs over his lap, plush thighs on either side of his lips as she leans in and ghosts her lips against his. 
Cato catches her mouth in a soft, tender kiss. It raises goosebumps to their skin, and their heartbeats quicken. Eve’s belly erupts in butterflies, climbing up her throat and she lets out a small sound. Cato hands find home at her waist, the pads of his fingers indenting her skin as he squeezes gently.
You finally look at him, eyes flitting down the length of his face, stopping at his mouth before looking at him again. Your gaze flickers between his mouth and his eyes before you lean forward, your nose ghosting against his as your lips meet. Chan responds immediately, cupping your face and deepening the kiss.
It’s shy, yet so electric. The butterflies you feel in your stomach are intense, prickling up your back and making you light headed. It isn’t long before you're clamoring across the couch and into Chan’s lap. His hands slide down your waist before he wraps his arms around your back, caging you into his body. He keeps his mouth working against yours, and can’t help the way his cock jumps when your hips shift a little, pressing your clothed core against him. Your hands hold his face, your thumb brushing against the apples of his cheeks every once and a while. His heart swells at the noises you make as you shyly start to grind yourself down against him, wanting to feel him more and more against you.
Should you really be doing that?
Doing what?
Kissing someone who isn’t yours.
“Wait,” Chan says as he pulls back. He has to swallow the groan that’s threatening to escape his throat as he takes in the sight of you. Your cheeks are red, lips swollen and spit slick. You already look so fucked out and all he’s done is kiss you. He feels like he’s going crazy. “What about Seojun?”
“What about Adam?” Cato asks Eve as he breaks away, his fingers rubbing circles on her hips. 
“It was never Seojun,” You respond, shaking your head. Your thumb swipes against his cheek. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Chan.”
“It was never Adam,” Eve responds, nails digging into the skin on his shoulders. “I waited for you for so long, Cato.”
“Since the day I met you,” you continued, breathless. Somehow, your cheeks turn redder. He doesn’t think you could look more angelic than right now. “I’ve wanted you.”
“Since the day I came into existence,” Eve sighs out. Cato thinks she looks absolutely ethereal this way. “I’ve waited for you.”
Cato can’t help the smile that stretches across his lips as he leans up to kiss her again.
Chan doesn’t respond, only placing a hand at the back of your neck and pulling you back down to him. He kisses you again, this time a little more desperate, a little more aggressive. You whine, letting your lips fall open so his tongue can explore inside your mouth. Your mouths work in perfect sync with one another, a desperate, needy, rhythm that says more than any words in the English and Korean lexicon could ever say. He can’t explain the way he feels while he’s kissing you, but he feels as if clouds are filling his head.
His hands move back to your hips, helping you to grind down against his hardened cock, and he doesn’t miss the way your whines sound more and more breathy each time he moves you against him. “Have you ever had sex before?” He asks you.
“No,” you say. “No one’s ever touched me, either.”
“You mean, in the three years you’ve been with Seojun, he hasn’t fucked you once?” Chan asks, eyebrows furrowing and a sense of pride filling his chest. You shake your head. “Why?”
“I didn’t want him to.” You whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist as he stands up from his couch, carrying you into his bedroom and gently placing you atop his sheets. 
Cato lays her naked body gently on her back in the soft grass. She looks so pretty like this, some of hair still laying softly over her shoulders and the rest blending beautifully with the grass, eyes widened in curiosity. “I got you, my love,” he says in a gentle voice as he crawls over her. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.”
He thinks this sight alone is enough to be painted and framed in a gallery. Eve, splayed out like this for him with her ruddy cheeks and widened eyes. It was a sight he never wanted to stop seeing.
He kisses her again before letting his mouth move from her own to her cheek, jaw, then down her neck, biting softly on his way down. 
Chan unbuttons your jeans, and you help him with getting them off your legs and onto his floor. He takes off your shirt and bra next, leaving you only in your underwear. He crawls over you, his thigh slotting in between your legs and ghosting against your clothed cunt. “Let me take care of you, my love.” 
He kisses your lips once more before he places a kiss on your cheek, then along your jaw, then down the expense of your neck, leaving pretty purple marks along the way. He stops at your breasts, ghosting his mouth around one nipple before taking it into his mouth. His free hand comes to tweak the other, softly pinching and rubbing along the top of it while his mouth works at the other. Your hand weaves its way into his soft curls, pushing them off his forehead so you can see what he’s doing better. He almost moans at the feeling of your hips bucking up to slide your cunt against his thigh. 
“Just like that, angel,” he mutters against your skin. You whine, your fingers almost kneading the top of his head. He presses his thigh more into your core, giving you more friction that makes your sensitive body jolt and your breath hitch.
He doesn’t stay long at your breasts, opting to let his kisses and marks trail down your torso, right to your hips. He settles onto his stomach, hands holding the under part of your hips as he takes in the sight of your cunt. A wet patch has soaked through your underwear, sticking to your lips and outlining the shape of you. He presses a gentle kiss against the wet patch, and he doesn’t miss the way your hips jolt back. “Chan,” You whine. 
“Yes?” He coos, freeing a hand from under you and letting his pointer finger gently ghost along your cunt. You wiggle your hips, trying to get more pressure from his finger but he pulls it away. “You have to tell me what you want, angel. Wiggling your hips isn’t gonna help me know what you want.”
He watches in adoration as your cheeks flush yet again, your eyes darting to look everywhere but at him as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “I want you to touch me,” you whisper. “Please, touch me.” Your words come out so breathy, so desperate, it makes Chan’s head want to explode. He gives you a smile.
“Anything for you, my love,” he responds before he sits back up on his knees, letting his fingers grab ahold of the waistband of your panties and sliding them slowly down your legs with your help. They fall somewhere on the edge of the bed behind him, but it’s not something he’s concerned about as the musky smell of your cunt hits his nose again as he lays back down. Your cunt glistens so prettily for him, and he forces himself to hold in a moan. “You’re so pretty.” 
His fingers slide up and down between your swollen lips, and you let out small whines whenever his fingers rub a teasing circle against your clit that’s peeking out between your slit. He kisses along your inner thighs, across your mound as he slowly inserts a finger into your entrance. 
Cato kisses along Eve’s thighs, before he gives a broad swipe of his tongue up the expense of her cunt. She gasps, hips twitching. “Has he ever done this to you?”
“No,” Eve sighs out as Cato gives another broad swipe. “He barely touches me.” Cato doesn’t respond, letting his tongue circle around Eve’s clit, which elicits a moan to fall from her pretty mouth.
“Don’t worry, my angel,” Cato says. “I’ll show you just how a man should love you.”
Your walls clench around his finger, and he places gentle kisses against your sensitive nub, whispering, “Relax, baby. I got you.” Your body deflates when you let out the breath you were holding, your own hand falling towards the hand that’s gripping onto your hip. You intertwine your fingers together, and he gives you a reassuring squeeze as he crooks his finger up into that spongy spot that has your back arching slightly and a gasp falling from your pretty lips. His mouth attaches itself to your clit, alternating between lightly sucking and feverish kitten licks. Your hand squeezes his as shy moans involuntarily fall from your lips at his ministrations. 
He feels his cock pulsing at each sound you let out, and he can’t help but grind his hips down onto the bed for some friction of his own. “Chan, more, please,” you whine out, bucking your hips into his face. He doesn’t hesitate to add another finger, scissoring you open as his mouth continues at your clit. He pumps his fingers in and out of your entrance slowly, making sure to hook up when he plunges back in. You’re so tight around his fingers, and he can’t help but let out a moan at the thought of you taking his cock, sucking him into your warm walls. The fact that no one has ever touched you – not even your own boyfriend – and that he has the honor of being your first is driving him up a wall.
Only he gets to see you this way. Only he gets to hear your whiny moans, and only he gets to see the pretty way your body reacts to his touch. He can't help but let his fingers get a little faster, a little more prominent in the way they press against that sweet spot that has the coil tightening in the pit of your belly. “Chan.”
“You gonna cum, angel?” He asks against your pussy, keeping his steady yet harsh rhythm of his fingers plunging into your hole. You let out a hum as your response, and he can’t help but smile against your cunt. He keeps his mouth on your clit, his eyes rolling back as you let out another moan, your hips bucking to feel more, more, more. You clench around his fingers, your pretty sounds are strangled as your body clenches up, and that’s when he knows to remove his mouth from your clit, watching your face as your jaw slacks, and your body writhes so prettily under him. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.” He slows his fingers, helping you ride out your high on his fingers. You feel so much more wet than before, and it takes every ounce of control Chan has to not dive back in and overstimulate you, drive you to another one. And another one. Until you’re spent and begging for him to stop, yet pushing him closer to continue.
Next time.
He moves up your body, and kisses you again. You let out a whine when you taste yourself on his tongue, your own essence covering your chin from his own as he licks into your mouth. You use your legs to redirect him, so his clothed cock lines up with your dripping pussy as he grinds his hips down against you. You shiver, still sensitive from just a second ago. “I want you,” you whisper. He pulls away, looking at you with widened eyes.
“Are you sure?” He asks. “Cause if you’re actually not ready, tell me. I’ll wait for you.”
“I’ve waited for you long enough,” you answer, rutting your hips up against him. He sucks in a breath. “Please?”
Chan only nods as he climbs off you to discard his clothes to the floor. The bruising on his side hasn’t fully gone away, but it’s not as bad as it was last week. “Was that from your fall?” You ask him as he climbs over you again, your delicate fingers ghosting over his ribcage. 
“Uh, yeah,” he said, looking down at your hand. “I didn’t actually fall, though. I got hit by a car.” 
“I know.”
Chan gives you a double take, eyebrows scrunched and his mouth agape in confusion. You giggle and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You know?”
“Yeah, I was with Changbin and Jisung when he got the call,” you respond, still giggling. “I just figured you said you fell to not worry me.”
Yeah, we can go with that. Really I was just saving you the embarrassment. Who gets hit by cars these days?
Don’t ruin this, Cato. 
Chan only chuckles softly, his smile widening and crinkling his eyes in such a pretty way. You can’t help but lean up and press your lips to his, your hands cupping his cheeks to bring his face down with yours. He kisses you back quickly, letting you take the lead as he opens your legs and maneuvers himself so his cock can glide along your slit. You lift your legs more, letting the head of his cock catch along your entrance. “Please,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’m ready.”
Chan moves a hand down to guide the tip of his cock into your entrance, and he goes slow as he sheathes himself inside. You tense up, the pressure a foreign feeling. “Relax,” he whispers, kissing along your cheek and down your jaw. A small whine leaves your mouth and he stills his hips immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt it just… feels full.”
“Yeah?” He asks, letting himself move again. One his hips are touching yours, you can fully feel him snugly inside you. You feel so full, and it’s so overwhelming but so addictive at the same time. It feels as if you were molded to fit him. He gives an experimental movement, and your hands immediately go to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “You okay?”
“Yeah. You can move.” He kisses you, distracting you as he pulls out and then plunges back in again. He keeps it at a slow rhythm at first, letting you get used to the feeling before he gradually starts speeding up. You were so tight around him, your velvety walls welcoming him in with each time the head of his cock ghosts along that spongy part that has the breath punched out of you again and again.
“You feel so good, angel,” he grunts against your neck. “Like you were made for me.” You can only choke out a moan in response, nails raking over his shoulders. He intertwines his fingers with yours above your head, and he digs his face further into your neck as he places wet kisses along it. 
Cato intertwined his fingers with Eve’s as he slowly moved his hips. “You’re mine?” Cato asked.
“Yours. I’m yours,” Eve gasped in response.“I love you.” Cato can only smile as he dips his head down to capture her lips in a messy kiss.
Chan keeps a steady pace, making sure to angle himself upwards when he thrusts back in. He hits deep, stretching you around his cock and every time he’s at the hilt, it knocks the wind out of your lungs. The breathy moans you let out at each thrust sends Chan deeper and deeper into the clouds, mind hazy and senses full of you. You’re everywhere, it seems, encasing his body in yours as the whole world melts away. He about loses his hold on himself when your quivering walls start clenching around him, greedily sucking him back in. His thrusts speed up, his one hand letting go of yours and finding home under your head, a fist full of hair as he brings your body as close to his as possible. The feel of your breasts pressing against his chest grounds him a bit, and he lets out a strained moan from the back of his throat.
“Cum in me,” you manage to say in between strangled sounds. “I want it, please.”
“Just a little more,” Chan grunts out. “Almost there. Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so good for me, angel.”
Chan’s hips still, his cum shooting into you and painting your walls. He moans, whiney, as he shoves his face back into your neck. Your hands move to his hair, raking through it as you whisper in his ear. 
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
You spend the night at Chan’s house, only sending a simple message to your group chat with Hyunjin, Minho, and Felix where you were staying and that you were okay. Your simple message respectively blows up the group chat, with Felix and Hyunjin practically screaming to tell them details, and then Minho crashing into your world like a meteor with one single question.
Did you break up with Seojun?
You decided not to answer that question (because you haven’t), only texting back that you’ll explain when you get back to class on Friday and then shakily put your phone down on the coffee table. You look over towards the kitchen to see Chan’s back towards you, the sizzling of the food in the pan the only sound filling the apartment. You can’t help but smile at the sight. You uncross your legs from the couch, walking into the kitchen area and standing behind Chan. Your arms wrap lovingly around his waist, your cheek pressing into his back and you feel his body relax into your hold. He turns down the stove and turns around in your hold, a smile adorning his features as he places a kiss against your lips.
“Thanks for letting me stay last night,” you say as he pulls away from you. “I didn’t want to face Ryujin’s interrogation yet.”
“Well, now you’re gonna have to face mine,” Chan says, raising his eyebrow at you. You smile sheepishly at him, your gaze tearing away from his. He lifts your chin up, forcing you to keep eye contact. “What happened?”
You sigh, pulling your body away. You run your hand over your face as you lean against the counter behind you. Chan does the same on the opposite side, giving you an expectant look as he waits for you to start talking. “I found out Seojun was cheating on me. At the dinner.” You say, voice a little shaky.
Chan pauses, and his stomach drops. Seojun was cheating?
Don’t act as if you aren’t happy to hear that. 
I’m not happy! That’s awful!
You know what I mean, you idiot. You’re happy he’s out of the way now.
Chan doesn’t respond to Cato, focusing his attention back to you. “I’m so sorry, y/n,” he responds, his arm stretching over to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t deserve that.”
You take in a breath. “Yeah, well,” you shrug. “It happens. Sad thing is, I can’t even say I’m surprised. Looking back, it makes a lot of sense.”
Chan’s eyebrow furrows. “Did… you break up with him?”
Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “I… haven’t yet.” 
And you slept with her. 
“You… You haven’t?” He asks, confusion painting across his face. “Why?”
“I— I was going to,” you start. “I just… I wanted to see you first,”
“y/n,” Chan says, voice shaky. “Am I a rebound?”
