#how much angst do you want me to put you through

[randompandabaewrites]

Helpless in Her Hold

//The Drow twins' proposition of Tav surfaces some insecurities for Astaron. Hurt/Comfort, angst but happy ending. CW: Unhealthy relationship to sex/sexuality, identity issues. Not edited... Song Rec: Supposed to Be (Acoustic) By Icon for Hire//

Astarion x f!Tav, Canonish, Act 3

2.1k

Astarion watched, helpless, with his dead heart in his throat as the drow twins propositioned Tav. His Tav. He want to growl it and glower until no one else in this pleasure den deigned to offer their services.

Why did she have to be such a lure for elven whores?

Astarion leaned back against the wall, hardly resisting the urge to fold his arms and sulk in plain view of the whole party. He wasn’t a child whose toy was being played with—and yet, the brightness of her eyes and the laugh on her lips had him wanting to pout and whinge like a toddler.

“I appreciate the offer, I do, but I must decline.” Tav shook her head. Though personally the vampire thought she could be a little more rude in her rejection.

Because the damn twins were were still giving her looks that were far too inviting. Not that Tav saw, because her eyes had landed back on him, and Astarion was just thanking his lucky stars he’d perfected the mask he wore.

“Is that your partner?” The female drow asked, her smile making disgust creep up his spine—it was easy to see where this was going. “We’d be happy to have you both.”

“My dear, I’m afraid you’d be the one parting with your gold.” A high laugh slipped from Astarion’s lips. “And, I do doubt you could afford me.”

He saw the twins’ mirrored expressions of bewilderment turn to glee for only a flash before Tav was excusing herself from them. Swiftly stepping over to him with—that damnable look on her face.

Oh he knew those eyes, so drawn with her concern and on the verge of pity. Tav looked like that when she was about to do something so dreadfully kind it might make him wretch.

And he could not be the broken toy when she was being offered two shiny new ones.

“Astarion—” Tav began in that tone, and he had to preempt her.

“I know pet, tempting as it is, I simply must decline.”

“Yeah?” Tav utterly confounded him with that lifted smile. “That’s good.”

“Good..?” Astarion asked, his mind trying to race ahead. Find the traps and disarm them before they sprung.

She’d preached to him over and over again about his choice, and what he wanted and how that mattered to her for some reason.

Only for him to make a decision about the drow for her.

Shit.

It was a test. It had to be. She respected his choices, now he was expected to reciprocate.

“Ah I see.” Astarion inclined his head to her, a salacious smile on his lips. “You haven’t had much attention lately…it has been a while for us.”

Tav blinked, and then those bright eyes were on his, searching him out. The pale elf would cling to the façade by the skin of his fangs, if it meant he could keep her.

She turned, and Astarion prepared for the feeling of a stake through his heart.

“Well, if my partner isn’t interested, neither am I.” Tav brushed off the twins’ advances with as much grace as one could muster. Until they finally had the tact to move to other potential patrons.

She was already leading the way out of Sharess’ Caress before Astarion had recovered from his shock.

The cold night air near Baulder’s Gate finally woke him.

“You could have gone with them, you know.” He blurted, wondering why in the Hells she hadn’t. It wasn’t like he was satiating her hungers.

Astarion felt Tav shrug her shoulder through their linked hands. “I’m not interested in any little tryst if it’s at your expense.”

She said it so simple, so easy, as if it were hardly worth a second thought.

Astarion’s mind was still reeling, but he put on a smirk. “Stop being so kind to me; it almost makes me want to return the favor.” 

As if it were a debt he could ever repay her.

…

Hours later, Tav lay in her darkened room, sleep evading her. The soft click of a lock being picked made her tense, hand instinctively grasping the dagger beneath her pillow. But the familiar silhouette slipping through the door made her relax.

"Hello, my darling," Astarion purred as he approached, her darkvision letting her see how his ruby eyes glinted. “Haven’t you gotten accustom to me creeping into your bed?”

"It has been a moment since you came looking for a cuddle?" Tav teased softly, tilting her head. His appearance at this hour had her wondering. The dark of night and hushed voices already strummed tension in the air between them.

“I do seek…something akin to that.”

Astarion perched on the edge of the bed, long fingers skimming up her bare arm and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Despite all her thoughts trying to tame her reaction, for now.

"I merely wished to express my gratitude, my sweet. For standing by me, even knowing what I am. What I've done. And what I haven’t."

“What you…haven’t?” Her half-awake mind might be jumping to conclusions, surely. Twining their fingers together, Tav brought his hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "You never have to thank me for that."

Astarion's eyes shimmered suspiciously in the darkness before he blinked it away, his trademark smirk back in place. "I want to thank you," he purred, “Won’t you, let me?”

He moved then, pressing her back into the soft pillow she’d been having trouble sleeping on after so many nights spent in the dirt.

Though the familiar weight of him was already making the bed more appealing. Now, just like every time he fed from her, he cradled her skull and tilted her head back so tenderly. It was comforting, it was an intimate moment she was happy to share with him.

His eyes didn’t meet hers as he ducked his head. Usually he lingered, to make sure Tav was alright before his fangs pierced her flesh. So why did she feel lips caressing her neck?

Her fingers slid into his hair, trying to get a grip on herself as much as she was on his curls.

“Star, what’s going on?”

The chuckle he gave was at the base of her neck, lips and tongue teasing at her collarbones in a way that made her skin tingle.

“Returning the favor.” He purred. “You deserve it.”

Tav swallowed under his clever mouth, trying to hear what her mind was screaming at her before it could be drowned out by the sweet words and sweeter lips.

Suddenly his face was swimming before hers, still not letting her catch his eye as he cupped her cheek. “So very few people get what they deserve—you, as always, should be the exception.”

Astation, with his ethereal beauty and perfect words, had her stunned. It wasn’t until he lowered his mouth to hers that her mind caught up.

“I don’t deserve anything you don’t wish to give.” Tav managed against his mouth, giving a gentle tug to his hair to get him to pull back.

“My sweet…I very much wish to give.”

That silver tongue slipped right past her protesting lips.

…

The elf was certain he had her when those hands slipped from his hair to cup his face in her palms. Her thumbs stroked over his high cheekbones.

“Astarion, wait.” Tav breathed.

He stilled, pulling back, fear flickering over his features as he was sure he’d somehow hurt her—when he saw it.

That damnable look in her eyes.

“Wait—we’ve done nothing but the waiting.” He snapped.

And Tav, damn her, gave a softer look still. “I’m willing to wait longer, as long as it takes.”

Astarion's posture stiffened, his back becoming an iron rod as he sat upright. "Is that how you see me then?" He couldn't keep the defensive edge from seeping into his voice. Drawing it like a blade when he felt his throat was bared.

"All shattered on the inside? Some broken doll you no longer play with? Am I to be put on a shelf and never touched again?"

“Astarion, you aren’t—” She moved to touch him, but he rose abruptly, evading her reach.

He didn’t even know why he did it. But the way her hand fell back to the bed, dejected, hurt him just as the pain he saw on her face.

"I know you aren’t fragile," Tav said with conviction, eyes pleading for him to understand.

“Then what? Am I some charity case to you? Is that what you get off on?”

Astarion hated it the moment he said it. But, the fangs showed whenever vulnerability crept up on him.

She stayed silent, and he had to fill that void before it consumed him.

“I’m not some delicate boy with a broken heart. I have wants. And I can see that you have them too. So, why not?”

“Is that what you want?” Tav smothered his outrage like a blanket over a campfire.

His shoulders sagged under the weight of his uncertainty.

“I don’t know.” The words barely escaped his lips before they broke apart into whispers of self-doubt. “Gods, I don’t know how to do any of this.” A frustrated hand raked through his white curls.

He wanted her. He wanted to see her looks of want and he wanted to be the one to fulfill her desires.

He wanted to keep her.

She sat up, legs hanging off the bed. And his eyes were drawn to the bare skin of her thighs exposed by her loose sleep clothes.

“Astarion, what do you want?”

He stared down at her, red eyes probing for a hint of the right answer. What did she want him to say? He would say it.

But Tav held without giving an inch.

“Why do you always ask the most difficult things?”

"I’m sorry." she whispered back.

"Don’t. I want—no, I need to know that I am still wanted by you." The confession fell from his lips like a plea. "You who’ve given me so much and seen broken I am. You who’ve made me wonder if I do indeed have any pieces left of my own soul…” The words were on his tongue, but his throat constricted around baring his neck one last time. “Do you still want me?”

“I will always want you.” Tav’s reply came without hesitation or doubt.

Either he had gotten to sloppy to see it—or there was simply no guile in her.

Tav reached out, her hand finding his where he stood frozen. He could feel the tension coursing through him—an all too familiar vulnerability that he constantly tried to suppress.

“Then let me give you something in return.” He dropped to his knees before her, desperation etched into every feature. .“Please, Tav.”

She lifted the hand she held, cupping it in both of hers, before she pressed his touch against her chest. And he had a moment to hope, that maybe, she would just let him give a fraction of what she’d given him.

“You’ve given me everything already, my heart.”

A scornful snort burst from him, everything in him prepared to banish her romanticized drivel with a dose of reality.

“This,” Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt over his chest. “Past the petty armor you wear. Beneath the pretty face and clever tongue,” She yanked him close before he could quip back.“That is what you give me; parts of you that you’ve given to no one else.”

When he looked at her then, he had no idea what she might see, even if he could use a mirror.

“Your kindness, your hurt, your wants. The truth of you. That’s what I want.”

“I can’t give—“ Astarion couldn’t get this damn silver tongue of his around a his words. “I don’t know what that is…who I am.”

“Then we can both find out. That’s all I ask of you.”

He swallowed hard as her words left him parched and speechless. The notion that he might still have something to offer, a piece of himself that was untouched.

Astarion found himself staring at her, wonder and disbelief battling for dominance in his gaze.

A gentleness tugged at Tav's lips. And for a fleeting moment, Astarion dared to believe that perhaps he could have this.

He moved up, but only to wrap his arms around her. To engulf her in his embrace. Just as that night when she wrapped her arms around him, and first showed him that there was affection, there was closeness, without the expectation of more.

Astarion would be just fine if he was helpless in her arms.

#Well its not just fluff this time #“tell me who I'm supposed to be now” #“Make me better” #“I can't stay halfway dead forever” #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #baulders gate 3 #bg3 #tav #astarion x female tav #astarion angst #astarion fic #icon for hire

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

The apparition

a/n only fitting for to me come back with an angst after a month of disappearing. Do I think that this should have never seen the light of day? Yes. But oh well… Sleep token made me do it. Also, this a one shot. Won’t be writing a part two to this. Pain is pain for a reason. 🥹

warning: forbidden love, addiction, toxic love?, past trauma, brief mentions of sexual intimacy.

The part in italics is the glimpse of the past.

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

He felt like a kid. Pushed aside once again. A rock. Kicked carelessly by the side of the road. Mindlessly misplaced. Carelessly ignored. Azriel knew his tendencies. That desire to be loved. To be wanted. To be longed for. That same feeling had him crawling after females who never reciprocated his affection. Yet he crawled back. No matter the amount of stabs his heart took. He always found himself reaching.

Was this something his brothers had warned him about? Yes. Cassian repeatedly sat him down like a youngling, pointing out the damage he was creating. The wounds Azriel was tearing open. The self-inflicted pain he was causing himself. Yes, yes, and triple fucking yes. But it was like a drug, and he was an addict. Addict that was so far down the line that the withdrawal was scarier than knowing that every morning his bed was cold, his arms were empty, and his heart had been bled dry. 

The corner street door creaked open. Alerting the lost spymaster. His senses perked up. Azriel doubted that it was true, but even now, even without catching a glimpse of you, he was convinced that he sensed you. But nothing compared to that wave of familiarity that crashed into him when your frame came into view. Chasing the last bits of air out of his lungs. His hands reached out in a frenzy of muscle memory.

“Azriel?”, and it’s the surprise—the hints of horror, almost pain—that sounded in the way you said his name. But his mind was too far gone to register that. So much of an always-alert spymaster. “Oh, no, no," you dragged your hand out of his grip, “You shouldn’t be here”, you shook your head, putting distance between you two. "Please," and here goes that plea. The desperation. “No, Azriel, we had a deal, remember? Last week was the last time," you hissed at him, turning to look over your shoulder. 

“This will be the last time," Azriel muttered. A lie. He knew that. But maybe you didn’t. Maybe he could lie to himself to the point where even the ones around him believed him. “Oh, no, I know how this goes." You shook your head repeatedly, “I warned you, you stupid fool." He could feel the frustration flowing through you. The panic. “You promised me you were decent. That you had a hold of your mental shields." There was nothing sweet in your tone as you hissed out, reaching to open the door leading to your shop.

“They were. They are," Azriel muttered, stepping after you. “Don’t lie to me. You can’t fool me”, you huffed, looking through the drawer, cursing as loose pieces of paper swayed, falling to the floor. And Azriel just stood there, watching. Drinking in every single movement. “When?”, you asked, wild eyes looking up at Azriel. And he knew exactly what you wanted to know too. Should he lie? Alter the date? Hide a symptom or two. “Last month," his mouth betrayed him, however, and he had a first-seat ticket to watching your face fall. “But it’s not bad; I have it under control," Azriel quickly jumped in, hoping to defuse the situation, “It just flared up tonight, I promise." Another lie. But if he wanted to get what he was looking for, he had to push this narrative in a convincing enough manner.

“I’m telling Rhys," you muttered. "No,"  Azriel cut in so quickly that it made you jolt. “No need, plus he is aware that I am seeing you," he added in a much calmer tone. “Seeing me or seeing me now?”, you pushed. It was the mess with Elain that had made him crumple. Had taken him out for months before he found his footing once again. Even if he knew that the relationship had an expiration date, the mating bond always won. No matter the stories others showed down one’s throat about the chance of rejecting it.

“All of it. Knows all of it”, Azriel nodded. Just one more, he thought, just for tonight. “I’m saying this as a friend. You can’t keep coming back," you whispered, “This needs to stop." It was Rhys who had found you. An illusionist manipulating people’s emotions, threading together images that felt real to the depths of one’s bones. An alter of wished they called you. People and even high-fea prayed at your altars for Mother's sake. You were something some feared and others were ready to sacrifice themselves for.

“What illusions do you obtain from?" It was your fifth meeting, and Azriel, much to your dismay, had pushed the idea of getting to know each other. After all, he would have to let you into the depths of his soul. So that had been his one rule—befriend me first. You had stayed silent for a long time. Twirling the red wine in your glass. “Of love," you muttered, and Azriel could have never imagined that those two words would alert all of his life. “Why?”, was a question brought up by pure curiosity back then, with no implied intentions. “It gets messy, and the falsification of love feels wrong. Such feelings shouldn’t be tainted by magic," you said, pushing your hair over your shoulder. You glowed even in the dim light. The curves of your body were breathtaking as you lounged in the day bed on the balcony of Azriel’s apartment. It was a lethal kind of beauty, and with a handful of heartbeats, he knew that he was already slipping. 

“I saw Elain today; she... we spoke, and I just..." It was a hell of a lie he was choosing, but the need won out in his logical sense. “Mend it for me; I can’t keep feeling as if I have nothing," he breathed out. His eyes filling up with tears. “Just this one time," Azriel said, sinking to his knees. He saw your walls cracking slowly as you rounded the table. Fingers reaching out to cup his face. His hands reach to hold onto your hips. Pleading eyes burning into you. “I should have never said yes, and I hope you know how much I regret this," you muttered, clawing at his heart. 

“Admit it, I’m a fun company." Azriel leaned closer, making sure you could hear him through the music. You had no clue how he managed to drag you to Rita’s of all places, but here you were. One of the finest silks on your skin. A private booth. The lights. The drumming of the crowd. You shook your head, suppressing a smile. “You’ve gotten cocky," you observed, “Who knew you had that in you." Azriel leaned back, undoing the first button of his black shirt. "Oh, there’s so much more you don’t know about me, baby," he said, speaking into thin air. Knowing that you could hear him. He had leaned in only to feel you closer to him. Smirking as he lifted his glass. 

His hands reached out, taking hold of your legs as he pulled them up, draping them over his lap. Caught by the sudden movement, you were forced to reach out. Hand on his shoulder as you steadied yourself. That’s when he caught that unrehearsed glimpse of need in your eyes, but it was quickly pushed back. “Now this is crossing the line," you huffed. But before you had a chance to move, Azriel clasped his hand on your thigh. “What are you afraid of?” He threw that question absentmindedly, not realizing how deep that root of pain was. “Wasn’t that what you asked me the first day we met?” Azriel smirked before averting his attention back to the crowd. Leaving you slowly breaking down beneath the feeling of him. Beneath the fear of yourself.

