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thoughtsfromlayla · 2 months

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26 Ways of Taking You: A for Aphrodisiac

Summary: On a quest to save your little brother, you and your fated companion Dream of the Endless, run into a small problem in Aphrodite's Temple.

Notes: ~2.2k words, GUYS! I finally wrote a fic that wasn't below 500 or above 5,000 words, it just doesn't need any random side characters... or a definitive plot.

Warnings: MDNI - 18+, dubious consent, sex pollen, aphrodisiac (duh), porn without plot, unprotected sex (get tested yearly guys), P in V, no foreplay just straight fucking, Dream is a red flag but he's my red flag. I am willing to die on that hill.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

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“A temple of Aphrodite?” You question as you walk through the marbled entrance. The overwhelming smell of roses fills your senses and the honks of swans disappear as you cross into the building.

Morpheus follows closely behind. The drizzle of rain seemingly bounces off his coat and hair leaving him dry like the Sahara. On the other hand, you, the poor human with no otherworldly affiliations, were soaked to the bone. Your light jacket and sundress stuck to your skin until it became itchy and you quickly take off your jacket to dry easier in the momentary shelter.

You miss the way Morpheus stares at your exposed shoulders and legs. His eyes run up and down your body, to the way the dress sticks to you like a second skin.

“Aphrodite loved Ares, unlike her vowed husband. But such is the game of gods.” Morpheus explains and peels his eyes away from you.

You lean on a large pillar that supports a large brazier, one of many others. The heat helps you warm up and the shivers slowly leave your body as it dries your clothes.

“So, Ares is… here?” You say without much confidence.

When the fates set you out on this quest to find your brother, you hadn’t even packed your lunch yet. They just threw you to the wind and then gave you Morpheus as a guide. As for him, it was so “He could get out of the house more” as his older sister has explained it to you.

So, here you were, soaked in summer rain and sharing conversation with Dream of the Endless on a quest to find your kidnapped brother - all of which happened since this morning. The everything bagel and cream cheese you had for breakfast sat uncomfortably in your stomach, the same stomach that was screaming at you to eat something as your journey had left you to skip the midday meal.

“Ares is behind this gate created by Aphrodite,” Dream sighs as if he were spelling out the obvious. “Yes, it is a possibility.”

You simply roll your eyes. For someone who is almost infinitely older than you, he certainly didn’t act like it. Feeling warmer and dry you started exploring the temple, running your fingers across the divots in the carved stone much like the climbing ivy that decorated the walls.

At the end of the temple stood a magnificent statue of Aphrodite herself, wrapped in cloth and her hair flowing in the wind. Beneath her pedestal, you could make out a rectangular outline made out of large roses.

“Hey! The door!” You exclaim in excitement. As much as you hate to admit it, Morpheus was right. He usually was right but you’d rather keep that comment to yourself, in case the ego inflates any more of his head and he drifts off. Which, would unfortunately leave you on your own to solve these puzzles.

Morpheus appears behind you, peering over your shoulder at the door.

“Seems like a hidden mechanism. It would be wise to not touc-”

You press your palm onto the center of the door and it gives away to the pressure of it.

“You fool!” Morpheus seethes out and you tense.

It seems like a trap, now that you think about it. With bated breath you wait, slowly inching yourself closer to Morpheus in hopes that the King of Dreams may be able to protect you if something were to go wrong.

Yet, nothing.

The door slides back into place, the sound of marble against marble scraping against each other in the otherwise completely quiet sanctuary. The quiet atmosphere stays peaceful for a few seconds but ends when a yelp escapes you when the roses suddenly go into full bloom, the petals giving a “floosh” right in your face, its sweet pollen dusting both of your bodies. You stare wide-eyed at it waiting for anything else to happen. When nothing did, you let out a sigh of relief and turn to Dream with a smile.

“See, nothing to worry about.” You shrug with your palms facing upwards. The two of you stare back as a golden engraving appears on the door.

“One from two, enter together.” You read out loud while trying to dust off the shimmering pollen, sneezing when some enter your nose instead.

Great, a riddle but nothing comes to your mind as you think. Morpheus glares at you still and his eyes drift down to the palm that touched the door.

“Your hand is glowing,” He states.

You look down at your open palm and panic. The skin is bright pink and as Morpheus has stated, glowing. You scream at your hand and shake it aggressively. When the glowing still doesn’t reside you scream again and face the palm towards Morpheus’ face and shake it aggressively to grab his attention.

“Enough,” He commands and grabs your wrist. The grip is stern but it doesn’t hurt and the warmth of his skin calms you down.

It is now that you realize that the skin doesn’t actually hurt. There’s no burning sensation or pins or needles, nothing. Morpheus takes a closer look at your hand and you can feel the exhale of his breath fanning your palm. It tickles and you try to pull away, but his grip doesn’t relent.

“What? Do you see something?” You ask, your other hand is clenched in on itself as a way of grounding yourself.

Morpheus doesn’t entertain you with an answer and instead brings his face closer. A sound that you didn’t know you could produce comes out from your throat as you feel the warm, slick feeling of his tongue on your palm.

“Wha..mm” Your words fall short and he licks again and a whimper leaves your lips. You look up at him, his eyes are closed as he inhales deeply.

He brings your hand to his cheek and leans into it. When you release your hand and he lets you, you see that your glowing mark has smeared to his cheek. You come in closer, nervous about marking the Endless but he stops you again. He peers at you, all silver gone from his eyes and instead blown pupils pull you deep into their voids.

His hands find themselves around your waist and you place your hands on his chest to stop him from invading any more of your space. It doesn’t and he advances still. His brooding act doesn’t help with voicing whatever he could possibly be thinking.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you,” You release a moan at the end when he presses his nose to the junction of your neck. The hot breath released from his mouth had your lower regions start to grow hot and slick.

When his tongue licks the length of your neck, your fingers grasp desperately at the lapels of his jacket, holding on tight as your knee buckle beneath you. Morpheus smelled like grass after a summer thunderstorm and he stood sturdy like an old oak tree.

You whisper his name and his grip tightens more, bruising and unforgiving.

He groans into your neck. “Aphrodisiac.”

Of course, Aphrodisiac, named after the goddess Aphrodite, the very goddess you are trying to please and solve her riddle. The thought crosses your mind momentarily but it is quickly cut short by Morpheus’ continued administration. The pink stain spreads further on Morpheus, anywhere and everywhere you touch him. Your cheek was pink as well, where he touched yours and markings of his tongue glowed pink as he continued his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone.

“Oh, gods,” You moan into his hair as he dives deeper towards your chest. Your body is turning hot and you can’t tell if it’s just the aphrodisiac or the way he is touching you. Perhaps it’s neither, perhaps it’s both. Either way, you can’t stop the sounds that escape your lips.

He presses forward and you step back until your back hits the pedestal and Morpheus’ large frame follows, trapping you between a rock and a harder place. You can feel his erection pressing against your stomach, hot and heavy and begging to be released.

With restraint, Morpheus pulls back and pants into your neck. Your own breath was ragged, your tongue felt heavy when you speak.

“Please,” You whisper, your hands travel down his chest, pink smearing along his black shirt, and cup his erection.

He looks at you now, eyes peering into your soul asking you if you really did want this. You nod, not trusting your voice for a second time.

“Say it,” He commands again, his forehead pressed against yours. “Say it,” He whispers in a plea.

You tip your head up and respond with the strength you have left. “Yes,” You murmur against his lips, barely brushing yours with his own.

He seals the deal with a kiss and hands once again go to your waist. He grabs you, hoisting you up and your legs immediately wrap themselves around his lean torso. You impatiently grind your heat into his as he dips his hands below your dress line and moves your undergarments to the side.

It was rushed, it was sloppy and it was nowhere near romantic, yet you’ve never felt so much excitement. No one was near but the peering gaze of the daunting Aphrodite statue made you feel exposed. Morpheus doesn’t bother to warm you up for him and the heat of his cock presses against your cunt. He pushes forward and it stings. Tears swell in your eyes at the intrusion, his cock splitting you open as he sets a rhythmic pace.

“Forgive me, forgive me,” He chants into your ear but the words fly in one ear and out the other. The pleasure the Dream Lord was giving you more important and present in your mind.

Your hand reaches into his hair and grabs onto his roots. A groan sings from his throat and you can’t help it when your lips connect to his Adam’s apple. You leave bruising kisses along his neck and continuously feel the vibrations of his moans, each one low and gritty.

Morpheus felt like he was about to lose his mind if he didn’t quickly finish the two of you off. His body felt like it was on fire and his head pounded in his skull with ideologies of fucking you until you were nothing but a pile of pleasure. When your nails grip his shoulders, he welcomes the pain and bites down on your collarbone to suppress his wanton moans.

You were too sweet for him, a type of innocence that he didn’t want to taint. Tears well up in his eyes as he realizes that he did it without him even knowing. The aphrodisiac completely consumes the two of you. He loved it, the feeling of your legs wrapped around his waist, your grip on his hair, your moans filling the space and echoing around the temple, but were not his to take.

“More, more, more,” You moan, head thrown back towards the ceiling and he couldn’t deny you the pleasure.

His thrusts become ferocious, slamming into you harder and harder until you were just a babbling mess in front of him. Your words range from his name to curses to simple pleas. The contractions of your cunt spasming around him make him falter for a moment but he presses on. When your orgasm reaches you, your scream is muffled by his open mouth kiss. His thrusts turn sloppy and uneven before he finishes as well and you feel the way his cock pulses within you. His semen drips out of your spent hole and mixes with your release on the polished marble floor.

Your body deflates as the orgasm finishes and you’re left panting and leaning on Morpheus as your thighs tremble around his waist. The door behind you opens with an ungodly scrapping sound and you look behind you. Lust was still evident in your eyes but you were pulled back to the real world again.

The aphrodisiac wore off and a blush rose high into your cheeks. You push against Morpheus’ chest not wanting to be in his space, asking him to put you down, but quickly realize that it was a bad idea when your knees buckle and you start to fall.

Morpheus grabs onto you to steady you and you murmur a thanks, too embarrassed to look at him in the eyes. The aphrodisiac has made you look at Morpheus in a different light, but there were more important matters at hand. You take one steady breath and readjust your underwear and dress, Morpheus releases his grip on your arms as you go to turn towards the open door.

Beyond the door is nothing but darkness with a slight wind blowing out towards you and the smell of metal and leather comes into your nose. Before you can go, Morpheus’ fingers wrap around your arm again.

“Should we… talk about it?” He asks in that low voice of his.

You look back at him, somehow finding the confidence to look at him in the eyes. You find that they are full of adoration and passion that it turns your eyes downwards again. You’ve heard the rumors of what it means to be the lover to Dream of the Endless. It is rainbows and butterflies, the world at the edge of your fingertips, but one wrong move, and you are cast away like you were less than nothing. You think of Nada, Queen of the First People, who is still condemned to Hell for declining his promise to make her queen of the Dreaming.

It’s too much, you have your brother to save, and there is no room to talk about love.

“Later,” You say instead. You still need his help and if the promise of ‘later’ keeps him around long enough until the end of your quest, then so be it.

“Very well. Later,” He repeats then follows you into the realm of Ares.

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This is going to be a 26 part series, all porn, no plot hehe ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)

Until the next fic,

♡ Yours, Layla

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman fanfic #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus smut #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader smut #the sandman x reader smut #dream x reader smut #sandman smut #sex pollen #aphrodisiac #no plot whatsoever

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jhuzen · 11 months

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married life [m.reader]

this is me taking the first step in creating the househusband hcs of our tall hsr men for us gays and bi kings. happy pride ansismdkf (i mean to say that also in haitham’s post bUT OH WELL). anyway, i still hate luocha. otto trauma so true so real (honestly, his only saving grace in mhy games is ayato because he’s not blond). today, we have ourselves some househusbands.

𖦹 househusband hcs with gepard, sampo, jing yuan, blade, dan heng, caelus and old man welt, no luocha but i’m open to be convinced why i should start loving him, mostly fluff, domestic stuff, modern au though… aren’t they more modern if they can travel the space? huh. normal world au then. forgot to add that ceo reader is implied

GEPARD LANDAU

He’s a very reluctant househusband at first, actually. He’s one who firmly believes that relationships are a team effort (and they are and should be), and thinks that it wouldn’t hurt for the both of you to work together. Of course, you encourage him regardless, and with both of your career-oriented selves, you were basically the couple that could foster a ten or so children and still be financially sound.

Serval is the one who convinced Gepard to lay low a little in his job and relax for once. You’re making a decent income a month — enough for you to be the only one working and still have a comfortable life together.

You have to thank your sister-in-law and her craftiness. She wasn’t Gepard’s sister for nothing. She knew your husband more than anyone and knew that he was too down bad to even refuse in entertaining the thought of not taking care of you. All she had to do was do a little convincing.

“If I were [Name], I sure wouldn’t mind coming home to a nice meal like this every night,” she’d muse with a hum while she ate off of Gepard’s cooking. He came home early that one night and thought to surprise you. Of course, Serval just had to taste test since she’s looking out for you, her beloved brother-in-law. “Also wouldn’t mind being taken care of by my own spouse…”

Gepard quickly folded. What if his sister was right and you wanted that kind of life? But it’s not like he also wants to quit his job just like that. So he made a gradual decrease in work until he can finally have a schedule that can commit as a househusband and occasionally help when he’s needed at work as a consultant.

Your beloved husband is a bit mid from the start — basic in cooking, in chores, but it’s his perseverance that pushes him up to S-tier househusband status. He will really go out of his way to learn recipes that you suddenly brought up in the middle of a conversation and will execute it to the highest standards. He will become a lot more meticulous in his chores around the house.

If he can, he’s definitely the type to drop by and join you in lunch. He’s a lot more free now, and if there’s nothing else to do in the house, he’ll take some lunch and go to where you work and just eat lunch together. Everyone is looking at the windows of your own office in envy while they watched you get spoon fed by your cute husband (they don’t know how embarrassed Gepard is since you technically just coerced him to feed you so people can see you on purpose).

So very attentive to you. He wakes you up early (even earlier if you have meetings where you have to discuss things to be extra prepared) for work. Your lunch is just top tier, but the plating is too cute — with the slightly uneven shapes to create cute animals. He’s the kind to even put a note in your packed lunch every time without fail.

He knows how hard you work and only wants the best for you. And when you recognize his efforts, he’s quick to get flustered from your compliments. He will fold like a wet cardboard. He’s too weak.

“Dear, please,” you could only laugh at your beloved’s winsome attitude. Currently pressed against the marbled counter of the kitchen, you can only shower him in a plethora of love-filled kisses as you expressed your unending gratitude. Your lips left tiny pecks from his cheeks down to his neck, only serving to fluster him even more.

You pulled back but not before leaving another quick kiss on his nose, “What’s got you all knotted up, love? No one’s watching.” You cooed, leaving your poor husband whining at the thought of earlier — when you so cruelly asked him to feed you in front of your subordinates while you busily ‘worked’ on your projects.

But somehow even with the unbridled embarrassment that you brought to him, Gepard couldn’t help but feel the elation engulf his entirety at the prospect of you showing him off in your own mischievous ways. Even with your busy schedule, you were more than willing to let him come inside your work and take the time off just to let him join you for lunch. He’d already heard enough drama around the neighborhood to be grateful that you can still balance your work with your marriage.

He was grateful to have you as his partner for life. And even then, he wouldn’t mind having to visit you just to feed you. It was certainly a rare thing that he’s heard partners would suggest, so to be given a privilege as seeing you everyday at work was something he would cherish more than ever.

A kiss on his temple knocked his fleeting thoughts off the rail and pulled him back to reality, blinking at your curious smile, “…Shield for your thoughts?” You inquired with a gentle tone, eager to pry just what has got your husband so spacey all of a sudden.

He only grinned before pulling you in for a proper kiss and murmured against your lips, “Just thanking my lucky stars for having you as my husband.”

Now it was your turn to be flustered.

𐂂

SAMPO KOSKI

Your friends still think you’re a legend for even managing to wife up the untamable Sampo. But somehow, you pulled him in and he was more than willing to be a househusband. For more reasons than one.

But let’s get out the pinnacle of his reasons out of the way — it being, him living so comfortably? Financially supported by a handsome guy like you? Sign him up. He’s more than willing to take care of you while you take care of him. He’s a sleazy guy, after all. Wouldn’t wanna get married to a broke man. Kidding.

Anyway, he mostly sells the story of getting married just for benefits for laughs. But really, you’ve somehow managed to actually trap him as a prisoner of love. He’s a huge simp for you and actually considers your high-end job a bonus. A really good bonus. But other than that, you’ve got Sampo completely wrapped around your finger. And he’s a very eager househusband.

A surprisingly good househusband. He’s meticulous in his work and can cook. But what really sells him is how well he can budget and actively get discounts just by smooth talking the vendors in the market. You once went with him, telling him to go nuts and buy everything that he needs, and you came home with only just a good half of your money spent. He was scarily good and from then on, you made an oath to take notes from your husband’s amazing haggling skills.

He’s a very resourceful man. If you need anything, he’s there to lend a hand. He’s always there to fix equipments that break down. Really, you rarely get issues with the things at home, because the moment he senses that there’s something wrong, he’s already on the case. Your husband is a jack of all trades.

All he requires is a small fee of some attention and loving from you. Seriously, he will mope around and will let you know that he’s upset that you forgot to give him a goodbye kiss earlier when you left for work.

You wake up much earlier than he does, but please wake him up. He wants to cook you breakfast and see you off like a loving househusband that he is. He will sulk if you so much as even think of leaving him without waking him up. He’s a big drama queen and unless you make up for it once you get home, he will continue to walk around the house with a pout on his face.

The only way to make this man completely crumble underneath you is to spoil him. He’s working so hard with the upkeep of your shared home! If you take him out on surprise date nights, he will melt. Shower him with lavish gifts from all the money you saved up, courtesy of Sampo’s extreme bargaining. He will latch onto your arm the entire night like your pretty little arm candy (even if he’s taller than you).

Oh, right. You will get sudden visits from Natasha or even Seele and Oleg, just to check up on your married life. They’re mostly just there to whack some sense into Sampo if he’s being difficult to you. Suffice to say, they’re always surprised when they come visit your homely abode that’s clean and has a refreshing atmosphere. Seele plugs her ears every time you say it’s all because of Sampo that your house is even remotely presentable. She’s in denial.

It was a grueling day, leaving you completely vulnerable to the throes of exhaustion. You ought to take some vacation days, maybe go on a different country with your husband for a treat. Surely, he’d like that. You noticed he’s been working just as hard as you at home. Speaking of which — the reason for your home’s unfamiliar silence was in fact the lack of singing from your lively husband. You were so used to hearing his voice that the silence felt incredibly deafening when you were alone.

“Love? You home?” You called out, glancing at the shoe rack by the door to see his outdoor shoes in the same place and the indoor shoes missing. He’s here. You pursed your lips, brushing off the peculiarity and headed to the joint dining room and kitchen, seeing a nice still hot meal sitting on a nice plate. But it was the only thing on the table, no other plates or even a husband waiting on you with a smile. You peered at the food to see a card beside the plate, scribbled with a sad face.

“…What.” You sat the card back down before finally poking your head in the living room, seeing your husband watching another sad show while screwing in some panel from what you can only guess a part of your heater. You sauntered up from behind him, before grabbing his face and tilting his head up to meet your gaze.

He made no noise and had it not been for his evident pout, you would’ve only been left wondering what you did to make him so sulky again. You sighed before leaning to press a kiss against your lips. You could feel him finally smile against the kiss.

“So you still love me?” He asked, insinuating that you felt otherwise for not even giving him a kiss goodbye earlier.

“Not like I have a choice,” was your only cheeky response.

“Wha— Hey!”

𐂂

JING YUAN

Out of everyone, he is probably the most eager one to be a househusband. He is so ready to retire. He’s been moaning about it at work constantly, about how he’s just ready to settle in somewhere nice and be taken care of. And when you decided to finally tie the knot with him, you didn’t even have to ask twice, that man is already turning in his resignation and is already making your shared home even cozier than ever.

He’s a very languid man, but that does not mean he’s going to flake out on chores. He can do them all efficiently just for the sake of getting them out of the way so he can keep relaxing after. That, and of course making sure that you come home to a clean home. Aeons know how stressful it is to come home from work and seeing your own home completely cluttered. Jing Yuan has suffered the same thing before he met you.

Jing Yuan loves you through his cooking other than sleeping in with you. He creates the greatest dishes for you. Often are you eating your lunch with so much pride. Your subordinates would come inside your office during lunchtime to pass some papers and they would see you just completely enjoying life with your husband’s cooking.

He likes to greet you with a nice warm meal after your work. And he’d just watch you eat his meals with a fond smile while you continue to talk about each of your days with each other. Of course, occasionally, he’d open his mouth and you would have to feed him as well. Yanqing would sometimes come home to such a sight and never has he seen a more domestic scene than before.

Another one of his much favored ways to show his love is through after work massages. You’d come home and be completely smothered with love just by his touches. Sometimes he’d give you a nice neck and shoulder massage while you’re eating and talking about your day. Or you could both be lounging on the sofa and he would absentmindedly massage your overworked hands.

However his most favored time spent with you is when you’re on a day off and that he would successfully persuade you into staying a little bit longer in bed with him. Just sleep until the afternoon, with limbs tangled against one another. He loves spooning his husband that takes care of him so dearly. Just feeling your back pressed against his chest while he’s nuzzling his nose into the nape of your neck. Bliss. Utter bliss.

The two of you scream old married couple. Just two old geezers enjoying their lives. It’s really such a relaxing relationship. Being married to Jing Yuan is like a vacation from your problems and him being married to you is an adventure without the nauseating exhaustion.

Yanqing is inadvertently your child the moment you got married to your husband. And suffice to say, you were far more content in your life than you could ever imagine. Never have you felt the genuine happiness swell within you the moment you came home to the two of them cooking together. You still have a slightly motion blurred picture in your phone and neither of them know about it.

Overall the most chill househusband. But even in his passivity, you can feel the radiating warmth of love for you. He just… loves you so much that he’s more than willing to take care of you and the little family that you and him have created. He will wait for you by the door with his half-lidded gaze completely fixated on you with so much adoration. He’s lucky to have you.

You were used to the hectic mornings you often faced upon waking up. It was always a rush job in the morning, speeding through all your morning routine before finally leaving for work. But today was not that day. You could tell from the way the sunlight hit your eyelids. You always left just before the sun could even come up, but right now, you had other plans.

You wanted to prepare a nice breakfast for your husband. He had been working so hard all the time, taking care of you and Yanqing with no days off unlike you. You figured you could get the day started and surprise the both of them with some of your cooking prowess. Suddenly filled with the motivation, you sat up, ready to face the first hour of your time off work for a few days.