You shake your head vigorously, your own eyes shining with unshed tears. “No! No, I really wasn’t planning on last night happening at all. I wanted to break up with him first but I just… I don’t know, I had to see you first.”
“Did you mean what you said?” He asks. “About wanting to be with me as long as you said?” 
“Yes,” you nod. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Hyunjin or Felix. Even Minho. They know how I feel about you.”
Chan’s quiet. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know what to think. On one hand, the selfish hand, he’s over the moon he had you in his bed last night, and he’s still a bit drunk off your words from last night. But, on the other hand, he wants to send you on your way, to give himself, and you, some space. He can’t believe he didn’t prod further about what you meant last night. He just assumed by your confession, you had already broken it off with Seojun.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I should probably go.” 
“Call me when you break it off with Seojun, okay?” Chan finally says, nodding his head. His heart clenches as he sees a tear fall down your face. “We’ll talk about us after that.”
The silence that replaces the apartment after you leave is deafening. 
Chan?
“Not now, Cato,” Chan replies, shaking his head. He can feel a migraine coming on, his eyes becoming sore and sensitive to the bright lights of his kitchen. “Shit,” a pained whimper falls from his throat as he massages his eyes. “I think I need to call someone.” 
I remember why I came to Earth.
“Can it wait until later, please?” Chan winces, annoyance mixing with the pain in his voice. “My head is fucking splitting.”
Chan…
“Cato, for fucks sake, please!” He yells, which makes his head pound even more. “I can’t figure out your problem right now.”
Cato doesn’t respond.
Chan calls Minho, which in hindsight probably wasn’t the best idea, but he knew Jisung and Changbin would be loud and dramatic and he really didn’t want that right now. Minho is quiet, and he knows what to do when Chan is under the weather. 
The younger male is quick to arrive, immediately shoving pain pills into Chan’s hand and ordering him to take them. “Were you making something?” Minho asks as he points to the pan. 
“Oh, yeah,” Chan said from the couch. His head feels as if it can explode. “I was making y/n and I breakfast when—” he stops himself, looking over through his lashes at the other man. 
“I already know,” Minho says. “So, where is she?”
“Uh, well,” Chan starts, having to take a second to will away the urge to vomit. “I slept with her…”
“And?”
“She never broke up with Seojun before we did.” Minho sighs, shaking his head as he joins the brunette on the couch. 
“I told her she needed to do that first,” Minho responds. “She’s just as impulsive as Han Jisung. Worse than Han Jisung, actually.”
Chan wants to chuckle, but his head is somehow getting worse. His body starts aching again, as if the bruises are coming back. And suddenly it hurts to breathe. “Min,” he grunts out. “Min, I think we need to go to the hospital.” 
“What’s wrong?” 
Chan?
I feel like I’m fucking dying again. 
Chan collapses to the floor, and when Minho slides down with him does he notice the blood pooling and staining the rug underneath the older man’s head. “Fuck. Fuck, okay. Hold on, hyung. I’m calling for help.”
Suddenly an otherworldly amount of pressure is pressing on Chan’s body, like the weight of the skies is laying flat along where he lays in his living room. He starts to panic, lungs starting to work overtime as Minho calls the emergency hotline from somewhere in the room.
Cato, what’s going on?
Your… Your injuries are coming back. 
A white, blinding light floods Chan’s vision from the ceiling, and he feels a pull from the light. 
Fuck, fuck, fuck! 
Cato?
I’m getting taken back, Chan.
Cato! Don’t leave me!
The air slowly leaves his lungs, deflating like a balloon that wasn’t tied. He feels like a layer of his skin is being peeled away as the pressure in his head worsens, and Cato’s voice gets farther and farther away.
“Ca—” Chan tries to call out to him, but he passes out before he could.
I’m dying.
________________
❝took my breath from my open mouth, never known how it broke me down.❞
Cato and Eve snuck around under Adam’s nose after that fateful morning in the garden. Always meeting at the spot where they first met, making love to the song of the stream whenever they could. It felt different with Cato. It felt… good. Like lying with this man wasn’t a chore, but something she felt was their way of bonding. Connecting. She didn’t give a damn what God said. 
She was not made for Adam. She and the god, Cato, were weaved from the same essence that brought them life — a single soul split into two different beings. And by lying with him, it strengthened that. She was his, as he was hers. 
Cato was such a gentle lover, compared to Adam (if you could even call Adam a lover). Cato took her into his arms and worshiped her body as if she was a Goddess herself. The way his fingers indented her skin on her hips when his head was in between her thighs, lapping at her nectar, had her seeing stars. She found God in a lover, and the forbidden fruit tasted so sweet on her tongue.
Eve was happy.
That happiness didn't last long, though. And she was foolish to think it would.
She swore Adam went out to hunt that day, she saw him off. So, how he managed to find Eve at the stream hanging off a cock that wasn’t his, she’ll never know.
Adam told God right away.
Cato was ripped from her before she could even get to her knees. Before she could beg. She watched as a bright light encased Cato’s earthly body from the heavens, the light so blinding she’s forced to look to the ground if she still wished to keep her sight. She wailed that day, a mantra of inhuman, throat curdling sounds ripped from deep within her core as she punched her fists into the soil. 
“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” She howled. Adam stood behind her, face stoic as he watched Eve mourn the loss of her lover. 
“It’s what you deserve,” Adam spits. “You’re lucky I’m gracious enough to let you live. Your pretty face would be one with stone if I was anyone else.”
Eve’s crying stopped then. The garden of Eden was silent, not even the stream was brave enough to sing. Everything was dead still, a simmering animosity burned brightly just under the surface of Eve’s plush skin. Adam’s stoicism fell as he caught the look on his wife’s face. 
It was that of pure, unadulterated rage.
“I should have strung you up to that tree when I had the chance.” The venom drips from her words and poisons Adam’s veins the second they hit him.
“You weren’t supposed to tempt Eve,” God’s commanding voice boomed across the heavens. Cato sat on his knees, wrists and ankles chained to the marble ground. Different god’s sat around, watching the serpent intently, curious as to what was to happen to him. “You weren’t even supposed to make yourself known to her.”
“I told you why I was going to Earth,” Cato responded, voice tired. “I told you I fell for someone.”
“And that person was not supposed to be Eve!” Thunder cracked angrily across the sky. Murmurs erupted among the other gods. “You have tainted her, driven her off her path to her purpose.”
“Her purpose?” Cato repeated, indignant. “Her purpose is to be a breeding cow for a man who can’t even bother to see her as his equal?”
“And you were equals?” God laughed, a bellowing, boom laugh at the lesser god’s foolishness. “You’re a god, Cato. A heavenly entity that simple mortals can barely fathom the concept of. And you think Eve and you are equals?”
“I love her.”
Whispers of “love her?” echo through the chamber. 
“She’s not yours to love!” God’s angry voice silenced the whispers, a tense stillness crushing Cato and pressing on his lungs. “You know I have to punish you.” 
“Punish me all you wish,” Cato spat. “It will never deter how I feel for Eve.”
“Oh, my sweet child, it will.”
— 
Cato wakes to cold biting at his skin. It’s so cold, so so cold. His eyes open to gray skies and heavy snow sprinkling along his cheeks. Snow covered trees line the horizon of his bleary vision, head pounding and body aching. He moves his fingers, feeling under the layer of snow and making way to the dead grass underneath. 
He’s on Earth.
He tries to sit up, but his chest is burning and he’s having a hard time moving his arms. He feels like his body is being held down by a cinder block, unable to move himself from his spot. 
“General Bang!” A voice shouts, muffled. He moves his head to find the voice, but a face comes into his line of vision as he looks right. “General Bang! You’re badly injured, don’t move. Wagon! I need a wagon!” 
“What happened?” Cato whispers out, and the man grabs one of his hands from the snow. “Who are you?”
“It’s Hwang!” the man yells. “Hwang Hyunjin, do you remember?” 
Cato wasn't able to respond as his eyes fell heavy and then closed.
When he awakes again, he is in a tent. He shoots up in a panic, looking around the space. A sharp pain shoots through his chest, making him groan and his elbows give out. “Hey, easy,” the same man says as he helps Cato lay back down. Hyunjin. His long black hair is tied up out of his face, a look of relief washing over it as he settles back down in the chair next to Cato’s cot. “You got a pretty nasty gash across your chest. It’s a miracle you didn’t die out there, Chan.”
“What do you mean?” He asks. 
“I mean a dozen other men died from the same wound,” Hyunjin responds. “Your guardian angel is really looking out for you.”
“What happened?”
“Did you hit your head? We’re in a war,” Hyunjin responds, his eyebrows furrowed. “This was the most brutal battle we’ve fought in three years. How hard did you hit your head?”
Chan’s memories of the past couple years flash in Cato’s mind – like a short synopsis of what his vessel has been up to before he took over. Cato realizes that at that moment, Chan was dead. Cato was the sole entity keeping this body alive.
But why?
“Pretty hard, I guess,” Cato chuckles in response. “Does that mean… we won?”
“You bet your ass we did,” a smirk spreads across the male’s mouth. “We lost a lot of good men out there, though. Not looking forward to letting their wives know they’re widows now,” Cato nods his head, his gaze flitting around the ceiling of the medical tent. Hyunjin nudges his arm again, a grin on his face. “Are you gonna go back to y/n?”
A pulse shoots throughout his entire body at the mention of your name, a sinking feeling in his stomach that’s accompanied by the racing of his heart. He only shrugs. “If she’ll have me.”
“I don’t think she’d have anyone else.”
The war ends, and the troops all come back home. And Cato finds himself in front of a beautiful castle. Memories of Chan courting you for years flash in his mind. He seemed to have really adored you. Cato feels a twinge in his heart at the thought that Chan will never be able to experience being with you. 
But, to Cato, you give him an overwhelming sense of deja vu. Like he already knew you. Like he already knew your body, your soul, like the back of his hand. So, when he visits you after three long years, and you were already taken by another man, his heart shatters. For Chan, and for another unknown reason he doesn’t think he’s ready to explore.
He still walks with you in the garden that day. Your arms are linked together, and he can’t help but stare at the side of your angelic face as you giggle at something he says. “You are a character, Mr. Bang,” you say in between giggles. “I sure am glad you came home from the war, alive and healthy.”
“I am too,” he says, his own smile unable to leave his face. “It’s just a shame I couldn’t marry you before I left. I hope Lord Emroy is treating you well, though, and giving you everything you could ever want.”
Your smile falters, and your gaze flitters away from him. Loneliness fills your pretty eyes and you quiet for a second. “He does treat me well, Chan,” you glance up at him for a quick second before your eyes cast down to the ground once more.``But that does not mean I am happy with him.”
“I see,” is all he responds with, his own smile falling. 
“Why did you not marry me?” You ask, voice wavering.
He sighs, stopping your walk and placing himself in front of you. He takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “I wanted to marry you, I still want to marry you. But, I could not let you wait for me, for if I were to not have come back, I would have made you a widow, and you did not deserve that. You are beautiful, Y/n. And you deserve to have the chance to have a long, healthy, and loving marriage.”
“My marriage is anything but loving,” you say bitterly, tears welling in your eyes. “Sure, he doesn’t belittle me like other husbands, but it is not a marriage forged out of love, Chan. It was a business transaction. I was property he wished to buy,” a single tear falls down your cheek, down your neck and soaking through the neckline of your gown. His heart breaks at seeing you cry. He cups your face, letting his thumb wipe the tears falling from your eyes away.“He will never love me the way you did.”
“I am sorry, y/n.”
“I would have waited for you,” you continue. “I would have waited lifetimes for you.”
Cato doesn’t respond, only letting his eyes flicker around your face, sadness overtaking his gaze. You both stare at one another, so close to each other. It’s quiet, between you two. Not tense, but not comfortable either.
His eyes widen in shock when you lean up to kiss his lips. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back, letting his hands cup your cheeks. You pull away after a second though, tears pulling into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I just… needed to know what it felt like to kiss you.”
You turn and walk away, leaving him alone in the garden with the taste of you still on his lips.
Cato is sentenced to live a life next to the reincarnation of Eve, always at his fingertips but never having the right to have her. Chan’s soul was with him for every single one. Each life is a punishment, a test. Each time he gives into his temptation of having Eve to himself, of dancing along that line with her, he is ripped from his mortal body and Chan’s own soul is torn with him. 
Chan dies every time.
Again. And again. And again. And again. For millennia, Cato is subjected to always losing Eve in the most brutal of ways just as he finally thinks he has her for himself. As soon as he lies with her, he is forced to leave her soon after.
He can never escape it.
________________
❝i won’t die for love, but ever since i met you, you could have my heart and I would break it for you.❞
Cato sits on his knees in a desolate chamber. It’s deathly still, and eerily silent. The only sound is his breathing – which is slowed. His wrists, bound in enchanted steel cuffs, sit chained to the ground in front of where he sits on his knees. His hair lays on his shoulders, dirty and knotted. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here — it could be months. It could be centuries.
He doesn’t think he cares anymore.
Chan is dead. He has to be. There’s no way he managed to survive the way Cato was ripped out of him like that. He hasn’t survived it in any of the lifetimes Cato spent using his body. 
It was cruel — the way Cato and Chan are subjected to this, lifetime after lifetime, a never ending cycle of Chan losing his life before he can even turn thirty all because Cato fell for someone he had no business falling for. He grimaces to himself, shaking his head in defeat as he remembers the way Chan was crying out for him when he was ripped from his subconsciousness. 
“When are you ever going to learn?” A voice echoes in the chamber. God.
“I do not wish to speak of this.” Cato snaps.
“Don’t you wish to see how Chan is doing?” God asks, snapping his fingers. A gateway to Earth opens under Cato, and he watches in horror as medics work on his dying body in the middle of his living room floor. “He’s still holding on. For now.”
Cato looks away, clamping his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear to see Chan like that. Not when he knows he’s the cause of it.
Chan is going to die. Again.
“Please,” Cato whispers. “Please, kill me.”
“Kill you?” God repeats.
“Yes, fuck!” Cato spits, his shout echoing deafeningly throughout the empty chambers. The silence that refills the space is enough for the god to break, sobs racking through his body from where he is chained. “I can’t do this anymore. Let Chan live, and let me die. Please.”
God does not respond, only watching as the calamity god wails, a mixture of snot and tears pooling on the concrete from under them. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Is that what you truly want?”
Cato can only nod his head. “Chan’s life, for my mortality,” he responds, still crying. “I can’t keep watching him die.”
“You know that means he might not be reincarnated,” God says. “The only reason Chan is a living soul on earth was for you to use him as your vessel. He’s not needed after that.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Cato shakes his head. “That’s a better outcome than having to die before twenty six every single time.”
“How do you wish to go?”
“Like Icarus,” he doesn’t hesitate to respond. “I will fling myself into the sun.”
________________
Walking away from Chan has to be the hardest thing you’ve done.