“I should have never given in," you said, lifting his chin, and he obliged without a fuss. “You liked this too. Admit it," Azriel bit back, his hold on you tightening. He would fight hell in hopes of being able to keep his hands on you. In hopes of keeping you. “We had a deal. No falling for one another," you hissed, nails digging into the sides of his face. “I warned you that my kind doesn’t do happy endings and picket fences, Azriel," you huffed. “I don’t need that from you," he argued, “I just need you to chase Elain away. That hasn’t changed. I still love her, not you." Another lie for the night. A bitter chuckle slipped through your lips, “You’re one shit of a liar, dear spymaster of the night court.”. 

You were to blame for this just as much. You should have stood your ground. Should have never been entertained by that wimp. Because Rhys had warned you. Told you about Azriel's tendencies. So the fact that he had asked for a night that would make him feel loved should have been a red flag. But it was the empath in you that buckled at the feeling of his sadness. The loneliness that could drown out the whole army. The crippling emptiness. The way he broke down crying as he held onto you.

But all that could have been forgiven. Could have been managed. But it was yourself that you threaded into that glimpse of hope for him. Something you had never done before. It was always a made-up face you used while creating an illusion. It was the safest way. But you had been just as selfish. Nights spent getting to know each other left you wondering what it would feel like to know the touch of a man who wanted you. Who craved you. Who chose you even though loving you was a forbidden act of insanity.

And then it felt as if sending a ship you knew was destined to sink set sail. The next time Azriel stopped by, he was barely through the door as his hand grabbed the back of your head, pulling you closer to him. It felt so raw. So powerful. Whatever was happening in that small corner shop was way too big for it. Too big for Velaris. The whole world. As his hands danced over your body. Unraveling parts of you no one had seen before. Laying you bone bare beneath him. “Make me feel," he had whispered over and over. That sad lost man, making you break your own rules as you wrapped him in the sense of eternal peace as he made love to you over and over again. Digging a grave for each of you.

“If loving that silly girl with flowers in her hair had an explanation date, this has the date of your death engraved on your gravestone," you whimpered, your eyes burning as you held back tears. You warned him. Kept on warning him. In hopes of being able to wash your hands clean afterward. Because he knew the consequences. Loving you wasn’t something that could ever happen. But it only dragged you deeper. “I know. I  remember everything," Azriel muttered, pressing ghost-like kisses over your stomach. His hands already slipping past the hem of your dress. Fingers skimming over your legs. You pressed your own hands over his, “Just an illusion this time, nothing more." You reached to pull back from his touch, but his grip on your thighs only tightened. “Let me make love to you," Azriel pleaded, and if you could justify the opium your magic gave him before, it was oozing out in ugly sores now. You had doomed him. Pained tears fell down your cheeks as you kneeled in front of him. Cupping his face with both hands. You let yourself take in the sight of him. Both because you knew that you would never meet another man like him and so you could torment yourself with guilt for fracturing him for the rest of your existence. 

“You’re all better now," you muttered, smiling up at him. Azriel’s eyes grew hazy. “Do you remember the night we danced in your apartment after way too much wine?” You pushed the damp curl from his forehead, biting the inside of your cheek so you wouldn’t break down alongside him. He nodded eagerly. “You’re there, my love, in that moment," you said, taking a steady breath. Savoring the warmth of him. The feeling of him being close. “But you’re not there with me. Because I’m not real, Azriel," his shoulders sagged at your words. You could feel him trying to pull back, but you kept your hand on his neck. “I was never here. Never with you. You dreamed me up, baby," you said, pressing your lips to his forehead. You closed your eyes, feeling your own heart shatter, “But it was a nice dream, Az, and you will wake up way lighter tomorrow.”

Those same words were like a broken record as Azriel jumped up. Body aching and drenched in sweat. He turned aimlessly, as if in hopes of seeing you there. But he was in his room. The black sheets covered his body. "No," he grunts, yanking the black silk off him. Without a second thought, he winnowed. To one place that had been calling for him all of these weeks. And he’s nearly falling to his knees as the side of the wall comes into view. No windows. No sign. A solid concrete wall. “I know it’s your doing," he screams angrily into the depths of night. Hands pushing against the solid foundations. But there’s nothing. Not even a breath of you. As if it were never there. As if for the entire time it was just the corner of the street.

“You can’t push me away," he roared, beating his fist till the skin of his knuckles cracked, “You’re a fucking coward; that’s what you are." There was no way he had dreamed it. That you were a fleeting image of the night. Drafted by his brain. “You promised...", Azriel sank to his knees. His hands still pressed against the wall as he leaned against it. “I know it was real; you can’t make me believe otherwise," he crocked out, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. Falling to the ground, he pressed his back against where the door of your shop used to be. His wings sagged on either side of him. And he just sat there. The stars up above keep him company throughout the rest of the night. He wasn’t gonna move. He won’t go. He wouldn’t go. The wind kissed his damp cheeks but he was numb to it. You watched him from the other side of the alley. Hand on your mouth as you drowned the shattering waves of pain within. You watched until the night took you away forever.

#azriel spymaster #azriel acotar imagine #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar imagine #acotar x you #acotar x reader

[joeshiestyslover]

i miss you, i’m sorry- m. sturniolo

pairing: situationship!matt sturniolo x reader

summary: both you and matt have been miserable for the last week. matt (with the help of nick), realizes he made a mistake and is desperate to win you back.

warnings: language, angst, fluff, nick is a g

masterlist

lowercase intended

a/n: part two of i know it won’t work is finally here!! enjoy 🫶

empty. that’s how you’ve been feeling for the past week. you’ve lost all the motivation you once had. you can barely even get out of bed to take a shower or eat. you feel like complete shit.

you know that ending things with matt was the right thing to do, but why does it feel so wrong? matt has been texting and calling for the past few days, but you haven’t responded, knowing you have to stay strong and not run back to him.

the moment you met matt, you truly believed he was the one. you began to imagine the rest of your life with him, not being able to fathom him not being in it. you never thought, even in your wildest dreams, your relationship with matt would have ended the way it did. you love matt, more than anything in the world, but you can’t put yourself in that position again. matt doesn’t love you the way you love him, and you have to find a way to live with that.

you’re watching modern family in your bedroom when your phone rings next to you. you pick up the phone and see that it’s nick. you don’t want to let what happened with matt affect your relationship with chris and nick, but it’s so hard when they constantly remind you of him. nevertheless, you answer the call with a “hello?” “y/n! hey how are you doing?” nick was always the triplet you were closest with, even while you were with matt. he always checked up on you. “i’m fine.” you answer, but he doesn’t believe it. “you don’t have to lie to me babe. how are you really?” you can feel your eyes start to water. “i’m not okay nick.” you sniffle. “why doesn’t matt want me? i was so sure he did.” you can almost hear nick frown over the phone. “he’s a fucking idiot, y/n. he’s too dumb to see what’s right in front of him. what happened wasn’t your fault i promise.” he assures you. “i just really wanted it to work out.” you wipe your eyes to get rid of the tears, but they continue to fall. “i know hon, but you’ll be okay. you’re the strongest person i know. you’ll get through this.” you nod even though he can’t see you. “yeah you’re right.” “i always am.” you laugh a little at nick’s words. “if you ever need anything, you know you can call me right?” he asks. “yeah i know. thank you nick. for everything.” you respond. “of course y/n. i’ll call you later. i love you.” “i love you too nick.” you say before hanging up.

nick set his phone down on the couch before standing up and walking into matt’s room. he opens the door to see matt lying in bed, just staring at his phone. nick walks towards him and he can see matt looking at pictures of you and him. “matt.” nick begins. matt’s head shoots up before quickly shutting off his phone. “jesus can you knock?” matt snaps at him. “you’re such a dumbass, you know that right?” nick tells him. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?” matt questions. “i can’t believe you were the one that let her go, yet here you are sulking. you have no right to be sad. you fucked everything up with y/n!” nick began to raise his voice. matt doesn’t say anything and just looks down at his lap. “matt? hello? are you listening to me?” nick snaps his fingers to get his attention. “you don’t think i know that i fucked up?!” matt stands up from his bed. “i regret letting her walk out! i regret telling her that i didn’t want to be with her! i regret everything i said to her that day because none of it was true! i love her nick!” matt yells. nick just stands there, shocked at his confession. matt then sighs and sits back down, holding his head in his hands. “i miss her so much, man.” nick walks over and sits down next to him. “then go tell her that. don’t let her go until you let her know how you really feel because that girl is heartbroken because she thinks you don’t love her back.” matt looks up at him. “but what if she doesn’t want me back?” nick stares at matt with sympathy in his eyes. “trust me she will, and even if she doesn’t, at least you’ll know.” matt nods. “you’re right. i’m gonna go over there.” he stands up to change his clothes and grab his keys.

matt walks out the door and into his car. before matt goes to your apartment, he stops at the grocery store to get you your favorite flowers and candy. he pulls into your apartment complex and grabs the flowers and candy before running towards your apartment. once he arrives at your doorstep, he take a deep, shaky breath and knocks.

you’re in your kitchen making something to eat when you hear a knock at your door. you raise an eyebrow before walking over to open it. once you do, you see matt standing in front of you, holding your favorite flowers and candy. you immediately freeze, unsure of what to do or say. “y/n,” matt begins, “can i come in?” you stand to the side, letting matt inside. “umm these are for you.” he hands you the flowers and candy, and you walk over to your kitchen to set them on the counter. “what are you doing here, matt?” you ask in a somewhat cold tone. “i want to apologize for everything i said. i promise i meant none of it.” you just stare at him, saying nothing. “look, i know you probably don’t believe me. i wouldn’t either, but i do mean it when i say i really do want you. i was just scared. relationships honestly terrify me, and i guess i didn’t want to get hurt.” you sigh. “so you chose to hurt me instead?” “y/n, i promise that wasn’t my intention. you put me on the spot and i panicked. i know that we should have talked about it, but i decided to be an asshole and i am so, so sorry baby. i regret every cruel word that i said to you. just please-let me make this right.” matt begs. you think for a few seconds, still unsure if he actually means what he’s saying. “i don’t know matt. what you said hurt me. you hurt me. i trusted you and you threw that away. how can i be sure that you mean what you say? how can i trust you again?” you want to believe him so bad, but you can’t give into him just yet. “i promise i’m gonna do better. i’m gonna treat you the way you deserve. i’ll work every day to be the perfect boyfriend for you because i love you.” your eyes widen in shock. “you what?” you question him, thinking you heard him wrong. matt takes a step towards you. “i love you y/n. i love you so much it hurts. every time i look at you, i feel something i’ve never felt for anyone before.” he puts his hand on your cheeks, “i only want you, now and for the rest of my life. please, please give me this chance.” when he looks into your eyes, you can’t help but melt into his touch. your face softens. “oh matt,” you place your hands on his wrists, “i love you too.” he grins at your words. “really?” you roll your eyes playfully. “of course i do you fucking idiot.” you smile at him. “i’m just making sure because i-” he’s cut off by you pressing your lips against his. matt’s caught off guard, but melts into the kiss. his hands travel down to your waist and squeeze your hips lightly.

you pull away from the kiss and press your forehead against his. you let out a sigh of content. “what is it baby?” matt asks you. you smile and shake your head lightly, “i’m just happy.” he smiles as well before bringing his forehead away from yours. “y/n,” he begins, and you give him a look, silently telling him to go on, “can i be your boyfriend?” he asks, somewhat nervously. you grin, “yes matt you can be my boyfriend.” you look at him with love and affection in your eyes. matt lets out a breath, “okay good because that would have been really embarrassing if you said no.” “shut up.” you tell him before leaning up and kissing him once again, both of you smiling into the kiss.

#Spotify #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo angst #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo angst #matthew sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo

[hoseoksluna]

BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)

genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut

word count: 6.0k

summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?

playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries

warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument

note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3

The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. You’re stirred by a sense of poignancy—that you’re alive and they’re not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what they’ve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; you’re sure they would’ve handled your cursed life better than you can. 

Or you wish you were as stony as them. 

But you’re an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle. 

This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as you’re adventuring on your own in this art museum and that’s the only sliver of kindness he’s shown you this very morning. 

The only compliment you’ve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so small—and awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon. 

It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldn’t help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them. 

Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and you’ve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And you’ve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You should’ve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.

Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind. 

Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where you’ve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined. 

You’re surprised he didn’t stand you up. 

You don’t even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you can’t. Can’t ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Can’t really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when you’re the type of person that doesn’t find love upon every corner you turn to. 

This is your only chance. And he’s the only man you’ll conceivably have in your life for quite some time. 

You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they haven’t strayed from you during the entire half an hour—and that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, he’d share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too. 

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you can’t bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace you—to have but a fragment of pity for you. 

“You hungry?” you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesn’t know anything about you. Doesn’t know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. “Did you have breakfast?” 

Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didn’t mind, not really, in fact it animated you—brought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.

Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but full—you wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if he’d be gentle with you or violent. If he’d stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon you’re wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did. 

Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesn’t deserve to be juxtaposed with. 

Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. You’re too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. You’d do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his arms—a pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. “Truth be told, I was too nervous.” 

A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little you’re worthy of such kindness and favor. 

Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you don’t understand it, you don’t question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you haven’t yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens. 

This is good. 

You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because you’re so grateful for what he’s unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well. 

“Let’s go eat, then.” Your eyes crinkle and you’d bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.” 

Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. You’re so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and what’s more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you. 

You’re despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. It’s the least you deserve. 

But you’re not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, you’re a witness to that trembling’s halt, to Hoseok’s visible tranquility, and you want to weep. 

You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, you’d see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too. 

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what he’s apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. “I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.” 

He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. You’d much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you don’t make the mistake of distorting him again. You’re not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality. 

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steady—and it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. “You’re good. No need to apologize.”

His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact he’s touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on it—focus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart. 

And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. It’s your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smile—your heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in. 

“No, I really want to apologize. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a date and you’re so stunning that I’ve forgotten my game, so I can’t help but to be nervous. I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. “Art isn’t really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.” He nods at your necklace. “And like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?”

You’re so taken aback that you don’t have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likes—right in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspace—all before war could be declared with you. 

Hoseok, the prince of peace. 

The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angel’s wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think you’ve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.

You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quivering—all because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you haven’t felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you can’t explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you don’t mind. Let that be captured in the memory—the mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him. 

You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.

“You can’t take pictures with flash here. They’ll throw us out,” you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an ‘O’, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.

“I didn’t know,” he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didn’t have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure it’s all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. “Okay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.” 

It’s your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touch—half on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere. 

A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and it’s all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: “Good, good.” 

Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring what’s hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didn’t expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and you’ve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone else’s as well. 

You’ve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have it—so when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it. 

You didn’t anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because you’re being fed, you don’t really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall. 

Can’t let the opportunity run away from you. 

And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips. 

“Now from the back,” he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. “Just like you were.” 

A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until there’s nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him. 

It’s those things that drive forth your following words with the world’s ease, unabashedly. 

“You want it from the back?” 

Hoseok’s mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesn’t. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseok’s eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more. 

There is it—the heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the dead—and you grin. 

“Behave.”

A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit. 

Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joy’s strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Hoseok coos his approval and you can’t take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant. 

You’re done for. You need to take him home. You’re not even curious about how the pictures came out—you can always look at them later. 

Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. “The pictures are great. Wanna see?” 

Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. “What I want is to make you breakfast,” you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint. 

Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. “Oh, yeah?” 

Fuck. If his scolding already didn’t make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. “Let’s go.” 

He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and you’re so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for. 

They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldn’t allow that to happen—and a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.

And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know. 

A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised. 

Your bloodstream doesn’t cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him. 

A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichor—she walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp. 

You wished for him to be in Hoseok’s place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did. 

Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole. 

And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare. 

And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks. 

“Do you know him?” Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red. 

And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his date’s short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger. 

A breath of fresh air, he is. 

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that won’t devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, you’ll stumble into a dead end you’d much rather stay clear of. You’d see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you. 

Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok. 

Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed. 

What would the angels do in your place? 

Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. He’s pretending he didn’t see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms. 

You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead. 

Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared. 

“Yeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time.  “Go, I’ll get the car ready.” 

Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecure—letting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesn’t include him just yet. And for that very reason it will—as soon as you’re done putting out that fire in you. 

It’s not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you. 

Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him. 

His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately. 

“Thank you, Hoseok. Really,” you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand. 

A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. “No need to thank me,” he assures, reciprocating the smile. “And call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.” 

Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time. 

He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He must’ve undergone his military service. 

A beautiful man. You can’t wait to taste him. Taste that manliness. 

Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, he’s appreciating the angel sculpture—the very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight. 

A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do. 

Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesn’t comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor. 

Doesn’t say anything. 

You scoff, fury grazing your fire. “You’re pretending not to know me? That’s low.” His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination he’s caused. Remains silent. “Who’s your little girlfriend? I thought you’d introduce me. Where is she, anyways?” 