However, your plans were soon foiled when a strong arm hooked around your waist and immediately pulled you back down on the bed without even breaking a sweat. You sighed, looking off to the side to see one golden eye peering at you sleepily. Lips turning up into a smile, you shifted to fully face him.

“Can’t even let me make you some breakfast in bed, huh?” You teased with the same fondness as the very first day you and him got married.

A quiet grunt was all your lover gave, only to follow it up with his own gruff response a minute later, “While that sounds nice, I believe I can also reap benefits just from canoodling with my husband for let’s say… until the afternoon.”

Your hands were tied at that point, and with one last charming smile from your dozing husband, you dove into his arms, letting him press some kisses on your face before falling asleep, with you following after.

𐂂

BLADE

No one in this world knows how you managed to charm and marry Blade in the first place. Even his family considers you a miracle worker for bagging the hard to get man. You could only reminisce of the times he would give you the cold shoulder when you tried to ask him out. You were cringe but Blade somehow liked it.

Regardless, he’s one of the reluctant househusbands at first. Blade doesn’t like the feeling of not going out and making money like you. He believes that as long as he can, he will contribute to this relationship. It’s really adorable. And you were supportive of what he wants, but when he realized no one can take care of you while you’re busy being the breadwinner, he decided that he’ll take one for the team and take care of everything in the house instead.

He is meticulous in cleaning. Your house is always sparkling clean the moment you arrive at home. He’s constantly on the hunt for any dust that could taint your shared humble abode. He once read that an unclean house can cause sickness to the occupants, and he has never let a single dust touch a furniture ever since then. Your health is his priority and he will do everything in his power to keep you healthy.

You know what? Screw it, he wears his apron without a care too. He goes out of the house in a pink frilly apron you gifted him as a silly little joke and he’s not ashamed of it. Even Kafka’s incessant teasing isn’t enough to deter him from wearing it. You gave it to him and he loves it. That’s all that matters.

Surprisingly loved by your neighbors. In contrast to his gloomy disposition, he’s always seen around the market and with people’s tendency to draw closer to mysterious handsome men like him, let’s just say he’s managed to unintentionally charm your neighbors. Everyone calls you lucky for getting him, everyone calls him lucky for having a good husband that provides.

Really, he cares so little about the money you make. All he needs is your love and attention. It is imperative that you give him calls on certain times of the day, let him know that you’re still alive at the very least. It’s not like you can’t make do on such a promise either, you loved calling him just to take a break from work for a little while. Even just hearing his quiet grunts of agreement while you gossiped about your subordinates was enough.

He wakes you up… like really early. Super early. Like at least a few hours before you call in for work. His reason? To get enough time with you before you go to work. It’s adorable. You two could be just lounging at the balcony, sipping coffee or tea while you both watch the sunrise.

Speaking of which, with him comes a package. His aforementioned family. Kafka and Silver Wolf’s visits are a must. They are a part of him and now they are a part of you. Kafka could be dropping by just to chat and gossip with you (somehow both of you know a lot about people’s own businesses) or Silver Wolf would just barge in and hog all your game systems (she says no one plays them since you’re both old men so she gets the privilege). Either way you’re already used to it, and one guest room is always at the ready.

Getting married to Blade is honestly the best thing you’ve ever done in your life. You still don’t know how you pulled him, but with him resting on you while the both of you watched shows, showing you his vulnerability tells you that doing so is not an accident or a mistake.

“…Would it kill you to step back a little? It’s hard to cook.”

“But you’re so warm. So soft… so…”

Quite possibly out of all the forms of affections that you’ve expressed towards him, Blade finds your nosy hands cupping around his chest from under his clothes the least practical. Especially when you’re doing it while he’s cooking your breakfast before you’re off for work.

He flipped the omelet with ease despite his claims of difficulty just seconds ago. Of course, it wasn’t as hard when he’s standing still. But on times where he had to go get some things, you in your sleepy daze had to trudge behind him like a shadow just to persistently warm your incredibly cold hands.

Regardless, other than the difficulty in moving, Blade finds it even harder not to burn the kitchen down as his concentration dwindled with every kiss you pressed against his neck, unrelenting and incredibly soft, so filled with love in every individual peck that met his skin. His face turned a rather dark shade of scarlet while you busied yourself with him.

“Keep this up and you’re going to be late.”

“At least it’s extra time with you~” you cooed.

Blade only sighed before leaning against your back, using his free hand to softly knock into the side of your head as his form of half-assed discipline.

Well. Maybe he wouldn’t mind that extra time too.

𐂂

DAN HENG

He’s not so much as a reluctant househusband. In fact, he relishes in the idea of just staying home and doing his work there. He likes the comfort of being able to sit things out for once after having to look after his two gremlins for friends. However, he does want to make sure that you’re always safe when you’re working.

After a lot of reassurances, he finally decides that you can handle your own. He will compensate for it by taking an extremely good care of you and your shared home. And this man does not play around. He’s sort of like Blade, excelling at everything that needs to be done not just because, but it’s to keep you safe. He cooks you healthy meals and scrubs any dirt off the face of the world.

Easily one of the greatest househusbands in the list. Dan Heng has the right temperament and while he’s often aloof to most people, when it comes to you, you could already feel how he seems more lenient, a little softer on you.

He does all his work efficiently to get them over with as fast and as best as he can so he can have time to visit you in your work. If he knows he has time, count on your beloved husband to come and bring you some freshly cooked lunch in your office. Almost everyone in your company already knows who he is. He’s the elusive husband of the big boss, coming in just to bring you some lunch.

Speaking of which, might wanna keep your subordinates in check. Dan Heng is a looker, and the fact that he’s just as considerate, combined with his mysterious nature, people are bound to be more attracted to him. Though honestly, none of their little admiration could measure up to Dan Heng’s love for you.

In his eyes, you are the only one important, right next to his own family with Himeko and the rest. And he will do all that he can to make sure that you’re alright in any aspect of your life. However even with that dedication, it’s also your job to keep him intact. He focuses so much on you that he sometimes forgets to wind down.

Taking him out on something with a serene atmosphere usually does the trick. Bring tons of books to entertain yourselves, and if the stories get too old, you chat about things you have yet to tell each other. Dan Heng really appreciates the effort you put in, investing your time in him despite the fact that you’re running a conglomerate, but even then just a little gesture from you is enough for him to know how grateful you are for his own efforts as well.

Old married couple 2.0. March said so herself when she decided to barge into your home to show you her pictures from her recent travels. She and the raccoon are tied at the tally of visits. Often they just crash just to make sure Dan Heng hasn’t driven you insane yet with his very… unromantic nature. Safe to say March still couldn’t believe that dear old Dan Heng was the first to pop the question in tying the knot.

Speaking of unromantic, your husband does come off as one, often giving you practical solutions than giving you any words of comfort when you’re stressed. And perhaps it’s because you understood that’s his way of romancing you that you and him ended up married in the first place.

Exhaustion was more of a friend than a foe after having to bury yourself in the tower stacks of paperwork. It’s times like these that you had to wonder if running the family company is even worth it.

“I’m too tired to driiiiive,” you whined, looking at the spreadsheets in exasperation.

And as if he had a sixth sense, a knock on your door was heard and you gave the green light with little regard for the person behind the door. You then looked up and almost cried at the sight of your beautiful husband, with two coffees in hand.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” it was all he had to say to prompt what little motivation you had left in your system, letting your sluggish self spring back to life. You bound to him with a grateful smile on your face and greeted him with an embrace.

You took one cup from him and graced him with a kiss on his cheek, “Hang on, let me get some take home work. I need to at least finish a good third of this.”

Your poor husband was a lot more worried than he could let on with his stoic face — seeing you on the ropes, completely hard at work and barely functioning at the sheer exhaustion was almost enough to tempt him into stopping you from bringing home your work. Alas, he supported you regardless and only thought to compensate for your extra work with an even better dinner.

“Anything you want for tonight?” He asked, thoughtful as always.

“Mmm… chicken fried rice?”

“Chicken fried rice it is.”

𐂂

CAELUS

Not a single soul expected for this man to get married. Everyone thought he’d just end up on the streets willingly, constantly rummaging through trash can after trash can, falling in love with one and settling down with it in his own odd way. Surprise surprise, he is now a househusband that digs through the high end trash cans placed inside your shared home.

Quite frankly, if Caelus was being honest, he also did not expect to trip into you and quite literally fall in love. And for you to reciprocate it. He always thought you two were just the best of friends, with you supporting his hobbies with little to no judgment. So imagine his surprise that he keeps feeling every time he wakes up right next to you (and right next to his five foot pillow of a trashcan, but it’s a separate affair on its own).

Moving aside your husband’s very odd addiction of living the life of a trash panda, Caelus is actually a pretty decent househusband. His specialities are mostly the meals he makes for you. They’re always so delicious and is often the highlight of your day even without him around.

He’s very active around the neighborhood and is always armed with the latest news around town. The other stay at home spouses love him. And you were quite surprised to find out that he’s far more connected in the very place you both live in than you could ever be. When you’re free, you’d sometimes accompany him to the market and somehow end up staying very late because a lot of people recognize him and seem to want to chat with him.

Caelus parades you around as his beloved husband and people are just dropping jaws when they realize you have definitely been interviewed in one of those famous magazines about businesses and all that jazz.

Surprisingly, just like Sampo, Caelus is your man when it comes to spending wisely and learning how to haggle. He knows his way around almost everything and even you couldn’t help but be proud of yourself of fishing out such a dashing man that is wise in finances. Good man, honestly.

One fact about him that you like are his skills in caring for children. There’s something so wonderfully domestic whenever you would come home early and see him playing with the children — Hook and Clara, if you can recall. He’s mostly just babysitting for them on days that he’s not completely hammered to death with housework.

His favorite thing to do with you is grocery shopping at night. Just the two of you cruising around every aisle, more often than not, you’d push the cart with him in it getting gradually buried by every item you decided to purchase. It’s a good way to spend some time together while getting something productive done. And perhaps coax you into buying a little more food than you and him intended in the first place. Dan Heng always advices you not to be too swayed by your husband antics… but it’s clearly not working.

Caelus is a silly little man, with his weird eccentric jokes and his equally strange fascination for all things related to trash cans. But it’s probably because of this that you found yourself enamored. He is your respite in the suffocating world of your workforce. He pushes you in situations you never thought would be fun unless he was with you.

“If you loved me, you would’ve gotten ten more boxes of cookies.”

“And if you loved me, you wouldn’t be willingly burying yourself in that cart instead of helping me pick between chocolate or strawberry milk.” You quipped back with a snarky grin, not even bothering to look at your childish husband who continued to be sprawled out in the cart at ten in the evening while you shopped.

Caelus pouted, you always did make good points. It’s why he could never win an argument against you. Or maybe he could… if he wasn’t so completely smitten at the sight of you. You were always seen as the dignified boss of your company, dressed in three piece suits that could suffocate anyone and their wallet.

But here you were, dressed in a loose shirt (likely one of his just judging from the fit) and some pair of joggers that you haphazardly threw on.

Absolutely breathtaking.

He lent out a hand to reach for the carton of flavored milk that you finally chose, adding it onto the pile. He waited until you were at the end of the cart, getting ready to muscle your way through pushing an incredibly heavy cart, courtesy of your husband.

Caelus looked up at you, “Don’t I at least get a kiss for helping out?”

“Cae, I’m dying from pushing you. How ‘bout we entertain that incentive once you got out of the cart and started helping me, hm?”

Maybe he’s just a simp, but how could he deny his demanding husband’s whims?

𐂂

WELT YANG

This old man is the definition of a reluctant retiree. Well, it’s not actually a retirement for him. He still gets to be the voice of reason, only that he won’t actually personally animating. Who’s to blame? You. To be accurate, this old man officially decided to step down from his hands-on job as an animator so he can be a househusband. You’re a priority after all, and only the heavens know how bad you need to be taken care of.

Welt joins the ranks of a godly househusband. He knows his way around almost every single thing that needs to get fixed. His cooking? Top tier. His housework game? Absolute perfection. Floors are swept, counters are wiped and dusted, sheets and clothes are washed and pressed. He is perfect.

And on top of that, he still manages to balance his work from home as the consultant for any new anime that is about to be produced and can still care for you without even breaking a sweat. Old man Welt is always pulling through.

So let’s get this out of the way — actual old married couple. Not just vibes. You two are old men who look at the screen with squinted eyes. Well, only Welt does that while you laugh at him and then proceed to forget where you placed your own phone despite being on it just a few minutes ago.

Regardless, you live a much more balanced life, just two husbands cruising through life with little worries. You live on a good neighborhood, living comfortably and get a lot of visits from yours and Welt’s friends/family. Most of which are from the trio and Himeko. You and Welt always host these family dinners on weekends where everyone is free. Life is good.

However despite all the glamour of living a comfortable life in this marriage, there is one glaring difference between you and Welt — mostly it’s the fact that you have worse time management than he does and often gets the short end of the stick, always pummeled to death with your paperwork that could leave anyone in a fit of raw despair. Welt looked at your work the one time you left to answer a phone call from office and shuddered at the heavy load.

Welt is essentially your clock when it’s time to unwind from work. You have a tendency to overwork at times and it’s something that Welt always makes sure to keep an eye out for. He just wants what’s best for you, and oftentimes, what’s best is for you is to finally get some shuteye after suffering through another overnight that you pulled.

Also, there is an unspoken rule of not letting any man with long blonde hair inside your home. It’s just a house rule. The top of all other house rules in fact, as it takes the most priority in fulfilling.

Regardless, Welt is so… househusband-shaped. He knows what to do as one and does a damn good execution of it all. Maybe it’s because of his compassionate self that you were quick to fall for the old man. He didn’t even have to try and show off, all he had to do was be himself and you’d still give him the world with every penny you’ve earned from your job.

A taut frown tugged onto Welt’s lips as he squinted on the labels from the spices that Himeko sent from her recent overseas trip. Not that he didn’t trust his good friend’s tastes in any form of flavor, it’s only that he wanted to make sure none of it had any ingredient that could probably send you into an anaphylactic shock. Yes, he is this meticulous when it comes to you.

Alas, his cautiousness grants no extra clear sight in viewing the labels and he struggled, holding them in different proximities. Are the characters really that small intentionally or are they so incoherent because they manufacturers made an error in the sizing the font before printing it on the packaging.

Fortunately for him, you came into the rescue as you plucked the packaging from his hands. Welt didn’t need to look up to see the same smug smile plastered on your face whenever you’d catch him doing the same thing to his phone. Well, he loved looking at you so he did it nonetheless.

“Having trouble again, old man?” You teased and Welt only had to sigh in response. “Is this from Himeko’s package?”

Your endeared husband nodded, “Of course. I had to see what else she gave us. And I’m looking over the ingredients so I can keep you out of the hospital as best as I can.” He turned to the stove and lowered the heat. “Now kindly read it for me, dear.”

You only nodded, flipping over the packet, “Sure thing.”

There was a silence that followed, with Welt expecting you to run your mouth about the ingredients already. He looked back to you…

…And saw you squinting at the same bundle of text that he’s been staring at.

Welt scoffed, playful and light in nature, “And you call me old.”

“It’s the manufacturer’s fault…!!”

#you’d think i learned my lesson after doing the shivers with 8 characters. but nope. Here we are with seven.#OOH. now i wanna make an hsr men version of the shivers scenario thingy that i made for the tall genshin men #jhuzen’s stupid hcs #hsr x male reader #honkai star rail x male reader #gepard x male reader #sampo x male reader #jing yuan x male reader #blade x male reader #dan heng x male reader #caelus x male reader #welt yang x male reader

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roguerogerss · 6 months

Text

complaining

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader

w/c: 3.6k

warnings: literally full on SMUT, bit of swearing, underage drinking but only if ur american, coriolanus is a warning in himself.

a/n: help my smut writing has gotten so good the past few months this popped off so hard. been obsessed with coryo since the movie came out (you cant expect a mentally ill woman not to fall in love with him. you just cant.) so here’s this. i’m disgusted by myself too. bye. (requests r open, send me stuff here)

Livia Cardew's 18th birthday had been a mistake to attend. The party had been held at Pluribus Bell's nightclub, a place in which you only found yourself when you made an appearance at your friend's birthday parties, and the entire club had been packed, not only with Livia's family and your classmates from the academy, but with their friends and families, too.

Overall, there must've been three hundred people there, all tightly packed together, some drunkenly pressed against eachother, dancing, others swaying silently by the bar or stood by one of the table booths, yelling in eachother's ears to get their points across. You thought that, of the three hundred, you might only have known thirty.

Livia, unfortunately, considered you as a close friend, which was certainly true when you were young children, but, as the years had gone by, you'd actually found her, and most of the other girls in your class, to be almost insufferable. Nevertheless, you'd managed to land yourself an invitation to her family's mansion before the party had started, and you'd pretended to be having a good time, even although the crystal glasses that you were drinking from and the buffet that Mrs Cardew had set out on the gold-trimmed marble dining table, had settled a queasy feeling into the pit of your stomach.

The only other face in the Cardew's enormous living room that wasn't constantly grinning, was Crassus Snow's own son, Coriolanus, who you'd make eye contact with on occasion, and he'd send a small, knowing smile, and an eye roll back in your direction.

You liked Coriolanus, a lot, actually, you considered him to be your best friend, sometimes you even dabbled with boyfriend. But your classmates couldn't know that, simply down to the type of bond that you shared, and so, after every bout of eye contact, every blush-inducing smile, you'd simply turned your body away, back to Clemensia, or Livia, or Arachne, and waited for the next time you'd catch Coriolanus' eye. Of course, he was almost always staring - he thought you were the only thing in the room worth looking at - even while speaking to his fellow classmates, and so, every time you turned around, you'd repeat the process over again.

"Are you even listening to me?" Arachne would say, voice as booming as ever, and Livia would intervene, calling your name to have you rejoin the conversation.

The party had been terrible to begin with, the opulent nature of the Cardew household having you feeling sick, right from the get-go, and had only gotten worse when you'd all left and gotten into chauffeur-driven cars to be taken to the nightclub. You'd been sweaty just looking at the crowd when you arrived, and saying hello to classmates that you didn't like but had to pretend to for the social status of it all had exhausted you even further.

But the night had ended the same way it always did, with you leading Coriolanus Snow back to your apartment, hands loosely intertwined with eachother.

You and Coriolanus lived in much the same circumstances, both in the same apartment building, where the exterior and most of the homes inside were packed with marble and precious stone, the two of yours being an exception to this.

You'd both come from rich families, of course you had, this was the Capitol after all, but, after being orphaned in the war, you lived alone, in an apartment that seemed to have crumbled more every time you arrived home, with pieces of plaster falling from the ceiling day by day, and new cracks appearing in the walls as often as every hour.

Coriolanus was only slightly better off than you were, what with Tigris and the Grandma'am still living with him.

Ever since the war, you'd been on eachother's side, no matter the circumstance. If either of you had chance to sneak food from the dining hall of the academy, you'd share it between you, and if there ever came a cold winter, Coriolanus would invite you over, and let you share the scarce warm clothes and blankets he and his family owned, topped with a bowl of cabbage soup from Tigris.

You supposed your sleeping together after the very occasional night at Pluribus' nightclub had come naturally, and the sleeping together most every night for the past few months had been only the normal progression. You didn't mind it, but, of course, no one at the academy was ever to find out. It would only spark rumours, which would certainly mean that, soon enough, your classmates would find out about both of your financial positions, which could absolutely not happen.

Your nights together remained simply intimacy in the dark, and you supposed you were both okay with that.

Coryo had his first two fingers interlocked with your last two, and your arms swung between you as you walked ahead of him. Neither of you were particularly drunk, a personal choice rather than an inability, as Livia's parents had paid Pluribus Bell extra for their daughter's party to feature an open bar, which could've been taken full advantage of by the pair of you, considering you'd never have enough money to even get into Pluribus' normally, nevermind buy enough drinks to make you both feel lightheaded.

But the Cardew's were high up in the Capitol, and Livia's entire family was in attendance, which meant that, with them, came the rich and famous, government officials, celebrities. The two of you, not having rich parents to fall back on, couldn't risk getting blackout drunk. It was the kind of thing that was funny if you were affluent enough, but embarrassing and ill-mannered if you weren't.

"You know," Coriolanus gave your arm a particularly hard swing, "I think we're getting pretty good at that."

"Good at what?"

"The whole, pretending we don't really know eachother, thing."

You scoffed and turned your body slightly to face him. "We don't pretend we don't know eachother."

"Well, whatever you'd call it. Pretending we're just acquaintances?" Coriolanus moved his tongue around in his mouth a little, mulling over the words like he'd only been asking himself the question. And then he gave his head a shake. "No, we're definitely pretending that we don't know eachother."

"It was your idea." You shrugged. Your conversations seemed to often be pointed, but it was all in good spirits. You knew that you loved eachother really.

"I'm not saying it wasn't." You laughed at his remark, "I'm saying we're good at it."

"And you're happy to do it?" You raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head almost too enthusiastically. Maybe the posca was stronger than you'd thought.

"Not particularly, but if it means that this keeps happening, and you keep sharing the food that you steal from the hall, then I could keep going." Your mouth fell open in feigned hurt, and you clamped a hand over your chest.

"You're only sleeping with me for stolen leftovers?"

Coriolanus shook his head and grinned at your joke, looking down at his feet, which were aching with how tight his boots were. "I'm kidding, obviously. Of course I don't like it, but you know what everyone's like."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't hurt to be friends in public." You swung your hands between you for a few seconds while Coriolanus considered your proposal. You were nearing your apartment, and you fumbled in your coat pocket with one hand for your key-card.

"No. No it probably wouldn't." He said finally and you gasped.

"Are you agreeing with me for once?" You'd reached your apartment complex, now, and the LED lights on the archway into the building were almost blinding when paired with the crystal chandeliers that lined the lobby. The pair of you began climbing the marble staircase that brought you to your apartment, which was situated on the second floor. You always found it almost comical, how the Capitol had kept it's glory in apartment buildings but that the people housed within some of them were one missed rent payment away from eviction.

"I always agree with you." Coriolanus laughed, giving your hand a tight squeeze. You pressed your keycard against the lock-pad and, the second the door buzzed open, you'd untangled your hand from Coriolanus' to undo the buckle on your too-high heels which had once belonged to your mother, who's feet were only one size bigger than yours and so you were able to just about get away with wearing her old, but still stylish, shoes.

"Only when we sleep together." You gave him a seductive wink which had him laughing.

"Which seems to be more often than not these past few months." Coriolanus took off his blazer and tossed it over your tattered sofa, which was beautiful in it's glory days, but was now cracked and moulting.

Your face had broken into a cheeky smirk as you approached him, your back still to the door as he faced you. "Are you complaining, Snow?"