You genuinely weren’t planning on sleeping with him the night before. You don’t know what took over you. It just happened. That’s not to say you regret it, though. Because you don’t. While you’ve never slept with someone before, laying underneath Chan felt so… right. Even if it is wrong from a moral standpoint. But, it felt otherworldly. Not just because the sex was good, but you felt as if it was meant to happen. You and Chan were meant to happen. As cliche as it is, and you cringe thinking of it, you wholeheartedly believe you and Chan were written in the stars, destined to find each other in this life. And the next. Nothing has felt more clear than being with him, and you use that as courage to knock on Seojun’s door.
When he opens it, he’s still in his sleep clothes. “Did I wake you?” You ask, voice and face void of any emotion.
“Kinda,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”
“I just came to say that I know you’re cheating on me,” you start. His eyes widen in quick panic, and he’s about to respond when you put your hand up to stop him as you shake your head. “I just want to tell you that we’re even. And it’s over.”
“You cheated on me?” Seojun repeats, indignation in his voice. “You fucking whore!”
“Yeah, save it, Seojun,” You scoff, shaking your head. “I already know about Aecha so you have no room to take a moral fucking high ground. Just nod and say okay and shut the door with what little dignity you have still intact.”
“Y/n?” A voice echoes from behind Seojun. His mother walks up behind him, a cup in her hand. Her eyebrows are furrowed. “Did you just say you cheated on my son? Do your parents know what you did?”
“I also said he cheated, too, so,” you shrug. Her mouth drops open, her face scrunching up in anger. It looks as if she’s about to scream at you before you continue, “I’ll leave your stuff with Aecha.”
You don’t let either of them speak as you turn around and walk down the stairs and out onto the street. You pull out your phone, about to call Chan and let him know you’re on your way back when Felix’s contact name pops up on your screen. You slide to answer, placing the phone against your ear. “I know what you’re gonna say, but I just broke up with Seojun and I’m–”
“You need to get to the hospital right now, y’n,” Felix cuts you off, his voice shaking. “Chan had an accident, and he might not make it.”
Your phone falls from your hand.
________________
God’s of all origins gather around in the chambers to witness Cato’s execution. Everyone is whispering anxiously amongst one another. One deity stands silent, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at where Cato is chained intently. His heart is heavy, having to watch his dearest friend kill himself in the worst way possible.
“Have you spoken to him yet, Apollo?” Artemis asks as she walks up behind him. “I’m sure he would love to see you one more time.”
“What am I to even say?” Apollo asks. “Nothing I say will change his mind, you know how stubborn he is, that bastard.”
“It still must hurt,” Artemis responds. “You’ve been in love with him since the day he was created. I know it must kill you to see the torture he’s gone through.”
“There is nothing I can do about it,” Apollo shakes his head. “I love him, but it hurts more to see him be thrown back to earth again and again. It’s better this way.”
“He will live on in your heart,” his sister assures, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But you don’t have to put yourself through the torture of seeing this.”
“After a millennia of divine punishment, Cato, god of calamity, has decided to take his life,” God’s booming voice echoes through the chamber, silencing everyone in an instant. “He will join Icarus in the deep sea below.”
Hushed whispers resound once again through the chambers, all of them having remembered watching the man’s wax wings melt from the flaming star and plummeting to his death in the never ending, and unforgiving seas. 
Cato does not look up at anyone, not even to God himself. He does not speak, nor does he try to beg for forgiveness. He’s tired. He’s so tired. 
God stands next to him, a hand on his shoulder as two angels unlock the shackles from his wrists and ankles. “Chan will wake up once you have hit the seas. You have my word.” Cato only nods in response.
And as he launches himself towards the sun, the burning heat of it burning at his skin and singing his feathered wings, he wails. He wails and screams, mourning his love for Eve and the time he’s spent being tortured with her almost in his grasp. Truly, he thinks death is better than being without her. The sun dries his tears, and it brings him a dark sense of comfort. And when his wings are all but ash, and he’s falling into awaiting waters, he smiles.
Apollo cries quietly as the god’s body is swallowed by the dark blue seas.
________________
Chan wakes up in a hospital room.
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bunnylovesani · 3 months
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The Other Woman
Summary: An office relationship with the married Mr Skywalker doesn’t have the happy ending you were hoping for.
Content warnings: Smut with angst, infidelity, p in v sex, degradation, creampie
Wc: 1.5k
“How long until she comes?” Your voice tremors in anticipation as you rip off Anakin’s tie and claw at the buttons of his crisp collared shirt.
“Hopefully half an hour, I told her my meeting ran over” He pushes you down onto his work desk and his hands snake their way up your thighs, ripping the thin material of your tights apart completely once he got high enough.
“Daddy!” You gasp as the sound of ripping fills the office.
“No one’s gonna see, baby.” He murmurs into your neck as he plants sloppy kisses all over your collarbones before trailing down to your chest.
“Such slutty little outfits you wear, you trying to seduce your boss?” He rips open your sheer blouse hungrily and tuts when he sees how exposed you are. “Not wearing a bra around a married man. Should be ashamed of yourself.” He grumbles as he seals his lips around your nipple, sucking it forcefully while he kneads your other breast- wedding band glinting in the dim light.
“I’m such a slut, ‘m sorry, daddy.” You whimper at the way he’s attacking your tits, teeth grazing your delicate skin and leaving red marks. It’s true, you did feel like a slut; you’d had a crush on Mr Skywalker from the moment he hired you and you didn’t seem to care one bit that he was married.
“Bend over and I’ll teach you a lesson.” He pops your nipple out of his mouth, a trail of drool connecting you. “Now.”
You hop off his desk and position yourself over it, ass in the air while your wet tits pressed against the cold wood. You feel him hook his fingers over your panties and slowly drag them down, a groan escaping him once he sees your glistening arousal.
“Being a little homewrecker gets you this wet, huh?” You wince as his thick fingers trail down your folds, smearing the sinful evidence of your adultery everywhere. Your face burns with shame when you hear the familiar clink of his belt unbuckling, deepening in its redness when you feel the head of his cock prodding at your entrance.
“Tell me how much you want it.” He teases, slipping in the very tip for just a second before pulling back. “Beg.”
“I want it so bad Ani.” You squirm restlessly, aching with the desire to be filled “Please daddy, please! I’ll do anything for you.” Your sweet voice rings out sincerely.
At first you’d told yourself you’d never get involved with someone like him- that it was beneath you as a woman of upstanding moral character. Then after the first time you’d sucked his cock under the desk while he held a meeting, you comforted yourself with the reassurance that it would be a purely sexual relationship, nothing more. Now that the thought of him finally permeated your every waking moment, you had run out of excuses. You were in love with a married man.
“Oh, I know you would, baby.” He chuckles, sensing your fragility. He tries to be sensitive but he finds the way you debase yourself for him too amusing not to laugh at. “Take it.”
With one forceful thrust, he pushes his cock all the way inside you, the tight walls of your pussy closing in as if to claim him. His hand reaches round to clamp over your mouth as he brings you closer to him, the cold metal of the watch on his wrist sizzling against your burning flesh. Your body is set alight with desire once you feel him flush against you, his toned abdomen slapping against your ass as he pounds into you mercilessly.
You spot the framed photo of Anakin and his wife perched at the edge of his desk and you scowl at the unpleasant sight. Being made to stare at her mockingly beaming face while you’re giving your pussy out to him filled you with a foul possessiveness that caused you to extend your arm out and knock the frame off the table. Anakin pauses for a moment and peers over to observe the broken fragments of glass sprawled out across the carpet.
“Oops.”
You don’t dare to look back and meet his gaze, instead burying your face in your arms as you arch your back further.
“So we’ve finally reached the point where you’re starting to get jealous, hm?” He pushes back into you frustratingly slowly, his thrusts deep but unsatisfying. “Answer me.” He wraps his hand around your hair and pulls you back when he’s met with silence.
“Yes! I’m fucking jealous. You shouldn’t be with her, you should be with me- you should be mine! I hate her.” You spit out venomously, taken aback by the resentment that seeped out.
“Show me.” He replies simply, eyes wide open and lips parted. Your heart leaps at the opportunity to prove yourself so you get up, swiftly swapping positions as you push Anakin onto the desk with more strength than you knew you had. He’s taken aback by your fervour and does nothing but lie back as you climb onto him, pencil skirt hitched up to your hips. You lower his trousers down a little more before sinking onto him, ravenous with the desire to be consumed whole by him and all that he is. He stares at you through narrowed eyes, disbelief flitting through them. It was no secret you had a big crush on him but he didn’t realise until he saw you just then- in the throes of passionate desperation, that it was clear as day.
“I love you, Anakin.” You whine, verbalising his worst fears. He says nothing back as you bounce on his cock, each rebound filled with more ardour and torment. The familiar twitching deep inside you let you know he was close so you ground your hips against his with the most fire you could muster, the squelching and slapping becoming resoundingly loud as you fought the blazingly painful feeling of him slipping away. His breath hitched and a deep groan rumbled from the depths of his chest as he grabbed your soft thighs and spilt his cum deep inside you. A numbness overcame you when you looked him in the eyes after his breath settled and it became clear; without a shadow of a doubt, you had lost him. Once he pulled out, you would never be one ever again.
“C’mon darling, get off.” He softly sighs, head bowed while you remain frozen in place.
“That was the last time, wasn’t it?” You ask, feeling a torrent of tears building. He screws his eyes shut as he nods hesitantly and you feel your heart being bloodily ripped out from your chest.
“It’s for the best. I don’t want to hurt you.” You scoff mirthlessly at the irony of his words.
“Do you not love me at all?” After debasing yourself in every possible way, all that was left to do was give him your ego to destroy.
“I love my wife.” He replies resolutely and you can almost hear the nail being hammered into the coffin that was your relationship.
Stumbling off the desk, you fall onto his leather chair and the world around you goes fuzzy. You can vaguely hear him encouraging you to get dressed as he gestures to the alarm clock on his desk but it’s not enough to puncture your daze. Before you can register what’s going on, he’s dressing you- slipping on your underwear and zipping up your skirt as “I’m sorry”’s spilled from his unfaithful lips. Your body was not your own- all you could focus on was not falling apart entirely as you were wheeled out of his office and left standing frailly by the elevator. He presses the button with a ding as he straightens out your blouse and runs his knuckles softly over your cheeks, staring into your eyes apologetically. “I really am sorry, baby.” He whispers as the elevator doors open with a chirpy ding. You retreat soullessly into the cold metal box as you see a woman brush past you.
“Oh, hey honey! Waiting for me?” Padme’s strident voice is heard as she steps out of the lift and embraces Anakin with a light chuckle.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He pulls her into a hug right before your eyes, his broad hand resting over the back of her head as he pulls her into his chest protectively- just like he did with you. “I’m all ready to go.” He announces absent-mindedly.
“It’s about time, we almost missed dinner! This company is really working you to the bone, you must be shattered.” She rambles on, still wrapped around him.
“Yeah, you could say that.” He mumbles as he stares straight at you, his mournful gaze permanently burned into your memory as the doors shut before you.
You hoped the whirring of the moving elevator would mask the wail you let out as you collapsed, the pain of your heart and soul crumbling too much to bear. You loved him. You loved him and you were going to have to find a new job.
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Dirty Work 24
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.
Characters: Loki
Note: friday! coworkers last day!
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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You pass through the gate, cautious to close it without a noise. You trail past the hedges and around the side of the house. You enter through the back, as you did in those early days, only weeks ago, though it seems years.
You move slowly, leaving your shoes out of the way, disregarding the closet as you cling to the strap of your bag and venture warily onward. You pause before the kitchen door and peek around, finding it empty. You tiptoe on and climb the stairs one at a time, flinching at ever creak.
You reach the top and keep your eyes down. You go to the library and slip inside, like a ghost floating through your own existence. You set the bag by your feet and pull out the laptop to begin your day.
You don't think, not past the list of tasks. You boot the computer and wait for the screen to light up. You type in the pass code and open Excel. You lean your head in your hand, eyes glazing over as the glare sears your vision, stamping with endless columns and tiny numbers.
You feel yourself slumping, the strength whittling away by the second. Your eyes droop even as your ears prick at each noise. You shake your head, trying to ward off the needling fatigue. You yawn and sit up, rubbing your eyelids as you square your shoulders.
You let your head hang back and drop your arms into your lap. Your stomach wriggles as Mr. Laufeyson's looming presence creeps into your mind. He's here somewhere and surely, he already knows you are too. He's just waiting to pounce. 
Your fears furl into faded dreams. A fractured series of scenes, twisted reflections of reality rippling into each other until you dizzy. You can hear your own snores yet don't quite realise you're asleep.
You wake with a start as you feel yourself slipping. You barely catch yourself before you flop off the chair. You spasm and grip the arm rest as a shadow lurks behind your laptop screen. You gape up at Mr. Laufeyson as he watches you with arms folded.
"Hm," he tilts his head, "that shirt is... not very professional."
"Sir," you keep your face down as your cheek thrums, swollen and bruised, "I'm sorry, I... I didn't sleep very well."
"Oh yes, of course, I hadn't even mentioned you sleeping on the job," he growls and uncrosses his arms, bringing his hands down to the desk. He leans in so his head is just above the laptop. "Look at me."
"Mr. Laufeyson, I'm just sorting out the expenses--"
"Look at me," he commands more firmly.
You wince and rub your neck. An ache radiates in your shoulder, another remnant of your father's wrath. You slowly raise your chin as your lip twitches just slightly. His eyes narrow and his jaw ticks.
He's silent as he stares at you. Angry, you can tell. You pull your hands back and fold them against your chest.
"Please, Mr. Laufeyson, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. It won't happen again--"
"What happened to your clothes?" He slithers darkly.
"Nothing, I... I wasn't paying attention this morning--"
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not," you squeak unconvincingly.
His nostrils flare and he slaps his palm on the desk. You sit back, pressing yourself to the chair as you whimper.
"I underestimated that... scum," he spits out.
"I don't know--"
"Go on and lie again. What is it this time? You took a tumble?" He reaches out and you shy away, expecting him to put another swell in your cheek. Instead, he touches the thrumming skin, stroking it, "I didn't think..." he takes a breath and withdraws his hand, standing stiffly, "I believed him a coward, but not that sort."
"It's not--"
"Hush. You make your excuse for him, I will not swallow them," he flicks his fingers at you dismissively.
He rolls his shoulders and pivots on his heel. He paces across the patterned rug and stops, just before the sofa. He turns back, making another line across the space. He brings his finger up to tap his chin.
"Yes, very well, I see I do have somewhere to be," he states as he drops his hand, his lips curving at the corners. 
"Mr. Laufeyson," you stand.
"Never you mind," he tuts, "you have your work, I have mine." He cracks his knuckles.