It’s him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. It’s like he’s staring right at you. “You shouldn’t be doing this, little one.” 

The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasn’t real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing you—all of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, you’re safe. 

“Well, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,” you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. You’re just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. “Don’t call me that.” 

You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. “I can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.” 

He grits his teeth. “Not when you’re talking to me, you can’t.” 

Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly. 

You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being. 

What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didn’t want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that he’s reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didn’t want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldn’t breathe and let you go. 

Three weeks ago. 

You haven’t seen him or heard from him since until now. Until you’ve found someone else and moved on with your life. That’s just your luck. 

And now the person you’re gazing at, it’s not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day even—but that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love. 

Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness. 

Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat. 

You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel better—because once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.

You’re a locked orchard. 

Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. There’s a strain to his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoever—your heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.

“I thought you’d already left,” he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?” 

You don’t bother to correct him. It’s none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.

“We were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,” you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. “What the fuck was that?” 

A smirk. “Glad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.” 

You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. “Trust me, I would’ve done this with anyone I know. You’re not special.” 

His smirk widens. “So, you’re not jealous?” He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat. 

He did it for that very reason—to make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them. 

Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust. 

A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest. 

“There you are,” your ex-boyfriend’s companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. “Who are you?” 

You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that you’ve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. “It’s not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?” 

You don’t hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care. 

When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkook’s eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because you’re reverently acknowledged with his soul—you know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you don’t soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didn’t run away when his companion spoiled your short time together. 

You don’t soften because you simply don’t want to. 

You don’t want to give in to any means of getting close to him. 

The chapter is finished. You shouldn’t have called him. You should’ve left with Hobi. 

You don’t wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency. 

You’ll hear him out, but that’s the end of it. 

“Can I see you later?” he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up. 

You don’t really think that’s a good idea. 

“I won’t have time for you later, I’ll be with Hoseok.” 

To Hobi, you won’t lie, but the same can’t be applied to Jungkook. 

His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more. 

But he surprises you with the words he says next. 

“I’ll wait, then. Let me know when you’re alone.” 

And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #hoseok x oc #hoseok x yn #hoseok x y/n #hoseok smut #hobi smut #jhope smut #jhope x reader #jung hoseok

[shes2real]

Don’t Play That ♡

Featuring 🌷: dom!roman reigns + bratty!reader

Warning ☁️: angst, name calling, mean!roman, throat fucking, fingering, orgasm denial, tiny bit of subspace, rough sex, overstimulation, unprotected p in v, dacryphilia, 18+ Minors, please don’t interact. Thanks! ୨୧

Word count 🌷: 1.1k

Scenario ☁️: this definitely did something to me! after being a complete brat to roman, he teaches you a lesson that you definitely won’t forget.

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Roman sat on the couch, his jaw clenched in frustration as he scrolled through his phone. Ever since your period ended, you've been on your best behavior, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions and disrespect you'd exhibited last week.

You bounced cheerfully into the living room, a bright smile on your face as you cradled Lola, you and Roman’s puppy, in your arms. "Babe, I'm going to take Lola for a walk. Do you want to come?"

Roman glanced up, his expression guarded. "No. I'm busy."

"’Kay! I’ll be back!”

As you turned to leave, Roman's eyes narrowed at your choice of outfit – a skimpy bodysuit that left little to the imagination. "The fuck are you wearing?" Roman growled, his voice low and dangerous.

You spun around, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Oh, this? Just something comfortable for walking Lola."

Roman's patience wore thin, it was as if you were daring him to react, pushing his boundaries. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might shatter as his hands ran through his untamed hair.

"Change," he bit out, his voice taut with anger. "Right. Now."

You had him right where you wanted him. Your eyes sparkling with mischief as you took a step closer to him, Lola squirming in your arms. "Why? Jealous that other guys might be looking at me?"

“If you take one fuckin’ step out of that d—“

“Or what? You ain't gon' do nothing about it…”

Oh, you were fucked. Metaphorically and literally. His eyes darkened and he set his phone down with a deliberate slowness. Without a word, he strode over to you and took Lola gently out of your hands, placing the puppy in her bed.

"Stay," he said firmly to Lola before turning his full attention to you. Roman's grip on your wrist was firm, almost bruising, as he pulled you close. "All this disrespect and shit," he growled, his voice low. “I don’t play that.”

Before you could protest, he hoisted you over his shoulder, ignoring your squeal. Once inside of the bedroom, he put you down.

"I’m not gon’ tell you what you should already know," he murmured, his tone leaving no room for insubordination. You spread your legs out as much as you could, your body bent over the bed. Roman effortlessly ripped the bodysuit, causing you to yell.

“Roman!”

A hard slap went across your exposed flesh. Your poor ass was left stinging, you were certain that his handprint would be there for a while. You braced yourself, sucking in air anticipating another hard slap. But you waited and waited and waited.

You heard a sinister laugh, “Oh, you thought I was gonna spank you?”

You nodded, looking back at him with faux apologetic eyes, but he was unmoved. Roman's eyes narrowed as he twirled his finger, a silent but unmistakable command. "Turn around," he instructed.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you slowly complied, turning to face him.

"On your knees."

You knelt on the bed, you could hear the shift in Roman’s breathing as he watched you. He was silently fuming as he removed his pants. He moved closer, his grip on your jaw firm as he forced you to look directly into his eyes.

"How fuckin' stupid do you think I am? Huh?" Roman growled, his voice dripping with menace. His fingers dug into her cheeks, holding her firmly in place. "Not gonna lay a finger on you, you’ll like it too much."

As he stroked himself, he smirked. “Let me remind you of the correct way to put that mouth to use.”

The second you parted your lips, he shoved your head down on his dick. Holding your head still as he rutted his hips against your face. It was so messy. Your spit was running down your face, your jaws were growing tired. You were so vulnerable and breathless under his touch, reaching up to tap him for a breather only for him to hold you down until you gagged.

“Get your hands off me,” He demanded authoritatively, making you quickly remove your hands from him. “Fuckin’ brat. Keep going."

He moans as he feels your soft lips against his skin. He could feel you struggling, but that only fed into his sadism.

“Aww baby, is it too much?“ He laughed, condescendingly before a long guttural moan escaped his lips. His hips stuttered after a few thrusts, pressing your head tightly against his member as he released with a heavy sigh. You swallowed his cum, sighing when his grip loosened on your head.

Your eyes were watery and your jaw hurts like hell, but Roman wasn’t done.

"Now you wanna cry?"

"N-no... 'M sorry," you sniffled, your voice trembling.

"Are you?" Roman's tone was icy, his fingers reaching down and going inside of you.

You nodded, whining as your hips rocked against his hand as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

“You know better, you know that what you were doing was wrong.”

“I’m so…so sorryyy,” you moaned, “I won’t do it again!”

"Mm, I know you won’t..." He leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead.

You gasped as you quickly reached for him to hold you steady. Your climax was approaching and all you could do was grab his arms tightly. You looked up at him, seeing that his eyes burned holes into yours as he pulled his fingers away.

He laid you down, thumbing your clit as he sinks deep inside of you. He stayed still, watching your face contort in desperation until he began thrusting at a merciless pace.

“Fuck fuck fuck, fuckkkkk! Please don’t stop!”

Your voice got higher when Roman started thrusting much faster into you. Your thighs instantly closed around his waist, your toes curling. “Please, please, pleaaaassseeee—” He was now brushing against the spot that made you see stars.

"Tell me why you’re sorry," He growled, "Tell me why you won’t do it again.”

You can feel your impending orgasm putting you deeper and deeper into subspace. Your brain could barely process his words as you mindlessly watch his dick sink in and out of you as your slick covered his length. After a soft tap to your face, you came back to reality.

"Answer me," Roman demanded as he fought to control his moans. He was waiting for you to use your safe word but you never did. You were such a good girl.

“I-I’m sorry for being disrespectful! I’m…I’m gonna be good!” Your voice was inaudible as you choked on your tears, “Please let me cum!”

Before you could even cum, Roman quickly pulled out and flipped you on your stomach. Hovering on top of you and positioning himself inside of you, “Since you wanna cum so bad, fuck yourself…”

Tears were streaming down your face as you began to roll your hips against him, your sobs were filled with pleas for forgiveness. Roman just smiled, a cold, knowing smile that sent a shiver down your spine. He knew you wouldn't dare to repeat your behavior, but his smile held another message, one that made your heart sink. You’ve got a long way to go before you ever get to cum.

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Thanks for reading babe ☁️🌷

・❥ ・ @blcst4r @romanreignsbae @pittieprincess22 @cyberdejos2 @xoxoril3yyy @rwbypatootie @solefae @adoreesun @alyyaanna @shantinextdoor @zombiedixon89 @acknowledge-reigns @browneyedgirlfriend4l @girlnred @theasiaabattoir @glitterywitchstarlight @xbriexx @melaninpvssypoppin @nashalis97-blog @truefant4sy @mersers-moonypadfoot-prongs @truefant4sy @girlsg1rl @fuzzycandywitch @ariiaeltheedonn @headoftheetable @ihatecodyrhodes @theninthwonder @harmshake

#wwe imagines #wwe smut #the bloodline x reader #requests! 𐙚 #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #acknowledge him #the tribal chief #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns smut #roman reigns imagine

[wttcsms]

and so a touch that was my birth right became foreign, satoru gojo

with hands blessed with the technique that enables you to feel the most likely future for the person you're touching, it's easy to see why you don't want to touch satoru when he comes back. even if he doesn't know his own ending, all he knows is that he would like to feel your touch even if it's for the last time. so you let him. (wc 1k) content contains satoru gojo x reader, slight angst, allusions to jjk 261 leak, some fluff, possible hurt/(no) comfort (depending on how you look at it), humanizing gojo

“You’re worried about me,” he rolls over in bed, bluer-than-blue eyes staring into yours. “It’s written all over your face.”

“No, I’m not. This is my ‘you’re hogging all the blankets’ face.” You retort, yanking the bedsheets closer to you. You try to make yourself more comfortable, but it’s no use — you only sleep well when you’re snuggled up by Satoru’s side, but the idea of touching him, the effects of what will happen when you do, serves as a good enough deterrent. 

“No. It’s your ‘I suck at keeping a secret’ face.” 

“Well, that face and my ‘worried about you’ face are two entirely different expressions. So, even if you’re right, you’re still wrong.” 

Usually, he would laugh at your logic. Nowadays, there’s not much laughter to spare. Just intense gazes that cut you to the bone, deep enough to leave a mark on your soul, yet soft enough for you to momentarily forget the pain that comes with it. You like to make comments about his eyes; not his Six Eyes, but his. The ones that are uniquely and wholly his own. You want to drown into his eyes, the prettiest, rarest shade of blue that only he could pull off. You know he knows that you think this, which is precisely why you have no issue with telling him he needs to get brown contacts for bedtime because his irises practically glow in the dark. 

Our bodies are built by memories. It’s why your fingers twitch, confused as to why Satoru is so close to you, close enough to touch, and yet, there’s still a distance between you two. Your hands know him well — know him the best of all. Your fingers, the ones that have ran through his hair so many times before, may share the same color as many other members of his clan but the stubbornness of his hair is all his own. You would tease him; tell him that his hair is just like him: annoying, with its own mind, its own will. His hair is coarser than it looks, and sometimes, you can still feel remnants of hardened hair gel when he gets too tired to wash it all off properly. (On those nights, you’ll wash it off for him.)

The sharpness of his cheekbones have been traced by the tips of your fingers. Gaunt when he’s so laser focused on work, but full when he’s shoveling food into his mouth. You like the sight of Satoru gorging himself on daifuku; so rarely does he give into greed, and there’s a boyish glow to him when he’s unable to speak because of the sheer amount of mochi he has in his mouth, looking annoyingly cute with his chipmunk cheeks. 

“You don’t want to touch me because you’re scared.” Of course, Satoru doesn’t shy away from confrontation. You suppose it’s for the best. The fact that he let you go this long without him calling you out on your behavior isn’t surprising, though. He always puts the feelings of others before his own. 

“Is it that obvious?” 

Satoru doesn’t need the Six Eyes to see through you. He just needs to use his own. 

“Did you really think it wasn’t?” is what he says.

“I just— Knowing the future is worse than the not-knowing.” Your voice cracks during the explanation, but he doesn’t comment yet. He waits patiently for you to continue, even though you already had this breakdown in front of him before, a lifetime ago. When the two of you were just students and he sneakily pulled off your gloves and placed his hand around yours. Back then, his touch had been brimming with life. It had shocked your system, your soul. Every touch exchanged from him since then had felt the same, more or less.

You’re worried that you won’t get that familiar feeling this time around. 

“Because not-knowing leaves space for hoping.” He finishes for you. You blink, and suddenly he’s closer, and you want to cry. You want him to be this close to you forever, and you know that that is one future path that not even the strings of fate will entertain. 

“I’m worried about you.” You whisper out this confession, and Satoru’s lips part. He looks like he’s about to joke around, to say “aha! I knew it!”, but he doesn’t. There’s a defeated sort of air to him when he tells you,

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m Satoru Gojo, after all.” The smile he gives you is a good imitation of his genuine one, but you can see through him just as easily as he does you. 

“I can’t worry about Satoru Gojo?” 

“You would waste time and precious tears over the strongest?”

It’s true that his strength is a big part of him, but it’s not his entire being. People chase after the reason for their existence all the time, while Satoru’s been told his entire life that being blessed with his strength is the sole cause for his existence. Satoru knows what his designated purpose is; no one’s ever given him any room for doubt or an opportunity to pursue another path. He could argue that the not-knowing your purpose in life is a whole lot more fun than actually knowing. 

“Who’s going to keep that daifuku shop in Osaka open if you’re gone?” And it’s such an unserious statement to make, a statement that has reduced you to a wet puddle of tears, but it’s genuine. 

You don’t care about the strongest dying.

You care about him dying.

With the same disregard for your personal space he had back in high school, Satoru takes your hand and laces his fingers through yours. You’re crying, and you can register the warmth of his physical body, but there’s a foreignness in his touch that you don’t recognize, a touch that your hand engraved with memories of him can’t quite seem to remember. It scares you, because you’ve never felt this before. You’re gripping his hand even tighter, as if trying to force his familiar presence to steady you, but there’s no use.

When you touch Satoru, you cannot feel his future. You can’t feel him.

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #jjk 261 #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk one shot #imagine #drabble

[brucewaynehater101]

God, all the miscommunication is so tasty and angst. Hear me out. One of the other workers asking Tim why he dresses up as one of them while he's in costume and he has to face the fact they know Jane Doe and Red Robin are the same person. So he ends up explaining to the 3 or 4 that are there to confront him that he's been doing this job because he feels he has to. At the start, back when he was Robin, it was because he needed information from someone and Batman said that the only people the person was loose lipped with was people he slept with. So Tim did it and got the information. And it was such an easy way to get the information they needed and they did need information, so he just. Kept going. And over time, being there with the others on the street felt safer than he did with the other Bats.

Tim is visibly surprised with that last part, the others can tell he hadn't fully realized that was how he felt until he started venting. Then he just looks at his hands and says softly, "they... they were supposed to be my family. They call me Brother. Why is it safer for me out here than with them? Why am i..I... *happier* talking with you guys than I am with them?" And they can see the tears starting to flow down his face a a lot of harsh reality is suddenly being shoved in Tim's face.

Those there tell others what he said and opinion of him quickly changes from Anger to Pity then eventually back to the friendly relationship he had before they found out. Tim finds out some where mad because he had "other options" when they don't and goes to those ones saying, "I have connections. What if I can get you a job? I can keep your pimp off your back, I can help you move I promise I'll keep you safe. If you told me you didn't want to be out here, I would have helped you. I swear." He probably gets rejected by the first few but when one does cautiously take the offer, he makes good on his word, getting them a job at WE and helping them get a new apartment outside of Crime Alley. Tim knows this will put a target on his back, but he doesn't care. When has he ever valued his own safety above others?

I agree that it might take a bit for them to trust RR when he guarantees them a job outside of the sex industry (especially if they've been doing that for a long time).

For this, I like that Tim has genuinely built up relationships with all of them. Even through the semi-identity reveal, most go back to supporting each other.

Tim is a sacrificial idiot and we love him for it. I wonder how much Jane can help out their fellow coworkers before they start refusing her (out of pride, distrust, fear, feelings of being a burden, etc). Let Tim find a sense of community even through the trauma of how that emotional support came to be

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #thank you for the ask!!!! #dc au

[taffycandyqt]

hey so how do you think the tmnt 2003 boys would deal with being saved by their s/o from someone trying to dissect and capture them and at the end of it s/o hugs them and it sounds like a chilling yet loving promise “I won’t let them have you”?

Ooooooooo. I love me some protective y/n!!

Through Me First

Masterlist

Request Rules

Some rando science jerk wants to know exactly what the turtles are. Imagine their surprise at learning they have a s/o.