In one, swift movement, Coryo had backed you into the door and had one hand on your waist, the other above your head. He cocked an eyebrow at you in a way that had you weak in the knees, "Do I seem like I'm complaining?"

"I'm not sure, pretty boy, you'll have to do better than that." Your smirk was still present, and, without hesitation, Coriolanus' lips were crashing down onto your own, with just as much hunger for you as you were used to.

He moved fast, he always did, and he'd removed your coat from your shoulders and thrown it to the floor without even a second thought, and was now twirling the straps of your dress between his fingers teasingly. Your hands roamed his chest, blindly searching for the buttons of his shirt, and, when you found them, you fumbled with them until you'd undone them all, and then you pulled it from his arms, so that he was in nothing but his father's old black slacks.

Your dress was Livia's - you'd told her you just couldn't decide what to wear, and she'd offered it up - and it was huge and puffy and made you vaguely resemble a cupcake, and so, when Coryo's fingers finally slipped under the straps and began peeling them down your shoulders, you felt an incredible sense of relief to finally be out of the thing.

When you'd stepped out of the dress, Coriolanus almost dropped it on the floor, but you stopped him, "Ah, ah! That's Livia's, I can't get it ruined. Her father would probably skin me to make a new one. Can you put it over the sofa?"

He laughed and obliged, he always did, draping the dress neatly over the arm of the sofa before coming back to kiss you, this time even rougher than before. His lips trailed down your neck, hands roamed your body, fingers familiarising themselves with the black lacy set you'd worn under your dress, the only reason being that you knew Coriolanus would be the one taking it off of you that night.

He pulled back from you for a second, admiring your form, how your waist dipped in and you curved back out at the hips, how perfectly the bra sat on your chest, and, most of all, how you were all for him in that moment, how you seemed to always be all for him. "Oh my God." Was all he seemed to be able to muster.

The underwear had actually been stolen from a boutique near your house, one owned by Coriolanus' own cousin's boss. But you figured he didn't need to know that.

Coryo's head had dropped to your collarbone, and his lips travelled all the way across your chest, occasionally sucking or biting, which had your breath hitching in the back of your throat. "You're taking your time tonight." You observed.

"Mm." He hummed against you and then brought his head up so that his icy blue eyes were staring straight into yours, "Do I still seem like I'm complaining?"

"Oh, shut up, Snow." You giggled and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Coriolanus seemed satisfied with his teasing of you, because his hands had started to travel south, until his lithe fingers had pushed your underwear to the side and he'd pressed one of them inside of you, earning a mewl of approval and making your back arch away from the door.

Coriolanus chuckled against your lips. "Every time."

"Again," You tried to sound convicted but whined when the tip of his finger brushed against a sensitive spot, "Shut up, Snow."

Your hands reached for his belt and he didn't stop you as you made quick work of unbuckling it and pulling it from his belt loops. As soon as it was on the floor, the button on his pants was undone and they were on the floor, too.

"Eager." Coryo remarked and you moaned as he added a second finger and increased his pace. Normally, by this point, he'd have you on your bed, or at least the sofa, but it seemed he wanted things to be different tonight.

As soon as a third finger found it's way inside of you, you were a moaning, whining mess, and your teeth sunk into Coriolanus' shoulder as you tried to stifle your whimpers. Your knees had started to buckle and you knew your legs would give way any moment now. "Coryo...Coriolanus, I can't...I can't stand up." You were so breathless that even trying to get a sentence out was next to impossible.

Coryo's free hand held you steady by the waist, fingers gripping your back and thumb pressed firmly into your stomach. "You can take it, honey. Know you can."

His words had you melting and you felt yourself nearing the edge as he curled his fingers inside of you. "Coryo, I'm gonna...God, you have to stop-"

"I'm not stopping. Want you to finish on my fingers before I fuck you." He'd never spoken so lewdly to you, ever, and it had you wondering what had gotten into him, at the same time as it had you clenching around him.

"Coryo!" You called out as you felt yourself getting there. "Fuck, Coryo-"

"I know, baby. I know, come on." He looked you right in the eye as he said, "Cum for me."

That was all you needed, you came undone right there, pressed against your apartment door, moaning so loudly you were certain that Tigris and the Grandma'am would hear you, ten floors up. You, once again, sunk your teeth into his shoulder to try to quiet yourself, but it was hardly of any use.

Your legs had given out halfway through your orgasm, and Coriolanus' hand had dug into your waist harder to keep you held up. When you'd finished, he grinned at you, breathless, and scooped you up with minimal effort, only to dump you onto the sofa. His underwear was gone in seconds, and you were still wearing your set, but he was hovering over you, seemingly ready to sink into you and make you feel even better than before.

His lips found your neck again, and he was saying right in your ear, "You did so well, sweetheart. So well."

He was one for praising, and you were one for receiving, so it only made your pupils dilate even further. "Are you ready?"

His eyes were locked onto yours, fingers wrapped around your chin, always so caring, whether he'd just finger-fucked you against a door or not, always making sure you really wanted it. You nodded, "Yes. Ready."

"Okay." He kissed you again, "Let me know if you need to stop, yeah?"

"I will. You know I always do." He'd pushed your underwear aside again, and slipped into you with a slight effort in no time, which really reinforced his, 'sleeping together more often than not', statement, as it had taken at least a few minutes and some words of encouragement the first couple of times.

You gasped and dug your nails into his back, which had Coriolanus' face screwing up slightly. He'd always liked when you dug your nails into him, the pain feeling more pleasurable than anything. "You feel amazing. You always feel amazing." His hands found your breasts, squeezing them through the sheer lace.

"Do you want me to take my underwear off?" You asked through breathy moans. Coryo shook his head quickly and kissed over your bra.

"No." He said, almost authoratively, and thrusted into you harder, faster, as his hand wandered over your body and his eyes raked over you. "Want it on."

You nodded and obeyed, unable to do anything but almost scream his name, with how fast, and rough he was pounding into you. "Coryo, I'm getting close again-"

"You can hold it." He threw his head back in pleasure and a guttural moan left his throat. "I'm nearly there too. Can't hold it, seeing you like this." He gestured to your underwear.

"You like it?" You asked seductively, earning another moan and a nod from Coriolanus. "Got it for you, wore it tonight for you. Knew you'd like it."

"Fuck, who's all this for?" You knew he was close now, could feel him twitching inside of you. You were close too, but you liked the hold you had over him.

"Sorry, I'm not sure what you mean." You teased, still breathless but with a smirk on your face. Coryo shook his head at you, convincingly disapproving, and then his hand was on your throat. Lightly enough that it didn't hurt, but just hard enough that your breathing was slightly laboured and he had more power over you than you had over yourself.

"Who is this for?" Coriolanus asked again, voice harder this time. You weren't sure where this was all coming from, but you certainly enjoyed it. You were cocky at the best of times, and you liked having someone keep you in check.

"You, Coriolanus." He groaned and thrusted into you so hard you were seeing stars. "Fuck, Coryo, it's all for you. I'm always all for you."

"Good girl. That's a good girl, all mine." He gave your throat a light squeeze and then released you, leaving you gasping for air. "Shit. Gonna cum." He dropped his head again, still unrelenting in his pace or roughness. "Are you there?"

"I'm there too." Your moans were strangled, so loud you could hardly even quiet yourself by clamping a hand over your mouth. "God, Coryo!"

You came for the second time, Coryo following right behind you, and you felt his load come out in ropes inside of you, only making your high even higher. Coryo collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing heavily and bodies shaking together. "That was amazing, Coryo." You cooed, hand stroking his white-blonde curls back from his forehead.

"Might've been the best we've had." Coriolanus was so out of breath he could barely form a full sentence. You hummed in response, nodding your head and then letting it fall back against the arm of the sofa.

"So you liked this?" You teased, plucking your bra strap from your skin and then letting it ping back on you. Coryo's face turned a light pink colour and he laughed.

"So what if I did?" He lifted his head, chin resting against your belly, "I liked it, a lot. Think you're beautiful. You know that."

You nodded. "I do."

Coryo shook his head, really laughing now, "There's the arrogance."

"Arrogance? You live in the Capitol, Coryo, there's many more arrogant than me." You hadn't stopped stroking his head, and Coriolanus thought he could've fallen asleep, your voice always calmed him, someone safe, and the added touch and his physical exertion made sleeping sound even more appealing.

"I'm kidding. You are beautiful, you should know that." His voice was soft, quiet, and you were glad that his eyes were closed, because your cheeks felt warm and you were certain you were blushing. "Do you think we should start acting like we know eachother?"

"I'd like that." You admitted. "Should we introduce ourselves? Maybe tell eachother two truths and a lie?"

"You know what I mean." Coryo finally stood from where he'd been laid, between your thighs, and gave you a kiss on the forehead as he bent down to retrieve his discarded clothing. You sat up aswell, fixed out your underwear, and reached for your dress. "I'd like people to know that I know you."

"In this kind of way?" You gestured to both of your nakedness as Coryo pulled his underwear back on. Your cheeky grin was back, the one he loved so much. Your constant teasing made it hard to know whether or not the pair of you were actually in love or just best friends sleeping together, but Coryo didn't mind too much, as long as he had you, he was happy.

"Maybe this can wait until we've passed first base in public. Cant skip straight to fourth, you know?" You'd put your dress back on by now, and Coryo had just finished zipping his trousers and was fussing over his hair. You crossed the room to him, and his hands settled on your waist and he pressed a small, fleeting kiss to the tip of your nose.

"Oh, that would be dastardly." You checked the time on your mothers watch, which you still had encircled around your wrist.

"Pluribus' doesn't close for another two hours, should we go back?"

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coryo snow #coryo x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #coriolanus snow

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sunboki · 9 months

Text

— WHEN THINGS WERE SIMPLE a Lee Minho fiction

⭐️ : Lee Minho(Leeknow) x fem. reader

TROPE. school romance, 90’s romance, bestfriends to lovers, online au, strangers to lovers, highschool au, small town au

WORD COUNT. 7.7k ☆ 37 minute read

WARNINGS. light cursing, deep conversation, two teenagers being madly in love(lmao), bankruptcy, anonymous online chatting between strangers — this is in no way recommending anyone to join anonymous chat rooms nor meet up with strangers irl!

AUG'S NOTES. this fic was heavily inspired by “Twenty Five Twenty One” (one of my favorite kdrama!!) and was based around the 90’s when today’s technology was just beginning, i hope you find this piece to your satisfaction! if so, please leave some feedback, thanks :)

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Lee Minho, the newest resident in your small town, has already established a reputation as the Class President despite moving only a week ago. You, on the other hand, don’t really see the appeal, or maybe your schedule is too jam-packed to consider the prospect of boys. In the meantime, you join an anonymous chat room with this so-called "lino98," and eventually, the stranger recommends that you meet holding a yellow tulip and wait- is that who you think it is?

or alternatively :

Whoever you’ve been talking to in that chat room was definitely not who you thought would be standing in Marronnier Park with a yellow tulip in hand.

1999.

“Hey! The sign says no throwing!” You scold, rushing to fix the arm to the statue as the tires on the boy’s bike screech to a halt.

And suddenly, it feels like everything’s in slow motion when the perfectly kept head of brown hair swivels back to face you, sharp jawline and piercing eyes belonging to a model-looking stranger you’d never seen before.

Thursday morning was when you first met Minho. Although, you didn’t know his name then, nor that this interaction－the daily magazine breaking your statue’s arm－would change your life.

His expression drops, looking rather bored despite your obviously frazzled (and flustered) state.

“How much?” The bewilderingly attractive boy asks, and it takes you a moment to register what he said, repeatedly glancing from the statue back to him like he was speaking a foreign language.

“It’s.. It’s priceless.” You huff, regarding the stranger with a hard glare as if he’d broken some holy vase or something.

He didn’t.

In fact, the only reason you felt so worked up was because once your parents saw the statue, you’d be grounded in an instant. You, on the other hand, could care less about the stupid piece of marble.

Something about his gaze sets you off, not to mention when he flashes a cheeky grin screaming nothing but trouble.

“Is that so? Then I guess it’s especially priceless now, huh.” He shrugged, kicking the kickstand up and hiking his leg over the seat.

You freeze in your spot, equally stunned with both shock and confusion.

Huh? Where is he going.

Is this guy serious!?

“What’re you- hold on- you can’t just leave!” Racing after him while he positively sped ahead of you on bike, you endlessly shout, slowing down to a halt after a few minutes to watch his silhouette disappear below the winding road traveling down to the village.

Hunched over to catch your breath, you mumble silent curses, dragging heavy footsteps up the small arrangement of stairs to try hiding the broken part behind the statue the best you can.

Brushing off your clothes and adjusting the straps to your bag, you start down the same way he left, stomping and groveling in your misery similar to that of a child denied their favorite toy. It’s quite a sight.

Tomorrow, you’ll give that attractive-Mail-Boy-whose-name-unknown a piece of your mind. You’re sure of it.

Entering the classroom, the first thing piquing your ears wasn’t Soyeon and Hyomin’s daily bickering match about the most random topics (the two you and Yuqi are certain are going to marry one day), but hushed whispering amongst each other.

So, accepting your role as a certified nosy person, you crouch across Yuqi’s desk, craning to make out her way-too-fast-to-be-normal conversation with Rei.

“Psst, Rei, what’s going on?” Blabbering on about whatever the school had been gossiping about, the girl swiftly turned to you, face alight with excitement.

“Have you seen the new guy? He’s an actor, I’m sure of it!”

…Of course. You should’ve known.

Nothing would have Taeyang High School falling over itself faster than a new handsome face.

How disappointing.

Not that you don’t appreciate a good looking person when you see one, but seriously, it could’ve been the upcoming volume of Full House or a class barbecue, something you deemed much more swoon worthy than a boy.

Yet, the transfer student who opened the door mere seconds later looked eerily familiar.

The Mail boy who mutilated your statue this morning is standing there, or are your eyes playing tricks on you? Maybe you’re sleeping at home and this is all a dream. Please be a dream please be a dream please be a dream- Ow!

Pinching yourself did hurt , you were awake, and it was Mail Boy at the front of the class introducing himself.

This week was already off to a great start.

Snapping out of your nightmare to notice him walking in your direction past giggling, lovestruck students to find a seat, you frantically shield either side of your face with your hands. Behind you, Han Jisung, your second best friend to Yuqi, cocks a brow as the boy fortunately takes a seat two rows ahead of you.

It feels like your heart is thundering in your chest with every breath you take, shaking your skull with it’s deafening beating. Any second now he could turn around, and you don’t know why, but the thought of that critiquing stare landing on you again gives you incessant goosebumps.

Sitting through homeroom has never been so suffocating-ly awful, and Jisung can tell when he comes over after class ends, plopping backwards in the chair in front of you to wince at the face you’re pulling.

“I’m cursed, Jisung—“ You childishly squirm, flopping around like some self-acclaimed grub.

Your classmate huffs a humorless chuckle, helping fix a messy strand of your hair before raising from his spot.

“Don’t worry, It’ll only get worse from here. ‘Want a Banana milk?”

Shitty Han Jisung and his shitty personality. Way to lift your spirits, asshole.

“You suck.”

“Two Banana milks it is!” He slaps the wood surface of your desk, breaking into an unaffected smile while hurrying off to the vending machines. Perhaps you’ll just mope till next class, brainstorm the easiest way to glue your statue back together and leave the country while you’re at it.

Abruptly, the minimal view of the classroom from where your head’s wedged between your arms is invaded by a green color, slowly peeking out only to be met with dollar bills waved in front of your face.

Now this had to be a dream. Han Jisung is never fast when it comes to vending machines, usually ogling at options the latest one installed in the cafeteria offers.

Also, for the record, he’s dirt poor like most of the students here.

“Fifty dollars for the damage.”

Damn it!

Still not a dream, because the crisp cash held out to you is none other than Mail Boys’ (a.k.a. Minho’s), staring down at you like you were some insect scurrying near his polished shoes... Or maybe that’s your interpretation of how he’s looking at you.

“This should cover any fees for fixing the statue, I don’t want to deal with you hunting me down every morning when I pass by.” He grumbles, patting the money next to your hand.

You gawk, amazed that he considered at all. What left you more amazed? How he had this amount of money in the first place as a student. Applying for a delivery job may not be so bad after all. That or he does own polished shoes, fancy clothes and a suit with his picture-ready hair and all.

He might as well scream in everyone’s face that he’s rich waving those dollar bills around.

“Keep it. It’s already bad enough it’s broken but it’ll be worse if I have money. Unlike you, I pride myself in being poor.”

There’s that terrifying, critiquing stink-eye again.

“..but my parents don’t, and they would think I stole something.” You quietly add, and Minho almost snorts, appearing to be having a difficult time withholding his bubbling laugh.

Before he can respond though, Jisung steps through the door, stopping in his tracks upon noticing what's going on, beverages in hand.

Noticing the elephant in the room, Minho slides the money closer your way and walks out, leaving you with awkward silence, fifty dollars, and too many questions.

Well, until both Banana milks slam down and your friend snatches the bills with a loud gasp, boba eyes round as saucers.

“Holy shit! I haven’t seen fifty dollars in like, four years. Is that Minho guy your secret boyfriend? Was that why you were acting so weird earlier?”

Not helping with the too many questions part, Jisung. And a secret boyfriend? Does this guy even know you?

“Absolutely not,” You cross your arms, being sure he sees your excessive eye-roll. “He broke my statue.”

In those few seconds of silence you swore he went through at least eight phases of contemplation trying to figure out the context attached to what you said, deciding to just blankly squint till you spilled your guts.

“So you’re telling me,” He points his finger at some imaginary diagram on the desk, focus flickering in every direction trying to connect the dots. “That Mail Boy, no, Lee Minho, threw the newspaper, broke your statue and ran off? This morning?”

There’s a doubtful lilt to his voice while you hurriedly nod, praying the boy will believe you despite how insane it sounds—despite how insane it really was.

“And this isn’t because he’s attractive?”

You cough.

“I mean, he’s attractive, but-“Aha! Finally! A prospect! Looks like my lovely Y/n won’t die alone after all.” Jisung places an over dramatic hand over his heart and you open your mouth, ready to tell him off before the bell rings and all hope of earning any sympathy flies out the window.

Nonetheless, confessing your grievances to the ferociously blunt Yuqi and expecting the newest volume of Full House after school wasn't usually the highlight of your day, but you've come to accept anything away from Mail Boy should be counted as a highlight at this point.

Come to think of it, you haven’t seen the god forbidden statue-killer since morning class.

Eh. He’s probably massacring some more neighborhood statues. He seems like he’d have weird hobbies anyway.

“Sounds a bit like you’re into him if you ask me,” She chews her sandwich, and you might’ve thrown up in your mouth a little bit.

Absolutely not. Your education is far too important to be interrupted by this transfer student. Plus, he also seems uninterested in love, right? It works out .. totally.

“C’mon Yuqi, you know me. The only thing I’m into is good grades and college admission.” You slump against the bench, absentmindedly stealing a few grapes from the girl.

Seriously though, falling in love is not on your roster for high school. At least not for now.

Nope. Take it back. No love. None. Nope.

Yuqi gasping like someone stabbed her seems to pull you from your loophole headspace, grabbing your arm excitedly.

“Oh my gosh! Doesn’t Volume Eleven come out today?” She says, and you might’ve just ascended to heaven.

Ah. Forget good grades and college admission, you’re in love with Full House. Save the boys for later.

She didn’t need to say anymore, because in the blink of an eye you were full sprinting out the gates, mind trained on one thing and one thing only.

Practically singing to yourself with glee, you swing open the door of Myeongjin DVD store, calling out an equally singsong, “Sir— did you save the newest release for m-…”

Huh.

You know those scenes in movies where all the music stops and everything seems to just freeze? Yeah, this was one of those moments.

“Hm?” Is what he responds with.

What Lee Minho responds with, working behind the front desk sorting through rentals.

Come to think of it, this is the first time you’re calling him by his actual name and not Mail Boy.

Strange.

“Ah.. Ahem .. The new volume of Full House, is it saved for me?” You gradually pique, bouncing back and forth on your heels.

Things should be settled by now between you two after he paid you back and all, but you just couldn’t seem to shake the awkwardness compiling in your gut. Like this strange boy that showed up (literally) on your doorstep would get you into trouble.

Placing the book he’d been checking down, he picks up a bulletin board, finger scouring the titles before glancing at you.

“Full House? Nope, we’re all out.”

“Thanks- WHAT?! Look, you might not know, but I’m pretty much the owner’s daughter,” You explain matter-a-factly, cocking your brows expectantly. What kind of stunt you were pulling you didn’t know. Either way, you’d use the many years you lived here before him to the utmost advantage.

Turns out, you definitely should’ve remembered how Lee Minho earned his reputation in the first place.

“So sorry, he didn’t say anything about his beloved daughter paying a visit today.” The man in front of you leans forward, head tilted in a conniving manner.

What. A. Prick.

Jesus he looks good right now.

Opening your mouth to bite back, deja vú plows through like a bus when he cuts you off, light smirk gracing the edges of his lips. Mocking, like when you first met. Mocking.

“But, I’ll be sure to tell you when more are in stock. Deal?”

Oh how you want to beat his stupidly handsome face in.

“Deal.”

Settling down into your chair and repeatedly clicking the cream colored mouse, you watch the blue background fill the screen along with the other person’s username.

Only on stressful nights would you log back into the anonymous chat rooms. Except today wasn’t necessarily stressful, more just leaving you in denial without Volume eleven in hand.

Somehow, these conversations were thrilling in their own, odd ways. Not knowing if the person is your best friend or your worst enemy made the experience all the more fun.

Recently, you'd begun chatting with Lino98, a kind person who apparently moved not too long ago. They gave you the best advice and would always joke around like friends while you talked about love, grades, and anything at all.

In a sense, they were your friend.

YOU: Lino98?

LINO98: Hm?

YOU: What do you want to do in the future? Now that we’re getting older, I’ve been thinking about it a lot

LINO98: Well that’s a random question

YOU: Shhh just answer

LINO98: Okay okay, mine is way out there and pretty unrealistic for a student, but

LINO98: I want to be a dancer

YOU: Wowー dancer? As in, dancing on stage?

LINO98: What else would a dancer do ㅎㅎ

YOU: You know what I mean!! But being a dancer is a good dream. You’ll have to work hard, but it’s your passion, so I shouldn’t be one to judge

LINO98: You’re sweet, saying that

YOU: Hey hey don’t get all sappy

LINO98: I mean it ㅋㅋㅋ

You smile, fingers rapidly typing to keep up with the replies. They had a wild dream, sure, but Lino98 had their own aspirations, and you wondered if maybe in the future you’d see them on TV.

See them in real life. Now that was a thought. Heck, you didn’t even know if they were a boy or girl.

Oh god, what if Lino98 was one of your classmates? Worst case scenario it’d be Minho.

Although, that would never happen, the chances were too slim.