"Are you--"
"Ah ah," he points at you tersely, "since when is my itinerary your concern? Mind the house, that is your job." He huffs and checks his watch as a pinch lines his forehead, "you may receive the expected parcel and leave it on my desk for now..." he lowers his hand and grumbles, "and you will stay here."
"Mr. Laufeyson," you murmur.
Before you can protest further, he's at the door. You're frozen in disbelief. Surely he can't mean what you think.
It doesn't matter to him, does it? You are his house manager, just another below him he can torment, he wouldn't do anything like that. Certainly, he won't harm your father, right?
You rush after him as your doubts bubble over. As he enters the hallway, you grab his elbow, not thinking, not hesitating for once in your life. "Please, Mr. Laufeyson, whatever you're thinking of--"
He faces you and rips his arm free, "don't."
"Please, it's-- I--" you sputter helplessly and wring your hands, "I deserved it."
He squares his chin and blinks. "Deserve... so it was him?"
"Mr. Laufeyson, it isn't... isn't your problem. He's my dad, I'll deal with him."
"As you have so far?" He scoffs, "pet, I mean to defend you. To do you a favour. Another. And now you overstep and try to command me?"
"No, no, I'm not... not commanding. I'm begging," you clutch your hands tighter, putting them up to plead, "don't make it worse."
He dips his head and closes his eyes. He pinches his nose and gives a nod, rubbing his lips together. He raises his head and opens his eyes again. He shrugs and lets a grin break through.
"It isn't your choice," he grabs your wrists, locking them together in his grasp as he drags you forward.
Your socks slip on the floorboards as he tugs you down the hallway. You struggle, writhing and sliding against his force. The same panic that struck you last night swirls again, thumping in your chest. He turns and swings you through the door of his bedroom. You stagger as he lets you go and the door swiftly snaps shut behind you.
You turn to face it and throw yourself against it, twisting the handle as you try to pull it open. He holds it shut from the other side and you hear the lock grind into place. You hit the door with your fists and cry out.
"Mr. Laufeyson!"
"I will return shortly, pet, never you worry," he assures, "don't miss me too much."
You slap the wood again and press your ear to it. You listen as he struts away, whistling until it fades to silence. You hear the front door below, shortly followed by the car engine rolling to life. You rush over to the window and look at as he steers up to the gate.
You can hear his knuckles cracking and see that sinister smirk. His intentions cannot be good.
Your exhaustion slakes away to panic. You pace the room, bounce up and down on your feet, fidget incessantly, murmuring senselessly. You just can't be still. What is Mr. Laufeyson doing?
Your fears twist your imagination to terror. Is he going to hurt your father? He should just leave him alone. He's the one who got him so worked up. That last thought makes you stop short.
It's his fault. It's all his fault. He heard everything on the phone, he knew your dad has anger issues, he walked into your home and he ruined it all. 
Your lashes flutter as you sway. You feel like you've been struck all over again. Mr. Laufeyson has done this all to you! He gave you this job, he took you away from your dad, he invaded your home, he made you wear those clothes. 
And now, you're mad. You feel that hot streak inside of you unlike anything before. Vivid and venomous. You run to the door, throwing yourself against it as you beat with your fists. 
He's locked you up here so you can't stop him from doing anymore. You're sleeping in a hotel because of him. You're not eating or sleeping, you can feel yourself going insane. Because of him.
You're dizzy and breathless. You lean on the door and try to calm yourself. Your head hurts.
You slide down and turn to put your back against the door. You hang your head, bending your legs to rest your arms over them. You heave and close your eyes.
You're just as helpless as you've ever been.
The footsteps bring you out of your daze. You raise your head, wobbly on your neck, and blink several times before you get your bearings. You listen to Mr. Laufeyson's entry, his slow advance below, and his steady ascension up the staircase.
Your heart hitches but you don't move. Even if you had the strength, you refuse. You will not budge.
He comes down the staircase, a hum in the air. You tense and grit your teeth, eyes hot again with tears. Not sad but angry.
"Ah, pet, you will be happy to hear that I don't believe your father will have another cruel world reserved for you," he sings the handle shifts slightly above your head and the lock clicks. "How shall we celebrate your emancipati--"
The door jolts and you push back against it. You plant your feet and grunt as you force it shut. He lets out a noise and shoves back. You do it again.
"Pet," he evens his tone, "what are you up to?"
"Leave me alone!" You snarl, surprised by your own venom.
"Pet, now, let me in--"
"I said go away!"
He scoffs and stops pushing. He lets out his breath loudly.
"This isn't mature behaviour."
"I don't care, I don't want to see you."
He's quiet again. You hear his soles scuff and he gently taps on the door.
"Pet, please, we should talk. I think it's imperative that we do--"
"No, I don't want to talk. I don't want to see you. I want you to leave me alone!"
"You are being a child--"
"You ruined everything," you bark, "you ruined my life! You're a bad man and I hate you!"
You go weak as the last words escape you without a thought. You collapse onto your bottom and catch your head in your hands. You devolve into thick, choking sobs. Here you are, bawling like the child he calls you. He must be amused.
"Are you tendering your resignation?" He asks crisply, "because I believe you haven't anywhere else to go, my dear."
"I know! Because of you. I have nowhere, because you!" You shoot back through heaving breaths.
"Or... you could have somewhere, because of me," he says measuredly. "Pet, all you have to do is open the door and talk to me."
You fall onto your side and curl up. You cover your head, whimpering as tears trickle down. You sniffle and hide under your arm. Just like you did when dad wouldn't stop yelling. 
The floorboards shift and he sighs again, "I can wait." He taps the door lightly once more and his footfalls retreat.
You tremble in a heap, nearly delirious with emotion. Through the chaos, you can see the truth. You don't have anywhere or anything without him.
The world shifts under you, your body chafing across the floor as the door moves you. Not harshly but inch by inch. Mr. Laufeyson bends over you as you open your eyes, groggy and glazed over. His silhouette is fuzzy and distant as he slides his arms under you.
He lifts you and carries you to the bed. You groan as he lays you down, piling pillows behind you to prop you up. He sits with his legs over the side and pushes his head back. You come to, little by little, pushing through the fog.
You hug yourself and wiggle in place. He reaches to still you, his hand on your thigh. You wince and stare at his fingers. He draws his knee up and shifts to face you. He removes his touch as his eyes cling thoughtfully to the wall behind you.
"I see you've calmed down," he begins and lets his gaze fall on you, "so we will talk. I'm sure you're aware that matters are urgent."
"No..." you utter, "I'll... go."
You try to sit up and he nudges you back. You hit the pillows and do not try again. You don't have anything left in you.
"Where?" He challenges.
"I have a hotel room--"
"No," he shakes his head, "that won't do. What I'm offering, well, you can hardly deny it."
You drop your head and shrug.
"How many more nights can you afford? And without a job? I'm offering you both. Work, accommodation. I dare to say, I would offer you a home."
"No, you're my boss," you insist.
"Yes, I do expect you to shoulder some tasks," he assures, "but perhaps... we might remold this arrangement."
Your eyes stick blankly to your knees. You don't know what he wants or what he means. Just more. It's always more. Hasn't he taken enough?
"What more can you want from me?" You whisper.
He's quiet again. His fingers twiddle and he lifts his hand, touching your arm and slowly grasping it. He unwraps it from your torso and trails down to your hand, squeezing it.
"I made myself clear before," he pulls your hand closer, cradling it as he pets your knuckles, "but perhaps you still misunderstood me." He clasps your hand between both of his, "I want you. Entirely."
Your eyes flick up to meet his. Your mouth falls open as your heart tempos wildly. You still don't think you understand. Your search his face for the answer.
"I will grant you any wish. Clothes, jewellery, whatever you like. If you like to read, I will buy you books, if you like to draw, I will buy you paint. If you just want shiny things, I can get those too. All I ask is simple. For you. For your entire being. That you obey and serve my every need and you will have all you ever longed for. Things you never even dreamed of," he slips a hand away and lifts yours. He leans in and softly kisses your knuckles, "you say I am bad, but I needn't be.”
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tinkerbelle05 · 7 months
Text
I’m Just Worried About You
Characters: Jaime Reyes x Pregnant!reader
Genre: Fluff, Slight Angsty
Summary: Jaime being a worrywart while your in your 3rd trimester. Most days you think it’s cute and quite funny, but now your fed up.
Warnings: Pregnancy
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“Oh, I got that for you!” Jaime said and reached above to grab the bowl you were trying to reach. “What cereal do you want?” He asked while looking at you.
You smiled, “Thank you for the bowl, Jaime. But I was gonna get some fruit actually.”
Before you could grab the bowl from Jaime, he walked over to fruit bowl. “What fruit do you want?”
You stared at him, “Jaime, I believe I’m fully capable of picking my own fruit from a bowl.”
Jaime cleared his throat, “Well yea but I wanna help you out, I don’t want you on your feet too much. Just tell me what fruit you want and you can rest on the couch.”
You sighed, this is what Jaime have been like your whole pregnancy, a curse and a blessing. Don’t get you wrong, you extremely appreciated Jaime’s willingness to help you out. Especially when you were dealing with morning sickness, fatigue, and headaches.
But did he have to do everything for you? At all times? It was like he saw you as a piece of glass, one fall and you’d shatter into several broken pieces beyond repair.
But, as annoying his overprotectiveness is, you understood it. You two were first time parents so everything was new, exciting, and downright terrifying.
Neither of you knew what anything meant. If you were tired in the mornings, was that a sign of something serious? If you were back began to ache or if you had a sore feet, that just a pregnancy symptom or something more.
And if you went to google, they’ll tell you the absolute worst of what you could have.
So you understood. Really, you did.
That being said though, you really didn’t need help when walking to the bathroom or getting a snack at night. Which was something Jaime frequently did, holding your arm and back as he guided you to your destination.
You sighed and gave him a stare, “Jaime.”
He looked up at you, “Yes?”
“I think I can manage getting on my own fruit,” you told him and attempted to grab the bowl from him.
His lips twitched in an all too familiar manner. He’s annoyed but he knew you was right so he so he didn’t how to proceed with it.
“Just let me do it,” he pleaded.
You narrowed your eyes are him, “Why?”
You watched as he fidgeted under your gaze. He was clearly hiding something but won’t tell you. Maybe it was embarrassing to talk about or he just didn’t understood his feelings to be able to voice them properly.
Either way, if this is how he’s gonna for the rest of your pregnancy, you at least would like to know why. And maybe you could work from there to get him back off a bit.
You walked closer to him and placed your hand on his arm for support, “Jaime?”
He looked up the ceiling for a second and exhaled through his nose. “I’m….I’m just worried about you, okay? I just…i don't want anything bad to happen so I thought that if I do things for you that would, I don't know, lower the risk maybe?” He covered his eyes with his hands, “I don't know it sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
You shook your head, “No, no Jaime, it’s not stupid. Just…well…”
“Annoying?” he offered and cracked a smile.
You laughed softly as you nodded your head, “Yea, you can call it that. But I get it, yea? It’s scary and new. But I can do things on my own. It might take a bit longer and be a bit more difficult but I can do it.”
Jaime nodded his head and leaned into your touch, “I understand, I’ll try to be less overbearing. But please, if you do need help, ask. Okay?”
You nodded your head and smiled.
It was nice to come to an understanding.
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dearharriet · 26 days
Note
James potter + “you’re really red right now.” Please 🙏
this one was so fun :3 thank you for requesting! (wc: 679) (cw: blood, mentions of drinking + reader being drunk)
James ushers you further down the dingy hall, doing his damndest to keep you upright. It’s hard to help him with that task when the floor is moving and the lights on a constant strobe.
“This was a terrible idea,” James shouts, his voice nearly lost under slightly disturbing accordion music.
In hindsight, you perhaps had a touch too much to drink, but you’ll never admit it. “Was not.”
As if in retaliation, the floor gives a particularly cruel jerk, sending you sideways.
“Good lord, you’re sloshed.”
“James, it’s not me, it’s the floor!” You let James hoist you up, stalling a moment against a technicolor wall. “It won’t stop moving.”
“It has stopped, you lightweight, that’s what sent you.”
Three teenagers pass you two, laughing and staring, likely interpreting your pause for something it’s not. You give James a strange look before realizing he’s right—you’re perfectly still against the wall now.
“I don’t think I like this funhouse.”
Finally breaking his stony concern, James pulls you back down the corridor, laughing breezily.
“I’m sure you’re having more fun than me, at least.”
Making a face, you hold to his hand at your waist, steadying yourself.
“I didn’ realize it’s a competi-shun,” you slur. James breathes a laugh that you can feel against your neck, but says nothing in response.
Rounding the corner with a toddler’s level of balance, you come upon at least three duplicates of yourself.
“Ohhh,” you groan. “James, I might be more drunk than I thought.”
With a chuckle, James urges you forward. “I’m glad you can admit it, but these are just mirrors, love.”
Somehow, that makes you all the more disoriented, suddenly fighting a new wave of vertigo. James seems to anticipate this, because he shortens his leash on you, holding you mere inches from his chest with a vice grip. He’s muttering to himself bitterly about something you can’t comprehend.
He walks you towards the other pair of you, before diverting to the right, towards yet another mirror.
“James, we can’t go that way.”
“Try not to make this more irritating than it already is, please.”
You tamp down the urge to argue, though you can’t resist pushing out your bottom lip in a pout. James silently steers you through the dizzying maze with growing ease. Eventually, he turns what you expect to be the last corner, and you jerk back like you’ve been shocked.
“Oh my god,” James gasps. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.”
Swaying, you step out of his grip, feeling your face start to ache.
“Are you alright?” James’ voice is distant in your ears, like you’re wearing earmuffs, but his hands holding your upper arms are hot and sharp.
Focusing your double vision on his face, you pull your aching brows together.
“James…”
“Love, I’m sorry.” A ghost of amusement tugs at his lips, but he’s trying hard not to laugh. You’re still so confused, and James’ face…
“You’re really red right now,” you say.
At that, James finally breaks, hanging his head in silent shaking laughter. You’re not sure what’s so funny about it, he’s red from head-to-toe like a cartoon character after eating something spicy. Even his clothes.
“I’m serious!”
James looks at you again, smiling something awful. “I’m sure, pretty girl. You’re red, too.”
Shying, you sniff, your nose oddly runny. Of course you’re red, with James calling you pretty all of a sudden.
“Do you have a crush on me?” you ask dopily, reaching up to grab his muscled forearms.
James’ nodding excites you, but he says, “How about we talk about that when your nose isn’t bleeding.”
You blink. “Is it?”
Instead of answering, James frees a hand from your arms to swipe under your nostril. He shows you, holding up a black-red thumb as evidence.
“Oh. I suppose it has been dry lately.” You take his hand, missing it on you already. “That could be why.”
James sighs, beginning to chaperone you out of the awful mirror maze, toward a daunting set of shifting stairs.
“You’re going to be the death of me, lovey.”