2003 turtles (separately) x reader

Warnings: mentions of dissection and the tools used to do such, violence

Fluff, crack? Angst probably

Established relationships

Leo:

You didn't know what happened.

One minute all four turtles were on patrol and the next only three came back battered and bruised.

You were terrified.

Someone took Leo, and for what?

To report him to the government?

Turn him over to police?

Experiment on him?

You hated thinking of what could happen to him.

So while the others were getting their injuries treated you took the turtle van and a couple of guns and looked for you boyfriend.

It took a while to find them and you nearly died trying to get him out of there.

If it weren't for Casey and April following you, you probably would have.

It didn't matter how tired you were though, you were furious after seeing Leo strapped to a table.

You would fight like your life depended on it, barely sane enough to keep from killing everyone in that room.

When you got to Leo you were much to impatient to find him a sensible way out and instead opted for shooting his restraints off.

By the time you both made it out of the facility and back into the turtle van April and Casey were already chewing you out for being so reckless. You didn't care though. You tended to Leos wounds. Your gentle motions in stark contrast to the rampage you went on earlier. You were precise with the wrappings as your bloodied fingertips secured his bandages.

"You should really take care of your own injuries," Leo told you for the fifth time since getting in the van.

"I will. After I'm done here," you respond, again, for the fifth time. You didn't look at him, still much to focused on patching him up. Leo would have pushed harder for you to take care of yourself but he was so physically and mentally drained from the experience that he couldn't bring himself to. Especially since he's never seen you act this way before, and it felt like he was trending on eggshells trying to figure out how exactly you were feeling.

"Are you even listening y/n!?" April chastised. You didn't respond. You finished up your last bandage on Leo and began to inspect him. You looked him over head to toe, poking and prodding at different areas for a reaction, just to make sure he's alright.

"Y/n?!" April tried to get your attention.

"I heard you. I understand," you told her, not breaking eye contact with Leo. April huffed, not fully believing you but deciding that she's done all she could.

Once you had decided you've done all you could for Leo you wrapped your arms around his neck in a desperate hug. You held him and buried your face in his neck, eyes wide open.

"Y/n?" He asked, returning your embrace.

"I will never let them have you," you whispered in his ear.

Leo felt his throat tighten. That's the coldest tone he'd ever heard you use. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel.

Raph:

Heaven knows Raph is probably ticked about being kidnapped.

You were ticked to hear that everyone what "too injured" and "ill prepared to go looking for him"

Screw that, you forced Casey to drive and took one of his baseball bats.

No one hurts your man without going through you first.

Everyone was worried to learn about your disappearance and Casey was to concerned to not listen to you.

You were a generally gentle soul so having you get like this was a little off putting for him.

You both broke into multiple Purple Dragon bases looking for either Raph or information, and eventually you found what you were looking for.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

Raph was passed out, probably anesthesia.

A man in a lab coat with plastic gloves was hovering over him with a circular saw inches away from making contact with his skin.

OH ABSOLUTELY NOT

You charged in with Casey behind you beating up person after person.

You got one of the men in lab coats to release Raphs mechanical restraints and smacked him upside the head with your bat after.

You ran to Raph and tried to wake him up but he wasn't budging.

Signaling to Casey that you needed help you cleared a path while Casey brought him out.

You wouldn't leave Raphs side the entire drive back to the lair.

You had your cheek resting on his chest while you clutched his hand. Casey tried talking to you but gave up quickly after you never responded. He had let the other know what was going on and they were preparing for Raphs return. The drive home was silent and suffocating. It didn't change until you entered the lair and everyone crowded Raph. They took him to his room to rest, and being separated from him made you anxious.

You and Leo ended up staying with him until he woke up. No words were exchanged between the two of you. You hadn't spoken since you'd come back with Raph and Leo could sense you weren't in the mood for small talk. Frankly, neither was he. When Raph finally did wake up, you wanted to hug him and kiss him, you were so relieved. You wanted him all to yourself to just bask in him being alright. Leo had other plans. Leo immediately called the others in and after a while Donny shoed everyone out of the room to run some basic health tests.

He seemed to take his sweet time with it too. You anxiously paced outside his door. At first the others tried to console you but backed off after negative response to their attempts. The only thing that will bring you peace is being with Raph.

The second Donny had stepped out of Raphs room you made a b line for the entrance. Donny sopped you however. You were already stretched thin, and were not happy about being barred from your person AGAIN.

"He is fine. Luckily you got him before they could do anything. He's just a little delirious because of the anesthesia, but that should wear off in a few hours," he gave you a soft smile. Once he was done giving you a run down of Raphs condition he let you pass. You've never moved so fast in your life.

Finally there he was, laying in bed, eyes squinted at you. He didn't say anything as you approached, but he followed your movements with his eyes. You knelt by his side and he turned his head to looked at you. You put your hand on is head as your rubbed it gently with your thumb.

"I'm glad you're okay hun," your voice was soft.

"nuh-uh," he told you sternly.

"What you you mean? Are you hurt?" You began to feel more frantic the longer he left you with out an answer.

"......Only my s/o calls me hun," his words were slurred and quite.

"Oh," you giggled, "I am your s/o."

"Oh," was all he said as he reached out and held your other hand in his.

You leaned over at this and kissed his cheek.

"I won't let them have you," you whispered before sitting up again.

"huh?" He asked, still to delirious to understand exactly what's happening.

"Nothing, just rest. You need your strength,"

Donny:

You are restless.

The others are beat up. Not to badly but they need to rest before they searched for Donny.

You cannot kick the feeling that something is terribly wrong.

Your pacing and biting your nails.

Eventually Leo decides that they only way to calm you down was to get Donny back.

So with the protest of Mikey who's whining like a baby about how bad he's hurt, they load into the van.

When you insisted on coming with though, they were all sceptical.

It was bad for you that Donny is missing but it would be bad for Donny if you went missing.

You were insistent though and even went as far as to threaten Leo to let you on.

Realistically, he knew you couldn't take him in a fight, but seeing you like that scared him.

He wasn't intimidated, he was worried for you.

You apologized later about the whole thing and he told you he understood. He just hopes he never has to see you like that again. For your sake.

Back to the present though, when you find the place he's held, it becomes a stealth mission.

When you all find Donny, he is in, what looks to be, a giant glass container.

He has a bandage wrapped around his left arm from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder.

He tells you they cut him open.

Looking for what exactly? He doesn't know but he's assuming they drew some blood while they were at it.

You didn't like that answer at all.

After a large display of smashing machinery to set him free and beating up the people that flooded the room after the alarms went off, you all finally got to rest back at the lair.

You were stuck to Donnie like glue the whole ride back. Constantly checking him over, asking him if he was okay. He told you again and again, ever patient and willing to reassure you he was okay. In the same soft voice he'd tell exactly what happened and how he felt. He wasn't exactly happy about it but he wasn't all that hurt and they patched his arm up good, so it's not like he was worried. You refused to leave him alone though.

When you got back to the lake you lead him to the kitchen to grab something quick and portable to eat and took him right to bed. Much to his dismay unfortunately.

"Y/n, I swear I'm fine! Please I need to get some work done," he wined, trying to head on the direction of his lab.

"Donnie," you stated curtly, "You were kidnapped and dissected. Granted, not gruesomely so, but you still took bodily trauma. You work all the time. Right now you need your rest to heal."

"I won't take long, I just want to get to a better point with my project," he tried reasoning with you.

"DonniesohelpmegotoyourroomandrestbeforeImakeyou," you demanded with a twitch in your eye.

He was a little surprised by your response but he could tell by your tone there was no getting out of it. So with a sigh he entered his room and you followed. He laid down on the bed and as he pulled up his blankets you kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," he said.

"No need to apologize, it's not your fault," you smiled softly at him, "Besides, it's not like I'll ever let them have you. Not while I breath."

And with that you finally felt comfortable leaving him to his own devices. When you left he sat in bed and contemplated what you said. It was so intense. You've never spoken to him with such firm conviction about something before. Just what were you trying to to say? The more he dug into the meaning of your words the more concerned he grew. Deciding it was just fatigue, he settled for ignoring his thoughts in favor of some good sleep.

Mikey:

Mikey was your angle and the light of your life.

When he didn't come back from patrol with the rest of his brothers you were very concerned.

'WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY TOOK HIM, WHO'S THEY?'

Yeah... Not thrilled.

Were the guys all beaten up? Yes. but did that stop you? No.

Your not just gonna let your man get hurt.

Especially by some stranger who has no right to take him from you.

You left the lair without giving any indication that you were off to find Mikey.

April caught on though.

She though it was suspicious that you left as calm as you did.

She knew she couldn't stop you, so instead she offered to help.

With April's techno knowledge you were able to narrow it down to a few choice locations in New York.

It didn't take long to find Mikey and you were not happy with where he was.

When he saw you he called your name and smiled.

This almost softened your demeanor, if it weren't for the guy who strapped him there threatening him with a scalpel.

You immediately attacked him and forced him to free Mikey letting April deal with any reinforcements that were called in.

When you all left you were so relieved that Mikey was safe and sound.

He patched you up in the car in the way back to the lair.

"I really don't need this, you were the one strapped to the table-" Mikey cut you off.

"But wasn't the one that got hurt! Your bleeding in like... multiple places. I don't even have a scratch," he told you for the hundredth time since the car ride back.

"Which I would like to thank you for by the way. I wouldn't be in such ✨ pristine ✨ condition if it weren't for your quick rescue!" He smiled at you, still as energetic as ever.

"Glad to hear you're okay Mikey," April chimed in.

"Awwww, thanks April!"

He was such a a liar though. You knew he got hurt, you saw the state of his brothers. Not to mention you could see the fresh scabs and bruises littering his skin. He was no better off then they were!

"Aaaaaanddddd DONE!" He announced proud of his handy work in patching you up.

It would definitely have to be redone by the time you got back to the lair but it would do for now. Not that you cared though, you immediately took Mikey by the shoulders and switched your positions. Now he was sitting and you were the one sitting through the first aid kit.

he didn't protest as you began applying bandages and rubbing alcohol. By the time you were back at the lair Mikey was sufficiently bandaged and primed for rest.

He fussed and wined the whole way to his room how he didn't want to sleep and how the best thing to heal him would be videogames or a good horror flick. With the help of Raph you were able to drag him to his room. There, you were able to butter him up enough to get him into bed. You put your hand on his bald head as you rubbed it with your thumb in a comforting manner.

"Rest for me okay my love?" You asked him.

"Only if I get a good night kiss!" He giggled.

You huffed out an amused laugh as you leaned down and pecked his forehead. Mikey wiggled his legs when you did, large smile present in his face.

"Rest well," you soothed.

And with that you moved to leave his room. Before you did however, you stopped at his doorframe and looked at him one last time, snuggled in his bed.

"I won't let them have you," you told yourself under your breath. Then you left.

Mikey could have sworn he heard you say something.

#tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2003 x reader #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2003 #Leo #Donnie #Mikey #Raph #Donny #Leo x reader #Mikey x reader #Raph x reader #Donnie x reader #Donny x reader #Leo 2003 #Raph 2003 #Mikey 2003 #Donny 2003 #Donnie 2003 #TMNT x reader #tmnt x y/n #tmnt x you

[grandline-fics]

Forget-Me-Not

DESCRIPTION: Sometimes things happen beyond our control. After an accident occurs your relationship with Zoro is turned on its head and changed forever.

WARNINGS: angst

CHARACTERS: Zoro

WORDS: 2,410

A/N: I've been slow on this because of being unwell but part two is finally here. I hope you all enjoy it as much as you liked part one

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One | Chapter Two(here)| Chapter Three(coming soon)

———————

“Zoro hurry! We’re over here!” Zoro stumbled through the rain-slick uneven terrain of the forest, racing towards the direction that Usopp’s calls were coming from over the sound of the shrieking winds and rolling thunder. He broke through the branches and slid to a halt to see Usopp and Chopper knelt by your prone form. Usopp’s role was only to assist Chopper who was frantically tending to your injuries that required the most dire attention first. Zoro’s heart all but stopped as he took slow, heavy steps closer. His chest ached with the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. In that moment you looked so frail and small. The rainwater managing to break through the small shelter Usopp must have constructed hastily was slowly washing the blood and dirt from your body that was broken. 

Looking away in the sudden flash of lightning Zoro could see how this happened. The displaced dirt and stone made him follow his gaze upwards to see the steep incline with the dilapidated ruins that had been hidden in the overgrowth of the forest. With the storm hitting out of nowhere it was far too easy for the ground to crumble and give-away without warning and you were the one to suffer for the moment none of you could have predicted. With heavy limbs he sank to his knees beside you, just wanting to hold your hand or caress your face and tell you that he was there but he couldn’t bring himself to move out of fear he’d hurt your already injury heavy body or get in Chopper’s way. For all the training he’d done in this moment he was utterly helpless. 

Zoro woke with a jolt at the loud snap of thunder coming from outside. As the memory of your accident lifted from his sleepy state he slowly looked to your bedside. He’d hoped that the image would have changed in the short amount of time he’d slept, sadly you lay there just as always. It had been a week since that day and you’d yet to open your eyes. Chopper had done his best to reassure him that you being unconscious would be best for your body to have this time to rest and heal. He let out a small sigh and reached across to take your hand into his when another flash of lightning hit and a strong wave rocked the ship.

These storms were like clockwork, it’d be bright sunshine and summer weather only for storm to hit hard for two hours and then dissipate like nothing had happened. Just another day and the Log Pose would be set and they could finally leave this island behind them. He knew he shouldn’t blame an island for what happened to you but he did. He also blamed himself, he should have made more of an effort to spend the time with you. Franky and the stupid cook were more than enough to have gone with Luffy that day. Had he been with you that day part of him believed he could have been able to save you. Getting agitated again, Zoro rose from your bedside and roughly ran his hand through his hair. He needed to do something, anything. 

Chopper had said that speaking to you even while you were unconscious could help. Originally he didn’t want to out of his own hate of seeming vulnerable but then he took to reading your favourite book to you but that was finished. So he went to your shared room to find another you’d loved. What he hadn’t been expecting though in the time it took for him to return to the medical room he found the bed you’d been lying in was empty and there was no sign of you. Dropping the book he turned on his heel and went in search of you in desperation. There was no way you were ready to be out of bed, if you put too much strain on yourself your wounds could reopen. In all the times you’d been hurt before it wasn’t like you to do something this reckless. Where were you? 

As he walked down the hallway he felt a chill creep over his skin. Who’d left the door open leading to the deck? No one would be that stupid with the storm still going on outside. Prepared to go out and shout at whoever was to blame, Zoro froze to see you weakly stagger to the railing and stare out at the storm. He couldn’t contain his excitement and relief to see you awake but concern also gripped him. Even from here he could see the pain in your eyes. Quickly he approached and set his hand on your shoulder, freezing to hear you let out a scream of surprise. He was going to apologise for startling you but another more pressing question came instead.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked in concern. He could see the rain soaking into your skin and the bandages that would now need to be thoroughly changed. Zoro could feel the tremor in your body and the haze in your eyes. Desperate to keep you from further strain he spoke again. “Come on, we need to get you dried off before you get sick on top of injured.” He lightly flexed his fingers on your shoulder to begin leading you inside but you didn’t move and then the new devastating hit came when Zoro heard you speak.

“Who are you?” You asked, your voice so weak and scared that Zoro could only stare at you with widened eyes, trying to stay calm. “Where am I?” This question was no better than the last and for a brief moment Zoro had thought he’d misheard you but no, it was clear you had no memory of the accident, no memory of him, the crew, or the ship that you’d called home since the day you joined the crew. At that thought a new worry took hold. You had no memory of how you met any of them. He needed to keep you calm or things would only get worse. 

“Just please come inside otherwise you’ll get sick and your wounds could reopen.” Zoro urged as gently as he could but his request only served to make you frown uneasily at him. When you didn’t move he spoke your name as a sign he knew you and that made you hesitate in your suspicion. “Please come inside and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” 

Zoro watched the conflict and uncertainty flicker in your eyes as you searched his face, trying to force yourself through the pain to try and find something recognisable in his features. You were about to relent to his request when the door to the galley slammed open. 

“Hey moron what are you doing out in the storm?!” Sanji shouted only to stop his lecture to Zoro when he saw your face, his expression lighting up immediately. You flinched as yet another stranger called out your name in an all too friendly tone. You watched the blonde approach the staircase as he continued. “It’s a relief to see you awake! You should still be in bed though!” 

You glanced past him and stared in mounting horror as an emblem caught your eye. Your breath hitched and you took a small step back only to find the railing stopped you going any further. With trembling lips you could only move to the side, stepping out from the first stranger’s touch. Zoro felt you move and turned away from Sanji to see your horror filled expression and he knew it was too late now to avoid where you realised you were. Zoro tried to take a step toward you but finally your gaze returned to his face and the fear made him stop. 