Too slim.. but not impossible. In fact, very much possible because no matter how small the chance is it could always become realit- “Y/n!”

You jump, reaching to turn off the old monitor.

There’s a shuffle outside of your door, the woman’s head peering in momentarily. You have an idea of what she's going to say next seeing you in front of the computer.

“You’d better not be on those chat rooms, I told you they’re dangerous. Also, could you run to the market? I’m missing bean sprouts.”

Bingo.

Patting the doorframe, she disappears once more.

You know she’s right. Sure it could pose a threat, but you’re a student, and adult things like being worried about safety could come later.

However, running into Mail Boy there could also come later, and you debated on turning around before he noticed you. That was, until you remembered the unfortunate errand you’d made the trip for in the first place.

The last person he expected to find at Ahyeon Market was you, looking equally as shocked with his appearance here as well. Still clad in uniform, he motions from his place on the outdoor bench, patting the spot next to him.

If gears could literally be seen turning in someone’s head he's certain he would have witnessed an entire mechanical process by now, rather amusedly analyzing your angel and devil conversation with cat-like observation.

“I don’t bite y’know,” Breaking the quiet lull, he clicks his tongue, earning a suspicious look.

“And how am I supposed to believe you.” Question rhetorical (he assumes), you approach him slowly, testing, like he’d pounce at one wrong move. The tempting urge to jump and scare you briefly crosses his mind.

“Because,” He bites back a grin. “Our Volume eleven pact, remember?”

Almost instantly, the tense atmosphere dissolves and you plop down beside him followed by hushed “Yeah, yeah”'s muttered under your breath. Barely twenty seconds pass though before you’re bolting to upward (and ironically scaring him instead), glancing left and right.

“I’ll get some Banana milk.” You bolt to the small fridge unit, lips focusedly pursed cashing in your coins.

Minho can’t help but smile to himself at your unbothered-ness, your easiness. You’re kind, not to mention brutally honest on occasions. It’s reassuring being around you, like he doesn’t have to worry about anything. Like, in some sense, his youth is returning to him. Piece by piece.

“Here.” Your voice has his head swiveling, holding a small cartridge for him to take.

“So.. Why’d you transfer here?”

He stares at the drink for a while, though your eyes never stray from his, observing him contemplating, thinking. Cat-like, you agree. Minho greatly resembles a feline.

“You like this stuff, huh.”

“Jisung got me hooked on it, you don’t want it?” Knitting your brows and greedily pulling the drink to yourself, he’s quick to reach forward, grabbing your hand in his.

You hesitate, both frantically searching each other's face before Minho snatches the Banana milk from you, tone suddenly doused in nervousness.

“No- I do, thanks.”

Liar. He hates Banana milk, but he’ll drink it. For you he will.

There’s that feeling again, blooming in his chest and warming up his entire body.

Weird.

It’s like he’s a three year old crushing on his classmate again, awkward and young. In love.

Anyone unlucky enough to witness this obvious pining deserves a written letter of apology.

“Mm..” You hum quietly, aggressively poking your straw through the paper lid.

Minho’s lips form a tight line, fixating on the rotation of his own straw as he aimlessly moves the drink in his hand from side to side.

“My family went bankrupt. That’s why I moved.”

Pausing your movement, you nod quickly and he feels a pang of guilt strike his chest. He shouldn’t have told you that, should’ve kept the comfort and ignored the question. Way to ruin it, jerk.

“What was your first impression of me?” Changing the subject, he clears his throat from the chilling air. So long for the summer heat.

“First impression?” You mimic, appearing deep in thought for a reason he couldn’t help but feel nervous about. Nervous for what, he couldn’t name.

There were lots of things he “couldn’t” when it came to you. It makes things interesting, makes you interesting. Life isn’t boring when with you, something he realizes the longer you accompany him, vice versa.

He can’t make sense of the feeling, ironically enough. Another “can’t”.

“Well, If you want me to be honest,” Glancing over at him from your earlier focus on a neon road sign, you lift your brows, awaiting his signal to go on.

“I thought you were cold, rude, not to mention a pain in the butt. Also, I’m not kidding when I say I was convinced you were a rich and spoiled brat-“ Rapid waving of his hands in front of you stops your train of thought.

“Are- are you being serious or just insulting me.” He interrupts, deadpanning while sending you a rather confused, nonsensical look.

“Dead serious. You wanted the truth after all.” You shrug your shoulders and Minho chokes a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

Unbelievable. Absolutely, unforgivably, unbelievable.

“And what about now?”

More thinking.

“You’re nice to be around, but still a pain in the butt.” Shuffling on the pavement, you pull your coat tighter around yourself, gaze flitting to the crack of smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

With the streetlights automatically turning on, without response, simply a soft look from the boy, he steps forward and wordlessly beckons for you to follow.

Walk home with me, an inaudible invitation, and you tag along accordingly.

He doesn’t want to go home, but he won’t tell you that. In fact, he dreads going home to a silent house. He won’t tell you that either.

Truth being, Minho hadn’t been this happy in ages, and being by you, talking to you, getting to know you and everything in between has brilliant shades of color decorating his black and white world. If only he could muster up the courage to tell you that.

“Shoot!”

Panickedly facing you, surprise lay evident on his usually unwavering features.

“I forgot bean sprouts! Hold on, I’ll be right back.” You pronounce, disappearing inside the Market with the boy right on your heels.

Arriving at the register, he places his wallet on the counter before you could fetch cash from your pocket. Turning to him, you poke an accusing finger against his chest, fixing your attractive friend with a hard stare.

“Minho, I told you rich people paying for poor people isn’t ‘nice’, it just makes us look pitiful.” You pout, and the boy resists the overbearing urge to coo not only from how unfairly adorable you look right now but hearing his name come out of your mouth for the first time as well.

Adorable. What was he thinking using a word like that anyway? He meant something else .. another, descriptive word for something cute… Nevermind.

“Think of it as me paying you back for the Banana Milk.” Giving in the tiniest bit, he lands a small nudge against your side, earning an equally playful shove back.

Laughter envelops the both of you, walking from the store with bean sprouts in clutch and pink hues decorating your cheeks whether from giggling or something else. Swinging the bag beside you, a fleeting thought of holding it for you crosses Minho’s mind. Should he? What if you say no and things become awkward again?

God, why is he complicating things so much recently. Just do it, Minho. It’s not that difficult.

“You know how much I gave the cashier for those drinks?”

Quickly pulling his hand away from where it reached for the plastic, his grimace becomes instantly replaced with feigned curiosity in hopes you didn’t notice.

Holding eye contact has never been difficult for Minho. In fact, he’s a pro at it …with everyone but you. So when you study him with those brilliant eyes, he can feel his ears burning bright red.

“Yeah? How much?” He mischievously replied, watching you light up.

You have a particular smile, the one that transforms your face so prettily, the one that makes his heart thunder in his chest. He really likes that smile.

“Ten dollars. Can you believe it? I could buy a mansion with that money.” You hum sarcastically, tumbling all over the sidewalk while being kindly beckoned away from the road by the concerned boy.

“Hey Minho?”

He turns to you.

“What do you wanna do when you grow up? Y’know, after High school and University.”

Opening his mouth to respond, he can’t help but find the question eerily familiar.

“Since I was a kid I wanted to be a Dancer. I actually auditioned a few days ago, but I probably won’t make it.” The dark haired man humorlessly laughs, actively avoiding your attention.

You frown, he doesn’t notice.

“You don’t know that. I don’t know what I want to do, but riding in a sports car sounds nice. It doesn’t have to be realistic, we’re young.”

There it is. This was the easiness he was thinking of, your unbothered-ness. All of the things he finds himself smiling about. The things he looks forward to dropping off your mail in the morning to see.

“..A sports car?”

Once comfortable silence interrupted by his snickering, you wack his arm for the nth time that night, sending him a faux glare.

“Oh look! It’s my stop!” You interject, hiking up the stairs to turn around and see him looking up at you, eyes crinkled with a small smile adorning his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow! Goodnight, Minho.”

Minho thinks you're very, very cute.

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

Minho hopes you think he’s cute too.

Days go by, some long, some short, with August feeling extremely drawn-out and uncomfortable—leaves gradually beginning to brown for autumn.

As for September, you’re still waiting for Volume eleven from Minho, incessantly dropping by the DVD store to annoy him into leaking some info about when the next batch will be shipped.

“It’ll be next week”, “It’ll be next week”, “It’ll be next week,” is what he always says every week until you’re quite certain next week has happened four times already.

On a different note other than your Full House dilemma and impending exams, Minho had been elected Class President, Soyeon and Hyomin are getting closer to officially dating (from you and Yuqi’s observations), and Jisung is currently keeping count of how many girls confess to Mail Boy each semester.

Don’t ask about the last one.

Expecting someone like Yuqi to be running up to you so early on your walk through the school gates, you blink twice to realize it’s Minho instead, something in hand and positively glowing with cheerfulness.

“Y/n!”

Spinning around, you mirror his overwhelming energy and narrowly dodge getting run over in the process.

“Guess what.” He grins, looking scarily enthusiastic compared to usual.

“What?” You ask, already lost in the way his caramel globes for eyes seem to practically sparkle.

“I got accepted! I’m going to be a trainee!” Shoving the acceptance paper in your face, you scream, covering your mouth in disbelief.

To say you both jumped is an understatement, basically frolicking around the courtyard like lunatics. Well, before you realized the entire jumping and frolicking thing and hurriedly returned to your normal, stiff high school selves.

“Also, the Full House shipment came in this morning.”

…

He’s kidding. You’re kidding.

Oh my god you could kiss him right now. Good thing you didn’t say that out loud.

Running as fast as you possibly could with the boy yelling for you to slow down, you mercilessly slam the door open, manically searching through boxes until the beloved, astounded, mystifying book rests peacefully in hand.

Heaven’s gates should’ve opened up by now.

Taking his sweet time as if this wasn’t one of the greatest moments in life, your counterpart casually strolls up to the register, appearing to check out the rental despite holding your precious book hostage after scanning the barcode.

“You don’t care about me making the cut, do you?” He pouts, lip pitifully jutting out.

Mouth left agape, you swiftly bite back what you’d planned to say about the deal, stumbling over sentences to find an excuse.

“I do! I swear! Now give me the book.. please?” Sporting the most genuine tone you could manage, you snatch the book he begrudging lowered down, hugging the prized possession close to your chest.

“Fine, liar.”

Yikes, talk about a grumpy face. He looked like a kicked puppy. You didn’t even think that expression was possible for Lee Minho.

However, you also didn’t think it was possible to feel sort of upset about it. Not his grumpy face, no, but him getting accepted. Wasn’t this a happy occasion? Volume eleven was released and finally in your possession and your friend was now going to be a trainee, now going to chase his dream of becoming a dancer.

So why did you feel sad walking back to school?

It felt wrong, you felt wrong, and the disgusting feeling only grew worse as the day went on. Heck, looking through pages and squealing with Yuqi—an activity that normally helped lift your spirits—didn't feel as reviving.

Later that day you asked him when he’d be leaving to train, leaving for Seoul, far from here. You dreaded the question, but at least it gave you time to prepare in a sense.

“January,” he replied, eating his apple as if it wasn’t the end of September, as if your heart wasn’t splintering into a billion tiny pieces.

Perhaps somewhere, hidden in his unaffected façade, he felt a tad bit upset like you did.

‘It doesn’t have to be realistic, we’re young.’ You recalled assuring him at Ahyeon Supermarket back in August, thinking it wasn’t going to be real, believing it wasn’t going to become reality.

If only you had known.

Adult things were climbing from the busy city into your small town. You weren’t ready.

So when life becomes increasingly overbearing, you log back in.

YOU: Today has been so draining.. I want to wake up and everything to be a dream

LINO98: Need to vent?

YOU: I thought you’d never ask ㅠㅠ

LINO98: Alright alright, go on

YOU: Well I have a friend, and he’s getting to do something he’s always wanted, but it means he’ll have to go away for a while and I can’t help but feel sad

LINO98: Feeling sad is normal, there’s nothing wrong with that

LINO98: It makes you feel like everything you’ve done with them was taken for granted, don’t you think?

YOU: That’s exactly what it’s like

YOU: If you're okay with it, could we meet up and talk? I mean, we’ve been talking for a while now and I just thought

LINO98: Would Marronnier Park work?

YOU: Didn't think you’d be so willing

LINO98: What can I say, we work well together

YOU: How will we find each other though?

LINO98: Hm.. theres that flower shop nearby, right? Bring a yellow tulip and I will too, good?

YOU: Tomorrow at noon?

LINO98: I’ll be there

Yellow tulip, noon, tomorrow. You sigh a stretching grin, clicking the small exit button before flopping onto your bed.

Only downside of this would have to be your inability to sleep, mind unable to calm itself down as you lay awake. Tomorrow you meet Lino98, someone truly cherished for all their help and kindness.

Eyes slowly drifting closed, you can’t help but hope meeting them in real life will ease some of your troubles. Even just a tad.

Springing from bed that morning, you make your daily stop at Myeongjin DVD store, attempting to drag Minho outside to grab dessert with you while he complains of having plans.

You grumble, growling to him you’ll enjoy the sweet treat more by yourself, his saccharine farewell fading into the distance as you close the door behind you.

Luckily, there wasn’t anything that could truly damage your happiness today(despite really wanting to get desserts with Minho) while picking up a yellow tulip on your way to the meeting location.

Gosh, your stomach was doing backflips right now.

Locating the park’s sign, you stopped and patted yourself down for a moment.

Alright. Now time to start guessing. Would they be a girl? Be a boy? Maybe they’d be Yuqi. That would be hysterical. You mean, you’re soulmates at this point, it’d make plenty of sense.

Venturing inside, you shuffle between people in search of the same flower being in someone else’s grip till finally spotting it, hidden between two people in front of you.

If they would just scoot over a little bit.. there! Now you can see ...them.

Oh.

Making eye contact, you watch them realize, beginning to back up.

You don’t know why you run away, you don’t know why your legs won’t stop and why the person keeps calling out behind you.

Funny that the slim chance you mentioned turned out to be true.

Today you met Lino98, someone you'd truly cherished for all their help and kindness prior to learning who they were.

Today you met Lino98 at Marrionner Park holding a yellow tulip, but the person in front of you was Lee Minho, flower in hand and staring directly back at you.

December gradually rolls around, and usually you’re ecstatic seeing all the lights and festivals Taeyang High hosts as Christmas and new years approaches, especially with next year marking a new millennium.

After the news of Minho’s departure though, it’s hard enjoying the holidays knowing he’ll be leaving only a week or so into January.

No. You should soak up your last month or so. This is the most important part, you can’t be miserable when he hasn’t even left yet.

Despite how badly you want to see him all the time, nothing came easy with his identity revealed.

You weren’t angry nor embarrassed. And initially, you didn’t feel anything, you just stared at him across the park, wondering if all of these coincidences were dreams, your loneliness causing hallucinations of a sort.

Regarding the running away part, that was more of a “need to get my thoughts together” reflex, a desperate and last resort you now deeply regretted holed up in your room with Yuqi’s voice ringing through the home phone.

Yes, you’d like to say you dealt with the matter like a responsible almost-adult.

You didn’t.

“Yuqi… I’m ruining my own life and I can’t do anything to stop it..” You hiccup, loud sobs echoing through the empty household.

She clicks her tongue, once patient and understanding persona instantaneously snapping.

“Yah!” The girl shouts, and you flinch on the other side of the line. “Keep saying stuff like that and you really will ruin your own life! I know no one warned you that falling in love with him would be like this, but seriously, I am not letting you waste this last month avoiding each other!!”

In spite of her reprimanding you, her intentions are clearly aimed towards wanting the best for the both of you, and you know you should be grateful in return.

“I’m not in love with.. My god I am in love with him, what do I do—“ You drag out, dissolving into more cries.

It’s true, both her point and the fact that you’re unabashedly in love with him. All of it. From first meeting him, avoiding him, making up, becoming close and convincing yourself you weren’t looking for a relationship, and now avoiding him again. You’ve always had that feeling, that lingering affection teetering back and forth between the line of friends and lovers.

Although, your friend’s sigh suddenly gets cut off by another person, and you briefly wonder if her younger brother took it before making out the name Yuqi yelled in the distance.

“Yeesh you sound ugly when you cry.”

Is that.. Jisung?

“Han Jisung, give me back the phone!”

Jisung over at Yuqi’s house. Weird.

“Just one seconds this is important~” He whines, and from the sounds of it is also currently running away from what you assume to be a raging Yuqi.

“Okay so Yuqi, Soyeon, Hyomin and I are planning the craziest new years bash ev-“HAN JISUNG!” Phone finally finding its way back to the original holder, you can hear sly giggles echoing in the background.

She audibly groans and you can easily imagine her hands threading through long blonde locks of hair, probably visibly resisting the urge to bury her companion. You can’t help but smile.

Just so you know, only Jisung and I are here so don’t worry about the public humiliatio- aw shit there's thirty seconds left on the call- anyways, be sure to stop by my place on the 31st, we have a surprise for you!” Time limit ending without another word, you take the time to connect the dots with Jisung’s “new years bash” and Yuqi’s “surprise”, to expect a small party of some kind.

With those two arranging it, you don’t know what to expect.

Why not? The reasons to say no are basically nonexistent.

Christmas break officially starting, students clambering from school grounds, and your daily “avoiding Minho” schedule on hold now that you’re out till the end of January, the anticipation of this upcoming party creeps closer. That, and how you plan to talk to Minho.

You aren’t stupid, and you didn’t ignore what Yuqi had said about avoiding each other either, fully aware of how essential coming to terms was for the sake of your friendship, and at least for you, for the sake of your love too.

The real question was when, something you’re still trying to figure out on the 30th of December. Way to procrastinate.

Before tonight you’d never hesitated talking to Lino98 (Minho), deleting your message at least a dozen times before clicking the send button and preparing to hide under your comforter for the rest of the night. Keyword: preparing. Because when you anxiously peered between your fingers to see a response beneath your message, you might have just jumped out of your skin.

YOU: Hey, can we talk?

LINO98: I thought you’d never ask

YOU: About meeting up.. I want you to know I’m really not mad at you

LINO98: You can be honest, Y/n

YOU: I am, promise

YOU: It’s so much easier talking online than in person, but I really want to see you

LINO98: Same, but I doubt I’ll be able to say the same things in person

YOU: I think that’s something we can both agree on

LINO98: Hm

YOU: I’m busy tomorrow, but maybe the next day?

LINO98: Seems we still work well together

YOU: Don't say that, I’ll get PTSD..

LINO98: Sorry sorry ㅜㅜ

Little did you know you were both busy doing the same thing after nobody mentioned Minho would be at the party as well, too stunned to speak seeing him sit around the enormous pile of snacks and drinks laying in the middle of the floor.

However, you found it in yourself, not only because of the minimal time you had left but also because of your conversation last night, to move past the tension.

Like adults.

What a bizarre phrase coming from you.

And it looked as if he felt the same too.

Lively conversation filled up the small space, and six kids, six adults, sat around an army of junk food and held a pitiful excuse for a party while using this time together to forget, if just for a moment, about life outside the room.

You couldn’t have had more fun talking and catching up, not to mention the curdling screaming when Hyomin and Soyeon announced that they were officially dating, bouncing around whilst stuck in Yuqi’s bone-crushing hug of delight.

The clock ticked on the wall, and after hours of bringing back old memories and suggesting new ones, a few attendees began to slip away, gradually leaving only you, Minho, and Yuqi to occupy her living room.

She yawned beside you, half-lidded eyes making her sleepiness rather apparent. Patting your shoulder, the girl rose up, trudging toward the door.

“Alright I’m tapping out, see you guys next year.” She quietly mused and you cracked a sarcastic laugh, both wishing her good night before the sound of the knob clicked shut behind her.

It’s just you two now, watching the live broadcast in a numbing peacefulness. It stays like that for a long time, basking in the presence you’d been deprived of after that fateful day.

You stifle a chuckle.

“It wasn’t my intention to fall in love with you, but I guess I couldn’t help it.” You wistfully smile, back leaning against the wall clad in your heavy sweater and socks.

You hear him take a deep breath.

“I could say the same,” He whispers, eyes trained on the celebration airing on TV. “I bet you were upset that I’m Lino98.”

You pull your knees closer to yourself, listening to the two minute warning the reporter announces.

The room once busied becomes quiet apart from television chatter and your hushed talking. In a few minutes it’ll be a new Millennium, the 2000’s.

You should feel happy, knowing you’ll graduate soon, knowing that a new year is beginning. You’ve tried, truly, but you can’t find it in yourself, not with the circumstances.

“I’m not upset. I was just being selfish because I didn’t want it to be any harder seeing you leave.”

The circumstances seem to steal everything away. Minho must know that much better than you do.

Except you have this moment right here, right now, that the circumstances haven’t taken away yet.

He utters a pained sound, a sound that feels like crying. You don’t dare say anything.

“Don’t people,” He stops, waiting for you to look to your right, look at him and his glossy eyes. You’ve never seen Minho emotional, and you wish you never had. It feels cruel. Immeasurably cruel.

“As I speak, we have ten seconds till 2000.”

He opens his mouth again.

“Kiss on new years?”

You can hear the countdown begin.

“Ten!”

Minho has a wistful smile, dancing from your eyes to your lips.

“Nine!”

Should you take the chance?

“Eight!”

Will this hurt you?

“Seven!”

Haven’t you been hurting enough?

“Six!”

He’s leaving in a few days.

“Five!”

It’s now or never.

“Four!”

You lean forward, lips softly connecting with his. They’re soft, his lips, and he angles your head from side to side with a gentle touch, palms enveloping your cheeks, holding you close. Your skin feels like it’s on fire. Everything feels like it’s on fire. Ferociously alight and blazing.

“Three!”

He whispers something between your lips, you can’t hear it.

“Two!”

Partially, you feel grateful you couldn’t.

“One!”

Fireworks burst in your peripheral, littering the screen with a bountiful assortment of lights and cheers.

The new year had begun, and so had a different chapter in everyone’s lives. Both your classmates, and especially yours and Minho’s.

“Let’s welcome the year 2000!”

2000.

LINO98: Don’t get too excited, but I’m outside your house, come quick

YOU: Didn’t we see each other yesterday?

LINO98: Are you saying you’d rather stay in? I thought you loved me

YOU: Fine you big baby, but I’m going back to sleep after this

LINO98: Sounds good to me〜

You groan, dragging yourself out of your covers at the speed of a turtle to organize the unruly chaos ensuing in your disheveled hair and pull on your shoes.

In all honesty, you can’t even remember how you got home last night, only recalling that Minho tasted like Coca cola and that you had a roaring headache.

Minho tasted like Coca cola. You kissed Minho.

Wow.