+
thank you for reading! xx
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toppersbitch · 1 year
Note
Okay okay I saw this prompt : Cry all you want… I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this.
Maybe your character somehow liking it when Sebastian used crucio on you?😭 idk
Cry All You Want // Sebastian Sallow x Reader
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All underage characters are aged up to 18+!
Summary: Although you HATED having crucio cast on you, the way Sebastian cared for you after made you kind of like it…
Word Count: 600
Warnings: Hogwarts Legacy spoilers, changing of events and dialogue,  kinda sadistic, torture, throw up
Prompt: “Cry all you want… I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this.”
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"I can teach you Crucio or I can cast it on you."
"Wait, you didn’t know how to cast crucio." Sebastian’s words took you aback. Why in Merlin’s beard did he know how to do that?
"Because I'm not sure I do," he retorted, "but Ominous has left us no choice; I don't want us to follow in Gaunt's footsteps; I can cast it if I have to," he gestured at himself, touching his chest.
"I won’t cast it on you; you have to cast it on me," you said, with almost no thoughts running through your mind before agreeing.
"I'm not going to forget this," he said, reaching out his hand to grab your shoulder.
You stood, preparing yourself for Sebastian to cast the spell; you couldn’t imagine the type of pain that was about to hit you. A curse you'd heard so much about, with so much fear attached to it.
"Ready?" You watched as he raised his wand, squeezing your eyes shut.
"I’m ready," you readied yourself, placing your feet apart and bracing yourself.
"Crucio!" Sebastian yelled, and you felt a blast push you back and a rush of aches and pains. It was debilitating; you wanted to run and hide, and you grabbed at your clothes. It burned and stung, and whatever other words you can think of to describe the pain. Your eyelids were bright red; that’s all you saw.
Then it finally stopped, all at once, with the pain still echoing through your body.
"Are you alright?" You heard a voice right beside you and felt a hand grab your arm. You flinched and smacked it away. You began to cry, whimpering, holding yourself in comfort.
"Hey," Sebastian said, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing his hand across your back.
Your body heaved against his as you cried; you could hear Ominous’s footsteps in the back. This definitely freaked him out. You let go of your stomach, wrapping your arms around Sebastian; it was the tightest embrace. You let your breath even out, tears slowed their flow, and your body felt nothing at all—such an odd sensation.
You took a deep breath, shakily letting it out. You moved back, slouching against the wall; your body was exhausted. You felt a churning sensation in your stomach. You closed your eyes and inhaled and exhaled deeply. Sebastian grabbed your hand, providing a sense of support. You grabbed on, turning to the side and allowing dinner to come up. You slouched once more, beginning to giggle in relief, first quietly, then loudly. Tears are still streaming down your face.
"What?" Sebastian questioned you, and you clutched your stomach, feeling the pain from laughing so hard, and you clutched Sebastian's arm, keeping you from rolling to the ground.
"Cry all you want; I'm starting to think you enjoyed it," he said, grabbing your shoulders to keep you steady.
"I did not enjoy that," you said, staring him dead in the eyes. Crucio was a miserable curse, and you hoped to never go through that again. But if Sebastian held you like that every time, it might not be the worst thing in the world to deal with.
"Then why are you laughing?" He was puzzled, his eyebrows furrowing. He wiped your leftover tears away, wiping them on his green robes.
"I just feel amazing now; I feel so light," you said, jumping up with a springy action. You were never going to tell Sebastian that you liked his touch. You just hoped he would do it again, even if that meant Crucio again.
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I hope this take on your request fulfills what you wanted, I can't imagine anyone liking Crucio being cast on them haha <3
My other stuff can be found HERE <3
Check out my other stuff HERE
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acozysoulwrites · 2 months
Text
An unexpected comfort | Fem!Tav x Astarion
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Description | Tav (you) is feeling down and Astarion sees her crying. Then offers comfort to his best ability.
Contains | Sad Tav, soft Astarion, Astarion being the bestest comfort character that he is <3
The day had been exhausting. her heart ached with every beat and her lungs expanded and collapsed in shudders.
There were so many things wrong, her mind raced as it tried to pick one thing to cry about, but instead, she cried about it all. About her family, about her past, about the tadpoles that she and her newfound friends dealt with. she cried, and she didn’t care who heard her, nothing mattered right now.
Footsteps shuffled around the camp, Gale and Wyll muttered things about spells and she saw Lae’zel and Shadowheart having yet another heated discussion, most likely about their beliefs, which were far opposite of the other’s.
A twig snaps behind her and she knows who it is before they speak. Astarion.
“Hello my sweet- oh” his voice falls flat, faint concern laced in the ‘oh’ as he spoke. His head tilts in confusion before he rounds the fire, sitting just across from her.
“Is… something the matter?”
She sniffs, reaching up to wipe the tears from her eyes, but instead, they smear and glisten in the fires light.
“Ah ah-“ He tuts, “I wouldn’t try that. I already saw them. Tears, big ones…” his voice softening just a little.
She frowns at the vampire, unsure of his intentions. He could be toying with her for all she knew, but she didn’t have the energy to sift through the underlying meaning of his concern.
Astarion frowns, and there’s a smile on his face, one of his sly, terribly hard to read smiles.
“You know…”
For a moment, she thinks he’s about to come onto her, that some sick part of him finds her tears arousing… enticing. Her glare becomes more fierce.
He takes a sharp breath and continues, “This isn’t like you, not at all actually” He declares, absolutely sure of his statement.
Her eyes remain like daggers into him as she speaks. “You don’t know me”
Astarion looks away, there’s truth behind her words. “No, but i watch you”
Her eyes widen.
“Not in some- weird way—“ He quickly adds. There’s a pause, his eyes scan over her face with a sense of longing. “I’m self centered… but not so much that i can’t notice a beautiful creature right in front of me” He smiles.
She remains silent, her brow twitches upward slightly, as if she’s expecting more.
Astarion sighs, “Look, i just mean that from what i’ve observed, you aren’t the type to keep your problems to yourself. I see you chat with Gale from time to time… So, chat with me”.
Her eyes soften slightly and as she opens her mouth to speak, the dried tears stretch across her cheeks uncomfortably. “I don’t know how to describe it” She mumbles.
The vampire stays quiet, waiting patiently. He watches as she chuckles weakly.
“I am haunted by my past, by my father, by my mother’s pain” She croaks, her words coming out in cracked versions of themselves. “But mostly, I am terrified that I will fail you all, that we will become monsters and I will have to die knowing I couldn’t save anyone”.
Astarion blinks at her slowly, this behavior resembling that of a cat. It makes her smile just a little, she’d always found the elf to be most beautiful, but tonight, under the starlit sky and behind the dancing flames, he was astonishing.
“See? You’ve no idea what to say to me now, do you?” She asks, her words heavy with hurt.
Astarion’s eyes fall from her, he runs his tongue along his top teeth, stopping at his fang as he thinks.
“Come to my tent tonight” He finally says, his eyes back to hers.
She blinks at him, frustration boiling up inside her. “Excuse me?”
“No- No!” Astarion closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m not… always on about that, you know. I just meant, once everyone is asleep come to my tent and we will talk about these worries you burden… unless you’d rather speak with gale” He says, using a mocking tone to speak Gale’s name.
She chuckles, her heart finally feels lighter for the first time in weeks. This was the last thing she’d expected to happen tonight, especially from Astarion, but she couldn’t be more grateful.
“Okay…” She nods. “I’ll see you tonight”.
Astarion stands and dusts himself off. “Now get yourself up, the ground is absolutely filthy after a rain like we just had” He says, his usual sass back in full swing.
Authors note; could someone please let me know if i capture his character well, and if he’s in character at all? Astarion is a very interesting character to write and a bit difficult, but i’m learning as i play the game <3
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bones4thecats · 3 months
Text
Sleep Problems ~ Apollo x Reader
Type of Writing: Poll Result Characters: Apollo, Reader, & Asclepius Name: Sleep Problems Original Poll Links: One & Two
A/N: God this is the longest piece I have ever made! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this angst + comfort poll result!
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☀️ It was a long day.
☀️ You and Apollo were busy helping the different pantheons honoring the deaths of their fallen members, you both were extremely drained with helping out with the remembrance of Poseidon, Hades, and Heracles
☀️ Apollo was cleaning himself off from the day while you spent time with your son, Asclepius, who was rambling about the day he had with his uncle Shiva, his aunties, and his cousin, Ganesha
☀️ While you didn’t want to, leaving him with his aunts and uncle was the wise part, you knew bringing up Ragnarok around him would send the kid into a frenzy
☀️ He was around 5-years-old in God-years when his father took to the fields in Ragnarok
☀️ Asclepius was very clingy with his father after that, and Apollo could say the same exact thing about you and his son
☀️ You both mean the world to him, and having his son watch that kind of brutality made his stomach turn
☀️ Once you heard the water shut-off, your son buried himself underneath the sheets of you and your husband’s bed, giggling as the familiar footsteps approached the door and eventually bleed into the room
☀️ Apollo chuckled quietly and stood over your son’s form and tore the sheets off before lifting his son up by his foot and laughing as he blew raspberries on his stomach before holding him and telling him to tell you goodnight
☀️ You loved your husband and son to oblivion, but remembering how Asclepius had to watch his own father fight at such a young age made your heart ache
☀️ Hearing your door close made you look up and watch as your husband walked up to the bed and de-summon the letters you had to read from Zeus
☀️ Apollo sighed lovingly as you laid down next to him and allowed his arms to wrap around your smaller form from behind
“ My sunrise, I love you so much. “ “ And I love you, my love. “
~*~*~*~*~*~
☀️ A soft creak could be heard as your door was opening, causing you and your husband to awake and look at the door, ready to attack if necessary
☀️ Your eyesight adjusted as the light of golden eyes burst through the darkness that surrounded your room
☀️ Apollo groaned as he sat up, asking the little boy what he was doing and why he wasn’t asleep
“ I had a bad dream… “
☀️ Anyone could hear how distraught and sad Asclepius sounded, and it made you guys look at each other and coax the young child into your bed and into your arms for comfort
☀️ When he settled in between you both, he started tearing up once asked what the dream was about
“ It- it was about you, daddy! You were fighting that big man, and- and you died… I was so scared, mommy was crying and screaming while uncle Shiva and my aunties held her back! Cousin Ganesha was holding me while covering my ears! I just wanted to make sure you were okay! “
☀️ Apollo looked at you and looked away in disgust, not with you or his son, but with himself, why did he have to let his son watch?! Why didn’t he have him stay with one of the nymphs at his estate?!
☀️ You reached up and cupped your husband’s cheek, your eyes looking into his, saying ‘it’s not your fault’
☀️ He sighed and hugged his son and you closely, saying the words he wished he had said after that fight oh so long ago
“ I’m sorry for allowing you to witness that ordeal, Asclepius. I should’ve had you stay with your nymph nanny here. But I promise you, do not fear that man, Leonidas. He was a great warrior, and he deserves to be looked upon with honor and respect, not fear. And your daddy won’t be leaving you anytime soon, I swear it. “
☀️ Asclepius smiled as he looked at you, knowing what you were gonna say, but he wanted to put on a bit of a show to make you smile, he was to much like his father
“ Can I stay here with you guys? Please?~ “
☀️ You chuckled as Apollo looked down and rubbed his head in a noogie before saying the words that made you laugh;
“ Of course you can, our Prince of the Sun! “
☀️ Asclepius smiled and tucked himself in between you and Apollo while your husband wrapped his arms around you and his son as you did the same
☀️ Apollo may still feel guilty as his son grows older, but with you by his side, and with his son’s undeniable love and devotion, he knew, he would get through it
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eywa-eveng · 4 months
Text
ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ʟᴇғᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ (ᴛᴇᴀsᴇʀ)
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ɴᴇʏᴛɪʀɪ & ᴊᴀᴋᴇ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴼᴹᴬᵀᴵᴷᴬᵞᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 1.9k out of 11.4k and counting
ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – mentions of character death, mentions of war, ptsd, unrequited love
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇ – I’m still here! I’ve always wondered what it would be like if Neytiri had been less forgiving with Jake after the fall of Hometree, so I thought I’d explore the concept. I perhaps got a bit carried away.
ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ
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A sound rustles in the trees behind you, a soft brushing of leaves that could be nothing more than a breeze through the underbrush, but your bow is drawn towards the sound in an instant. The tension balled like a fist around your heart eases as a familiar face emerges through the foliage, but doesn’t abate completely as Jake steps into the light. His steps are slow and deliberate as if he were approaching a wounded animal but you hiss at her even still, embarrassed that you’d been so distracted in your thoughts that you lost track of your surroundings. Had you been paying attention you would’ve caught his scent before he made a sound. The same scent that’s always clung to Neytiri’s skin because she favors cooking with firewood that is more fragrant than most, making her food a hint sweeter when she eats it. It’s a smell that used to offer comfort but now it’s only the wisp of another memory that was burned to ash the moment Jake arrived to the clan.
What would’ve changed if it hadn’t been you and Neytiri tasked with teaching him? Perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself tangled in a mating bond shared between three people. A crowd compared to the traditional two.
“What do you want?” You ask, lowering your bow even as your voice still bristles with hostility.
Jake stalls in his approach. “What did I do, baby? What’s wrong?” In the time since he took up the mantle as olo’eyktan, Jake has begun to fully immerse himself in the ways of the People with more vigor than he had even before the fall of Hometree. He speaks in Na’vi when he can manage it but slips back into English when his tongue trips over an unknown word. But one word he’s never let go of is “baby.” A human term of endearment–not just a word for a newborn child–he’d explained once. Like yawne or paskalin it’s meant to show affection between mates. And despite that being what you are to each other you feel unsettled by the innocent word.
He takes a step closer that you reward with your own backwards retreat. His brows pinch, ears drooping as his hands reach out as if he can bridge the gap between you with a simple touch. You’re worlds away from each other even as he stands so close.
An uniltìrantokx, an alien. A human wearing the false face of one of the People. Yet he is also Na’vi, a son of the Omatikaya. He bears the title of olo’eyktan and Toruk Makto. He’s so close and yet so far. Once you would’ve met him in the middle, your hand reaching toward him. But now, knowing what he’s done…. Forgiveness is the farthest thing from your mind. Whatever friendship, whatever affection you’d once had for him has burned away to an aching emptiness. And even before it had begun to slowly unravel, thread by thread, breaking apart until you were left with a tenuous bond at best. Before Jake, before Sylwanin’s death, Neytiri had been yours. You understood her duty to the clan following her sister’s death. It was not her desire to become tsakarem, no nobility in the decision being made for her at the hands of the sawtute. Killing and taking with no remorse. She was betrothed to Tsu’tey and you accepted it as the way of things.