“Pirates…” you choked out. “You’re pirates.” Desperately you looked around as the rain above you began to lessen and the winds began to ease. Swallowing hard through your pain and fear you could see the island the ship was docked at which only mounted your overwhelming emotions. “That’s not my home. That’s not my island. Where did you take me!?” You shouted only to double over in agony as your vision blurred. Holding your side you coughed hard and winced when you felt the still healing skin pull. Letting out a shaky breath you looked at the two mean staring at you with worry and desperation. “What did you do to me?” You asked as you felt your head spin and vision crumble under the weight of the physical and mental distress. 

Zoro was quick and caught you with ease. With the utmost care he cradled you close and stared down at you in heartache and regret. He wished all of this was just a horrible nightmare, he wished that if he could trade places and take all the pain you were suffering just as he’d taken for Luffy on Thriller Bark then he would do it one hundred times over because seeing that expression on your face was more painful than anything he’d ever had to endure in his life. Without taking his eyes off of your face he headed towards the doorway. “Get the others.” Was his only instruction to Sanji as he carried you back to the medical quarters, relieved to see Chopper there who was frantic about where you’d disappeared to. 

—————

As you lay sleeping in the medical room, Zoro and the rest of the Strawhats stood in the dining room, silent and taking in the revelation that you’d woken with no memory of them. As difficult as it was to process there was the added complication of your reaction. 

“They won’t trust us.” Nami murmured sadly, finally being the one to break the silence, her fingers absently tracing the scar of Arlong’s mark now hidden by her tattoo. “We only won their trust the first time because we helped them defeat the pirates that terrorised their island. They won’t just take our word this time that it all worked out and they joined us willingly.”

“We can’t overwhelm them.” Chopper spoke up sternly. “Head injuries like theirs bring their own complications, amnesia being only one aspect of that. They need to take things as slowly as possible, any form of added stress could severely worsen their other injuries too. It isn’t wise to just throw everything at them as once, we can’t even know for certain if their memories will ever return. For now the priority is their physical injuries healing.”

“We have to prove we’re friend though!” Luffy protested with a pout. “We’d never hurt them. What if we show them their bounty poster?”

“This can’t be about what we want. They come first so don’t crowd them when they’re awake.” Zoro finally spoke, glaring at the wall. “They tell us to get the hell out of their room, we leave. Even if we’re telling them the truth just saying they joined the crew willingly and that we’re friends is going to magically make it better. Let’s just do as Chopper says.”

“More than friends in your case, Zoro…” Robin spoke softly. “Are you okay with them getting well physically and then wanting to leave?”

“If that’s what they want.” Zoro answered numbly as he got to his feet. “I’m going to the Crow’s Nest. I mean it, don’t crowd them.”

————— 

You woke slowly, feeling the pain you remembered had greatly dulled enough for you to be able to breath easier but still you couldn’t shake the fear pressing heavily on your chest. You couldn’t shake the image of the strange Jolly Roger and the two strange pirates from your mind. So many questions swirled in your head and you feared how blank your mind was. Slowly you sat up in the bed and met the stare of the peculiar but adorable reindeer sat at the desk on the other side of the room. At first you thought it was a pet but you could clearly see it was working with herbs on the table it was sat at. “Um…hi?” You offered cautiously, startled when the reindeer’s expression lit up and it approached your bedside.

“I’m glad you’re awake.” You didn’t know what to do when they spoke except stare with wide eyes. “I’m Chopper and I’m the doctor…your doctor. I know you don’t remember but I promise I just want to help you get better. Is it okay if I check your bandages?” 

Slowly you looked at the bandages visible on your arms and felt them against your body. Comparing how much easier it felt to move and breathe to when you’d woken up you were willing to let this reindeer continue his treatment if he was the reason for the pain to have lessened like this. Still the reality of a reindeer being a doctor was difficult to wrap your head around so you only gave a tiny a nod. You noted the relief and optimism light Chopper’s expression at your acceptance and you nervously bit your lip while he hopped up onto the bed and began his examination. “How did I end up here?”

Chopper looked up at you with apprehension, his large expressive eyes carefully assessing you. 

“There was an accident.” He answered. “We were in a forest when a storm hit. You fell.” Fell. You obviously had no memory of the incident and while you couldn’t bring yourself to argue with Chopper for proof you also couldn’t completely bring yourself to believe him entirely either. He was a pirate after all. Would he stop treating you if you became difficult? Possibly. 

You knew pirates at their core were selfish and the ones that plagued your island were crueler than these ones seemed but still you refused to trust them. This friendly demeanour could be an act and they could be looking for something from you. For now you would have to pace yourself, you would be compliant and gather your strength. Then when you were able you were going to escape this ship and these pirates. You needed to get home and nothing and no one was going to stop you. When Chopper finished his examination you had to force yourself to offer him a small smile. When he beamed back at you, you hoped that the others could be as easily swayed as him.

------------------------------------------------

TAG LIST (If I've missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa , @vikispike , @portgasmyass

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece fic #one piece x you #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa #one piece zoro #pirate hunter zoro #zoro one piece #zoro x reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction

[hwanchaesong]

☞🍹Third Drink: A distraction is all he wanted, yet you came in like a bourbon whiskey that gave him a massive hangover. 🍸

🎧: The Weeknd - After Hours

wc: 964

genre & warnings: angst, like angst no happy ending, clubbing, drinking, hints of toxic situationship, cursing, etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The After Hours Bar series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

Jeno stirred in his sheets. The air-conditioning's blow is cold, but he's weirdly feeling hot.. or maybe his head is hot because of annoyance and longing.

He cursed and grabbed his phone on his night stand, glaring at the time and checking your shared location that you forgot to turn off.

It's fucking 2:37 am and you're still up and partying around in some bar.

Oh, he hates it, and he's about to do something about it or else he'll finally lose his sanity for good.

He stands up from his bed, grabbing a nearby hoodie that was hanging in his gaming chair and leaving his apartment without freshening himself up.

He speeds towards the bar you're at, entering it without much problem because let's be for real, he knows the bouncer in these kinds of bars. He puts every last one of his friends and family's experience with the outside world with the amount of clubbing and partying he's done for the past month.

A month without you in his life, and he's regretting it since.

He doesn't know what kind of evil spirit had possessed him when he decided to break your heart. Choosing another girl that only loves him for his money.

Taking you for granted, laughing in your face at how stupid you are for thinking that you have a chance with him. Mocking you for allowing the one night stand and the dates that followed after.

He was the biggest asshole for treating you like shit yet here he is, traversing through the sweaty and disgusting bodies of the party-goers, in a herculean journey of finding you.

His eyes scoured the vicinity of the neon lighted building, looking for your familiar figure that he desperately wants to hold in his arms.

His heart skipped a beat when he had finally spotted you, holed up in the corner of a booth and drinking a cocktail all by yourself.

He immediately trudged in your direction, stiffly standing in front of you and he felt like dying when you made eye contact with him.

You're so fucking gorgeous.

Without his functioning rationality and your impaired brain in a haywire, he impulsively dragged you out of the bar while your whirling mind took a moment to discern what was actually happening.

Snapping out of it, you harshly tug your hand back, glaring at him with storms in your eyes when you realize that you're in the middle of a dimly lit street with him.

The road is something that you have seen before, the way to your former shared house with him.

"Jeno? What the fuck?" you rubbed your wrist, skin slightly red with how tight his hold was on you a while ago.

"Y/N." he calls your name, reaching out for you but you quickly back away, "Y/N please. Let's go home, yeah?"

He's kidding right now, isn't he?

Home is nowhere near him, it once was, but when he carelessly tossed your fragile heart out of the window, he became an asylum that you didn't want to go back to again.

"Leave me alone, will you? Gosh, I-I can't do this with you." you scoffed, blurry eyes due to the alcohol but the fresh early morning breeze somehow cleared your head.

You know that you can't give in to his puppy eyes, you're not weak anymore. You are not the Y/N that he knew.

Jeno frowned, not exactly liking the way you're rejecting him.

"Y/N, don't be stubborn. Please-"

"Save your begging Jeno. You should've done that ages ago when I was naive as fuck. But that won't work now." you cut him off, having enough of his bullshit for today.

You finally had the energy to go out and have fun after a month of grieving over him. Then he appears out of nowhere to ruin your delicately glued self after you worked so hard to put your pieces back together.

"I'm so sorry Y/N, please. Will you hear me out? no alcohol in Jeno's system but it seems like he's the intoxicated one, drunk off of you and he doesn't know what to do with the conflicting emotions he's having.

He took your silence as a cue to continue his mini rant.

"I am well aware that I have been nothing but a foolish dumbass towards you but.. it's hell without you. Please, take me back again. I promise I'll be a better man. I'll take care of you, I'll love you like how you deserve to be loved."

He is basically on his knees and you couldn't help but want to slap his handsome face.

His confession is everything but fake, his words are full of sincerity.

Breathing is difficult without you around. Heck, even doing the mundane things feels like a drag whenever he wakes up in the morning without you by his side.

He did everything to forget you. Drinking all day, spending shit tons of money over useless things. But it was never adequate, nothing is able to compensate for the emptiness he's feeling ever since you left.

He needed you the most in his life.

"Jeno.." you mumbled his name, your lower lip quivering and he almost stumbled his way over to you to comfort you, but your next sentence blew out any hope in his candle.

As much as you love him, you have to choose yourself over anything else.

"I'm sorry Jeno but I can't. I will never ever return to you again. I'll borrow your words from before."

You took a deep breath, turning on your heels so he's now facing your back before ultimately slapping him with the reality he's been denying.

"Why would I settle for anything less when I deserve the best?"

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[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (21/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~4.6k

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11-20 | ch. 21 - i wouldn't marry me either

Feyre gets her ring, and there's angst about it that literally no one asked for.

Some text in this chapter is taken directly from A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-first chapter below the readmore.

Well met, High Lady.

The words clanged through me.

But there was hardly time to consider them. The Weaver's dress rustled as she stood and prowled towards me. Though her features were so rotted and warped that they could hardly be called a face anymore, I still recognized a look of hunger—I'd seen it enough back in that cabin.

I suspected, however, that her appetite was far more gruesome than mine.

"I'm here to make a bargain," I said quickly.

She took another step closer, the motion oddly graceful—the Weaver carried herself more like a lady than I could ever manage. Perhaps, millennia ago, she'd been one.

"What could you possibly have to offer me?" she said in that voice that sounded so youthful, so clear and lovely.

"Lives," I said. "A few dozen, enough for several meals and bolts of cloth. There isn't much meat on my bones, but they'll have more."

"Not even a thread from your own life, little wolf?" The Weaver reached out a sickly-looking bone-white hand, running a gnarled, spindly finger down my ribs. I trembled. Her touch was feather-light, but it seemed to leech the heat from me all the same. "The one I see right here is quite beautiful."

The mating bond. Nothing was worth giving that away. I took a step back, all-too-aware that I was dangerously close to being cornered.

"That is not on offer."

The Weaver's laugh was bright and and musical. "Are you sure about that?Powerful magic makes for fine cloth. I'd pay a pretty penny for a golden thread like that."

The Weaver of the Wood might have been a death-god, but she sounded no different than the businessmen I'd overheard meeting with my father before his downfall. I was too much of a merchant's daughter to fall for it.

"I"m here to retrieve the ring that's rightfully mine as Lady of the Night Court. Nothing more." I seldom voiced my title aloud, and perhaps for the first time, saying it didn't make me feel like a girl playing dress-up with clothes far too big for her.

The dark lines of the Weaver's mouth widened into what might have been a grin. "And I was told by the last one not to make it easy on you."

Of course his mother did—Rhys could be maddening, and I supposed he must have gotten it from somewhere.

"If you accept my offer, there may be more than one mating bond in it for you. I don't know how many of them have a mate, but the rogue Illyrian war-bands are yours if you return my ring and allow me to leave this place unharmed."

I'd practiced the words in my head, careful to close a loophole, but it still came as a surprise that my voice didn't shake. The Weaver circled me, occasionally reaching out a bony hand to inspect the knives strapped to my waist and thighs. I let her look, even as I shivered—if they were something she wanted, she could have them, too.

"You will touch nothing in this cottage save the ring. Bring me half of your prisoners as a show of good faith, and you will have until I'm finished with them to find what's yours. Then deliver the rest immediately and leave me be."

I doubted she'd take very long doing…whatever she did to her victims. But I still didn't feel a pull towards a single object in any of the crowded shelves or piles of junk filling the cottage. There wouldn't be time for a thorough search.

And the bloodthirsty delight sparking in pits that should have been her eyes told me she knew it, too.

"What happens if I don't find the ring?" I said, letting my hand drift towards the handle of the knife at my hip.

"My terms have been more than generous, High Lady. Don't push me any further."

There it was again…that title. "Why did you call me that?" I should have focused on bargaining, but the words were out of my mouth before I could think them through.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

More cryptic faerie bullshit, then. I flexed the fingers of my left hand self-consciously. A death-god could probably see through a glamour. Nothing more.

I squared my shoulders. "Fine. I accept the terms of your bargain."

The tang of magic filled the air as a small, curling tattoo formed just behind my ear. A crescent moon—its twin was now inked on the Weaver's forearm.

One tug on the bond, and Rhys delivered half of the rogue Illyrians to the cottage door.

I'd turned away just as the Weaver's mouth of stumped teeth went wide in anticipation. There were screams, sickly gurgles, wet noises as she ripped flesh into pieces, the crunch and crack of bones breaking.

Bones. Snapping, splintering bones, just like—

I forced myself to breathe, even as my heart raced and bile climbed up my throat. Borrowed time. I was on borrowed time, and there wouldn't be much of it.

I scanned the shelves, hoping to catch sight of a jewel glittering in the gloom. But all I saw was junk, even as I crouched and looked over the cluttered tables and overstuffed drawers…

Then I felt it.

A tug, a tap on the shoulder. A glimmer of something reaching for me, familiar as the whorls of night that had left me with my tattoo, laced with a constellation pointing the way. But even as it grasped me…there was something else.

The star-flecked power felt quintessentially Rhys, but…there was something of me in it, too. It was strange, like looking into a mirror and finding two sets of eyes—one violet and one blue-grey—staring back.

Take me home, it seemed to say. I've been away far too long.

Heedless of the horrible noises behind me, I barreled through the maze of tables and junk, letting the pulse guide the way. I stopped at the shelf on the wall next to the hearth. Close—it was close.

An old letter knife, books in leather that I did not want to touch or smell; a handful of acorns, a tarnished crown of ruby and jasper, and—

The ring.

It was made of twisted strands of gold and silver, flecked with pearl, and set with a stone of deepest, solid blue. Sapphire—but different. I’d never seen a sapphire like that, even at my father’s offices. This one…I could have sworn that in the pale light, the lines of a six-pointed star radiated across the round, opaque surface.

My ring.

"There you are," I couldn't help but whisper. "I've been looking for you."

Careful to keep my bargain, I plucked it from the shelf, pinching it between my forefinger and thumb to avoid touching anything else. Time to go. I turned towards the door.

And nearly retched on the spot. The Illyrians weren't dead yet—they were still shrieking like wounded animals—but their shredded entrails were…everywhere. And the Weaver had unhinged her jaw to sate that unholy hunger.

As I walked past them to leave the cottage, I did not look away. I had chosen this fate for them, horrible as it was. The least I could do was bear witness, even as my feet slid along the blood-soaked floor and crossed the threshold.

The rest of them were hers, too. The screams started again, and I felt the tattoo fade. As I stalked towards the trees, I clutched the ring so tightly that the prongs around the sapphire nearly split open my skin.

And perhaps it made me a monster, a murderous human with ice in her heart, but…I didn't feel guilty. If anything, I was relieved. The echo of magic that had wormed its way into my soul belonged solely to the Night Court, and there was nothing linking me back to Tamlin or Spring. I wasn't…tainted.

I found Rhys leaning casually against a tree, hands in his pockets—lounging practically. As I approached, his groomed brows flicked up in a silent question.

I held up the ring.

A smile—a real one, not a smirk, something boyish and decidedly un-High-Lord-like—bloomed on his face. Despite the agonized screams still ringing in my ears, my stomach flipped pleasantly. I grinned back.

With the horror growing even more distant, I let myself feel proud of what I'd done. And maybe it was just the way Rhys was smiling at me, but I felt…lighter. Giddy, almost.

I'd done it. The ring in my hand was tangible proof that I deserved my place in the Night Court, at his side, and I hadn't realized how much better it made me feel to have it.

Too eager to walk, Rhys winnowed the last few feet of distance between us. I pressed forward to kiss him, rising up on my toes, and he scooped me up in one smooth movement.

Not that I'd ever doubt you, he said in my head, but should I take this to mean it all went smoothly?

Of course it did—I only ever bargain fairly.