Maybe the adrenaline had taken over last night considering how your face erupted red merely thinking about it the next morning.

A honk sounds outside and you jump slightly, mind sifting through ideas of what exactly the boy had gotten himself into this time. With Han Jisung’s influence yesterday, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was in a fancy sports car or something.

Scratch that, he was in a fancy sports car, and you had to blink repeatedly to check if you were awake.

Did he have a license? Wait, nevermind, since when did he own a car?

“What is this, you may ask?” He gestures to the bright red convertible Mustang, tipping down the sunglasses perched on his nose with a cock of his brow. “Well, since I‘m getting to do what I wanted when I got older, I thought it was only fair you got to do what you wanted to too. Sports car, right? Hop in.”

Oh. My. God.

You just keep falling in love with Minho over and over again.

Breathing a laugh of disbelief, shock, and every other emotion making a pit stop while standing in your pajamas, you cross your arms, sending him a suspicious stare.

“And might I ask how you got your hands on this thing?” Smile threatening to appear, you stave down the urge, struggling to maintain your unconvinced poise under his watchful eye.

“Let’s just say I know a friend who knows a friend-“Y/n! What happened to our statue?!” Your mothers shouts from up the stairs and you practically leap into the passenger seat, frantically urging him to step on the gas.

“Only took her a few months,” Your personal driver huffs amusedly, quickly putting the vehicle in reverse to flee the scene. Ah.. You’re not looking forward to the trip home.

Luckily, you’re not home, and you hope you won’t be for a while. Instead, you’re driving through side roads with Minho and his stupidly attractive sunglass-clad self, and it feels like you’ve just started high school again.

Minutes pass, maybe hours. You wouldn’t have been able to tell, too caught up enjoying it. The sights, the smells, the sounds, all of it. Enjoying everything.

Slowing down to pull into a small alcove overlooking the ocean, the boy leans his seat back and you do the same, warm sun baking down on the dark interior. You reach a hand forward, fingers tangling with his.

“Can we stay like this forever?”

He smiles.

“Forever it is.”

2009.

Scooting the metal chair to the side, Minho takes a seat, adjusting the collar of his shirt that earns a few screams here and there alongside the merciless flash of camera shutters swarming in every direction. Today marks his first fansign as a group, as a member of Stray Kids by the stage name Lee Know.

Exhilarating, perhaps. Terrifying, also perhaps.

Initially, he was anxious, worried he’d come off as cold and rigid followed by the other lovely assortment of offensive adjectives you used to describe him standing outside of school that day in August.

Life was different then, just as it is now. Although, he’s not unhappy with how things turned out, nor how life changed since high school.

Tonight you’d text him (like you did every night since he first left) about the fansign, asking if he found anyone cute (the answer would always be you) and telling him about your day, your changed life.

He’d listen, give his most-always teasing input, smile at your equally teasing retort and tell you to eat well and take care of yourself.

“Good morning Minho— ah, wait, I should call you Lee Know now, shouldn’t I?”

A voice stirs from in front of him and he’s certain he’s officially going insane. But no, it does belong to you, in the flesh, mesmerizing eyes disappearing as you grinned while plopping down onto the stool below.

“Do me a favor and act really obsessed with me for a minute, I want to make your fans jealous,” You giggle, leaning closer to whisper the petty request.

In the midst of his shock he scoffs, appearing profusely offended.

“And you still suck at introductions. Not even a congratulations, ouch.” The brown-haired now-Idol frowns, behaving more like a child than ever before.

His status as a normal person might’ve developed (Minho was never a normal person), but he still retained the maturity of a twelve year old.

“Oh, dearest apologies my beloved Lee Know.” Basically gagging, you balance your chin on your hand, once teasing expression replaced with a smile that makes his heart downright ache.

“Congratulations on becoming a dancer, Minho. I missed you.”

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @dorisnumber1fan @mal-lunar-28 @httphans @virluna148 @bettybeako @grannyindehouse @minhaurloml @ylixbok @inkelea @luna585 @hyunbae-35

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frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months

Text

♡ ｗａｎｎａｂｅｙｏｕｒｓ♡

♡ Pairing: bouncer!bang chan x stripper!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: You've had your eye on a bouncer who works at your club for the longest time. Tonight may just be the night that you get your chance with him

♡ Genre: smut/angst-ish

♡ Word Count: 1.5kish

♡ Warnings: light violence during fight scene, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, dick riding (in the fun sense)

If years of being a dancer have taught you anything it’s how to pretend to give a shit when you’d much rather be at home vegetating. It’s not that you hate your job. You simply aren’t always in the mood to socialize. But the club’s packed tonight and bills need to be paid.

At least the customers are generous, the music’s tolerable, and your best friend’s scheduled to work with you. Spinning around on the pole, you spot her over by the bar lighting a sparkler inside a bottle of champagne. She waves to you, blowing you a kiss. You blow one right back at her.

A sweet moment's swiftly interrupted by the thud of a body crashing onto your platform. With the music blaring overhead, you hadn’t noticed the fight breaking out behind you between bouncers and a few frat boys who’ve clearly had one too many vodka shots. The frat boy laid out at your feet has blood gushing from his nose, ruining his shirt and risking the safety of your brand new stilettos.

He sees the bouncer responsible for his broken nose headed in his direction and so do you. Both of your heart rates increase for opposing reasons. His because, despite his blurred vision, he’s ready to go another round. Yours because the bouncer in question is Bang Chan or Channie as he lets you call him.

You’ve had an embarrassingly heavy crush on the platinum blonde haired Aussie since your first night working here. Somehow you’ve managed to remain oblivious to the fact that the feeling’s mutual. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of the frat boy sneaking a knife from his pocket.

You stomp down on his wrist, applying your full weight, and you feel something crunch beneath your heel. He cries out in pain, the knife falling to the floor. Now his nose isn’t the only thing that’s broken. Chan grabs him by the shirt, tossing him into the arms of two other bouncers waiting nearby.

You’ve never seen him this angry before but his rage is fleeting when he rises from retrieving the knife and lays eyes on you. He smiles up at you, basking in your beauty like you’re one of those goddess statues in a museum. Masterfully carved in marble and perfect in every sense of the word.

“My hero” he gasps, hand over his heart. You roll your eyes, “Dramatic much?” Chan takes your manicured hand, kissing it so gently that it sends a chill through your body. “Thank you. I mean it. I owe you one.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand, your gazes lingering on each other as the rest of the world fades away.

It returns with a roar as the fight erupts again. “I, uh…” he stutters, torn between the longing to stay with you and his obligation to fulfill his duties. “Go. Do your job. No slacking” you tease, shooing him away. Chan blushes, grateful that the darkness of the club conceals it, and disappears into the crowd.

Being the professional that you are, you immediately go back to dancing. Your mind’s even farther gone than before, floating somewhere in the clouds treasuring the tingle left behind by his kiss like it’s gold.

“Absolutely not” you sing, slamming the door to your locker. In the dressing room girls crowd around a half dozen vanities, dashing between clothing racks, hurrying to put the finishing touches on their looks before they’re called to the floor. You, on the other hand, have already changed into a hoodie and a cozy pair of sweats.

The night’s over for you. At least it was before your best friend cornered you, begging to borrow your car. “Oh, come on. Please, please, please” she pouts, “It’s only until tomorrow and I’ll give it right back.” “And how exactly am I supposed to get home?” The grin that spreads across her glitter speckled face is adorable and concerning all at once.

Throwing her coat on, she takes your hand and drags you through one of the side doors where Chan leans against his car waiting for you. With the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up and a few buttons undone, you get a peek at the tattoos covering his muscular form. Whatever workout this man does has done sinfully good things to his body.

Your best friend plucks the car keys from your hand, nudging you forward, “You look out for my girl, Bang Chan!” “I’ll take good care of her” he promises, opening the door for you. There’s something sensual about the way he says that. “I’ll take good care of her.” You throw the bag on your shoulder into the backseat, hesitating to get in yourself.

“You really don’t have to do this.” “I owe you, remember?” Unable to argue with him, you hop in and put your seatbelt on. As sexy as he looks walking around to the driver’s side, you wouldn’t object to being taken care of by him.

You pinch yourself on the arm, shaking off the thought of anything happening between the two of you. He probably doesn’t want it to. Even if he did, you work together. Something like that would never happen. It can’t...

An hour’s passed and you’re thrown across your bed, knees pressed to your chest, breathing like a pregnant woman in a Lamaze class. You have no clue where your clothes went but honestly, who the hell cares? Chan’s face is buried between your legs, slurping at your pussy like it’s the only thing he’s eaten in 48 hours.

Though that may not technically be true, you definitely taste better than any meal he’s had in recent memory. Your bed’s soaked from how wet you are, a year’s worth of anticipation dripping from his chin. He sucks your clit between his lips, circling it with his tongue and pulling away.

He repeats this over and over again, edging you to the point that you’re a trembling, overstimulated wreck. “Channie…” you whine, your eyes falling close as your nails dig into the sheets below. Chan grabs onto your lush hips, lifting you away from him, “Keep them open.

I wanna see those pretty eyes when I make you cum.” You pry them open and catch him staring up at you with nearly the same look he had at the club. Only now there’s an insatiable hunger behind those eyes. Grinding you down against his face, his tongue plunges into the depths of your warmth.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” is all you can say when he has you coming apart at the seams. “Mmm” he hums, sensing how close you are by the way your walls clench around his tongue. He flexes it along your g-spot and you’re cumming harder than you ever have. Your body’s twisting, pitiful moans fill the air, fingers grasping at his hair.

This must be what it feels like to have a demon exorcized or to be possessed by one. Either way, there’s nothing in this world like it. Even as your body goes limp, your mind going cloudy, Chan’s still kitten licking your slit to gather every drop of your juices. When he finally stops, he straightens your legs out, massaging them as he trails wet kisses up your stomach.

He takes the hand previously responsible for breaking someone’s nose and delicately toys with your nipples. They perk up for him, making each graze of his fingertip twice as intense. He drags his tongue over your bud. Up your chest. Along your chin. You open your mouth to catch your breath and he’s pulling you into a decadent kiss, laced with the sweetness of your arousal.

“I knew you’d taste amazing but that was…” he groans, using two fingers to stroke between your folds, “I could stay between those thighs all night.” “You’ll have to come up for air at some point” you tease. Chan wraps his arms around your waist, hooking an arm behind your knee, “Breathing is overrated.”

In one fluid motion, he’s rolled you over on top of him, his thick cock resting against your twitching clit. Your legs are as structurally solid as jello but you manage to prop yourself up on them, fingers running along his length. “Is this all cause of lil old me?” you ask, dipping your thumb in the precum leaking from his tip and licking it off.

Chan cups your cheek into his palm and you nuzzle it, kissing his palm. “Can I keep you?” You giggle at the question, raising your hips and sinking down onto him. “You can'' you moan, rotating your hips in graceful figure eights that have him ready to implode. A mixture of pleasure and panic floods his system.

It’d be embarrassing to cum this quickly but you’re making it impossible. It takes everything he has to hold back watching you have this much fun using his dick to make yourself feel good.

Chan gets it, how men can throw everything in their pockets at you when you’re on stage. He’d empty every bank account in his name to have you sit on his face. Just sit there. Not even move.

#bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan x female reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x thick reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #stray kids smut

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jd07201990 · 4 months

Text

One might think I went a little overboard when I used my talents, to give my old college buddy Charles Wentworth II, the son he'd always wanted. Life threw him a curveball when his little boy just, stayed little. It took only 8 months to change that.

At 19, he was almost fae. 5'4" 110lbs soaking wet, the 3rd Charles in the line was thin, lithe, soft-tempered and good mannered. Clean and neat, always top of his class, the boy was head of the Student Council in High School, when his Father hoped he'd have excelled in Football, the same as his old man.

Charles II knew I'd gone into psychiatry out of college, majoring in Behavioral Studies with a minor in biochemistry. He'd seen what I could do to a person with just 10 minutes of talking. Out like a light, I'd fill their heads with all sorts of triggers, innocent fun to make the guys in the dorms laugh.

But Charles II knew where my interests really were. Behavioral Modification. He'd only seen this one time during our school days, when I tranced Jimmy Palter, the school's most annoying nerd, and by graduation, he'd packed on 50lbs, mostly in his belly, dressed like a hick, and went off to drive Big-Rigs across the country, adding notches to his creaking belt as he screwed his way across country, bedding pretty Diner girls as he hauled goods for my Dad's transport company. Last I'd checked, he was still trucking, with a wife and 5 kids somewhere out west.

Anyway, the strapping young stud you see here, with absolutely no intelligent thought behind those handsome eyes, is Charles Wentworth III. Or, as he preffers now, Chett. Sometimes his football buddies call him Chetworth, but one headlock with their faces pressed to his sweaty pits is enough to stop even the strongest of them, at least for a while. He's an aggressive, hot-blooded powerhouse, and doesn't let anyone forget it.

It had only taken an hour to wriggle my influence into his good natured, innocent mind. His father had asked him to come see me, and an hour later, the boy was thrilled to have sessions with me every day for the foreseeable future. I'd given him a perscription for what he was convinced were vitamins, but were really prototype HGH and Testosterone boosters a friend at a Pharma-Lab in Serbia gives to, well, select clientelle, with the agreement that we send the results asap. Some of this stuff may as well be nuclear Hormone-bombs, its no wonder the FDA refuses to even look at it!

So, A month in, and the boy was a nervous wreck. Trembling with excess energy, his feet tapped anciously during the first sessions, the supplements and my trances sending his body into overdrive. He said he felt like he was on fire, all the time, hot and clammy, and that his body tingled, pent up, wound tight like a spring. I let him suffer with this for a few weeks, I watched as the confusion led to annoyance, and he finally came to my office in the middle of the day, skipping class for the first time in his life, asking me for help. I tried to hid the wicked smirk on my face, and really got down to it. It was easy to drop him down into trance, and from there, My work really began.

4 months in, Chett had gotten a bit of weight on him, his body now tight and toned, working out alone when the gym was empty. The supplements really kicked his body into overdrive, sweat poured from him, soaking his shirts and shorts. He'd complained about it for only a short time, until I convinced him that was the smell of Effort. Of athletic Prowess. Of well-worked Male. As usual, anything I said became the truth, and I soon found him taking sniffs of himself after working out, flexing absentmindedly as he noticed the changes to his body.

By the 6th month, the supplements had shot through his body, setting it into a second puberty of sorts. He grew taller, hitting 6', his legs long with a solid densness that rivaled some of the soccer players. His torso was like a marble statue, each muscle easily traced, as he had very little bodyfat. The Chett was stuffing himself with pritein and calories at my suggestion, really pushing for some size, but his pesky metabolism just wouldn't let him bulk. His father decided that, "Behemoth" as the original plan had intended, wasn't necessary, and we went with "Classic All American Boy" instead. What began as a shrimpy welp, turned into a marble stature, then the beginnings of a diamond-cut stud.

His shoulders widened, giving him that perfect masculine taper, while his face lost its boyish softness, replaced with sharper, more intensly sharp features. His size 7s grew quickly, his feet ruinding sneakers left and right, until he'd leveled off at a wide size 13. His chest began to grow a smattering of hair, his pits were thick, dense wiry bushes. He had that Pretty-Boy look. Fuzzy in all the right places. Sure, he reeked like a Varsity Locker room, but hey, Charles II wanted an athletic son, he knows from our own college days what that entials.

I could see the Sorority Girls and cheerleaders beginning to take notice, but for now, I'd kept Chett firmly away from women. That would come later. I recieved several new prototype supplements, each targeting a different system of the body. By the time he'd finished taking these, he was 6'2" 170, a tall, well built stallion, with nothing but the gym and my trances to quell the neverending storm of energy and hormones flooding his system. He was pent up, on edge, ready to go off anytime. And I knew just what I had to do.

I'd had him on edge for the last 8 monnths. his grades slipped until he nearly got ckicked from school. Luckily, I miraculously had a place for him on the Football team. And he eagerly joined, wanting nothing more than to try and burn off all the aggression on the field. He was a beast from his first practice, I'd programmed everything he'd ever need to know about the game into his mind for months. He absolutley plowed through opponents. It was incredible to see.

I finally let the damn break after a hard-fought summer Game. he'd performed just as I expected. Like a perfectly trained, expert player. Nobody would ever guess Chett had ever been a weedy little boy. Expecially not after I'd set him loose, allowing him to notice the girls all over the field, cheering and buoncing about from player to player. when Sandra Rinaldi, heir to an immense national Grocer's fortune slid up to him, pushing the sweaty hair from his eyes, he couldn't help it. One look at her, and he pounced, kissing her hard right there in the field. 8 months of hormones and denial had been released.

From what I learned through locker room talk in the days following, Chett had given Sandra quite the workout that night, and every day since. Although the two weren't exclusive, Chett tending to get his dick wet anytime, anywhere, with anyone just as programmed, Chett seemed to have a natural incling toward her, and ended up asking her to marry him just after graduation, his father thrilled at the possibility of grandkids and Sandra's inheritence bolstering their own family's fortune.

From tiny waif of a boy, to a true blue American Stud, Charles Wentworth III was now both satisfied and thrilled with his family's future. His strapping, handsome Jock of a son made him proud, cleaning up well for his father to parade him around Gala's and business events, other big-wigs taking notice of the Wentworth's "good genes", not knowing what it took to build the boy up as you see here.

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rookthorne · 11 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

Who knew uttering a simple phrase would turn the man that had only ever been gentle and teasing, into a feral beast with only one goal in mind — to ruin you?

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✯ Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✯ 1.9k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✯ Fluff, kink discovery ჻჻჻ SMUT: Unprotected piv, Dom/Sub undertones, so much dirty talk ჻჻჻ KINKS: Sir, praise, degradation

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✯ Well, this happened. I will be recovering from this one for the foreseeable future.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✯ Hysteria by Def Leppard

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✯ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 2 — Sir — Masterlist

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The day had passed swiftly – a day in Bucky’s garage was always going to lead to some interesting spectacles of testosterone fuelled fights and petty pranks, and you weren’t going to lie, you were tired. Your bed was calling your name and you were more than eagerly following the call, and Bucky realised that as he sat at his desk, packing away the last of the day’s invoices and paperwork since everyone else had gone home.

“Go wait at the car, doll,” he murmured, smiling softly. “I’ll take you home. You look dead on your feet.” You watched as he stood from his wheelie chair and placed the papers in the filing cabinet. “Go on.”

You stretched, yawned, and without considering your words, you spoke a breathy, high-pitched, “Yessir.”

The room suddenly became stifling, the air thick with a tension that made your heart race, and you glanced at Bucky to see him frozen – muscled shoulders tense and hands mid motion, he looked like he had stopped breathing.

“Buck–?”

He remained frozen in place, as still as a marble statue. “I-I’ll see you at the car, okay?”

You grabbed your jacket and made your way to the door, but a rough, raspy voice spoke just as you reached the threshold. “What did you just say?”

“I said I’d see you at the car…?”

Bucky turned, and you let out a quiet breath. His eyes had turned dark, a determined and absolutely savaged glint flashing across them as he stared into your face, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “No,” he said lowly, crossing his arms across his chest – his far too muscled and tattooed arms. “Before that–what did you say to me?”

“Oh,” you whispered dumbly. Well, fuck, you thought. “Uh… I said yessir.”

The glint in his eyes became piercing, and he tilted his head, his arms still crossed. “Come here.”

“Wha- Why? Didn’t you want to–”

“I said, come here.” The tone of his voice sent a shiver up your spine – he looked like a caged animal, barely able to contain whatever lust that seared his being, and it was a sight to behold watching him try and restrain himself. “Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart.”

“Alright,” you said shakily, stepping back into the middle of the room, just next to Bucky’s desk, and he slowly advanced. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky shook his head once, maintaining eye contact that you refused to break as he loomed over you. “Nothin’s wrong, doll,” he purred, his voice honeyed. The space between the two of you was narrowing and it became charged with tension. “Just hearin’ you call me sir…”

“I didn’t know–” You tried to defend yourself, but you couldn’t deny the heat that had pooled in your throbbing cunt – if only he’d stop looking at you like that, you could focus.

“I know you didn’t, sweetheart,” Bucky cooed, “neither did I, but now…” He took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out with a sigh as he leant over you and forced you back against the desk, his arms trapping you. “Now ‘m gonna fuck you on this desk ‘till you cum for your sir.”

“Oh,” you gasped, eyes widening as Bucky reached behind you and swiped everything off the desk, before lifting you up and onto the edge. “Fuck, Bucky.”

“Not yet,” he said, pulling his shirt off with such haste you were surprised it didn’t rip – though the sight of his muscled and tattooed chest and stomach left you unable to caution him to slow the fuck down. The buttons of his jeans came undone under your trembling fingers, when Bucky grabbed your hands, bringing them up to his lips to kiss your palms, his voice soft as he muttered into your skin, “D’you want this? We can stop–”

“Don’t you dare stop,” you rushed, the pulse and ache between your legs becoming too much. “Fuck me, sir.”

Bucky moaned huskily and surged forward, claiming your lips in a heated kiss of tongue and teeth – a fight for control that you valiantly battled for, but conceded with a gasp when Bucky cupped your clothed sex. “You’re wearin’ too much, sweetheart,” he growled, and you nodded, hastening to pull your pants and shirt off.

A moment later, you lay bare before him, his jeans around his thighs and his leaking cock free from the confines of his briefs. The throbbing length of it brushed against your thigh, and you sighed happily when Bucky moved to spread your thighs further apart, a low whistle on his lips. “Such a pretty pussy, baby, and it’s all mine, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, grabbing at his hands to pull him close, but he stood just out of reach and tutted.

“Who’s pussy is this, sweetheart?” Each word he spoke was punctuated with a soft circle of his thumb against your clit. “Tell me.”

“S’yours, Bucky, fuck–” You squeaked when he pinched your thigh in reprimand, his heated glare making you shiver. “Sorry, sorry, I meant sir.”

“Say it like you mean it, baby, I know you can,” Bucky ordered, leaning down so his lips brushed against your collarbone.

“Sir’s pussy!” You cried suddenly, Bucky’s teeth scraping your skin with a dark chuckle. “Please, it’s sir’s pussy, it’s yours!”

“That’s right, doll,” Bucky rumbled, his weight setting against you as he stepped closer, nestling himself between your open thighs more comfortably. “It’s mine.” The brush of his cock at your folds made you keen. “Shh,” he whispered. “Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, baby, I’ve gotchu.”

The feeling of the head of his cock slipping into your cunt made you gasp, and Bucky continued to slowly push in, his breath heavy against your neck. “Almost there, baby, you can take it,” he soothed, “you feel so fuckin’ good around me, doll, fuck.”

“Bucky! Sir, please, please- Oh, god,” you moaned, biting your lip as he moved to the hilt – the feeling of finally being full indescribable.