Jake’s introduction to the clan had been tumultuous at best, but as Neytiri’s closest companion you found yourself joining in on their lessons. And watching her fall in love with someone that wasn’t you. At least, with Tsu’tey there had only been friendship. A mutual agreement to not disappoint the clan’s expectations despite their hearts belonging to another. With Jake, she had no such reservations. Neytiri loved him. Loves him. Yet she can’t let you go. Neither of them can. So now it is your time to do as duty suggests, even if your heart aches with the effort to pretend to accept Jake into your heart for all he is, for all he’s done. Banishing the humans from Pandora after so many years of suffering might’ve been enough for others, but when you look at him you see flames.
“Everything you touch is destroyed.” The words slip out unbidden, before you can stop the bitterness from leaking off your lips and Jake stills as if you’ve struck him. The shock only lasts for a moment before he’s rushing towards you, arm winding around your waist as his four-fingered hand cups your cheek. The tears are unexpected as he wipes the wetness from your eyes. When did you start to cry? So long ago, truly. It seems the tears never stop, only taking brief moments of reprieve before stinging at your eyes once more. It feels like you’re being shattered, a river crystal smashed against a rock as glittering shards fly in every direction. Impossible to collect and rebuild. But Jake tries, so desperate does he seem to want to hold you together in his arms even as you come apart at the seams. You fight against him. Hissing and clawing like a hunted animal trying to preserve its life. Some innate piece of your mind knowing that a man like him is dangerous.
Sawtute. Uniltìrantokx. The words are synonymous with death and the unknown. And Jake has proved that no matter how close you become, friends can turn to enemies in the blink of an eye. Lovers can turn to strangers. Happiness can wither into a type of sadness that never dissipates. Still, Jake tries to keep you together in his arms. Whispering and pleading, trying to soothe your sobbing. So long have you spent simply walking forward, one step at a time with only brief moments to think about how far you’ve come. But with those few words you’ve turned back to see all that was left behind and it’s tearing away at you.
The ground is cold beneath your knees, the chill shivering through you as you fall. Jake hasn’t let you go, still keeping his arms around you as if you’ll turn to ash if he looks away for even a moment. Perhaps you will and wouldn’t it be better if you did? What is left for you now after so much has been taken? Everything has been stripped away. Friends, family. The few things that you thought would always be yours. Gone in an instant.
You try to speak through the thickness in your throat, voice rough as stone when the words finally come out. “Get away.” Jake doesn’t seem to hear you but you say it again and again as you struggle to your feet. “Get away! Get away from me!”
All you want is for things to be as they were. But you’re longing for a life you’ve never gotten to live. The humans were here long before you were. You’ve never known a life where they weren’t lingering just out of sight, corrupting your home to fit their alien desires. It burns in your chest, this desire to return to some semblance of normalcy and the knowing that everything in your life has always been precarious, balanced on the edge of a cliff. It seems that now you’ve finally fallen and there’s no knowing what will meet you at the bottom. Jake wants to catch you. You can see the desperation in his eyes as he tries to hold you, hear it in his voice as he begs you to stay with him.
You’re here in mind and body, but your soul feels like it’s been gone for so long. Left behind in the smoldering remains of Hometree, left behind on the battlefield. Now you’ve only been living because you hadn’t truly died. And everyone has been pretending you’re still the same as you were. Jake is pretending you’re still the same woman he met all those months ago. Had it truly been a year since an ignorant dreamwalker had come stumbling into Hometree? He’d been nothing then. A new kind of uniltìrantokx that needed to be studied. A warrior in a new, untrained body. A chore for Neytiri as Mo’at dictated that it would be her that had to teach him the ways of the clan. Of course, she had made it your responsibility to assist her in the endeavor, ever grateful for every moment spent together even if it involved teaching a man the things a child would know.
Truly, you’ve all changed since that moment. Jake has learned. Body and mind, he’s learned to walk as a true Na’vi does. It is clear that in his heart he is one of the People yet there’s still doubt in your mind. How, if he was so committed to the clan, had he let those monsters burn down your home with barely a word of warning? Yes, he led the battle to seek revenge and cull the plague of humans from Pandora, but if he had such determination why had he not done it sooner? Humans are secretive, duplicitous. Things that Na’vi had no concept of before their arrival. Your hearts are true and open. Yet Jake still had things to hide even after he became a son of the Omatikaya. Trusting him now feels like a mistake. Neytiri might’ve moved past it but you can’t find it in yourself to open your heart to such pain once more.
The woman you loved has turned into someone you can’t recognize. Relaxing so easily into the days of peace even in the shadow of all that you’ve both lost. While your heart turned cold hers seems to have blossomed, open with a soft sort of hope. The humans are gone, the People are safe. So why can’t you move on with everyone else?
Jake touches your arm again, fingers tracing from the shape of your wrist up to your shoulder. The touch feels foreign after avoiding him for so long. It isn’t the distressed grasping as he tries to soothe your tears. It’s softer, less confining.
“Let me help, baby. How can I help?”
“Leave me alone.” He’s already shaking his head before you finish the words.
“No. Don’t push me away, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes, I just want my girl back.” Back? Had you ever truly been his?
It had been a mistake to not close your heart to Neytiri when she was promised to Tsu’tey. Had you been strong enough then to smother the seed of childhood affection, to rob it of rain and sun until it withered and died, perhaps you wouldn’t be standing here with tears burning in your eyes. It would’ve taken less strength then to do what feels impossible now. A stone has turned to a mountain far beyond your strength to move. Jake seems to notice your hesitance, his eyes flitting over your face for any crack he might be able to use as a way past your protective shell. He seems to find it, reaching over your shoulder to brush his fingers over the length of your tswin. He draws it forward with careful reverence, pressing a kiss over the braided hair before looking at you once more. It’s doubtless that he’s thinking of that night beneath the light of the Tree of Voices.
A mistake if ever you’ve made one.
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party-hearses · 6 months
Text
i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 3
do i get callous, or do i stay tender
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series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
pairing: joel x ofc!reader, ex!tommy x ofc!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)
rating: explicit, MDNI 18+
word count: 8k
chapter summary: the boundaries of your new relationship with joel are explored.
chapter warnings/tags: no outbreak AU, soft!joel, age gap, alcohol, language, characters eating food, alfred hitchcock, allusions to verbal/mental abuse (not joel), dry humping (i guess?). let me know if I’m forgetting anything!
a/n: this feels very ‘slice of life’, but it’s important to me, dammit! I love each and every one of you (yes, you!) who read, comment, and reblog. this fic is my baby, and every interaction means the world to me. @nostalxgic beta’d for me, because she’s the best human in the world and I love her to pieces.
comments and reblogs are appreciated! support your creators!
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There was, Joel knows, a depth to the things you had shared with him. He just doesn’t know how to piece them together.
You had led him, a proverbial blindfold over his eyes, to the darkest recesses of your psyche. Allowed him to graze those things with his fingers. Not to grasp, never to grasp, but to ghost the ridges of his rough digits against the truths they contained. Visceral and unrefined, flexing without giving, beneath his prodding touch. A reluctant invitation.
He had wanted to claw his way in. He had wanted to rip you apart, to gorge himself on your suffering. To lick your velvet bones and make his home inside your ribcage. Half heaven, half hell.
Instead, he finds himself turning your words over in his head again and again, whiskey a thick smoke on his tongue. The television is still on in the background, the light flickering across the angles of the room, casting everything in jagged shadow.
Frustration curls tight in the pit of his stomach. Understanding feels just out of reach — as if the words you had spoken had been in secret tongues. If only he could decode it.
It will take time, he knows, to learn your language. To speak the complexities, to articulate the syntax. To appreciate the nuances from the inside, wrap his tongue around the letters. It will be an exercise in patience, he is sure, but one that he will commit himself to. He hungers to be fluent in reading and speaking you, to savor the delicate flavors of your dialect.
You, the unknowable creature asleep just down the hallway. That his hands had been on; that had made his cock twitch and ache; that had looked at him with those wet, pleading eyes, desperate to be known.
He rolls the wrist that holds his whiskey glass in a circular motion, eyeing the contents intently.
Asking you to stay in his home was a calculated risk. It had been when he’d first done it, and it remains to be the longer you stay. Tommy’s involvement — even in the capacity of ‘ex boyfriend’ — makes things complicated, and Joel knows that those things will border on volatile once he finds out where you are.
Not if, but when.
And truly, Joel doesn’t know what he’ll do when that happens. He hasn’t thought that far ahead, his vision too clouded with you, you, you.
He had known, since the first time you stood in his kitchen, a case of Shiner in your small hands, that the hot knife of devotion he felt when your eyes met his would eventually destroy him. Inevitability twisting its hands into his gut, whispering in his ear to prepare for his own eventual decimation. Lamb, meet slaughter, it said.
He’d let Tommy beat the shit out of him, he thinks, if it keeps you in his proximity.
The acute awareness of it had caught him off guard. Mutual, useless damage — two unfillable voids recognizing one another from across the room. A collision of fire and the ocean floor.
You, in a little black tank top and jean shorts, the tender flesh of your thigh peeking out just below the hem. Shoulders bare, warmed from the afternoon sunlight, skin aglow. It took strength he didn’t know he possessed to not sink his teeth into you right then and there. Lick up the slender column of your neck. Feast.
Tommy, grinning and oblivious as all fuck to the cosmic shift taking place two feet away from him.
Joel wanting to slug the smugness off his younger brother’s face. He knows Tommy — knows him always as a collector of people, of experiences. Not handling things — beautiful, fragile things — with the care they ought to be handled with. Leapfrogging from one thing to the next, nothing but ruin in his wake.
And oh, how Joel wanted to ruin you — but not in the way he knew Tommy would.
Your words to him tonight make his skin itch with that same recognition. That same inevitability. Asking you to stay meant there was no going back — that you would either let him swallow you whole, or he’d die trying to.
Throwing his head back to drain the glass, he savors the burn of the liquor sliding down his throat before flipping the television off and rising from the couch. Retracing his footsteps past your room, a dull throb settles again between his thighs at the thought of your body pressed against his.
It wouldn’t be difficult, he thinks, to open your door and take. He knows you because he knows himself, and what little restraint he has left is stretched thin.
But he will be patient, because it is you. Because he knows how this ends. Because he wants you to want it, too. To need it like he does. To reveal yourself to him in your own time, fragment by fragment. To recognize the inevitability.
And so he closes the door to his bedroom, himself on the wrong side of it, knowing that that is what a better man would do. And like a better man should, he falls asleep to images of your supple skin rippling beneath him, your mouth open and wanting.
You are unknowable, but you have never been a stranger.
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You’re still in your dress when you wake up the next morning.
The hem is bunched up around your waist, your panties on display for the four walls of the empty bedroom. The slippery material clings to you, flesh slick with sweat, in a significantly less flattering way than it did last night.
Everything about you is less flattering than it was last night — the shimmer and sugar of it all worn off in the sweltering light of midmorning.
With a groan, you roll onto your back, the hard edges of your phone cutting into the flesh of your hip beneath you. You can’t bring yourself to look at it, to relive the previous twelve hours of…well, everything. Hands and drinks and tongues and flesh and desire and Joel’s voice.
Something else shifts into focus from behind the hazy veil — Joel carrying you to bed. Half-asleep and just on the other side of drunk, drippingly saturnine and pathetic. The recollection of it makes your chest pinch; the most recent admission into the museum of your naiveté.
You scrub your hand across your eyes, thick black flakes of mascara crumbling off your lashes and landing on your cheeks, chalky streaks of it painted across your knuckles. A strange laugh bubbles up in your throat — you can’t even imagine how wrecked you look.
Sharp hesitancy crests your lungs, tempts you to curl up further into the blazing bedsheets, to avoid. To shrink back into yourself. You raise a hand to your still-swollen lips, delicately pressing your fingertips into their fullness, the memory of Peter’s mouth slotted over yours replaying behind your eyelids.
You wish you had been drunk enough to forget that part of the night — but only that part.
Ava’s fingers interlocked with your own, the holographic sheen of her love wrapping around you, the way all of your pain had spilled out into her waiting hands on the dancefloor. Her magic had dug its tendrils into the soft muscle of your heart, her dreamy voice in your ear an incantation: I have the best feeling about you staying with Joel.
It was those things that you never wanted to forget.
And Joel — Joel. The way he had angled his body towards you, had been so attuned to your words. The consideration in his face as he absorbed them all, brows knitted in concentration. The restless twitch of his fingers.
Him sliding his hands beneath your body, pulling you close to his chest.
Everything had poured out of you so naturally, without any of the apprehension or anxiety you’d come to call companion. The sutures you had sewn years and years ago had been neatly, delicately, untied by Joel’s nimble fingers, in a way that you don’t even think he understood. And it took almost nothing.
Like something magic.
Fire crawls across your already heated skin, not so much a realization but a possibility.
It’s the only reason you get up, and peel your dress off of your sticky body, and let the cold water of the shower chill you. Your lungs open up, the buzzing of your nerves quieting under the stream.
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Joel hears the quiet patter of your bare feet on the hardwood before he sees you. The beating of his heart matches the measured pace of your steps, both quickening as the distance between you closes.
He glances sideways, pulse hammering when you finally enter his line of vision. The wet ropes of your hair cling to your neck, dripping down the fabric of your threadbare t-shirt. There’s something so cozy about it, a significant intimacy that comes with knowing you’re just out of the shower.
It’s vulnerable in a way that he’s all too cognizant of.
“Hey.”
Your voice is sweet, if not apprehensive. Testing the waters. You gently pop a hip into the lip of the kitchen counter, next to the full, still-steaming coffee pot. Joel is situated at the stove, pan of something resembling food in front of him, his own mug clutched in his left hand.
“How ya feelin’, champ?” There’s a crooked smile on his face, one that disappears behind the curve of his mug as he brings it to his mouth.
You laugh, a gentle sigh of a laugh — a laugh that invigorates his blood more than the coffee does.
“I’m actually okay. Y’know, considering.” You tip your head to the side, watching as he stirs whatever it is in the pan. A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth, seeing him cook. It’s endearing, being allowed a peek into his life.
The way his cheeks round out tell you that he’s still got the same small smile painted on his face, despite the way it’s hidden.
“Mind if I have some?” You gesture with a flick of your chin to his coffee, clocking the way his face immediately falls, eyes narrowing in your direction.
“Y’already know the answer t’that.”
Gaze darting back to the stove, he’s quick to set his coffee to the side, muttering a curse under his breath as he lowers the flame burning under the pan. You twist your body to grab a mug from the cupboard and fill it with the blazing hot liquid, crossing the kitchen to settle at the table.
The subsequent silence is companionable, and you let the coffee rouse the parts of your brain that haven’t quite caught up with you, yet. You watch the strong muscles of Joel’s back, rippling and pulling under his shirt, as he extends his arm to pull a plate down from a different cupboard.
It’s mesmerizing, the agile way he moves, so it catches you off guard when he slides the plate and a fork in front of you, steam rolling off the scrambled eggs and slices of toast.