Rhys laughed against my lips, setting me back down. When he pulled away, his violet eyes were soft. "You're brilliant," he breathed, reaching up to run a thumb along my cheek. "I didn't think I'd ever see that ring again."

He took my free hand and winnowed us away. I'd assumed we were going to the townhouse, or at least, back to Velaris, and blinked in surprise when a clearing in a pine forest materialized instead. Illyria.

Before us were two stones—headstones. They were small but unworn, with no decoration or text other than two names I didn't recognize. And in front of them, the grass was covered in pebbles and small rocks.

Rhys must have understood my confusion. Voice thick, he said, "Our kind don't leave flowers on graves like humans do. As immortals…we prefer something more permanent and leave stones instead."

Each stone a visit, and there were piles of them, small stacks like miniature fortresses. I wondered how many Rhys had left, if any had been added since he'd been imprisoned Under the Mountain. The grass around the graves was well-kept—someone had been taking care of this place, or at least cast a few preserving spells. Rhys slipped his hand from mine and stepped forward, folding his wings back so they didn't drag on the ground as he sat in an empty patch of grass.

"I'm sorry," he said, and I almost asked why he was apologizing before I realized he wasn't speaking to me, "for going so long without visiting both of you. I was— It's over now. I'm back. And I didn't come back alone. This is Feyre. She's my mate, and I kept my promise, mama. Feyre bargained and got the ring back."

Still feeling like a bit of an intruder, I took a few cautious steps forward and sat in the grass next to him. I reached a hand out, but Rhys didn't take it, just wiped at his eyes. For a long moment, everything was quiet except for the distant sound of birds and the wind blowing through the pines.

I'd never visited my own mother's grave. It had been years since I'd missed her, and if our situations had been reversed, I doubted she would have visited mine. I'd long since made my peace with it.

Perhaps my mother-in-law could have filed that void, been someone I could lean on. But all I had from her was a lesson on ruthlessness that had won me the ring in my hand.

"I wish I could have asked you for advice, on how to be Lady of Night when you're a nineteen-year-old outsider. I have the ring but…I don't know if it's enough," I said quietly. "More than anything, though, I'd like to thank you. For raising him."

A ragged noise escaped Rhys, and I reached my free hand out again. He interlaced our fingers, squeezing almost to the point of pain. I squeezed back, then turned to the other grave. "I grew up with two sisters, Nesta and Elain. But now…I suppose I have three," I said.

As one, Rhys and I got to our feet. We stood there, hand-in-hand, and for a moment, the hole where his family should have been seemed deep enough to swallow everything. It didn't matter that centuries had passed—so much was missing and irreparably broken.

But I wasn't finished, and I forced myself to keep going. I'd fulfilled a promise today, but I had a new oath to swear. "The male who got you killed ripped me from my family and manipulated me for his own ends. If Rhys and I hadn't found each other…my blood would have been on Tamlin's hands, too. I won't allow him to endanger a Night Court female again."

We lingered in silence a bit longer, then left two stones behind on each grave. Rhys winnowed us to the living room of the townhouse. There was more to do—Amren would no doubt want to be informed about what I'd sensed in the Weaver's cottage, and I wanted to change out of my leathers first.

But I couldn't keep holding onto the ring forever. I uncurled my fingers, holding it out to him. "Do you…want it back?"

"It's yours," he said, as if that settled it.

I didn't have the nerve to slip the ring on, even after shedding blood to get it. Not even here, in the privacy of our own home. I'd never questioned the mating bond—how could I when it was the strongest thing I'd ever known? But this was different.

The bond belonged to the two of us. Wearing a family ring was a public declaration.

Rhys cocked his head, studying me again. I was still too caught up in my own thoughts to move. For a moment, I expected a familiar caress of talons against my shields, but it never came.

No, Rhys just plucked the ring from my hand and dropped down to one knee. "Feyre—"

My heart hammered in my chest, and I nearly bolted upstairs. But I couldn't run from him without a word—not again and certainly not like this.

"Don't," I choked out. Rhys went utterly still, forcing his expression into something blank and composed. My eyes stung, but I kept going before I made this worse than it already was. "You wouldn't marry me if I were a faerie."

He blinked. "Of course I—"

"You wouldn't. Because marriage is a silly, pointless formality when there's already an unbreakable thread binding our souls together. But I…" My throat bobbed. "Please don't start treating me differently because I'm human."

In Spring, I'd been something to be gawked at, addressed as "human" instead of my name. I'd felt small and stupid and useless, and I would not let anyone do that to me again, not even if they meant well, like he did.

And especially not in the Night Court, where I belonged.

Rhys stood and wiped away the tears that were now streaming down my cheeks. I let the soft brush of his calloused hands settle me as his wings nudged me closer and encircled us both.

"I'm sorry. You looked so unsure just now, and I… I needed you to know I'd choose you in every way possible."

A surprised—if still a bit teary—laugh bubbled out of me. I leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I know you would. Sometimes what we feel for each other is the only thing I think I'm sure of."

I felt the tension melt from his body. With a stab of guilt, I wondered if running off to the House of Wind on our first night back had left him with doubts that ran deeper than I'd originally thought. But I let it go—it was hard to keep dwelling on the past when he was letting out a contented hum and kissing the top of my head.

I let myself savor the peace for a few heartbeats, but I couldn't ignore the way he'd only wrapped one arm around me. The other still held the ring.

"For what it's worth, I do want to wear it," I whispered. "I know I can't, at least for now, but if things were different, I would. Every day."

Rhys stepped back and smiled, taking my left hand in his, cradling it as if it were something delicate—not calloused in odd places from holding a bow, with crescents of dirt and blood under my ragged nails. The glamour fell away, revealing the swirling lines of the half-finished tattoo.

He slid the ring onto my finger. I'd thought it might look wrong there, but the ring was Illyrian and my hands were rough like a warrior's. The fit was perfect, and it sat in a gap that had been left between the whorls of my tattoo.

Like it was always meant to be there.

The intensity of emotions rippling across his face was so strong I nearly had to look away. Love, reverent adoration…and that purely male, possessive gleam in his star-flecked eyes. My toes curled in my boots.

"I'm yours, mate," I whispered.

His mouth crashed into mine just the way I'd hoped it would. I parted my lips eagerly, ready to lose myself in the sweep of his tongue.

Maybe I'd never get used to how quickly I could be ready and aching for him. But the pleasure he'd wrung from me last night hadn't been enough, not after several days keeping our hands off each other in Illyria. One scrape of his teeth against my bottom lip, and I was scrabbling at the fastenings of his leathers.

I reached for him through the bond, and his shields were down in an instant. Will you wear one too, Rhys? To let everyone know you're mine?

Those last two words dragged a groan from deep in his throat. He shucked the leathers and undershirt off in one smooth movement, and I ran my hands down, down the hard planes of his muscled chest. Lower and lower, until I brushed the trail of soft hair above the waistband of his pants.

Even in our minds, I sounded breathless. Fuck me while I wear the ring and nothing else.

A flash of pain sparked and lit up the mating bond, even as his tongue plunged deeper into my mouth. I leaped back, shocked as if a bucket of ice had been thrown over us both.

Rhys was breathing hard, eyes wide and wild. He pushed me out of his mind, and his shields were firmly in place again. The walls of adamant were higher and thicker than I'd ever felt them.

"What's wrong?" I said aloud.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. Darkness fell from his shoulders in pulsing, furious waves. A few tendrils wrapped around him like a cloak, and the rest dimmed the room.

He reached for me. I stepped back again. "Rhysand. Tell me what's wrong."

For a long moment, Rhys said nothing. He pressed his eyes shut, his breathing still uneven. I waited. The darkness kept leaking into the room, and when it was pitch-black, he finally spoke.

"The ring with Jurian's eye. She never took it off. Not even when we…" he managed to say.

My heart cracked in two.

"Cauldron, Rhys, I'm so sorry. I should have realized." That ring had featured in so many of our nightmares; I'd been utterly, monumentally stupid not to think of it.

I wanted to hold him, but that seemed….unwise. It might startle him if the dark was too thick for him to see me coming closer. With his shields up, I couldn't reach down the bond and drag him back to the present like I wanted to.

His wings. He still had his wings out. "Rhys," I said, as gently as I could manage. "Go fly. Circle Velaris as many times as you need to. I'll be here when you get back."

There was a rustling noise as his wings snapped outward. Something soft brushed my cheek, and then I was alone, squinting in the too-bright sunlight when the darkness disappeared with him.

I'd ruined everything, so there was nothing to be done but change out of my leathers and wait. My heart was heavy as I sank into one of the chairs on the roof and watched the sky, hoping for a glimpse of him.

I wished I'd been the sort of person who could have just smiled and happily accepted a proposal. Or at the very least, not someone who made it worse by dredging up his nightmares unexpectedly.

Maybe we'd never get completely free from Under the Mountain.

The other end of the bond was silent, and I twisted the ring around my finger so many times I nearly rubbed the skin raw. I could just make out his dark shape against the clouds, the powerful beat of his wings as he looped and looped over the city. One day, I hoped, he'd do the same and carry me with him.

It was a while before Rhys landed on the roof. The movement was easy and graceful, the draft of wind from that massive wingspan ruffling my hair as he touched down with silent feet. He regarded me, eyes dry, standing stiff-backed in a way that seemed unnatural for him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I said, though I knew he didn't.

He shook his head. "I just want you."

In an instant, I was on his lap on the other chair. His breath was warm against my ear as he sighed, draping both arms over my shoulders as he leaned his chest against my back. Exhaustion seemed to roll off him the way his power usually did. We said nothing, but Rhys laced our fingers together and pressed a kiss to the knuckle of my left hand, right next to the ring.

No hard feelings, then.

It was another day before we met with Amren, who made me describe everything I'd felt in the Weaver's cottage in excruciating detail. There was more research to be done, but she had a new working theory—that the Spring Court hadn't left me with any of its own magic, just reshaped the Night Court's existing claim on me.

The faint magic within me wasn't an echo—it had become a seed.

Whether it would bloom or bear fruit or something else entirely was anyone's guess. If given the opportunity, I had the sense Amren would pick me apart to find out. But it was better than going on no information at all.

A few weeks later, I landed a hit on Cassian with a wooden sword the same day I finished the first book I ever read from cover-to-cover. The days had passed as a steady rhythm of training and reading, mostly spent in the House of Wind.

Life was…quiet. Better, though not perfect. Rhys and I still depended on the sleeping draught, and the library was the only windowless place either of us could tolerate for more than an hour at a time. We chipped away at the work of catching up—me on literacy, him on the business of running the Night Court—in companionable silence on sunlit balconies or tucked away among the priestesses.

The rest days were the hardest to tolerate. Without exhaustion to settle my mind, I found myself wandering the city aimlessly, too restless to sit still. The streets of Velaris quickly became familiar.

All of it, except for the Rainbow. I hadn't gotten up the nerve to set foot in the artists' quarter. I'd skirted the edges carefully, and in truth, stared at it wistfully on more than one occasion.

I suspected that Tamlin had given me paints as a distraction, a ploy to quiet me down and soften my feelings towards him. And even if it had just been an attempt to break the curse and save his people…it hurt. Something I loved had been used against me, and I wasn't sure I could throw my whole self into painting so fearlessly ever again.

But I did finish the snowdrops lining the edges of the kitchen table. And it had felt…good. My heart squeezed at the way Rhys smiled every time he looked at them.

There were more leftover paints, so I took to hiding clever decorations in my room, just as I had in the cabin. Behind the curtains, under the dressing table, inside drawers…and nothing more than flowering vines, curls of flame, or intricate, abstract designs. Nothing with me in it.

It was all I could manage. Not a secret, but…I didn't want to be watched or talk about it.

Rhys spotted them eventually, of course. He'd been sprawled out on my bed one morning, staring at my ass as I slipped off my nightgown to get ready for the day. When I heard his sharp intake of breath behind me, I figured he'd noticed the ivy painted on the inside of the drawer I'd just opened.

I'd whirled around, ready to lob a pair of socks at his head in response to a teasing remark. Or worse, for him to be upset that I hadn't told him I'd painted.

But he'd just tilted his head, regarded me thoughtfully, and said, "That's one way to hide what's precious to you."

He'd once said something similar about his wings. And I'd supposed the same thing was true for keeping Velaris and our mating bond hidden. Those violet eyes met mine, and I felt…understood. Somehow, it wasn't terrifying.

It gave me the confidence to start leaving those little hidden designs around the rest of the townhouse. I'd started with his room, then expanded to the kitchen and the foyer. Claiming marks, if you knew where to look for them.

Similar to my mating band, which I took to wearing hidden on a chain under my shirt. Rhys did the same, after he'd offered to find a horrible creature to retrieve his from and call us even.

I wasn't quite sure what I'd do when the paints ran out, and I'd been deliberately not thinking much about it. But my walks took me past the city's outdoor sculptures and murals more often lately, and perhaps that was progress.

But it was only a matter of time before the peace was broken again. We were roused from our beds with news of another attack on a temple, this one at Sangravah.

The security measures Rhys had arranged for the priestesses left survivors this time, though not many. Once he left for the temple, I headed to the library, prepared to help with whatever the priestesses needed, just like before.

I'd expected to prepare more bodies for burial, but Mor walked in with an auburn-haired female wrapped in a blood-soaked cloak that was far too big for her.

"I healed her," Mor said, "but she needs someone to help her get settled."

I agreed to handle it, and the priestess turned at the sound of my voice. Her teal eyes were distant—haunted, really. More blood, hers or someone else's, had spattered on her face.

Clearing the mess away with magic wouldn't be enough for her to feel clean after whatever ordeal she'd just gone through—I knew that after everything Under the Mountain. I fetched a washcloth and basin and helped her clean off.

She didn't speak. And perhaps that was for the best—I had no idea what I would have said anyway. Later that night, I learned from another priestess that her name was Gwyneth Berdara and Hybern had slaughtered her twin sister during the attack.

As Catrin Berdara's name was read during the funeral service a few hours later, I decided it was finally time to stop avoiding my own sisters. Mortal lives were short, and in a hundred years, I'd regret not making the most of the time I had with them.

Even if I couldn't find the words to tell Nesta and Elain all the ways my life had changed since coming to Prythian, I'd go to the mortal lands tomorrow.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home #sorry not sorry about how this proposal shakes out guys

[toomanytookas]

The Gift

Dieter Bravo x f!afab!reader

Rating: 18+ only please

Summary: Dieter designs a special room for you in the house that you are building together.

Important note: This is set in the world of @schnarfer’s If Wishes Came True trilogy. If you haven’t read it (where have you been? Go! Read it!!) you will likely be a bit lost.

Word count: ~3k

Content: Angst and fluff, the angst is pretty much all in the past but we do sit with it for a while here (this is dedicated to Al, after all), consumption of food and alcohol, references to/presence of drugs but they aren’t consumed on screen, oblique references to the reader and Dieter's sexual proclivities, blink and you’ll miss it moment of smutty touching, lots more sensual and casual touch as well as kissing, swearing, bathing, cats, I wrote this for one person but she’s invited you to the party

A/N: A version of this fic was gifted to my beloved @schnarfer on the occasion of her birthday last week. It would have never actually been possible for me to have the confidence to send it to her and not just throw it straight in the bin without the very gentle hand holding of @pascalssbabyy (Beth, you are an angel).

I say a version because after being the most gracious recipient of a fic of her fic (wtf was I thinking?), Al not only encouraged me to share it more widely but was willing to give it a beta and helped to refine my attempt at an ode to her style into the much punchier, emotionally charged (we do love torturing our boy a bit...) thing you now have the opportunity to read. This is absolutely the product of two minds and I could not have had more fun working with her to reach this final version. Any remaining errors and weird bits are my own, feel free to lmk if you see anything funky. I hope you like it!

I don't know what it is about you that makes the bathwater blush, why I want to ask for your hand forever around my throat;

- Megan Falley, "Your Bathwater > Wine"

When Dieter adopted Chairman Meow from the shelter, the sign on the tom’s cage said he had been wandering despondently around the property his last owner had vacated, unable to stray far from the place where he had last known a comfortable life. Abandonment issues, the profile warned. Looking for a home that will provide constant affection.

Having been driven to the cattery by a deep yearning to be the centre of someone’s world, Dieter thought he recognised a kindred spirit. I’ll be your friend, bud. He stuck a thick finger into the mog’s enclosure and wiggled it against the soft fur. When the cat had budged up even closer in response, he knew that it was love.

After you left, when he would wake to that furry face rubbing against his chin, a paw tapping his cheek to ask to be let in under the covers, Dieter was grateful that he had someone who understood why—despite Pete’s encouragement—he could never quite go through with leaving that fucking fishbowl of a house for good. Not when he no longer had you.