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky whimpered, halting his movements and he bit your shoulder, the sharp sting making your cunt pulse. “Don’t–fuck, don’t move, ‘m not gonna last if you move.”

You chuckled breathily and grabbed his shoulder with one hand, the other threading into his hair to pull him away from your neck. He gasped quietly at the movement, and you looked up at him with doe eyes. “Kiss me.”

Bucky kissed you, the passion behind it leaving you breathless and you moaned against his lips. “Move–you can move,” you whispered, grinning at him.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, and he tested the waters by pulling out slow, and thrusting back in just as slow. It was maddening.

“Fuck me, sir, c’mon,” you whimpered, bearing down around him with every word. Bucky’s breath hitched and you stifled the laugh that threatened to burst free. “I need it–need sir’s big cock.”

“Good god,” Bucky moaned. “Such a filthy fuckin’ mouth, sweetheart.”

His hips started to move, a faster pace that left him grunting with the effort. “Yes, just like that,” you moaned, marvelling at the way he reached so deep within you and made you see stars on every thrust. “Fuck yes, sir!”

“Feel s’good on my cock, doll, goddamn,” Bucky grit out, his hips now pistoning in and out. “Not gonna last, baby, need t’a fuckin’ cum.”

“Wan’ it, sir,” you breathed, grinning wickedly up at him. “Give me it, ‘m a slut for my sir’s cum.”

Bucky’s pace faltered, and he groaned loudly. “Jesus, the fuck is this? Where you been hidin’ this?” You giggled and bit your lip, raising a brow. “Alright,” he breathed, gripping your hips tightly. “You wan’ your sir’s cum, huh? You wanna be sir’s whore?”

“Please,” you rushed, nodding.

“Good girl,” Bucky murmured, starting to thrust hard so each one punched the air from your lungs. “Then fuckin’ take it.”

The pace turned punishing – each slick drag of his cock against your walls making your thighs shake while a litany of cries and moans for more filled the air, as well as the wet sounds of his dick in your heat; the sound of skin slapping against skin.

A sharp stab of pleasure turned into a dull roar when Bucky’s fingers found your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. “You like that, huh, slut?”

“Yes! God, yes!” You shouted, gasping for breath when he didn’t relent in his pace. “Fuck, fuck, oh fuck, babe–”

“Be a good girl and call me by my name, sweetheart,” Bucky growled, and you didn’t miss the breathy tone to his voice – he was close. “Do it, then you can cum.”

“Sir! Sir, please- Oh, please, wanna come,” you babbled, and Bucky grinned, his pace quickening and strokes going deeper, like he was searching for something – which he found not even a second later, a searing white-hot surge of pleasure blinding you.

“There it is,” he breathed. “There you go, fuckin’ whore for your sir’s cock, aren’t you?”

You hiccuped and writhed, knocking off the last of the pens and papers on the desk to the floor. Red lines followed your nails as you clawed at Bucky’s arms. “Fuck yeah, I am, ‘m close, sir!”

“Oh, doll, you look so pretty like this, like a fuckin’ goddess,” Bucky murmured, and you whimpered as he leant back over you, his breath hot on your ear. “Now fuckin’ cum like one for me–cum like the slut you are.” The words cascaded over you, and you thrashed on his desk as the pleasure consumed you whole.

“That’s it, baby, give it to me,” Bucky moaned, his hips faltering through your release. “Fuck, need t’a cum in you, lemme in, baby–you’re so fuckin’ tight, good god,” he panted, and you whimpered as the tail end of your climax made you jerk, your thighs still shaking.

“Cum for me, sir, please,” you whined, pulling him into a kiss. Pulling back, your breath fanned across his slack lips as he grunted with each thrust. “Fill me up, sir, wanna feel you cum.”

“Oh, god,” Bucky groaned. “‘M gonna fill you up, sweetheart, ‘m so close, fuck.”

You latched onto the column of Bucky’s throat and sucked, moving your hips in time with his faltering rhythm, until he started to moan on every breath. “Let go, sir,” you whispered, grabbing his face so you could stare into his eyes. “Cum in me, fill me up.”

Bucky’s hips jolted and he whined, a loud cry that bounced off the walls when you felt warmth bloom, and he pistoned his hips harder and faster into your cunt, the squelch of his release making the slide easier. “‘M coming! Fuck, fuck–”

“Feels s’good, sir,” you moaned, gripping his shoulders as he panted for breath.

A few moments passed with you two catching your breaths, touches gentle and soothing as you came down from your collective high.

“Goddamn,” Bucky gasped, resting his weight on shaky arms. “The fuck did that come from, doll?”

You laughed. “Oh, y’know,” you mumbled, and Bucky raised a brow. “Dream of you fucking me like this all the time–a girl picks up a few tricks.”

A heavy breath left Bucky’s lips, and suddenly, you’re sitting up on his desk, dishevelled and leaking his spend down your thighs while he does up his jeans. “Wha–?”

“I’m takin’ you home,” Bucky said quickly, regarding the mess of papers and pens with a shrug before helping you back into your clothes. “And we’re gonna make all those dreams come true.”

The mess left behind in the office was the last thing on your mind as Bucky picked you up and carried you to his car, his jacket over your shoulders, and a smug grin on his lips. And you found you couldn’t wait to share everything you had dreamt of, after all, if it ended like that each time? You would not complain – not in the slightest.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #hotbuckysummer2023 #rookthorne's works #After Hours

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yuujispinkhair · 1 year

Text

To the end (Chapter 6)

The end of the world as you knew it began with the virus spreading in your dorm. Six months later, you are once again on the run. By your side is Sukuna, the bad boy of your camp, the most unlikely companion you expected. But maybe this is exactly as it should be because sometimes hope comes in the form of a smug smirk and a tattooed pair of sword-yielding arms.

Masterpost ++ Chapter 1 ++ Chapter 2 ++ Chapter 3 ++ Chapter 4 ++ Chapter 5

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Zombie Apocalypse AU, horror, smut and some fluff Playlist: Zombie Apocalypse Word Count: 7k Warnings: 18+, violence, gore, angst, smut, cumshot, cum-eating, squirting, rough sex, zombies, fighting, knives, blood, mentions of several side characters' deaths, alcohol, suicidal thoughts. This AU is based on The Walking Dead, so imagine a world like this. It's cruel and hopeless at times, but there is also a love story :) All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

You wake up to an empty bed, shivering slightly from the chilly temperatures in the cabin. There's an uneasy feeling in your gut, and after a second, the horrible memories of yesterday slam back into your mind with full force. You look around feverishly. Where is Sukuna? In your hurry to get dressed and look for him, you almost fall over your own feet.

But you find him in front of the hut. He's standing with his back to you, overlooking the forest surrounding the small cabin. The strong muscles on his broad back are tense, just like the rest of his posture.

You approach him slowly while softly calling out his name so as not to startle him, still scared that a wrong move will send him running.

When Sukuna's gaze meets yours, you see a glimpse of the boy who cried himself to sleep in your arms last night, grief-stricken and lost. For a fleeting moment, his eyes look at you almost longingly. As if he wants to be back in your arms.

But the moment is gone quickly, and Sukuna's face turns into an emotionless mask. It makes your step falter for a moment. The memory of his tears on your naked skin is still fresh, as well as the desperate way he fucked you, looking for an outlet, for an escape, that you gladly provided to him.

Part of you hoped he would let his guard down and let you continue to comfort him this morning. But one look at his carefully blank expression tells you that Sukuna isn't ready to be open about his feelings and share his grief and pain with you in broad daylight.

His face is a carefully constructed mask of indifference. He looks as cold and beautiful as a marble statue, almost cruel with the way his lips lift at one corner in a malevolent smirk that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Pack your things, brat. We are leaving. There's no reason to stay here any longer."

Your stomach clenches painfully. You can hear the hopelessness in Sukuna's words. The resignation. There really is nothing here for him anymore. Only pain. You understand why he wants to leave as fast as possible and leave this place that will always remind him of what he lost. You blink the tears away that are gathering in your eyes and tentatively take a step closer, feeling the urge to give Sukuna some kind of comfort at least,

"Sukuna..."

But you don't get any further because he interrupts you, his voice toneless but unrelenting,

"I said pack your things."

You gulp hard and swallow down what you want to say to him. The words of comfort, the reassurance. You can see that he wouldn't take it well at this moment. Nothing is left of the boy who cried in your arms last night. This is a different Sukuna. Cold, hard, ready to slay his way through hordes of zombies and every other enemy he might encounter.

And so you nod and turn around wordlessly to gather your belongings, saying goodbye to your small temporary home of the last few weeks.

Your journey to the other end of the forest is one of strained silence. Sukuna shuts down any of your attempts to talk. The pace he sets is a fast one, making you breathe heavily and effectively shutting you up.

His brother's leather necklace with the golden tiger charm dangles around Sukuna's neck. You see him touching it unconsciously several times, but anytime he realizes what he's doing, he quickly jerks his hand away as if the metal burned him.

Sukuna is tense, mouth set in a grim line, red-rimmed eyes scanning your surroundings with a defeated look in them. He is still functioning, though. A fighter through and through.

His senses are still sharp. He gets in front of you when there's the sound of a twig snapping to your right, automatically putting himself between you and any potential danger, shielding you with his tall body as if it has become a natural instinct to do this.

A small group of zombies breaks through the underwood at that moment, stumbling towards the two of you with their grotesque movements and their disgusting gurgling noises.

You watch in horrid fascination as Sukuna slays his way through them. He is fighting them with a lot more vigor and violence than needed. But he seems to be in a frenzy, driven by grief and rage, as he throws himself into the fight with all his brute strength.

Blood is spraying everywhere as Sukuna's katana hacks down over and over again on the zombies in front of him. He doesn't stop when they are dead but keeps hitting them with his sword, cutting them into little pieces, smashing their heads under his army boots, and scattering their body parts over the forest floor. He is breathing harshly and glaring at the bloody body parts with a feral look on his face, eyes burning with hate.

He isn't just killing them, you think. He is erasing them from this world. The creatures that killed his little brother.

It's a horrible sight. And a heartbreaking one. Tall, muscular Sukuna leaning over the bloody mess on the forest floor, bringing his blood-stained katana down onto the scattered pile of bodies, hacking desperately, his hands gripping his katana so tightly that his knuckles are white.

"Sukuna...please stop."

You have to suppress the bile from rising in your throat as you carefully wade through the slippery mess and reach out to put a hand on Sukuna's back.

His muscles feel taut under your hand, and his shirt is wet from sweat and dark blood. He twitches at your touch but doesn't pull away.

You try again, gently,

"They are already dead...please...stop."

Your hand caresses his back lightly, just a whisper of a touch, scared that you might make him pull away again if you ask too much of him.

But he finally stops and straightens up, katana hanging loosely at his side as he turns to look at you with a face sprinkled with dark blood and tears.

Your eyes widen. You hadn't realized Sukuna was crying during the fight.

Automatically your hand comes up to cup his cheek, not caring about the dirt. You wipe away some of the tears. It's a loving touch, tender and caring, wordlessly letting him know that you are here for him, that you want to ease his pain if he only lets you.

For a moment, Sukuna stands in front of you, just watching you with a blank expression, sword arm held out stiffly, and you hear the awful syrupy sound of the blood and gore dripping down from it. But then you feel him lean into your touch ever so slightly.

Encouraged by this, you give him a shaky smile,

"Let's move on, ok? The sooner we find a good place to stay for the night, the better."

"Yeah, let's look for a place to set up a camp for the night."

He steps away from you, pulling up the front of his shirt to wipe the gore and tears off his face. And you watch the tattoos on his stomach move when his abs flex. It's a hypnotic sight, a little normalcy after this horrible scene you witnessed only minutes ago. When the shirt drops down again, Sukuna looks more put together. Only the understandably haunted look in his eyes remains.

You set up camp for the night at a deer stand. Sukuna orders you to climb up into the wooden stand and get some sleep while he stays up to keep watch.

When you climb down again a few hours later to take over the watch, you get wordlessly pulled into Sukuna's arms. Your surprised gasp gets silenced by his lips which move over yours in a fierce, desperate kiss.

And after that, you speak the language you and Sukuna can speak the best, letting your bodies do all the talking.

From that moment on, it's deep, feverish kisses and low moans. Hands and teeth tearing at each other's clothes until you are a half-undressed tangle on the forest floor, where Sukuna rolls on top of you and takes you with his usual hard and unrelenting thrusts. He cums on your stomach and licks you clean afterward while his long fingers pump into you mercilessly, making you cry out his name as your whole body shakes and you cum all over his hand.

He gets dressed in silence before telling you to be careful during your watch and then presses a surprisingly gentle kiss onto the side of your cheek before his strong fingers let go of your chin, and he climbs up the deer stand to get a few hours of rest too.

You doubt he got any good sleep though, judging by the tired look on his face and the dark circles under his eyes when he climbs down the ladder again at the first light of morning.

After a silent breakfast, the two of you continue your journey.

It's afternoon when Sukuna's left arm darts out in a warning. You stop in your tracks, your heart hammering fearfully in your chest as you strain your ears. And then you hear it too. There are voices. Human voices.

You freeze up completely for a moment. Your last encounter with other survivors wasn't a pleasant one after all. Panic is threatening to engulf you as you remember the two strangers who wanted to steal your supplies.

You still see images of Sukuna's fight to the death with those men when the voices suddenly turn into screams.

Your gaze snaps to Sukuna, eyes wide. He puts a long elegant finger to his lips, motioning for you to stay silent. His other hand wraps tightly around your wrist and pulls you along as he slowly makes his way toward the commotion, carefully making sure not to make any noises.

Soon you spot a clearing just a few meters down the hill. A small camp is set there. Only two tents. The inhabitants of those are currently all standing with their backs to each other, holding up their weapons as they get surrounded by a large group of zombies that constantly closes in on them.

The campers seem to be a family. A middle-aged man and woman, their teenage sons, and an older woman, probably the grandmother.

Your heart jumps to your throat at the sight. You can see that the horde of zombies is too big. That family will not make it out alive. Your hand darts to the long knife in your holster, unsheathing it.

"What are you doing, brat?"

Sukuna's voice is a harsh whisper. You blink at him, eyes wide with fear,

"We're going to help them, right?'

His eyes narrow, and before you can move, he gets in your way, placing his tall, muscular body between you and the clearing.

"No, you're not going down there! Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"But Sukuna! They need our help! We have to do something!"

"No, we don't!"

You feel anger rise in you. Anger at Sukuna for trying to stop you, anger at him for not talking to you all day, anger at yourself for getting angry at him despite his grief, anger at the zombies, anger at that family for not being more watchful and letting themselves get ambushed by a whole horde of walkers, anger at this cruel world that puts you into such situations.

A broken sob escapes your lips as you quickly step to the side, trying to get past Sukuna in your blind urge to do something, to right some of the wrongs in this fucked up world.

But Sukuna is faster than you. His strong arms grab you and stop you from getting any further.

You howl like a wild animal and struggle against his tight grip,

"Let me go!"

But you don't stand a chance against Sukuna, of course. He tightens his hold on you, his muscled arms wrapping around your waist in a death grip before he lifts you off your feet and half drags, half carries you away from the horrible sight of the family fighting against the zombies and screaming for their lives.

Tears are running down your face, blurring your vision. You don't even know when you started crying or why you are in such a desperate state. But somehow, you cannot stand the thought of more useless deaths, more innocent people dying, and more unfairness, just like when Yuuji died.

You keep struggling against Sukuna's hold, frantically kicking at him and clawing at his arms.

"Please, we have to help them! They will die!"

Your desperate cry gets muffled by a firm hand clamping down over your mouth. Sukuna's other arm is still wrapped painfully around your waist while his tall, athletic body presses against your back, holding you tightly to him, effectively restraining you and shutting you up at the same time.

His low voice is an angry whisper right next to your ear. You feel his lips brush wetly over your earlobe as he spats,

"And I don't fucking care what happens to them! All I care about is keeping you alive! Why don't you understand that!? You are the only one that is important to me! I don't give a fuck about anyone else! I won't let you go down there and get yourself killed! I won't lose another person! I lost my brother! I won't lose you too! Get that in your stupid head, you fucking brat!"

You can feel the rise and fall of his broad chest against your back. He's breathing heavily. His mouth lingers on your skin, hot and wet, blowing his warm breath onto your neck.

You draw in a sharp breath that turns into a muffled sob.

Sukuna is scared, you realize. He is scared to lose you like he lost Yuuji.

It's as much of a love confession as you can imagine coming from him at the moment. A desperate plea to stay alive for him because he needs you just like you need him.

And suddenly, the fog seems to lift off your thoughts. Your mind is clear again. You realize how stupid you were. How could you think running blindly into that clearing was a good idea? Sukuna is right. There are too many zombies, and you have no idea how many more will join the ones already down there. Helping that family would most likely just get you killed too.

This time you don't try to resist when Sukuna starts walking again and drags you with him, hastily putting more distance between the fight and the two of you.

You spend the following days in the same routine. During the daytime, you make your way through the forest, mainly walking in silence. And at night, Sukuna and you are fucking on the forest floor, with your nails digging into Sukuna's broad back while his hips snap in feverish moves and his lips leave bruises on your neck. You decorate his tattoed skin with scratches while his tears leave their wet trail on your neck and shoulders.

You know this is probably not how coping should work. But these are dark times, and Sukuna is a special kind of guy. This is the method that seems to work best. It's the only one that seems to give him some comfort. And so you lay with him every night, giving him all the comfort and love you can by meeting his hard deep thrusts eagerly and stroking or sucking his gorgeous cock with sweet abandon until he cries out softly and spills his warm seed into your mouth or on your body.

You think at night, when he is lying in your arms after another round of desperate fucking, Sukuna seems better. His kisses turn softer, and his embrace becomes gentler. You could even call it cuddling, what the two of you are doing for a short while before you have to part again so one can sleep and the other can take watch.

In broad daylight, things are different, though. After his outburst, Sukuna retreated again, marching along wordlessly, eyes fixed on the way ahead, muscles tense, and jaw clenched. You can see the grief he carries with him like a heavy weight dragging him down constantly. You can see it in his posture, in the way every step seems painful for him.

The golden tiger charm on the leather band around Sukuna's neck keeps rhythmically moving with every step. You gulp hard when you see him unconsciously raise a hand again to wrap it around the small charm. This time he doesn't let go of it but holds it tightly.

It's hard to just walk beside Sukuna, unable to do anything. You know how to help him when you lie down with each other. When you can offer your body to him. When you can let your hands and your mouth, and your body give Sukuna the comfort he needs.

But you want to help him here right now too. Not just in the hazy moments at night, when he can hide his expression from you, and you only feel his tears on your skin but don't see them. You want to comfort him in daylight too.

"Sukuna..."

You reach out, gently placing your fingertips on his biceps.

Sukuna shrugs your hand away instantly, taking a step to the side to put some distance between the two of you. Cold, maroon eyes sparkle at you.

"Get away from me, brat."

He sounds hostile, but you can see that longing in his eyes again. His actions and words tell you to leave him alone, but his eyes show how much he needs someone to help him.

And suddenly, you can't take it anymore.

It's too much. Yuuji's death, worrying about Sukuna, the lack of sleep, the constant fear, the zombie attack on that family, and your craving to help Sukuna while he keeps pushing you away.

Suddenly you find yourself snapping at him,

"I won't get away from you! I care about you, Sukuna! And I can see how much you are suffering! Let me be there for you, please! Don't push me away all the time!"

Tears run down your cheeks as you stand there with your fists helplessly balled at your sides, glaring up at Sukuna's much taller figure, shaking from how distraught you are.

Deep down, you know you are selfish for asking this of him, but you can't deal with this anymore. You can't tiptoe around him when you know he needs you. When every night, he cries while fucking you in that desperate and frantic way but still refuses to talk to you about what happened.

Sukuna stares back at you. His maroon eyes are wide and haunted. He blinks several times, and his emotionless mask slips, face contorting in a painful grimace. His lips twitch before he starts speaking, and his low voice is just a broken whisper,

"But can't you see? I don't deserve it."

His words catch you off guard. You blink and stare at him with a puzzled expression.

"What?"

"I don't deserve any of your sympathy, brat. I'm a monster. I bring chaos and death everywhere I go. I even killed my little brother."

Blood is rushing in your ears and pumping much too fast through your veins, threatening to make you black out. What is going on here? Has he lost his mind? He isn't making any sense!

"What are you saying, Sukuna? You didn't kill Yuuji!"

A sad humorless chuckle escapes Sukuna's lips.

"It might as well have been my hand which did it. I swore to protect him. But I failed him. I wasn't by his side when he got into a fight. I wasn't there to keep my little brother safe. It's my fucking fault he died!"

The last part is an angry scream that ends in a wretched-sounding sob. One of Sukuna's large hands comes up to cover his face.

It breaks your heart to see him like this. So broken, stripped of all his arrogance and pride.

You feel unsteady on your feet as you begin to realize what Sukuna has been dealing with in silence all this time. The messed-up version of events he constructed in his grieving mind. The guilt he has been drowning in. Sukuna became an unreliable narrator to himself, twisting the story of his brother's death and turning everything into his fault.

You make a strangled noise as more tears well up in your eyes, and then, without thinking, you close the small distance between the two of you, throwing yourself at Sukuna, reaching out to wrap both arms around his tall figure and hug him. For a second, you fear he will push you away again. But he doesn't move.

"But... that's not how things were. None of it was your fault."

Your voice is a gentle whisper, afraid you will lose him if you speak louder. Every muscle in Sukuna's body is taut as if he is on the verge of running. And his next words make a fearful knot form in your stomach.

Sukuna sounds dead, talking in a gruff, toneless voice while his eyes stare unseeingly at a place behind you.

"It should have been me who died. Yuuji was the good twin. I am the bad one. It's ironic, isn't it? They always try to teach you to do good, but if you do it, you die, while the ones who do bad things stay alive."

"Stop saying stuff like that! You both should have lived! And you were always a good brother to Yuuji! Even now, you want to bring him back to your family grave!"

You look at Sukuna with pleading eyes, desperate to reassure him.

His gaze meets yours and Sukuna laughs softly. But it's a humorless, cruel laughter. There's a shadow ghosting over his face. His eyes hold a deep sadness as he looks at you and shakes his head ever so slightly.

"I changed my mind. What use is it to bury him in my family grave? He is gone. I don't believe in that crap about the afterlife or whatever. Yuuji isn't here anymore. So what good will it do him? That is only something selfish I wanted to do, to fool myself into believing I didn't fail my little brother completely. But I did. I promised Yuuji I would always protect him, but instead, I got him killed. It's my fault. I don't deserve your compassion or your trust."

His words make panic rise in your chest. Sukuna sounds defeated, full of self-hatred and hopelessness. These are the words of a man who can't forgive himself. Someone who has lost his will to live.