You hadn’t even noticed him using the toaster.
“Oh,” you squeak, blinking away the surprise you know is written all over your face. “You shouldn’t h-”
“Wanted to.” It’s kind, but matter-of-fact. A stern statement to dissuade you from arguing back.
As he lowers himself into the chair across from you, tossing his own full plate onto the table, you can’t help but remember his hands on your jaw the last time the two of you had been here together.
Together.
He immediately digs into his food, shoveling it into his mouth and slurping his coffee. You drop your gaze to the plate in front of you, picking up the fork and gingerly shuffling the contents of it around.
Something close to guilt needles at your stomach, and all too suddenly the words are hot on your tongue.
“I lied to you last night.”
Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look up at you — just keeps chewing and swallowing.
“Yeah?” Another bite, more chewing, swallowing again.
“I…I kissed someone. At the club.”
The confession hangs between you, though he remains as taciturn as you’ve ever seen him. It’s only when he draws his mug up to his mouth that he even meets your eyes, subtle amusement dancing in the liquid amber of them.
It’s candy Pop Rocks compared to what would have been Tommy’s dynamite.
Joel hasn’t stilled at all, continuing to drink his coffee and scoop his eggs on top of his toast.
“You…asked if I met anyone. And I lied to you.”
Toast halfway to his mouth, the small pile of eggs perched atop it dangerously close to slipping off, he pauses. His brows pull together in a question that you can’t quite read. An epiphany that you’re not privy to.
Lowering his arm, your eyes follow the eggs as they fall to his plate with a muted plop.
“Y’don’t owe me anythin’, Peach.”
Liar.
“But I-”
He shakes his head, and whatever it was that you wanted to say dies in your throat. “Y’had a reason to not tell me. And that reason belongs to you and you alone.”
You scrunch your brows together, an unfamiliar feeling building in your chest. He watches as it happens, his own chest pulling tight at the recognition of your uncertainty, of the doubt in your eyes. He’s quick to lean over the table, over the momentarily forgotten plates of food, to soothe your skin with a knowing drag of his thumb. The fork in your hand falls, clattering against the ceramic.
“Hey. Soften up, darlin’. Just don’t want you to think y’have t’tell me anythin’ y’don’t want to.” His voice is low, eyes intently searching yours. “Doesn’t mean I don’t understand why you’re tellin’ me.”
There’s something so tender about the way he tells you this, the way he touches you, that you’re sure you’ll spontaneously combust. Nothing has ever belonged to you — and only you — before. Not even your thoughts have ever been your own, the space reserved and velvet-roped for the ghosts of your shortcomings.
And you know that though Joel doesn’t quite grasp the gravity of what he’s saying, the words are bubblegum and champagne to you. Exactly, perfectly right.
“You’re good. It’s okay.” He gently brushes a still-damp tangle of your hair back over your ear, and you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is pounding. “Y’don’t always have to be so…hard on yourself.”
You’re good.
“Say it, Peach.”
Like he can read your mind. Like he can reach directly inside you, all those ties he’d undone, to extract the most vulnerable parts. Soften them. Shield them. Nurture them.
As though he can taste the desperation surging off your skin.
“I’m good.” Your own voice is so small, you hardly recognize it. The words taste bitter, grapefruit with the sugar dusted off. Unearned.
“You’re good, sweetheart,” he repeats, the rough tips of his fingers sliding along your jaw as he pulls his hand back, dropping it to retrieve his abandoned toast. “Now please eat. It’ll help.”
Hesitantly picking up your fork again, you mirror him — biting and chewing thoughtfully, humming as the toast settles in your stomach. Sipping your coffee. It’s almost easy.
Joel makes it easy.
Every now and again he flicks his eyes up to watch you, to make sure you’re actually eating, silently pleased as the amount on your plate slowly diminishes. He finishes before you do, shoving his plate forward and tipping back in his chair, fingers wrapping around his mug comfortably.
Moving the last bits of egg around the perimeter of your plate, you take the opening as Joel’s shoulders relax against the slatted wood.
“I, um, didn’t think you’d be…like this.”
It catches him off guard, a warm laugh betraying his usual stoicism. The levity of it curls around your limbs, climbs the length of your spine. “Oh yeah? ‘N what’d you think I’d be like?”
Avoidant. Brooding. Grumpy.
“Much less…pleasant?” You crinkle your nose at the word, not satisfied with it. “Or, like, you’re kind of…nice?”
This time he laughs out loud, angling his head back and opening his mouth wide. The sound of it lights you up from the inside, sparkly and hot.
“I mean…oh my god, that’s so stupid. I just mean…like, I think being here…will be good for me.”
You’re babbling now, skirting around the fact that you think being around him will be good for you. But something deep in your stomach tells you that he already knows. That he’s always known.
Dropping his head to his chest, you think you see a light sprinkle of pink break out across his tanned cheeks and nose. He clears his throat, mouth obscured by his coffee mug.
“I’m nice t’you, sweetheart.”
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The remainder of the day is spent zeroed in on your work laptop, still at the kitchen table, legs stretched across the chair Joel had occupied that morning.
He had slipped out after breakfast to run errands — a few work related, a few personal — asking if you’d wanted to come. The invitation had made your heart swell, the feeling of being wanted stirring in your veins. It was hard to resist, the promise of more time with him so incredibly alluring, but you’d declined, work hanging over your head like a raincloud.
“It’s Saturday, Peach,” he’d murmured, eyeing you as you’d flipped open the slender screen of the device.
“Good thing I don’t have any plans, then,” you’d replied, clicking the trackpad to open your multiple files — budgets and spreadsheets and invoices stacking one on top of the other — thoughts turning to how much you’d rather be climbing into Joel’s truck beside him.
But he’d backed off, dropping a quick squeeze to your shoulder before leaving.
It’s not until he’d been gone for some time that it strikes you how different the interaction was with Joel than it ever had been with Tommy — no exasperation, no stomping out of the house, no argument. And you can’t compare them, you know, because he’s not Tommy, and he’s not your boyfriend —but it’s stable, sustainable. A quiet admission of knowing what you need. Of some kind of trust passing between the two of you.
A disruptive ringing snaps you back to reality, your fingers still resting on the keyboard of the laptop. The screen has gone black, an indication of the amount of time passed.
With a slight shake of your head, your eyes track to the smaller screen, your sister’s name and picture lit up. Uneasiness rolls through you, as it always does when she calls.
“Hey, Kit.” You drop your head back onto the curved wood of the chair, exhaling shallowly through your nose.
“Have you been avoiding me?”
You can hear the shrieking of children in the background, the clatter of pots and pans and running water.
“Are you doing the dishes?” It’s in your best interest to sidestep the question, her giving you the perfect opportunity to do so.
“I didn’t think you’d actually answer.”
The fingers of your other hand find the bridge of your nose, squeezing gently.
“I’ve been…busy. Work has been a lot.”
Liar sits just below your diaphragm, pendulous and dark.
“And how has living with Joel been?”
You should have known that she’d cut straight to the point. Like she always does.
“It’s fine, Kit. It’s been going really well, actually.” You can’t help but snap, the tranquil feeling of Joel’s confidence in you waning into annoyance at being treated like a child by your sister.
Beyond that, a significant part of you is determined to protect the strange, placid thing between you and Joel, whatever it is. Whatever it isn’t.
Kit sighs, but it’s soft. “I’m just calling to say hey. We haven’t talked in so long.”
“You’re calling to check up on me.”
“Is there something so wrong with that? I’m your sister.”
“Not my mother.”
You regret the words as soon as they pass your lips. You can feel her hurt seeping through the phone, from thousands of miles away. It cuts to your core.
“Kit, I didn’t-”
“You’re right. I’m not your mom. But you could at least be fucking kind to me, because I am all you’ve got.”
Your breath catches in your throat. Kit rarely — if ever — curses, and it hits you like a punch in the stomach.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears immediately swimming in your line of vision. “You just, remind me of her so much sometimes, and…and I…”
“Have a lot of unresolved bullshit with her.”
“Yeah.”
She’s never said the words aloud before; it’s a subject the two of you had always avoided into adulthood. The crevasse between you, wide and gaping. Hearing her say it, acknowledge it, feels like sucking fresh air into your lungs after holding your breath underwater for too long.
“Daniel! Stop hitting your sister!” She suddenly calls out, and the moment crashes down at your feet.
“Look, um, I’m working. Let’s talk later this week, okay?” You sniffle, salty tears threatening to spill over. “Love you.”
You click to end the call before she can protest.
Rubbing your hands down your face, you wish you hadn’t even answered. Talking about her is never easy, but talking about her with Kit is something you’d danced around for years.
The phone begins to vibrate again, and you almost swipe to ignore it, assuming it’s Kit angrily calling back. But it’s Joel’s name splashed across the screen, and your heart thrums with familiarity. With relief.
“Hey, darlin’.” He says when you answer, the warm timbre of his voice washing everything else out of your head — Tommy and Kit and work included. “I’m thinkin’ about orderin’ pizza, that sound okay t’you?”
“Please, that sounds great.” And it does. Easy. Low maintenance. Comfortable. Exactly what you need. “But only if we can have beers, too.”
He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. “Read my mind, Peach.”
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“You’re in the same exact place you were when I left,” Joel exclaims as he walks through the door, a rack of beer on his hip.
“Money never sleeps,” you reply, closing the laptop with finality and stifling a yawn.
“Maybe not, but you need to.”
“Mmm, pizza and beer first,” you hum, pushing yourself up from the table and joining him at the counter, his hands already tearing at the cardboard.
“Anythin’ excitin’ happen while I was out?” He holds a bottle out to you, fingers grazing yours as you take it. A thrill shoots down your spine, settling between your legs.
You lean back against the sink, drawing in a deep breath before tipping the beer back into your mouth. “Nothing I’d love to revisit at this moment.”
The only thing you’d love in this moment is to bask in Joel’s magic — let it wash over you, head to toe. Erase the terrible things you’d said to Kit. Be good again.
He quirks a brow at you, but doesn’t press. Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a pizza app pulled up. You shake your head, pushing it away.
“I will eat literally whatever you order.”
Shrugging, he drops his gaze to the screen, thumb flicking up to scroll through the menu slowly. “Hope y’actually mean that. Might try to order a gross pizza just to call y’on your bluff.”
45 minutes later, you’re both on the couch, beer and pizza in hand, an old movie playing in the background. One of your favorites — a sprawling mansion on the English coast, a haunted marriage, the shadow of a mysterious ex-wife, Rebecca. One of Hitchcock’s best, in your opinion.
Joel is happy to oblige, love a good black ‘n white slipping out of his otherwise full mouth.
As much as you love the film, you’re preoccupied with the way the evening sun casts the room in a golden glow, and how it seems to accentuate Joel’s innate softness. A softness you feel privileged to see, to have lavished on you. You want to drown in it — let his kindness corrupt you, let him untangle you.
Selfish fizzes at your fingertips, creeps up the span of your arms.
You shift your focus to the ropey muscles and tendons of Joel’s neck, gaze climbing up his strong jaw, covered in a smattering of salt and pepper scruff, to the long line of his aquiline nose. He balances his half-empty beer bottle on his knee, fingers wrapped around the neck of it.
And if you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, you don’t want to think about anything else. You don’t want to consider what it all means, yet. You want to just exist, here, with him. Watching the way he watches the movie, the way he gulps his beer down.
Hidden from the rest of the world.
Tucking your legs up underneath your body, you let your head loll on the cushion of the couch. You’d hide forever, if you could.
You stretch your arms above you, a sleepy, dopey grin splayed across your mouth — secure glowing fluorescent at the apex of your thighs. The movem ent draws his attention, as though he’d heard your pulse cry his name.
“Tired?” His voice thick, eyes tracing the soft shape of your arms as they reach skyward.
“Mhm. But I wanna finish the movie.”
A coy, sideways smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and he leans forward to place his pizza plate on the coffee table.
“C’mere, sweetheart,” he drawls lowly, sloping back to slide his hand across your shoulders and wrap his fingers gently around your bicep to tug you closer. Turning, you meet him with wide eyes, glittering in the dark, your heart a trembling magic eight ball — are you sure this is okay?
And without words, he lets you know that it is. Lets you know that he wants you to.
Guided by his large open palm, you carefully curl into his side, dropping your head to his lap. You pull your legs up to your chest, both hands nestling narrowly under his thigh. His hand hovers over the soft curve of your hip, a barely-there touch that makes you ache.
You draw in a deliberate breath, holding it deep until he finally lets his hand drop to the exposed flesh between the band of your shorts and raised hem of your t-shirt.
A million sparks of light burst over your skin, fireworks exploding across the creamy silk of it. Your eyes flutter closed, hyper-aware of every tense of his fingers. The movie continues to play, but the whole world has fluctuated to both start and end in the exact place that he touches you.
As though there is no before this moment in time, only after.
Inevitable.
His hand slides up the length of your body, over the notches of your ribs, and higher still so that his fingers skim the delicate line of your neck. You can feel him relax further into the cushions of the couch, broad body molding to its shape, and you wonder if he’s concentrating on you as hard as you are on him.
In an answer to your unspoken question, he begins to tenderly stroke the spread of your hair, fanned down your shoulders and pooled in his lap.
“Y’know,” he mumbles, eyes still cast to the television, “we had breakfast and dinner together today.”
“We did,” you agree, a slight simper at your lips.
“‘N the world didn’t end, did it, Peach?” He angles his chin down to look at you at the same time you tilt your head to look up at him. He hasn’t stopped caressing the silky locks of your hair, and when you meet his eyes, he grasps a fistful of it gently. The pleasurepain of it makes your blood hot.
“No,” you whisper, “it didn’t.”
He leans closer by just a fraction, and you can’t help but be entranced by the shape of his mouth as his plush lips form the words that cross them.
“Want it to be like that everyday.”
He’s looking at you like there’s a peephole into your soul — a pinpoint view of the feral thing inside of you, on display for him. He’s looking at you like it excites him.
“Me too, Joel,” you breathe, the possibility a white static between you.
Not a single thing outside of the two of you exists in this moment. He prefers it that way, having you all to himself.
“Like you bein’ here, sweetheart.” There’s not a trace of hesitancy in his voice, but he says it like it’s a secret. “Like you workin’ at my kitchen table, and havin’ pizza and beer, and watchin’ old movies with you. Like wakin’ up knowin’ you’re here.”
He moves to trace the outline of your bottom lip with his thumb, and you’re suddenly looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, breathing stilted.
Closing the distance between you, he noses along the soft cut of your jaw, burying his face in your hair. He wants to drink down the way you gasp when he does; the sound burned into his brain, knowing it will come back to him when he’s stroking himself off later.
The elastic compulsion of his need so prominent, so inescapable, that the next words out of his mouth surprise even him.