The wretched, destructive thing that lived inside him conjured constant reminders of how your brightness had seeped into the very walls of the house. It dangled flashes of your smile in his periphery when he made his morning coffee, replayed echoes of your laugh when he reached for you in the middle of the night. They were glimpses of lost happiness that in those brief moments still radiated joy. The glow sometimes burned like hot coals, but he gathered every memory of you tightly his chest. The searing ache was worth it. Staying put was worth it. How else would he remember so clearly how much you had made his world come alive? And how else would you know how to find him when you decided to come back?

But when you did return to him, when you came home, Dieter’s dedication to remaining in that bastard house until his end of days vanished. He was climbing the walls to be rid of it as fast as humanly possible. Why would he want to stay there when it was a constant reminder of the destruction he had wrought? Without you the house was a lifeline, but with you it was a curse. It could never be the home he wanted to give you now that he had a second chance. Despite what his trusted energy worker suggested, a ceremonial disposal of the bed and a few rounds of sage burning would not have been enough to fix it.

So he called his realtor. Sold the house. Said goodbye to all its awful energy. Hoped that maybe all the worst versions of Dieter Bravo managed to be left there, trapped behind the glass. Waiting to be discovered and dealt with by whichever sad fuck bought that Hollywood house of mirrors, blissfully unaware of the demons they were to inherit.

The Dieter menagerie moved in to yours.

The Chairman and Dolly Purrton both quickly found their favourite new spots to snooze in puddles of sunshine, but as much as he longed to join them, Dieter could never quite settle.

The longer you shared the space and began to rebuild some of the trust and respect that needed to layer on top of your burning, incandescent love; the clearer it became that your house was also too haunted.

There was too bitter an aftertaste on both your tongues whenever you would pull into the drive, remembering the pleading eyes of past Dieters who had turned up unannounced at all hours of the night begging for forgiveness, desperate for a second chance. It was too jarring, the pangs of Dieter’s jealousy over plastic, perfect Brandon, who once upon a time happily wandered those halls, pressed you hungrily against those doorframes, laughed with you over a lovingly prepared dinner made in that kitchen. What a fucking prince.

The discomfort of it all, the continued haunting that he had thought escaping his former house would resolve, left Dieter lumbering through the house, wrapping himself in a moveable den of blankets and keeping a hand braced against his tummy or a cat cradled to his chest in an effort to soothe the roiling thoughts.

After he spent a full week between shoots wandering despondently from room to room, only able to feel grounded when you were somewhere in the house, you put your foot down.

This was meant to be a second chance, D. Not us climbing back into the coffin. This house was no longer your home, you told him, if it was responsible for the tension in his jaw and the ache you felt when either of you found reminders of all the past hurt.

And so Dieter set out to build you both a house. A home that would reverberate with the joys of love and the laughter of friends, and never, ever know the monster inside him that he was working so hard to put to rest. A sanctuary for the two of you, tucked against the hills in an area where the neighbours don’t care a single bit who either of you are, only that you look out for the community and pitch in a baked good or two for the annual block party.

It’s the house of your dreams because it represents your shared commitment to making a life together. It’s the house of his dreams because, somehow, you want to live there with him.

Given a blank check, the architect and interior designer work with the two of you to identify the exact touches that will make you feel beyond comfortable. The kind of upgrades that aren’t flashy, but make enjoying the pleasurable things in life even easier.

The new bed feels like you’re being cuddled by the softest clouds. You spend your free mornings tucked in under the covers together, letting him sneak peeks over your shoulder as you gleefully trade quips with your friends and read the naughtiest and most delicious smut before rising to start your day.

There’s a gas fireplace that can be lit at a moment’s notice when you want to curl up in one of the the divine plush chairs, which you picked out together after spending an afternoon in a high-end showroom, half focused on which were the most comfortable to read in, half on which could reliably sustain both of your weights in motion.

These are just a couple of your favourite things amidst a near embarrassment of riches. They make you feel as though you’ve won the lottery, and the lottery’s name was Dieter (just Dieter, your dear love Dieter, no Bravo in sight).

Picking out features and facets for the house was so much a shared project between the two of you—the thing you could work on through trading pinterest boards and voice notes, even when projects kept you physically apart—that it was a bit of a surprise when Dieter informed you that there was a room he wanted to build that he wasn’t going to share the details of. Not until it was done.

He took infinite pleasure in making a big show of the secret, whipping out a blindfold that may or may not have originated from your toy chest when you were set to do walkthroughs during construction, curling his broad body around you and nudging you forward with one foot and then the other until the room was far enough away from view that he could restore your sight without worry of ruining the surprise.

It’s going to be magnificent, angel, he would breathe gleefully against your ear.

The contractors were always thankfully far enough ahead of you that you didn’t feel embarrassed by the heat that flooded your face at the tickle of his words and the firmness of his chest against your back.

You had some sense of what the room might be. Dieter wouldn’t reject your idea for a vintage-inspired clawfoot tub in the master unless he was going to make it up to you somewhere else in the house. He knew how much of a comfort a soak in the bath was for you, there was no way he was going to deny you the luxury in your own home.

But what exactly this room looked like remained a mystery. Sometimes a package would arrive that he would eagerly squirrel away behind that closed door, disappearing for a while to set up whatever newest addition he had imagined on the road to perfection. Piece by piece, Dieter was building a dream, one that he specifically dreamed of for you.

In the meantime, the two of you moved into the house and set about truly making it your space, fit to burst with the vibrancy of your lives.

There was nothing like being able to wind down from the heights of the energy on set, the frenetic hustle that you loved so much but demanded that you be at a constant eleven.

Nothing like ending a chillier evening by the fire. Your feet tucked under the fluff of the Chairman’s rotund rump where it was perched on Dieter’s lap, your thumb idly tracing the drops of condensation on a bottle of cider.

Nothing like welcoming friends at the weekend for a hearty roast and glowing conversation, getting to show off the fruits of your beautiful gas range and indulge in the delight of warm bellies and full hearts.

Nothing like your Dieter, flush with a new aura of happiness and love and the therapy-influenced acceptance that he was allowed to have all of this, to have you, to know joy.

On the night of your birthday, when your body and head already feel floaty from a delightful evening featuring a steady flow of cocktails and sushi, Dieter sneaks away as you are bidding goodbye to your final guests.

Once the last of your friends are out the door, he places a pair of oversized scissors in your hands and herds you like an eager collie over to the soon-to-no-longer-be-secret room. There’s a velvety ribbon across the door and he has you make the ceremonial opening cut before placing one of his warm palms over your eyes and the other at your sternum, holding you to his chest and guiding you both over the threshold.

You feel a wall of steam envelop your body and your heart leaps with anticipation. Your bathtub. You were right.

Dieter removes his hand, “Open your eyes, angel.”

Immediately, your vision is flooded with ochre and gold. Candles flicker playfully on almost every possible surface, their dancing light filling the room.

It is clear to you right away that this oasis will become a peaceful near holy space, a sanctuary that you can retreat to when you need to shut out the rest of the world. Despite the many, many acts of sin that are bound to occur inside these four walls, there is something bright and pure about the energy that Dieter has curated.

Lush ferns and orchids are mounted to the walls, bound to flourish in the tropical climate that the frequent steam will create for them.

There are massive geodes of your favourite crystals that sparkle on pedestals, radiating deep energy and glistening in the candlelight.

Two skylights open the room up so you can see the heavens, as though from your watery cocoon you might be able to ascend to the stars.

The bath itself is cavernous, currently filled nearly to the brim and softly crackling with lush bubbles that are being stirred by what you assume must be underwater jets.

On the far wall, Dieter has painted an abstract mural that makes you think of the moments of calm that you feel when he wraps you in his arms after a long day. Soft, warm, safe.

As he follows your gaze, eager to ingest your every reaction, he directs you to look at the title that he’s lettered just next to his signature.

Angel’s rest.

Your eyes are misty, “Oh, D. It’s magic.”

“Everything for my girl. Everything.”

His voice cracks slightly through the whisper, his hands come to your waist to turn you in his embrace, strong eye contact boring into your soul with the depth of how very much he means those words, beyond this gift, beyond this house.

You have to kiss him. Your heart can’t take not fusing your mouth to his in this moment.

It’s a soft kiss, a tender kiss, one you could bask in from now until the end of time. It makes you so bright with love.

You can’t help but let your lips curve into a grin. You think he must be able to feel your cheek muscles twitch from how widely you are smiling against his lips.

He breaks from you, but immediately returns once, twice, and then presses a quick and cheeky peck against your jawline.

“Come, angel. Before the water gets too cold.”

Slowly, reverently, he helps you slide your sparkling birthday dress over your shoulders and down to the floor. Pressing gentle, open mouthed kisses to your collarbone and lace-covered breasts as each inch of you is revealed.

He kneels before you to remove your panties. As soon as they are at your knees, he nuzzles his face against your mound, the tip of his nose nestling against your clit.

Fuck.

You hear him exhale happily when your stance softens, hands ghosting up and down your thighs, but instead of taking his first taste of your cunt for the evening, he draws back and tips his head toward the bath.

Pouting, you nod and let him help you out of your slippers, large hand cupping each ankle in turn. When your bare feet touch the floor, you can tell that there is some sort of heating system beneath the tile. It’s heaven.

You grasp his forearm for balance as you ascend the steps and then slide into the steaming hot water of the bath. You let your grip linger, playing with the flexing muscle that you feel ripple as he wiggles his fingers playfully. He knows you're a bit loony for the feel of his powerful arms.

Then he's pulling away from you again.

Despite the near-trance the water and this moment is sending you into, you let out a soft squawk of disapproval.

"Just for a minute, angel. I want to go get your present."

More gifts? Well, an indulgent Dieter is often the happiest Dieter and it is your birthday. And Dieter firmly believes that birthday girls deserve to have some lovely treats.

You let yourself doze, still tipsy and buzzing from the joys of the night, cradled by the bubbles and the soothing warmth of the water. The next thing you know, gentle but thick fingertips are lightly dragging their way from your knee to your hip and then up the flesh of your stomach, a mild and delicious friction. Before those fingers can reach the swell of your breast, your hands come up to halt their journey. Intertwining your fingers with his, you bring Dieter’s now somewhat bubble-covered hand up for a kiss, avoiding the worst of the soapy aftertaste by pressing your lips high on his pulse point.

When you make eye contact, his gaze still looks wild with love.

"Relaxed, angel?"

"Ever so."

You look over at him and find he's set a tray down on a bar cart that has appeared from somewhere in the room. On it, a box of four pralines from your favourite chocolatier, a chilled bottle of champagne, and a joint resting on the edge of a beautiful glass ashtray. It must be new because its colours are too perfect to not have been picked out lovingly by Dieter to match the room.

You sit up slightly. Happy birthday to you, indeed.

"May I join you?" The reverence in his voice feels it’s been magnified by the room.

"We've talked about this, baby. Water makes for horrible lube."

"I just want to cuddle with my birthday girl."

This Dieter, so tender, so vulnerably in love in a way that he never let himself be before you. You sense in this moment that he truly feels he needs permission to be allowed to just be in your space for a while, a hesitance fueled by past regrets and insecurities that even the promise and protection of this new house have not fully squashed. No matter. You are more than happy to affirm just how welcome in your arms he will always be.

You smile, nodding sleepily, and he sheds his clothing. You're so relaxed, so enveloped in warmth, that you almost forget to admire his bare body as he climbs in to join you. Almost. Thank goodness the part of your brain that always wants him, is always drawn to his form, isn't actually taking a holiday so you can admire.

When he's settled with his back against the side of the bath, Dieter pulls the cart over so that everything is in reach. He pops the champagne, handing you a glass, then brings one of the chocolates to his mouth, holding it in his teeth and wriggling his eyebrows playfully in a suggestion for you to take it from him.

You giggle and indulge him, using your hands to grip the edge tub on either side of his body and pull yourself through the water until you are practically chest to chest, nose to nose. Too close for true eye contact, but you can't help but pick one of his eyes to focus on, letting yourself go a bit crosseyed to try and send him every wonderful thing you have been feeling this evening directly through your gaze.

Slowly, gently, you close the remaining distance and bite the praline in half, letting your lips drag against his as the chocolate begins to melt on your tongue. It's perfectly bitter and smooth.

Dieter consumes the rest.

"Mmm. A not too sweet for my not too sweet."

The snort that leaves your body firmly disrupts the headiness of the moment, the exhalation forming a crater in the bubbles and making you further devolve into giggles when you have to bring a hand up to brush away a clump of the soapy fuzz that sticks to his cheek.

You press your forehead against Dieter's damp shoulder and feel the rise and fall of it as he joins you in mirth, arm coming up around you so you don't slide away from him as you once again relax into the water.

As the wave of laughter subsides, your breathing synchronizes with his and you let yourself soak in the quiet. A perfect christening of this tub. He presses a kiss to the side of your head.

"I love you, angel. Happy birthday."

#the bubble #the bubble fanfic #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #me: wednesday is probably a good quiet day to post this #pedro: hold my beer #but i'm still posting it anyway because if i don't i'm just going to keep obsessively poking at it #also this is queued for while i’m sleeping so if you know what time it is for me rn i promise i’m at least pretending to be asleep

[fhatbhabiee]

Peligro

Javier Gutiérrez x Reader

inspired by the song Peligro by Aventura

word count: 712

warnings: toxic!reader, money mooching!reader, toxic relationship, reader is referred to as the devil, angst, spanish dialect w english translations (no need for the SAP button), told from Javi's POV, divorce

note: i'm fully aware this is something 100% different from all the other stuff on here and i too know it won't be everyone's cup of tea. as i've said before- if you don't like it don't bite it. if you have a problem with this guess what i put as much as i could in the warnings so don't get mad at me bc you refuse to read them. but for those who do read it- i hope you enjoy 🤍

“Javier no se como me siento de tu esposa.” (Javier I don't know how I feel about your wife)

“Mama por favor…” (Mom please…)

“No puedes ver como te trata?” (Can you see how she treats you?)

I leaned back in my chair and let my mind wander. My mother had a point- you weren't the best girl I had been with but you were my wife. I love you.

— • —

I walked into the house, tossing my keys in the small bowl we kept by the door. You must've heard me because you came stomping into the entryway of the house.

“Where have you been?” you called out.

“My mom's house.”

“What about me Javi? What about your wife?”

I let out a small sigh and walked over to you, wrapping my arms around your waist.

“I'm sorry amor. She just wanted to catch up is all.”

“It's not like you don't see her almost every day.” you pulled away from me. “You're such a mama's boy.” you grabbed your purse and the keys to my car before walking out of the front door.

“Where are you going?” I called out as I chased after you. “Amor, wait. How about I take you shopping? To say I'm sorry for being gone all day.”

You stopped and looked over at me. “Really?” you said, eyes literally forming into dollar signs like they did in the cartoons.

“Yes amor. C'mon I'll drive, just tell me where to go.”

We spent hours in the stores, coming out with bags and bags of all the best things you wanted. Anything for my wife. But they were right- the devil does wear Prada. I know because she used my credit card.

That night we laid in bed together. You were asleep as I stayed awake, staring up at the ceiling. My mothers words rang through my ears along with everyone else's. You were dangerous- toxic, manipulative, and a cheater. After thinking about everything you've done to me for almost 3 years, I think love stopped being a reason to still be married to you.

— • —

The next morning I woke up, alone in bed. I got up and saw no sign of you anywhere. I opened your closet and saw that all your clothes and shoes were gone. I quickly ran downstairs and noticed my car keys were not in the bowl.

What else did you take?

I walked into my office and logged into my online bank account. It took a solid minute to log in but that's when I realized all my accounts were drained to zero. I walked back to my bedroom in search of my wallet but it was nowhere to be found. You had taken everything. Taken 3 years of my life, all my money and financial assets, my car-If you could you probably would have taken the house too.

I walked back downstairs, racking my mind with ideas on what the fuck to do, when I saw a stack of papers sitting on the kitchen island. Divorce papers with your wedding rings sitting on top of them. The bright yellow sticky note caught my attention more than anything though.

Me and my boyfriend will be out of the country. If you have any questions, call my attorney.

The word boyfriend hurt more than the divorce papers. I always suspected you of cheating but I thought it was just my imagination. Guess I was wrong.

— • —

“Is there anything else anyone would like to say before we finish here?” my lawyer asked.

“Can I say something?” I asked as I looked over at my now ex wife.

“Go ahead.” you said, leaning back in your seat.

“Que Diosito te mande castigo, que te hagan lo mismo y me pidas perdón. Así yo me rio en tu cara y celebro tu pena por esa traición.” (May God punish you, have him do the same you did to me and you ask me for forgiveness. That way I can laugh in your face and celebrate your embarrassment for that betrayal.)

You chuckled and sat up, leaning against the table. “Que lo sueñas Javier.” (Dream about it Javier.)