Your mind is reeling. What can you tell someone who is down at his worst? You exhale shakily and tilt your head to look into Sukuna's eyes.

"I'm not gonna say things will be ok because I know they won't. You will always miss your brother and regret not being by his side when it happened. But Sukuna, I need you. Maybe this is selfish, but please, I need you here by my side. I won't survive this on my own. So please stay alive for me, ok? I know it's painful and hopeless, and death seems so much easier, but I am not ready to die, and I cannot stand the thought of losing you. So please stay with me, Sukuna."

He huffs, eyes glittering dangerously, and his words come out snide, almost mocking.

"Do you really want a zombie apocalypse partner who gets the people he wants to protect killed? I think you'd be better off with someone else."

His words make the blood rush in your ears. A mix of fear and hot searing anger floods your senses. What does he mean, you'd be better off with someone else? Is that why he is acting this way? He thinks he will get everyone he cares about killed? He thinks he has to protect you from him? Will he just drop you somewhere? Will he just leave you behind in his state of self-hatred?

Suddenly you see red. You bring your hands up and push angrily at Sukuna's firm chest, taking a step back to glare up at him,

"How can you think I would be safer with someone else!? I only trust you! And before you get the stupid idea to drop me at some camp or something, let me tell you that I will not stay with anyone else! You are my zombie apocalypse partner! Only you! And if you leave, I will just follow you! I will follow you until the end of the world, Sukuna!"

You yell the last part, not caring about the zombies you might attract with your noise. Angry tears run down your cheeks, and your body shakes violently.

For a moment, Sukuna stares at you as if he can't believe you are real. Then he crosses his muscular arms in front of his chest and sneers at you.

"This makes you sound just as crazy as I am. I hope you realize that, princess."

In your helpless anger, you laugh, a strange squeaky sound that sounds all wrong and insane, and maybe you are proofing Sukuna's point by acting like a mad woman, but you cannot stop. Your hands ball into fists at your sides as your gaze burns into his, and you yell the next words, so desperate to get your point across,

"I don't care if I am crazy! Everything in this world is crazy! And it scares me out of my mind to imagine being in this madness without you! Don't do that to me, Sukuna! You dragged me away from that fight because you didn't want to lose me! So why the fuck can you even contemplate leaving me behind with someone else? I know your brother is gone, but I am still here, and I need you! You told me it is us from now on! That we are in this together! Don't you dare take that back now! I need you by my side!

Don't give me that crap about needing to protect me from yourself, as if we are in some shitty teen romance movie! It's not true! You are the best thing that has happened to me since this stupid virus outbreak! And I care about you, whether you want that or not! I care about you a lot, you idiot! Do you really think I would let you go and get yourself killed? Do you have any idea how bad I felt when I went back to the hut alone when you asked me to? I will never do something like that again! So stop this idiocy and promise me we are still in this together!"

You glare at him with tears streaming down your face, breathing heavily and almost choking on your tears.

Sukuna watches you curiously, and you can see his adam's apple bob as he gulps hard. Something in his gaze twists, and then he asks in a soft voice,

"Why are you so stubborn, brat?"

"Must have learned it from the best, I guess."

You wipe angrily at the tears streaming down your cheeks while Sukuna's gaze wanders scrutinizingly over you as if you are the most fascinating thing he has ever laid his eyes upon. Finally, his gaze meets yours again, and he nods slowly,

"Ok."

You frown at him, surprised by the sudden softness in his features.

"Ok?"

"Yeah, I'll keep going. For you. I won't leave you, I promise. We're in this together, just like I said."

Relief washes over you, making your legs almost give out. You sway precariously for a split second, but Sukuna's strong arms are there to catch you. They wrap around you and pull you into his firm embrace.

Your sob of relief gets muffled when you nuzzle your face into Sukuna's muscular chest. You hear another strangled sound, not even sure whether it's coming from you or Sukuna.

But it doesn't matter. All that matters is that Sukuna is holding you. That he promised you he will stay alive for you, that he will stay by your side. It's still him and you.

"Thank you, Yuuji, for being so kind and caring. You will be missed a lot."

You smile through your tears as you place the small bouquet of wildflowers you picked on the makeshift tomb you and Sukuna built out of several big stones.

It's been a week since you found Yuuji, and this morning you suggested holding a small burial ceremony to honor him and say your goodbyes since Sukuna is still adamant about not bringing Yuuji's ashes to their family grave. He calls it an unnecessary risk. This is true, but you still tried to encourage him to follow his initial wish. Until last night.

Last night, when your head was resting on Sukuna's naked chest after another round of feverish fucking, he whispered something to you. A confession, a fear.

"Too much can happen on a long journey like that. What if we get into an ambush and have to leave everything behind? I cannot stand the thought of losing Yuuji's remains like that. It would be like failing him all over again. He has to stay here."

And that's why you are burying Yuuji here, where you can say farewell to him under controlled circumstances.

You eye Sukuna carefully as he gets on his knees in front of the tomb. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, brushing away the tears that gathered there before he lowers his head and closes his eyes, lips moving silently.

You know he isn't praying. Sukuna doesn't believe in that. But in his head, he is talking to his little brother. Words that will only be between them. A goodbye, most likely words of love and pleas for forgiveness.

You hardly dare to breathe, scared you will make a noise and disturb this intimate moment between the twins. Yuuji isn't alive anymore, but the bond between the brothers still remains.

After a few minutes, Sukuna lifts his head again, maroon eyes glittering in the last rays of the setting sun.

"Goodbye, you idiot little brother."

He speaks the words with a grin on his face and a hint of his usual teasing humor in his voice. Despite the flippant message, you can hear the affection in his words.

Sukuna gets up and joins you on the fallen log you are perched on, sitting down so close to you that his thigh brushes against yours. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing the pink strands down while his gaze remains glued to the last resting place of his twin. He snorts softly.

"And that's it... that's a hero's burial. In the middle of nowhere, far away from home, with no one here but his brother who couldn't save him and a girl who didn't even really know him. That's what you get for being a hero."

"I don't think we are the only ones who remember him. I think someone like Yuuji always stays with everyone he ever meets. The things he did weren't in vain, Sukuna. And the ones he saved will always remember him and be grateful for him. He was very selfless."

"Yeah, my stupid selfless brother. He was too good. It's unfair, isn't it? All the heroes die, and this world is left with the scum, with the selfish ones, the ones who only have their own advantage in mind. That's why I'm still alive. The bad ones survive, and the good ones die."

Sukuna's army boot connects with an empty coke can, kicking it into the small campfire you lit to chase away the cold of the night.

Since your argument a few days ago, things have become better. Sukuna isn't as closed off anymore, and some of his guilt seems to have been lifted off his shoulders. But he still has moments like this when the darkness of his thoughts threatens to swallow him again, just like now. But you think you know how to handle him now.

You smile challengingly at him and ask him in a soft voice,

"What about me then? I am still alive too. Does that mean I am a bad person too?"

Sukuna rolls his eyes and makes a dismissive gesture with his hand,

"No, you're still alive because of me."

You chuckle softly and turn to face Sukuna with a raised eyebrow.

"Ah, so you admit that you saved someone too? Maybe Yuuji wasn't the only hero, huh? Sukuna, you aren't a bad person. Don't you see it? You just said it yourself. I owe my life to you. Would someone who only thinks of himself have burdened himself to take me with him? Would a bad person have saved me? You would have been much faster without me, but you chose to help me that night when our camp got overrun. You chose to take me with you even though I was holding you up. To me, you are a hero too. My personal hero."

Sukuna lets out a long breath, shaking his head.

"Yeah, fine, I saved you. But still, I only look after myself and you. Everyone else can die for all I care. Look what I did to that family. How I let them get eaten. And how I killed those two guys who wanted our supplies. And I would do it again without any hesitation."

"And I told you, I understand. You saved us on both occasions. And I am grateful for it. I am grateful for your ability to judge a situation calmly and make the decision that keeps us alive. You aren't a bad person for wanting to put the ones who are important to you first."

"You don't understand. Yuuji was the good one. It should have been me who died."

"Sukuna... I understand that you miss your brother, and I know you feel guilty because you are still alive, and he is not. But it wasn't your fault. It was an accident. Yuuji's death was something that was out of your control. You aren't to blame for it."

You lean against Sukuna's side and rest your head on his broad shoulder, eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the campfire as you continue talking in a gentle voice,

"You are a good guy, too, Sukuna, at least to me. I don't need a knight in shining armor who always does the righteous thing. I am more than happy with the antihero who keeps us alive by putting us first. I know Yuuji was a symbol of hope for a lot of people, including me, back when we were in our old camp. But you have become an even bigger hope for me. My only hope in this world. Maybe you aren't sunshine like your brother was, but you are a fire. A fire that can be raging and dangerous when it burns our enemies. But also comforting, keeping me warm and safe and making me feel like there is still a reason to keep living. That's what you are to me. A reason to wake up again tomorrow. You are my only light in this dark world."

You exhale softly and lift your head to look at Sukuna, feeling almost drunk after letting all that out. Your gaze travels slowly over the filigree tattoos on Sukuna's jaw and follows the black lines upwards to the pair of fake eyes that are inked into his skin before you finally reach his real eyes.

Your gaze meets his, and you find that Sukuna is looking at you with a stunned expression in those pretty eyes. His long eyelashes flutter for a moment, and then he asks in a slightly hoarse voice,

"That's how you see me?"

You nod, smiling at him through the tears in your eyes.

"Yes. And I don't want you to change. You don't have to be this perfectly selfless good guy. You don't have to be the hero who saves everyone. You are my personal hero, Sukuna, and that's more than enough. You save me over and over again, and I like you exactly the way you are. I..."

You stop momentarily, your heart pounding wildly as you look at the boy who has become your whole world. And suddenly, it's so natural to say all those things and bare your whole heart and soul to him. Because, after all, the two of you have already been through more than someone can usually take. So what is there to fear? A love confession is the least scary thing in the current state of the world. And so you let those words spill from your lips that would have made you shy and nervous in your old life.

"I love you, Sukuna. I really love you. It's so different from what I thought love was before this virus. Everything I felt in the past seems so childish, so irrelevant compared to this. I think I never knew what love was supposed to be. But now, with you, I understand it. I watch you kill, and I am not scared but grateful. I watch you fight, and think it's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I see you with blood smeared all over you, screaming and laughing death in the face, and I am so full of love. I love you at your worst and at your best. And I can be my worst version around you too, and I know you won't turn your back on me. I have never trusted someone so much before. And if this isn't real love, then I don't know what is."

Your lips tremble at the last words, overcome with emotion, and you see the utter amazement in Sukuna's beautiful maroon eyes. For a long moment, he just looks at you, apparently too surprised to do anything, but then his lips twitch, and he says softly,

"Princess... come here."

Sukuna's strong arms wrap around you, holding you tightly to his chest. There's a smile in his voice when he tells you,

"I think you're crazy for seeing me that way. Absolutely insane. But it makes me want to be that guy you think I am. So I will try to be him."

It makes you laugh, your lips moving against Sukuna's shirt, chuckling softly as you shake your head,

"You don't have to try, you stubborn idiot. You already are him!"

You feel and hear a low laugh deep in Sukuna's chest.

"Ok, I will accept the compliment, then."

There's a short moment of silence in which Sukuna just holds you. You breathe in his scent, letting it wrap you in its comforting familiarity. Leather and sweat and the unexplainable hint of cherry blossom.

And then Sukuna sighs softly, and his velvety voice is very close to your ear when he speaks again,

"I don't know much about love. I think before all of this, I never felt it for anyone apart from my brother. I hated this world and everyone in it. But now there's you... and I like having you by my side. I want to burn the whole world down, but not while you are still in it. You aren't scared of me or repulsed by the things I do. After everything I've done, you're still here and treat me like I'm worthy of your affection. And that makes me... that makes me feel more human again and less like a monster. You make me want to continue, no matter how fucked up everything is. I want you next to me and under me, and I want to tease you until you roll your eyes and get mad at me because it makes the apocalypse a lot more fun when I can bicker with you. You mean a lot more to me than I ever thought possible. The thought of losing you terrifies me. I would do anything to keep you safe and see another sunrise with you."

You are sniffling against his chest, overcome with emotions, as hot tears run down your cheeks and into Sukuna's shirt. The raw openness in Sukuna's words caught you off guard.

He rests his chin gently on the top of your head and adds softly,

"I think I'm in love with you too, brat."

You stifle a sob when strong fingers cup your chin, and Sukuna tilts your face up, making you look at him.

He looks beautiful, even here in the half shadows. The flames of the campfire flicker enticingly over his tattoos and Sukuna's high cheekbones, accentuating his sharp angles and handsome features. His usually maroon-colored eyes glow red from the fire reflecting in them, like two glittering rubies.

He watches you with those stunning eyes, letting his gaze travel unhurriedly over your face as if taking you in for the first time.

Finally, the left corner of Sukuna's lips lifts ever so slightly in a hint of his usually smug smirk. But tonight, it's not really a smirk. It's more of a soft smile.

"It wasn't just me who saved you. You saved me too, princess."

And then Sukuna's eyes close, and he slowly leans closer to you. The breath you were holding leaves your lips in a soft sigh when Sukuna's lips press against yours in a gentle slow kiss that tastes like tears and hope and love.

Thank you so much for reading! This was a long chapter aaaaah, but I needed Sukuna and Reader to sort things out :) I hope you liked their I love you scene! It made me very emotional! I am so weak for this kind of love, where you love someone with all their darkness, and they do the same when it comes to you. It's what I love the most about writing my version of Sukuna, and I am very happy that I could include it in this AU too. I hope it could touch you too.

Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs make me happy!

Chapter 7 (last chapter)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna fluff #sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk smut #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader

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coffee--writes · 8 months

Text

Graceland Too

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, Violence, and Drug Use (Not by Reader or Five)

A/N: This is inspired by Graceland Too by Phoebe Bridgers. The lyrics are italicized!

Summary: Five Hargreeves embarks on a mission with you, a Commission mystery.

Five Hargreeves had not been there when you arrived with scars on your skin and your lips in a thin line.

Although he hadn’t been there, he had heard all the stories.

You were a Commission daydream. You were hard as steel. Took orders without a second thought. No one ever broke through that stony exterior of yours, something the two of you had in common. But that didn’t stop the stories from getting around. That day you showed up scarred and cold, you had been running from something. Abusive family, violent parents, constantly cracked up or hungover. No food on the table, barely a warm sheet to cover you at night. You had been in and out of depression. In and out of your mind.

Then one night, things changed.

The night you decided you were no longer a danger to yourself or others.

You made up your mind that night, the night your parents didn’t show. You laced up your shoes, yelled down the hall of your crumbling apartment building. Nobody answered. So you walked outside without an excuse to stay. That night, as you stumbled through city streets, starving, thirsty, bruised, defeated… the Commission saved you.

You were everything they could’ve wanted. A clean shot of an assassin, a hardened soldier loyal to its infantry. You spoke little. Friends were out of the picture. Another thing, you and him had in common. But one thing was never doubted , that you could do anything you wanted to. One of the highest kill counts, most assignments completed, employee of the year.

A Commission daydream.

Your story was infamous. It was one Five Hargreeves resonated with, admired. After all, his family had never been the definition of functional but at least he had had people to call home. Your story ran through his head as he stood outside the Handler’s office listening to your voice, quiet but firm. Your voice never raised and he wondered how you did it. He was indulgent to his anger. It was the driving force behind every kill, every shot. But even as you argued, the Handler’s voice becoming increasingly frustrated, yours never raised, not a decibel.

The result of the argument over this particular assignment had ended in your favor. Not a shock, you could do whatever you wanted to do. A high-end assignment could easily be won in your favor. What was a shock was you approaching Five, paper in hand.

“Boss says I’ve got to have a partner for this one.” you state blankly, sliding the paper across the lunch table to him. “How about it, Hargreeves?”

He blinked, reading the paper, glancing up at you. Another thing Five knew about you, you could go home. The Commission had signed off on it, the works and all. But no, you stayed. Dedicated as ever before. The thought ran through his head, your eyes glared into his. You could go home, but you weren’t going to.

He didn’t know what prompted him to state a firm, “Sure”. Maybe it was the cold, blank stare in your eyes. Maybe it was the quite beautiful, stoic impression you had. Like the marble of a Greek statue, depicting some tragic tall tale. But whatever it was, it earned him a delicate smile. “Thanks.” you replied, leaving him wondering what on Earth he had gotten himself into.

——

Traveling with you, he learned you weren’t all you were made out to be.

Sure, the quiet, cold exterior was still there. But upon first glance, he noticed the slight care you put into things. The way you packed two mugs of coffee as opposed to just one. Not a word said but the action said enough. The way you meticulously packed each and every item you brought, making sure to extend the same courtesy to his belongings.

Small things really, but it said enough.

So you picked a direction, foot pressing down on the gas pedal of the 1977 Ford F-150 you had chosen out of a random parking lot. You were going 90 in Memphis, turning up the music. An old Van Morrison song, he could recognize the voice. It reminded him of his sister.

“Why so loud?” he ventured to ask.

Your eyes never left the road. “So thoughts don’t intrude.”

He blinked, not sure of what to say. You raised the coffee mug to your lips and he was once again reminded of the one you had brought for him. It raised a curious thought in his head. “Not an easy thing to just not think.” he remarked.

You glanced at him, almost as though you were taking him in. “I’ve managed.” you said plainly. A moment of silence went by. “Although, I will say Hargreeves you’re making it quite difficult to not think of anything with all your yapping.”

He chuckled, eyes peeled towards the rising sun. “Well what are you thinking about now that I’ve disturbed your peace of mind.”

Your lips turned up slightly, almost sadly although it was a smile. “Predictably, I wound up thinking of Elvis.” you chuckle softly. It was the first time he had heard you laugh. It was a nice sound, comforting almost. Somehow reminded him of home.

“Why Elvis?” he asked, a slight smile coming to his face.

You took one hand off the wheel, shrugging. “Mom always had it on the few times she was around.” you remarked. He noticed the way your lips curved as you spoke. The one small notation of emotion in your face, the one thing that gave you away. “Plus I wonder if he believes songs could come true.”

Five’s brows furrow. Your hand drums on the middle compartment of the truck. “Well, he spouts all this bullshit about love. Shit, he made a career off of it. But does the man actually believe in it? Love?”

“I don’t know.” he commented. “I mean I don’t think you have to believe in something to sing about it. There are thousands of others who wrote about it so I’m sure he had plenty of background to work with.”

You scoffed. “Well, then that would be plenty sad. I’m usually a cynic but I’d like to believe the man who wrote some of the most notable love songs the world’s known to have believed in it himself.”

“We’re in a world full of copycats and unoriginal imbeciles. The chances that Elvis believed in love songs is slim.”

At that you gave a laugh, a full bellied laugh. He looked up quizzically. Your face scrunched up as you did. The marble statue seemed to have melted into a beautiful glaze of colors. Five delighted in it. The fact that he had made your statue slightly crack and crumble. You had done the same to him, if he were being honest.

“And I thought I was the cynic.” you smirked, cheeks lifting ever so slightly. You sigh, looking at the sunrise with a sense of warmth. A nostalgic pull in your eyes. “All I’m saying is I’m asking for it if they do. Those love songs, I mean.”

Five nodded briefly, his eyes also glancing out at the sun.

“Have you ever loved someone like that?”

“No… have you?”

“No.”

The silence lay steady as you went ninety in Memphis.

——

The two of you stopped at a 7-Eleven, dead of night. The bright fluorescent lights blinked as you walked through, taking a grab at the edible things that stuck out to you. When the two of you arrived at the register, your hand moved to your pocket. A ten and a five folded up nicely. There you were again, doing the thing he got such a mental kick out of. He had come prepared but it hadn’t even occurred to you to ask him for money.

You handed the cash to the man at the register, the same stony expression on your face.

A beautiful thin line.

There you were, paying for his things. If it were anyone else, he would’ve rejected this action. He would’ve seen it as a one up, a power dynamic, a petty maneuver. But with you, he realized it seemed to be your nature. There was a gentle nurturing you hid beneath your surface.

Five desperately wanted to know more.

You sat at a shitty table, wobbly with faded seats. You bit into a burger, silence hanging in the air almost peacefully as it always seemed to do with you. He looked down at his coffee and bagel. “Why’d you take this?” he asked quietly. “I mean… this assignment.”

You blinked, eyes vacant and blank. It was as though you were conjuring an answer to that yourself. As if, you still didn’t know the answer to it yourself. He was slowly beginning to realize that maybe you didn’t know what you wanted.

Your composure slacked, putting down your burger. “Better than nothing.” you responded, taking a sip of coffee. “This is my job. Might as well take the interesting ones.”

The lights seemed to blink with the slow pace of his heart. He took a bite of his bagel. “What are you going to do… after this is all over?”

You frown, as though the next thing that you were going to say would make you sad. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

He took a quiet sip of his coffee. “Me neither.”

The silence lay peacefully thick once more.

You were a rebel without a clue.

——-

Traveling with you only made Five more enamored with your presence.

You were gentle. Quite the opposite of him, actually. Sure, both of you were statues, cracked and slightly damaged, depicting a long life of sorrow. But you had a gentle warmth beneath the surface which Five rejoiced in.

The truck was filled with music as you went along. Sometimes you talked, other times you didn’t. You were there though. Present, in the moment. You pulled him back to Earth when his head seemed to wander off. You were deep, intellectual, interesting.

All the little things you did only made him admire you more. The way you quietly filled the gas tank. The way you flipped the pages of your book when he drove. The cadence of your voice, the vocabulary you used. The sad peaceful look on your face after a clean shot, the way your finger rested on the trigger.

A peaceful kind of falling.

One night, the two of you stopped at a motel. The night was dark, the stars shining brightly over an Alabama sky. Two beds, a small television that played old reruns of fifties sitcoms. “This is oddly nostalgic.” you commented. “Reminds me of home.”

It was one of the rare times you talked of home. He smiled softly. “Reminds me of home too… Maybe we can make the most of it.”

That night, you spent what was left of your serotonin. The motel door lay wide open, the laugh track on the television muffled as you sat on the second floor balcony. Both your backs lay stiff against the brick wall.

Five looked over at you, and you were gorgeous.

You chewed on your cheek and stared at the moon. “Hargreeves, I’ve got a confession.”

He blinked, looking over at you. The moonlight seemed to illuminate your graceful features. “What’s that?’

“I know I lived through it, all that pain… I lived through it to get to this moment.”

“This mission?”

You nodded. “With you.”

Five paused, his breath seemed to hitch in his throat. You glanced over at him. “I’ve got to say… I kinda like you, Hargreeves.”

He didn’t know words could mean so much. They were simple, short, barely a sentence. But you had said them and he knew from even the brief conversations with you, that you said what you meant. His lips upturned slightly, not enough to give him away. “I kinda like you too.”