“Go to sleep, Peach.” His mouth is on your ear, goosebumps rising in the wake of his breath over your skin. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”
Taking one last deep breath of you in, he pulls back, resuming running his hand up and down the hills and valleys of your body.
The most that he’ll allow himself.
“I said some fucked up things to Kit today. She called while you were gone.”
The words fall out of your mouth, buried shame and anger spilling out with them. A confession.
Joel hums, hand still roaming, almost absentmindedly. It’s reassuring, a reminder of his words — you’re good.
“Siblings are…hard,” he suggests, emphasizing his point with a quick press of his fingers into your hip. “They get your best ‘n your worst, and don’t have a choice. It’s…safe to put the hard things on ‘em.”
“And bein’ the older one is…is…” he continues, pausing to clear his throat, voice tinged with something you can’t name, “a lot of responsibility. ‘N y’always wanna do right by them, y’know? Protect ‘em. But sometimes y’can’t. Hafta let ‘em figure it out on their own. Fuck up on their own.”
The silence that hangs in the air is charged with unsaid words. Unasked questions. Realities and consequences that neither of you are ready to explore the depths of. Guilt.
“Do you think I’m fucking up?”
“No, sweetheart. But I can’t say the same for other people.”
He squeezes your side again, letting his fingers linger just a touch longer than he had before. Dizziness snakes up your vertebrae, cloudy and disorienting. Desire. Want.
It’s a torrid kind of want, one that burrows under your skin and makes itself known. You think Joel can feel it, too, the way his touch roves over you — can feel it burn ing hot at the intersection of your skin and his.
But your brain pulls your body back, settles it to a low simmer. Reminds you to think instead of act.
And eventually, you fall asleep doing exactly that.
When you wake up later, sleep-drunk and unsure of the time, a too-bright infomercial in place of the movie, Joel is still there, just like he’d promised, head dropped to the flat of the couch, softly snoring. Chest steadily rising and falling, fingers curled into your flesh, firmly clasped just below your ribcage.
You don’t move an inch, afraid to wake him, and fall back asleep to the sound of his breathing.
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A week passes. Then two weeks. And before you know it, summer winds into autumn, and the two of you slip into an easy routine — somewhat delicate, somewhat hesitant, but comfortable. And you feel silly, now, considering how naturally effortless it is. As though it could have always been this way.
And truly, that’s the hardest part to navigate. Drawing the line between what is, and what you want it to be.
Neither of you has brought up that night, at least to one another. But after you’ve gone to bed each night, you replay it in your mind, the feeling of his hands on you the image at the forefront of it; his name a whimper on your lips as your own fingers crawl beneath your panties.
Each night, wishing they were his.
It’s far too easy to overthink, second guess, dissect the way Joel’s fingers brush yours as you hand him his coffee, or the way his lips quirk up while he watches you struggle to assemble a bookshelf.
“Peach, please let me help. Promise it’ll be so much faster.”
Your indignant scowl, arms twisted over your chest in defiance. His soft laugh, deft hands picking up where yours had left off, piecing the cheap wood together without a hitch. Sitting back on his haunches, massive fingers tugging at your forearms to untangle them. The sticky warmth in his eyes when you let him.
“See? Coulda just asked me.”
Ensuring a soft landing, in every sense of the word.
The routine you’ve created is grounding, satisfying. Something to focus on aside from your intensely confusing feelings about Joel, something that pushes everything else to the back of your mind. Something to lose yourself in.
It’s not much — no caviar and lingerie and nightcaps, but it’s yours. An ardent, fulfilling thing that makes you feel steady on your feet. That makes the sharp, prodding fingers of your thoughts dissolve into a gleaming mist. Even the edges of the words in your head, the angry curvatures of your mother’s voice, bleed into nothing in the safety net of him.
The magic of it lies in its simplicity: taking turns cooking, laundry on Sundays, greetings with warm smiles even when you have to work late or spend entire evenings parked in front of your laptop. Some evenings he’ll go to the local dive with friends, some nights you’ll bury yourself in a book in your bed. The divine act of surviving.
The foundation of something, being constructed slowly from the ground up. Methodically. Each brick a meaningful gesture, word, moment.
You, being rebuilt from the ground up, at the skilled hands of Joel Miller.
A way back to yourself.
And it’s not like you don’t catch him watching you while you work, or let him drag your legs over his lap while your laptop perches precariously on your thighs on the couch. His hands are on you in some way or another more often than not, and you like it. You want it.
If only it were that easy.
If only it could be so uncomplicated — some semblance of normal.
But it’s not. And you know it never will be. So you take what you can get — reveling in the hours spent watching movies together, the errands run together, the shared jokes and spilled chinese takeout. Your own brand of normal.
And he tells you, often, how much he prefers this kind of normal — the one with you in it.
“You ‘n me, Peach, remember?”
The line a continuous, hazy blur — what is, and what you want it to be.
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“Hi babe! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, so we should go out tonight? Thoughts? No, wait — don’t think about it, we should just driiiink about it! Love you!”
Ava’s chocolate-box trill fills the cabin of your car. Rain drizzles lazily down the windows as you click to replay the voicemail, the familiarity of her elongated words and upward inflection making your heart ache. It’s not the first time she’s invited you out since what you’ve come to refer to as the incident, but it’s the first time you’ve felt genuine remorse at turning her down.
But you will do so without hesitating, the grocery bags in the trunk of your car being the only thing on your agenda for the dreary Friday evening.
Typing out a quick text to Ava (sorry babe! raincheck!), your thumb lingers over the thread just below hers. Clicking it open again, the words on the screen send a languid fire rolling through your veins.
You: I’m cooking tonight
Joel Miller: whatever you want, peach
Whatever you want.
The possibility licks hot at every inch of you.
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The kitchen has become your favorite place in the house. The heart of it, the life of it. You’ve memorized every nook and cranny, each knot and split of the woodwork. The contents of all drawers and cabinets, the haphazard organization of it all.
You move around the room fluidly, exuding a sense of belonging that’s not lost on Joel. Body propped against the doorframe, he watches as you pour and stir and salt — as comfortable, as confident, as he’s ever seen you.
A bittersweet conception stirs in him, the edges of it coming into soft-focus. Before it can fully form on the screen of his mind, grow roots in the cavern of his heart, he clears his throat to get your attention.
“Peach.”
“Hmm?” You twist just enough to catch his gaze, clocking the expectant look in his eyes. Immediately laying the spoon in your hand on the counter, you face your entire body to his, matching the open expression.
“Close your eyes.”
You obey without question, squeezing them shut and unfolding your hands in front of you like a prayer. There’s the sound of his feet and a quick hiss as Joel opens and closes the refrigerator, placing something cold and dewy in your open palms. Your fingers automatically close around the curves of it.
A wine bottle.
Dragging your bottom lip with your teeth, the corners of your mouth quirk up. Your lashes flutter open, gaze sweeping over the intricate label — a golden goddess, surrounded by ribbons of different shades of pink and blue, dotted with tiny golden star details. The shiny, beveled type spells out Prophecy just below the image.
“This is my favorite.” There’s awe in your voice. Reverence. It shines in your irises as you look up at Joel, who is posted up against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Was on sale.”
He breaks into a smirk, cheeks flushing as your sweet laugh fills the space between the two of you.
“Either way,” you respond, humor bleeding into the edges of your voice, eyes rolling fondly, “mind opening it up while I finish everything else?”
Raising his hand to retrieve the bottle, he’s quick to wrap his fingers around the arches of yours. He tugs once, firmly, pulling both you and the bottle close to his chest.
It rattles the air in your lungs, the tiniest oh fanning the base of his throat. He dips his head to meet your gaze, breath punching warm across the bridge of your nose and cheekbones. It’s dizzying, the closeness.
“How’d you know?”
You’re asking about the wine. There’s two inches of space separating you, and you’re asking about the wine.
He leans down further, the slope of his nose pulling across your cheek to graze the shell of your ear. His breathing is deep, measured, in control.
“You brought’t over for dinner once. Said the same thing — was your favorite. I just remembered, that’s all.” He says it casually, as if discussing the weather. As if knowing your favorite wine is the most natural thing in the world to him. “Wanted to get you somethin’ special.”
Whatever you want, Peach.
Your fingers draw swirls against the bottle, the heat from his leeching overtop of them. His grip tightens, words ringing in your ears. You can smell his shampoo, his cologne, him. The spicy warmth of it is mesmerizing — it infiltrates your senses, knocks you off balance.
The rest of the world feels a million miles away.
“Shit!” you hiss suddenly, wrenching your hands away and spinning to remove the saucepan from the flame. “I don’t want it to scorch.”
Joel hums amusedly, hands scrambling so the bottle doesn’t slip and shatter. You then hear him begin to drag open and slam closed multiple drawers, the clang and clatter of various utensils nearly drowning out the swearing under his breath.
“Where’s the damn—”
“Here.” Using your hand not balancing the saucepan, you stretch to retrieve the corkscrew buried in the drawer closest to you, watching through your lashes as he meets your extended grasp to take it.
His gaze lingers on you a split second, corners of his mouth downturned, brows drawn low. Analyzing. Memorizing. It doesn’t last long, him turning on his heel to retreat to the kitchen table.
Something about the way he does it pulls at you, a tangle that you can’t quite find the end of. It’s kindling to the fire smoldering low in your belly, the one you’re desperate to keep at bay — the one that roars back to life as Joel carefully pours your favorite wine into two plastic solo cups.
You can’t help but watch, the repetitive glug glug glug of the liquid into the cup matching the beat of the nearly-boiling blood in your veins. A sheepish smile overtakes his stoic facade, his eyes meeting yours across the room.
“Don’t have any wine glasses.” He nods to the plastic cups, a gentle laugh at the very edge of his words.
“Wouldn’t want one anyway,” you reply, mirroring the way his cheeks round out in a grin.
You’re just spooning the pasta and sauce onto plates when he materializes at your elbow, making a grab for both dishes.
“Uh! I don’t think so!” You click your tongue against your teeth teasingly, blocking his body with yours. “You go sit. I’ll bring them over.”
“You cooked,” he protests, smooth palm grazing your ribs in another attempt to bypass you.
“So you can clean, if you’re worried about it.” Flashing another brilliant sideways grin at him, you pick up a plate in each hand and nudge him backwards with your hip.
“Yes ma’am.” It’s a capitulation, a willingness to step back and let you lead him.
The notion strikes hot against you, nestles in the aching space between your thighs. It scales your stomach, gains speed in the span of your arms, makes your fingers tremble as you set the plates on the table.
“Cheers,” you mumble, scrabbling to pick up the flimsy cup, tipping it just so in his direction before taking a sizable gulp.
As he parallels your action in bringing the wine to his mouth, you wonder if there will ever be a time when he doesn’t trigger the roiling heat in your veins.
Then again, you think, maybe you want him to stoke that in you — always.
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Fingers delicate around the body of your just-refilled red solo, you make your way from the kitchen to the couch, where Joel is slouched back, legs parted. It’s impossible not to drag your eyes across the muscled heft of his thighs, to not linger on the way his jeans stretch to accommodate him. His heavy hands rest on the bulk of them, fingers spread languidly.
While you watch him, he’s watching you. You can tell by the way his digits flex and relax, callused pads pulling patterned lines over denim. Keeping his composure, despite the way the wine ignites him. Despite the way you ignite him.
The lights in the room are low, the comforting drum of fat raindrops on the glass panes of the window constant. Your limbs feel loose, a combination of Joel and the wine. There’s a record on low in the background, but you don’t know who. You’d settled on the cushions while he’d taken the shiny disc out of the dust jacket gently, dropped the needle softly, with the most care you’d ever seen, and let the smooth rhythm of it fill the room.
“You gonna cook like that more often?” It’s casual, airy. As if the walls of the room aren’t closing in on the two of you, pushing you nearer and nearer to him.
Inescapable.
You giggle — you fucking giggle — stepping over him to curl back into your place on the couch.
“If you’ll let me.”
He scoffs, turning his body to face you. “Let you?”
You smile dreamily, looking up at him through your lashes. He’s close enough that you can climb over him, bracket his thighs with yours, take his hands and drag them up the length of your body.
There’s no voice in the back of your head telling you not to, for once. No whispers admonishing you, reminding you that you’re wicked and worthless and unlovable.
So when he repeats himself, asking “let you?” in a thick voice, you do.
Your body moves before your brain has time to react — you throw one leg over his lap, hands grasping for purchase on the back of the couch for balance, situating your thighs on the outside of his. It’s a snug fit, one that opens your hips wide, the stinging stretch of it pushing you forward. You relax your core over his, the zipper of his jeans biting into the ice-cream flesh of your inner thigh.
And when your brain finally does catch up, all you can feel are his big palms cupped around the backs of your thighs, kneading the exposed flesh there. His fingertips barely graze beneath the hems of your sleep shorts, and you’re all too-aware of how close they are to your center.
There’s a satisfied hum on his lips, a knowing growl in his throat. A silent admission of how long he’s waited for you. A confession of a different kind of hunger, a kind with legs and buoyancy.
His eyes burn into yours — no traces of hesitancy, surprise, guilt woven into the golden gleam of them.
Twin masks slipping at the same time. Resolve stretched to snapping, satisfaction within tasting distance as you grind down into him — just once, desperation sliding down your spine.
“You can have whatever you want, Peach.” His voice is low, a wanton whisper that punches somewhere near your throat.
Those words again.
Whatever you want.
You’re looking down at him, his irises shining with earnestness, and you can’t help but raise your hand from the couch to card through his thick waves. But he catches your wrist before you can, bringing it down to the heat of his mouth to press his lips to your open palm without breaking his searing gaze.
You moan. At least, you think you do, though it’s a quiet, broken thing. A whine. A plea.
His thumb swipes back and forth over your wrist, your hand small in his grip. You watch through hooded eyes as he lowers it to the crotch of his jeans, your breath catching in the cavern of your chest as you feel him for the first time.
It’s somewhat surreal — the thickness of his hard cock in your palm, separated only by the material of his pants. Every fantasy you’ve harbored about him unwrapped at the tips of your fingers, his hand pressing yours into him, unforgiving and firm.
His other hand swallows the curve of your thigh, chases up your side to grasp at your hip, dragging your cunt over him. He drops his head back, repeating the action, the ropes of muscle in his neck pulled taut as he bites back a groan.
Your head is swimming — Joel’s heady scent and bruising touch combined with the wine makes everything feel soft-focus and shimmery, like a dream. You cant your hips again, focusing on the way his jaw ticks when you do, lost in watching the way his body responds to yours.
The reality of it sits heavy between the place his skin meets yours — breaths mingling as a cry of finally, finally, finally. It consumes you both in such a way that neither of you hear a key turning in the lock, the door slamming open, or heavy boots in the entryway.
It’s not until he speaks that both you and Joel snap your heads in his direction, chests heaving, hands climbing. Caught.
“Guess it’s true, huh? Y’really are enjoyin’ my sloppy seconds.”
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