“Oh I will.” I got up and walked out of the room, never looking back again.

beta'd: @nerdieforpedro & @ilovepedro thank you ilysm 💕

divider: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

#javier gutierrez x reader #javier gutierrez #javi g x reader #javier gutierrez x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #tw angst #tw toxic behavior #tw toxic relationship #tw toxic reader

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

Mel for the unhinged character bingo!

yessss YEEEESSSSSSSSS

#ask me #so Mel is in the unenviable position of being a very strong character whose rights I support and whose wrongs I also fully support #BUT the way she's treated broadly in the fandom is so pervasive and so consistent and so frustrating to me that #I am in full -must protect my blorbo- mode with her at all times #-Mel's story is over so the only thing left for her to do is die- #-if Mel dies then J can get together with V and they will appreciate her for her sacrifice bc she died a hero who rejected Ambessa- #enough! enough I say! #what about proving to ambessa that she can take the throne for herself? what about the angst of defying her mother and her home country #and opposing those in Piltover who DO want war and want to raze the undercity #what about the magic that she's heavily foreshadowed to have and how it's different from hextech #and how it directly opposes but also parallels what is happening to Viktor #what about her -friends- abroad and the plot Mel was cooking through all of season 1 that has not been revealed yet #there's so much potential for her to have to confront the fact that J was slowly becoming a monster through season 1 #and that she can't ignore the undercity forever #also what if whoever Ambessa says killed her brother comes after Mel too! #it is very frustrating to see Mel get dismissed as dead or evil or irredeemable or whatever when she is consistently #the most interesting person in the room in every single scene she's in and the character who shows the most conviction and change #so yeah i will take a bullet for her she is my blorbo I will despise any character who hurts her #and I would cradle her in my arms if she gave me a chance - which she would never! - but a girl can dream #however I also enjoy leaning into the idea that Mel is perceived as being a devil from the outside - Mel leans into it too when it serves #but it's in direct opposition to her ironclad values and the personality that she keeps hidden a layer down #I genuinely think that Mel will have a happy ending - or at least as happy an ending that an Arcane character can get lol #like I fully believe she will take the throne (Piltover) in the end but I can only guess at this point what that will cost her #I love putting Mel in situations but mainly to play with both how creative she can get and also how fucking far she will go to win #which is ANOTHER thing we know is probably true about Mel but has not been put on display yet #also Mel has already done a great job at separating what she wants for herself as a person from just being Ambessa's daughter #but Mel still deserves to get plenty of great therapy for that situation because OH GOD THAT CHILDHOOD FLASHBACK #also Kino is dead? maybe dead?? at least Mel fully believes he's dead so she needs therapy and hugs for that too #I am super normal about her can you tell

[apollo-just-ice]

Love that I had the thought “hmm well some of this stuff in my fic might not be completely accurate :/“

But then I reminded myself it’s like a totally self indulgent written for *me* thing,,, like yeah! It doesn’t have to be perfect, I am writing what makes my heart happy! That is all that should matter really!! And so now I feel okay, honestly. Good job, me.

That rly is an important thing to remember when creating things, is that foremost it should be making you happy, no matter inaccuracies or popularity or anything else

Also an essay of my thoughts about writing a pmd fic below in the tags hahah oops:

#lol yes I have been working on a pmd fic that I may or may not post when it’s done #it’s like such a conglomeration of different points in my life when I played the game and thoughts and feelings from throughout those times #something that can be. so personal #I wanna make a mark of having some pmd content shared I think so! #but yk so maybe there is some wavy logic in the human (before they became a Pokémon) being able to talk to Pokémon #but that is always how I imagined it must’ve been as a kid without question #and that I know Grovyle and the mc aren’t the main relationship the game wants focus on #but for me over the years I more and more find it fascinating to think about #especially just with the context of a friendship that now only has memories remaining with one person #and stuff like that #but I don’t super delve into angst bc I also rly just want this to be cozy at the end of the day #happy warm soft fuzzy cozy vibes #which I probably get from nostalgia alone here but writing it I feel those energies in it #but while the partner character doesn’t get as much of a focus she is still so dear to me methinks #idk this rambling has been going on so long rn lol #I hope all that I have been putting into this fic shows through in the end #I’m not even done writing it yet it has been a challenge at times but I sure do want to complete it #okay thanks and thanks like sm if you read the tags hahah <3 #now we are going to do proper tags so maybe people will see this… #pmd #pmd explorers #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon #fanfic #writing #content creating #? idk what to tag bc the advice/whatever u would call it can apply to more than just writers I think… #pmd2 #pmd eos #pmd sky

[tarjapearce]

Tentateur

Miguel O'Hara x Cheated on!fem Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. SMUT at the end, bit of angst, fluff, adult situations. Cheating, divorce.

Requested here

Summary: Miguel can't stand watching you being neglected by your husband.

------

If there was something Miguel hated, was life being too generous upon those that didn't deserve it, not even the slightest. Meaning, a dickhead for a coworker and sadly, your husband.

How could such a guy like him ended up with a sweetheart like you was beyond him, The man was apathetic, little to no charm, rude and an absolute bastard.

"She's uh, my wife." He had said flatly. Your name felt like sandpaper on his tongue as it rolled out of it while introducing you to the rest at a small party at Alchemax.

Miguel had noticed the little stab of hurt crossing your angelic face. He wanted to punch him straight in the face, even some of the other couples had noticed the small tension. But you just stood there, trying to give your best smile. The golden band around your finger and the loving stare your eyes casted on your husband was a clear 'Don't even try it' for him.

But for once, Miguel didn't care.

----

He didn't exactly know how the crush on you had started. At first he thought that was just him feeling lonely and that his eyes wandered too much. But when you visited, lunch bag in hand, looking for your husband only to give him a bedazzling smile upon seeing him, and he receiving you with a tight-lipped smile, made his heart to break a little more.

"Hey" You were about to kiss him but he just backed away.

"I'm working."

"Alright, alright. See you later?"

He just gave a quick nod and put the lunchbox on his desk. There wasn't love in his goodbye kiss, Miguel noted. Once you were out, he rummaged through its contents while rolling his eyes.

He looked around and spotted Miguel with a mug on his hand.

"Hey, pal." He called and offered him.

"Want some?" Miguel seized him from head to toes but just nodded. It felt the only way that he could have a bit of you at the moment.

"Take whatever you like. Wife always goes overboard with food." Miguel took the small dessert container. It tasted divine. It only matched your own sweetness.

Lucky Bastard.

Oh he was. His eyebrows pressed together as he kept giving away all the food you had so dotingly prepared him.

----

"Can we talk about this later? You can't just keep visiting me every time you feel so"

"But you keep forgetting lunch at home, can't leave you like-"

"It's fine really, we have vending machines here." Your husband grumbled, but you couldn't help but hold the lunchbox tightly against your arms.

"I see. Sorry." You gave him a small smile, "See you later?"

"Im busy today. Might get a couple hours late. Don't wait for me." 

You just nodded as Miguel jaw tensed.

How dared he?

You left.

-----

You had bumped into him at the supermarket on a weekend. Your cart was full of food, food that would end up in his hands and the rest of the team but never in your husband's mouth.

"Miguel, right?"

He nodded as he pulled some items for himself in his basket.

"Thanks for helping me." you smiled, his heart thumped harder.

"Where is..." He cleared his throat and you looked up at him.

"My husband? Oh, he said he had an extra shift today. Working in Alchemax surely is hard, I mean, I try to make it less... bad for him."

Miguel's mind was sneering, not at you but at the fake pretense of a hard working man the son of a bitch had put up with you. He knew the truth, he knew your husband only went there, did things wrong and half assed, and lately he had been flirting shamelessly with a lab technician from the upper floor.

His hatred for the man only grew, just as his admiration for you. What truly made you marry someone like him? That's the biggest question he had so far.

"I'm kind of nervous, today's our anniversary. I wanna surprise him with something" Your cheeks tinted red.

God you were killing him. He wanted to grab you gently by your shoulders, and say 'I can be better' cause of course he could, he was. You'd never have to settle for less with him.

'I appreciate you' cause he did, unlike the fool you had married. 'You'd never have to beg me' because in truth, he was already at your feet.

But you weren't his. Not yet.

-----

Sighing, Miguel put the lab test equipment away, then headed for the main office to get a couple more samples of a liquid he tried, but stopped dead in his tracks at the sight.

Legs wrapped around a man's waist, as his pants were down at his ankles. The woman shrieked once she noticed Miguel standing there with a frown and disgusted face. Miguel’s anger froze when the man next to her turned to be none but your husband.

The man recoiled to himself upon Miguel glaring holes his way.

----

His shoulder was poked by none other that the cheating pig.

"Uh, hey. Can we.... Can you, I mean-"

He stumbled on his words, Miguel towered over him, his eyes belittling him. He was bold.

"You saw nothing, yeah?"

And oh so phony. Disgusting.

Miguel just went back to his work.

It was the last straw.

-------

To his surprise you were sitting on a café, puffy and tear crusted eyes staring into nothingness, a phone on your hands. You knew.

He didn't know whether to approach you, or just leave you be. As much as he wanted you, he knew that coming at you in your most vulnerable state would not only make a bad impression oh him, but he didn't want to act like a vulture, looming over your broken heart for him to take.

He approached carefully.

"Hey"

"Miguel..."

"Are you okay?"

Your eyes avoided him.

"May I sit?"

You nodded with a hiccup and he offered you his handkerchief, fresh hot tears spilled  in the soft fabric. His chest constricting at the sight.

"He cheated on me."

Much to your dismay, he knew. Of course, he wanted to tell you, but knowing how careless your husband acted, it was a matter of time for you to discover the cheating.

"I'm really sorry to hear that."

Shaking your head, you sniffed

"He has been doing this for months. Should've... saw this coming. I mean... I found so many pictures of a woman and... God"

He was pretty sure that he would punch the man next time he'd see him.

"He never came home to our anniversary, but even way before that. He just... I wasn't enough."

He frowned and took your hand softly.

"Stop. Cheating is a personal choice, guapa. You can't blame yourself for other's choices. He decided to do so, to trash away his marriage. It has nothing to do with you."

"Maybe if... I was-"

"No. You're... you're perfect. Puta madre,  you're more than perfect. He's a lucky bastard just to have you. And... If I was him-"

He stopped his words and pursed his lips. You didn't need this. He'd have to be patient. You stared at him gently.

"I'll file for a divorce. He's barely coming home anyways and... that pretty much says on it's own that is over."

Miguel just nodded.

"Might celebrate it." You chuckled after wiping your tears.

"Can I ask you something?"

Again, you nodded.

"I know it's none of my business but, I'm just genuinely curious as to why you'd marry him?"

"Impulsiveness, I guess." you shrugged, your hand resting some inches away from his.

"He just proposed one day out of the blue, we had been dating for six months. Don't... don't look at me like that. I know it was stupid." you groaned.

"It's alright. You thought it was love." His hand inched closer, you nodded.

"We had our problems. A lot, actually. But... instead of speaking things like a fucking adult, he went on cheating."

"Mira, guapa... yo" He trailed off unsure of resisting any longer, his resolution to wait vanishing, "I know that this is a really bad time for you and-"

"Please... don't. Miguel I-"

"Just listen, ok? Please?" His hand finally took yours gently.

"I know this is the least of things you need right now, but... You have no idea how... how perfect you are. I always saw you visiting him, being loving, and he just threw all that away. He lost you. You're way too much for him."

Your body tensed upon sensing where this was going. Of course you weren't ignorant, you'd notice the glances he would give your way, the yearning in his eyes every time you kissed or acted like lovesick fool with your glacial husband.

" Let me show you, how would I treat you, if you were mine."

"Miguel, I don't want to-."

"Let me take you to dinner. If you don't like anything and I mean it, anything, I'll stop and leave you be. Just a dinner. Hell, you could ramble about him for hours and I'd just be happy for you to be there."

You sighed, it was a rather simple choice to say yes or no. There was nothing that actually tied you to your ex husband now. Just a very skewed moral code.

" Just a dinner. "

His heart fluttered and he nodded

"Just a dinner and I'll drop you home."

----

Miguel helped you out of his car, eyes drinking in your form. He would be lying if he said that he didn't feel jealous of the dress you were wearing, snugging all your curves in the right spots, just a tiny thing to make your own beauty to stand out even more. Gorgeous, flawless, divine and perfect.

You gasped at the location

"Are you sure this is the place? It's quite expensive."

Your concern was endearing, he offered you his arm and guided you inside.

"You're worth it, princesa."

The place seemed like being inspired from an old movie, elegant, classic and of course fancy. Never in your life your ex husband would actually treat you to places like these. His card would explode, he said once. Other places were good, but this was in a whole new level of luxury.

Miguel held the chair for you, and you sat, he followed.

"This place is gorgeous." He chuckled and took your hand to kiss your soft knuckles.

"Just like you."

----

Time flew, the night had been to your surprise one of the best things that you have experienced. You had tasted things that didn't know existed, Miguel had fed you the dessert, pampering you to no end. The wine was delicious.

As night advanced, his little touches had turned more and more risqué, his fingers would take a taste of your exposed thigh skin, your hands would brush his, fiery and small caresses that sparked a silent yet mutual fire.

Once home you couldn't get your hands out of eachother. He had to be careful to not rip your dress to bits, he needed you. The wet kisses in your neck and his wandering hands all over your heated body the proof of it. When was the last time that someone touched you like this?

Not even him, the man that oathed to love you and be with you through thick and thin. A gentle rub on your clit by expert fingers made you forget about him. Lock his memory in a vault and you'd throw the key somewhere. Your hips would buck against his hand, rolling on waves after waves of pleasure.

"He didn't touch you?" You shook your head as your mouth gaped open.

"When was-"

"Shut up." you moaned breathlessly. An I don't know nor care.

Your body responded so well too him, be the need you tried to sate with your own hands, or the loneliness that had made you so desperate that had you squirming and soaked and he was only using his hands so far. With Miguel, things felt differently. He did things differently. And different was good. So so good.

His hunger for you shown and conveyed in every caress and touch he gave you. He was gentle enough for his desire to permeate your skin. You didn't feel alone. You felt needed. Loved even. There was no turning back once you discarded all the clothes on both ends.

----

Opposite to what you believed, your heart wasn't flooding with guilt. No.

There were no longer what ifs and what not constantly echoing in your brain. There was no longer that constricting sensation in your chest you always had. No more uncertainty. You were free.

Last night Miguel, whose arms cradled your form to be snuggled in his chest and his thigh hooked on your hip, hoarding you. As if fearful you'd go away, had made you experience a whole new concept of pleasure. Your body soared in bliss, you were glowing, He had given you climax after climax, making every single one of them more shattering and intense than the other.

That's all you wanted really. Feel at ease and blissful. Miguel had given you that and more. More than you actually ever though deserving. It was just a matter of time that you'd finally take him whole.

You wanted him. His kindness, his care, his love, his grumpyness during mornings, the way he cursed in spanish whenever he'd stub his toe in the nightstand. You wanted it all.

Of course you had filed for a divorce as soon as you could, your husband was more than happy to comply. He hadn't been home for a while, Miguel even told you that he had quitted. It was as if the universe was removing him from your life ever since you started with Miguel a couple months ago.

But none of that mattered. Not when he had plopped you down to bed, hands holding a firm grip in your sweaty and smooth skin, hips straddling yours and plowing into you from behind, prone bone position. His hips buried himself deep, hitting that spot over and over. He wasn't gentle, but that's just exactly how you liked it.

Before you could actually reach the stars he flipped you over, your thighs resting ontop of his. He sheathed once more inside. Your phone buzzed.

You growled in annoyance, Miguel sighed. A number you knew all too well. Finally you'd get the news you so needed to hear.

"Y-Yeah?" Miguel smirked as he held your thighs together and pushed in further, his tip kissing your cervix so deliciously you had to bite your lip to suppress a moan. The little baby bump in your abdomen barely noticeable.

"Shit's done. Papers are signed."

There was a bit of rustling and the clinking of glass. By his tone, you knew he was getting drunk, celebrating. Miguel took the phone and put it on speaker.

"Ya know? I'm glad I did. Couldn't stand you, nagging all the time. But I'm a free man now, baby." His gulping, something you secretly hated, could be heard on the other line.

Miguel frowned and spreaded your legs once more.

"You there?" Your ex chuckled, "It's okay if you're crying, won't judge"

So so annoying.

A smirk appeared on your face as Miguel focused the camera on your body. He then turned the video call on. The man's face instantly fell upon watching you bouncing on a cock that surely put his to shame. Spine arching, breast jiggling and mouth spewing the lewdest of moans and needy whimpers he hsd ever heard from you. One tan hand secured you in place, preventing you from squirming too much.

"Sorry, pal." He grunted as he started to ram his hips in abandonment, making your toes curl. Your face and body said it all. The video image shaking at his thrust

"Just like that, bonita?" You choked a sob as he went balls in deep, nodding and begging him for him to not stop.

"She's busy." He hung up the call before the man could say anything and tossed your phone somewhere in the bed.

You felt so good, perfect for him, And now you were all his.

------

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