Silence ensued. Five had a handful of grapes in his hand. You ate a sleeve of saltines on the floor. No proof of anything, not much said. But what was said was enough. In that moment, Five knew: he would do anything you wanted to.

You didn’t demand much. Maybe that was how people realized they would do anything for someone. Because they wouldn’t demand something irrational for them? Maybe that’s what made the few irrational demands doable? He realized he would do anything for you.

Whatever you want.

You looked over at him, a slight smile. “I Love Lucy marathon?”

He couldn’t drag his eyes away from your face.

“Whatever you want.”

…

Whatever you want.

——

No tags except @olive-recs because i literally don’t know if any of my other mutuals are active 🕺

#five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five imagine #five x reader #five headcanons #five headcanon #number five #five hargreeves headcanons #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves #tua x reader #tua fanfiction #tua headcanon #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy masterlist

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mrdixon · 7 months

Text

A Rugged Muse | Chapter 1

pairing: eventual daryl dixon x f!reader

wc: 3.1k

warnings: swearing, violence, slight depiction of gore, vomiting

summary: reader has a shit day. basically the day of the outbreak.

A/N: FIRST CHAPTER WOOOO i am clearly not an art major…. im in the different arts. so apologies to you visual artists im going off from my lack of knowledge from my hobby lol. i really hope you guys enjoy this series because i am EXCITED to write it.

a rugged muse masterlist |regular masterlist

“Fuck,” you groaned, slamming your forehead onto the desk in front of you. A few heads turned to look at you in the library, you cursed under your breath and looked up again after a moment. Adjusting the glasses askew on your face before looking at the paper on the desk. The paper before you was worn with erased pencil marks, slightly wrinkled. Art block was the worst, you’d rather be ten feet under than stuck with art block.

You sighed, it’s been months since your last project and even that was a fail. It didn't help that you only worked at a fucking minimum wage job, maybe you should've listened to your parents and became a doctor or something. It wasn't like it was always like this, no… art school was a breeze. You had hosted real galleries where people came to see your art, and now look at you. Moping around in a library, desperately trying to find something to draw.

After tapping your pencil against the table which by the way, earned many dirty looks, you scooted closer to the table. Picking up your old sketchbook and frantically flipping through it to find…. so many god damn drawings of, him. Your god forsaken ex boyfriend, but he was gorgeous.

You met him ironically enough in art class, way back in high school. He was there by choice, you were not. Yet everything about him was just so captivating that you couldn't help but not switch out of the class, thank god you didn't. You enjoyed the class more than you expected, painting being one of your favourite forms of art, oils being your preferred medium. You painted and sketched every moment of the day, not putting down that brush for one second. Your ex boyfriend was your inspiration, every detail on that stupid face was engraved in your mind like a marble statue. His beautiful plump lips and the beauty marks that scattered over his face being two of your favourite features.

Art was everything to you, and so was he. He was all you drew, he made life seem prettier and happier. But then he dumped you for some random chick he met in a bar, that was six months ago.

Since then you've had no motivation and no inspiration for your projects. Flowers no longer had their charm, abstracts looked dumb to you again, oils looked muddy. Nothing worked.

You picked up your pencil and started at the paper again, pushing your glasses up before hesitantly sketching out lines. Your mind wandered back to him, you still couldn’t believe it. After years of being together he’d just leave like that? Those years of pure, innocent love where you’d make breakfast with him, take baths together, even paint each other for fun. Date nights that were full of giggles and messily painting on each others skin, his fingertips grazing over your eyelids and nose as he sculpted you out of clay. He threw that all away for a woman he’s known for one night.

Your pencil moved furiously against the paper, scarring it like he scarred you. When you looked back down at it you noticed it was him, those hostile eyes from that night staring right through you. Those words of heartbreak echoing through your mind, words that came from lips that used to kiss you every morning. You huffed angrily, no matter how much you hated him, he always came back. He was always in your mind, plaguing your thoughts like venom. Slamming your pencil down you stood up, ripping the paper furiously.

Now there were whispers, people looked at you weirdly. After remembering your place in the world, you picked up your things and packed up quickly, aching to get back home to your bed. While in your haste, you dropped something. You already were in an irritable mood so you took a deep breath before causing a scene over a dropped item, crouching down to pick up just to notice it was the painting knife he had gifted you months before you broke up. The words ”To the love of my life…” engraved on it. After shoving the painting knife back into your bag angrily you quickly got back on your feet and headed towards the door, not before throwing half your sketches into the bin. As if you couldn’t get any more frustrated, someone bumped into you which caused you to whip around. Though no words came out of your mouth as you took in the sight of the person.

They were sickly pale, sweating profusely and trembling. Their eyes were bloodshot, matching the… bite wound on their forearm? They shook looking at you, mumbling a meek apology and pushing their sleeve down over their arm before walking away. Weird. Anyway.

You turned back around, must be some weird prank or something. Whatever, you were extremely tired and needed to get back to your apartment asap. As you left the library the humid August air hit you like a truck, not helping your heated mood at all. Grumbling to yourself you tried not to let it affect you, instead pushing your hair behind your shoulders, what a convenient day to forget your hair tie. Nothing was going your way, it was like the world was against you. A scream broke your thoughts, it came from somewhere ahead of you. Great, someone probably got mugged and now you were next. Just another thing to keep you moody.

A woman turned the corner, running towards you. You braced yourself for the mugging but to your surprise, it never came. The woman’s face was drained, it was as if she saw a ghost. She didn’t stop running, she was terrified and stuff was falling out of her purse but she didn’t even bother to pick them up. You watched as she ran past you without batting as eye, what is going on today? Shrugging, you picked up the stuff she dropped, finders keepers. Gum, tissues, tampons, condoms, and… her wallet. You almost jumped in joy, you could really use the money right now.

Finally out of your mood you practically skipped down the street, looking through the wallet and counting the cash. $10… $28… $48… $130… $135— oh wait that’s a Canadian $5 what the fuck— $140. One hundred forty fucking dollars in cash, that woman must’ve been loaded to carry this much cash. Well, now you carried it.

Another scream broke your daze, but this time it was closer. You looked up and saw another terrified woman running towards you, this time knocking into you which caused you to crash onto the floor, the cash scattering across the pavement. Back in your mood.

“What the fuck is your problem!?” You yelled, watching the woman continue running and not even look back. Is there a goddamn marathon you didn’t know about or what? You fiercely picked up the scattered cash, shoving them into your bag immediately before crossing your arms and continuing your walk back to your apartment. Fixing your glasses you saw a man get tackled to the ground by another man a street in front of you, was this happening to everyone???

Much to your horror you watched as the man on top mauled into the other’s neck, tearing through the skin and splattering blood everywhere. You froze, feeling your blood run cold at the sight. You watched as the man kept eating away at the now, dead person. The man’s head turned slightly to grab at more of the bloodied flesh, you now noticing the cloudy eyes and gray skin. This man was already dead, so how was he…

You snapped out of it, turning the other way to avoid whatever was happening. This had to be a sick joke. Your heart was beating in your ears, weaving through the back lanes to find a different path to your home. Hair stood at the back of your neck as your senses were now alert, if whatever that was is real, you had to be way more careful. It was quiet in the alley, calm. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Stopping for a second to catch your breath and recollect your thoughts, bending over slightly and placing your hands on your knees.

“Jesus christ,” you muttered. You couldn’t get the visual out of your head, that man was murdered right in front of you. His eyes bulging out of his head when he couldn’t even scream for help, that… monster ripping his throat out and devouring him in broad daylight. You shook your head, running your fingers through your hair frantically as you tried to rid your brain of that image.

A low groaning filled your ears and before you could register it you were falling to the ground, a grunt escaping you as you quickly turned onto your back. One of those things were falling over you, your quick reflexes holding them up by their shoulders. You got a clear view of what they looked like, their eyes were clouded over, veins more visible under their pale skin, their lips and chin dribbling with blood. You grimaced, trying to scream but nothing came out, nothing but a flow of air. They were strong, jaw snapping closer and closer to you. If you didn’t do anything now you’d end up like that guy on that street. No fucking way you were going to die like that.

Struggling a little, you lifted your legs under them and kicked from their stomach. Throwing the thing off of you, grunting you scrambled to your feet. The thing quickly following, their leg twisted as they got up from the position you flung them in. Surely it would’ve hurt if it were you, but unlike you, they weren’t living. You opened your bag and shoved your hand in, cursing yourself in your head for shoving everything in there. You held out your other arm protectively while stepping backwards from the thing. The hand in your bag searched wildly for something to defend yourself with, something to kill with. Could you even kill them?

Your back hit the wall, panic filling your body as the thing got closer. Before it could get any closer you tucked your forearm under their chin to hold them back, a loud cry escaping you as you fought to hold them back. When you were starting to give up, the hand in your bag finally found something metal. Ripping it out you immediately swung at it with the item, sinking it into their head which was surprisingly easy. Adrenaline probably. The thing fell to the ground, dead again.

You let out a heavy sigh, sliding down the wall. You looked down at your hands, bloodied with what you could only hope wasn’t your own blood. You were shaking profusely, your breathing uneven. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing as you pressed your knees to your chest, the heel of your palm placed on your forehead. You stayed like this for a moment, you don’t know how long. But once you were ready you let out one last shaky breath before opening your eyes again, and glancing down at the thing on the ground in front of you.

You almost laughed as you realized you used the painting knife to end the thing, but you didn’t. You silently reached over and pulled it out, swallowing as it made a gross squelch sound. Looking down at your painting knife which was now covered in its blood, you wiped it off on their shirt. Taking a closer look at the body and noticing a bite mark on their shoulder, much like the person in the library. Your lip quivered as you imagined what had happened to them, what might’ve happened to you if you stayed. There was a low pit in your stomach as you stood up, your mouth suddenly filling with saliva before hunching over and vomiting. Your eyes filled with tears just realizing how close to death you were, throwing up your lunch.

You coughed, wiping your mouth on your sleeve before shoving the painting knife back into your bag. You had to get home, now. Your feet moved quickly, not stopping for even a second. There were barely anyone on the streets and you wondered if your home was even safe. Stop, your feet stopped. Don’t think like that. With a heavy breath you took off again, walking even faster towards your apartment building. Please, please, please….

You jolted suddenly as your phone started ringing, you grabbed it but didn’t stop walking. Answering without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” You said almost too quietly, still shaken up from your encounter with the thing.

“(Y/N)?? (Y/N), are you okay!?” The anxious voice yelled, it was your older brother, Glenn. You almost cried in happiness, walking even faster now.

“Yes Glenn, yes I’m fine…” you mumbled into the phone, breathing a sigh of relief that your brother was alive. “What is going on?”

“God, I don’t know. All I know is people are dying and coming back to life and eating each other and dying and coming back to—”

“Yeah, yeah I get it!” you cut him off, “I almost—” you stopped, deciding not to tell him about your fight. He was anxious enough, he always was but you didn’t want to worry him even more.

“Almost what?? You didn’t get bit did you!?” He yelled which caused you to pull your phone away from your ear in discomfort.

“No I didn’t, stop yelling.” You replied irritated, you heard him sigh on the other end. Hearing distant voices in the background. “Where are you?”

“I was at work when I saw everything go down, I drove back to the pizza place immediately.” He said more calmer, “but we’re gonna move out soon.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, “wait why? Isn’t it safe there? Why not wait for help?”

“You didn’t hear? I thought you were always on your phone,” you scoffed in annoyance at his probe. “They’re setting up camps, courtesy of the military I think.”

You chest filled with hope, you were going to be safe. “Oh thank god, okay wait I’m going back to my place to grab some things. Where is the camp?”

When Glenn responded his end was filled with feedback, static. “It’s gonna. Arou— Ta—”

“Glenn?? You’re… you’re cutting off.” You said nervously, nearing your apartment.

“A— Yo— I’m—” And the call failed.

Dread filled your body once again, now you really were going to cry. You shakily walked through the apartment building, keeping guard for potential things around. Opting for the stairs, you walked swiftly up them. Out of breath by the time you reached your room, fortunately there was nothing to stop you.

Once you got in you immediately dropped everything, locking the door and collapsing to the floor. Tears filled your eyes once more and you let some of them escape and trickle down your cheeks, you were scared. Scared of those things roaming around, they could kill, you’ve seen it. You removed your glasses momentarily to wipe your face. You shook your head you took a deep breath and stood up, you had to pack and leave immediately. You didn’t know where you were going but you had to leave, you had to find Glenn.

Putting your glasses back on, you crawled over and rummaged through your closet carelessly, trying to find a backpack that was big enough to carry all your necessities. Your apartment was already a mess so you didn’t bother being slow and careful right now, which might have been a bad idea as you snagged your finger on a stray box cutter.

“Shit,” you muttered while pulling your hand back, a cut dragged along your index finger. You rushed over to the sink, washing it quickly before throwing a bandage over the cut. While doing so you heard a police siren drive by, the sound dying off as it drove farther and farther away. You sighed before returning to the closet, grabbing a big enough backpack and shoving as much clothes you could get while also leaving room for extra things.

You stood up and looked around your small apartment, your bed looked so inviting. You were exhausted beyond help, your body aching with the need to rest. I shouldn’t. You thought and continued scrambling for items to take with you, the amount of scattered pages of sketches filled the space that was your floor. Your heart broke at the thought of leaving your things behind but you knew it’d be useless to take with you, but you couldn’t take nothing.

You grabbed a few pencils and brushes, along with a small paint palette and placed them carefully into your bag, an empty sketchbook joining them. While searching you opened your desk drawer, three daggers which you made in a welding class a couple years ago. They were sturdy and well sharp enough, thank god you were good at making things. You took them and put them into a sheath to prevent stabbing yourself. You grabbed a few more things like a lighter, some bandaids, and batteries. You frowned at the lack of supplies you had on hand, but you tried to convince yourself that you’d be taken care of at the camps.

You moved over to your small kitchen and grabbed a water bottle which you filled, also grabbing a couple snacks that would keep you full for a few days at best. You heard a few distant screams outside, some screams of pain which caused you to wince. The sudden thought of living in an apocalypse dawned over you, a feeling of dread rushing through you. You couldn’t shake the feeling off but you chose to ignore it. You did not want to go into a panic right now, you had to have a clear and positive mind if you wanted to live.

You pulled your bag over your shoulders and walked over to your mirror to take a look at yourself, grounding yourself for the world outside. You wanted so badly to sleep but you knew you had to get a move on if you wanted to get to a camp safely.

“I can do this..” you whispered under your breath, clutching at the handle of one of your daggers, turning to the door. You just had to get to a camp, but more importantly you had to find Glenn.

★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★★○★○★○★○★○★○

more a/n: for the sake of having glenn as reader's older brother im having him be around 24-27 years old right now, reader being like 23 ish. and daryl will be like 32….??? i dunno im trying to make this as canon as possible BUT UGH IT IS SO $&£”*^%*£ so yeah there will be a little bit of an age gap between reader and daryl but i hope that wont be too much of a problem for you guys…. probably not. and do not quote me if i get settings or the timeline wrong like twd is confusing enough for me……….. again im also like rewatching and making sure to make everything as close to the show as possible, but theres also the possibility of me altering the timeline (muehehehe). anyways tysm for reading and stay tuned! ★

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl x reader #twd daryl #daryl x y/n #norman reedus #mrdixonposts #a rugged muse series

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xdacted · 9 months

Text

To be with you

Paring: Reader x Charles Leclerc

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/no comfort, Ferrari's Incompetence

Word Count: 6,197

Status: Complete

_________________

He meets her at a house party.

With music blaring in his ears, burning liquor on his lips, bodies packed onto the makeshift dance floor. He doesn’t remember whose party it is, only that Lorenzo had dragged him to it, but he’s since lost sight of his brother, swallowed by the throng of people. There are hands everywhere, pulling at his shirt, sliding down his back. But the alcohol that burns within him makes it easy for him to forget that he’s crowded around by strangers, and he loses himself in the energy of the room.

It’s electrifying, thrumming in his veins and he almost feels like he’s racing. His heart is hammering within his chest, face warm, sweat dripping down his neck. He loves nights like these. He loves forgetting he’s Chalres Leclerc - ‘Il Predestinato’.

Don’t get him wrong, racing is everything. It’s the blood in his body, the breath in his lungs - he’d be nothing without it, but sometimes that’s exactly what he misses.

Being nothing, being no one.

Living life without the crushing weight of the Scuderia on his back.

A sudden change in the music draws him back to reality. There’s the squeal of a track and the people around him begin to boo loudly. He joins in, not for any particular reason, but it feels right. He begins to laugh, as someone shouts beside him, “This is shit!”

With the crowd still, he can finally detangle himself. He slips through the slivers of space, nearly tripping over his two feet. He manages to find the kitchen, red solo cups strewn about the marble island. With a sigh, Charles pulls himself against the cool surface, trying to calm the rapid drum of his heartbeat. The room spins a little and he curses for drinking so much, nothing will be worth the hangover tomorrow.

“Are you alright?”

A girl perched upon the cabinets, watching him from above. Her voice is loud, fighting to rise above the music that resumes behind them.

He nods, steadying himself against the counter, “I am alright.”

“Are you sure?” A smile plays on her face and Chalres can’t help but return it.

“I am.”

“You don’t look it,” Her feet sway where they dangle, her ankle bracelet shining in the artificial light of the kitchen, “You should drink some water.”

“Thanks for the suggestion.”

A laugh follows, but he can’t hear it. Their voices are swallowed by the music, and he can’t help but wish that everyone would shut up.

“Maybe some air?”

He nods, watching her dismount from her perch. They make their way to the balcony and the night wind is soft against his skin, the lights of Monaco bright in the darkness. His wonderful city breathing below him. Charles clings to the railing, staring into the distance of the sea, the moon dancing across the glittering waters. The boats bob along to the gentle waves, and it looks as if the arms of the ocean are trying to rock them to sleep.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Her voice is quieter now, the music trapped behind the terrace doors. It’s just them out here.

“It is,” He smiles, his eyes slipping closed. Home fills his lungs.

The smell of salt and sand, the dying bite of the sun on housetops, and a bit of her perfume. He can hear the laughter of his brothers as they run around the streets, kicking a football between them. He can see the confetti cannons and the spray of champagne as the rush of victory sings in his veins, throwing himself in the arms of his father.

He nearly forgets she’s there, wrapped in memories that make him feel as if he’s floating. But then, he can hear the groan of the lounge chairs behind him. He turns to face her, watching with a chuckle as she burrows into the festive pillows that lie below her.

When she looks up at him, a smile playing on her lips, it’s almost as if they’ve known each other for years. She gestures to the empty space beside her, and he collapses down onto the chair next to her. The wood of the seat creaks beneath him, but he settles into it.

Silence balloons over them.

The night rolling over them, Charles can feel the buzz simmering in his veins. His head has begun to clear, and he looks over at her. She lays there with her eyes closed, the wind blowing through her hair, a few pieces stuck to her forehead with sweat. The porch light dances on her skin. He finds himself memorizing the curve of her jaw and the lines of her nose, the bow of her lips.

She’s beautiful.

“I’m Chalres.”

His voice pops the peaceful nothingness that gathered, but she just hums.

“I know.”

His face begins to burn, embarrassment twisting in his stomach. He hadn’t meant to sound arrogant, he just wanted to be polite, but before he can explain it away, she continues.

“Everyone in Monaco knows who you are,” Hearing her say it only makes his blush worse, but he blames the alcohol. He’d never been good at drinking.

“Il Predestinato,” She teases, cracking one eye open to stare at him.

He lets out a sound of disapproval. That’s not who he is, that’s who people want him to be.

“No?”

“Definitely not,” Charles’s words are quick. But he doesn’t know why he cares so much. He doesn’t understand why he feels the need to tell her - a stranger at a house party - how he feels. Why should he explain who he is? Why should she know?

“Who are you then?”

Charles doesn’t answer, looking down at his hands. He didn’t want her to know him as that, he wanted her to just know him as Charles. Just a normal person. Like everyone else.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I only know about F1 because of my brothers.”

Her words make him look up, “You don’t watch it?”

“God, no!” She snorts, “What could be more boring than watching a bunch of cars going in circles.”

“Hey,” Charles says, trying to sound as offended as possible, “That’s what I do for a job.”

He looks over to her, and she’s smiling up at him. The stars twinkled in her eyes, she waited for a moment before pushing forward, “Well?”

“What?”

“Who are you?”

He breathes for a moment. Just sitting beside her watching the wind blow through her hair, he just breathes.

“I’m Charles.”

“Just Charles?”

“Just Charles.”

With a hum, she closes her eyes. She offers her own name and Charles thinks its the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard - like a prayer falling into the night sky.

“Nice to meet you, Just Charles,” She adds and Charles decides he wants to hear her say his name for the rest of his life.

Silence gathers over them once more, but Charles finds that he doesn’t mind. It was as if the world had fallen away. As if there was no one left in the world besides the two of them. Two beating hearts, standing at the edge of the world, holding onto each other because there is nothing else for them to do.

There is no one, Charles thought, as beautiful as she.

His heart drumming in his throat, he gathers the courage to ask what she’s doing tomorrow.

____________

Charles doesn’t want to leave. Thinking for the first time, that Bahrain could pass him by.

“You’re going to miss your flight,” She whispers against his lips.

He loves her.

He’s so very sure that he does. How could he not?

Her smile is so bright, shining in the darkness of his apartment. With his luggage piled by the door, and Andrea waiting outside, he wants to stay. Just here with her.

“Come with me,” His voice is soft against her.

“You know I can’t,” Her smile doesn’t falter and she doesn’t move any further from him, her arms tight around his middle. He does know. She has a life here, a job that she loves and Charles would never dare pull her away from that.

He fakes a pout, jutting his lower lip out. She lets out a gentle laugh and Charles doesn’t thinking twice about joining her.

“I’ll be watching,” She promises, pressing a gentle kiss to his nose, “So make the whole ‘driving in circles' thing interesting for me.”

Charles can’t help the grin that grows wide on his face. He tries to pull her even closer, dropping his head down to the crook of her shoulder. He breathes her in, letting her fill his lungs. He presses a kiss to her neck, a small butterfly peck, but it makes her giggle.

The sound of her laughter filled him with light, ‘I love you,’ he nearly says, but then, there’s the blaring sound of a car horn ringing from the streets below. He’s late. But he doesn’t care.

“You have to go!” She puts her hands against his chest, guiding him backwards, until he nearly trips over the threshold of the front door.

He whines out her name, “No…”

“Yes.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I know,” Her smirk makes him lean back over her. His hands find her waist, and he plants a soft kiss on her lips.

“I’ll be back.”

“I know you will.”

When he has to pull away from her, it hurts. Something throbbing in his chest and he isn't even out the door yet. She helps him gather his bags, but there’s a small frown on her face.

He straightens himself, pulling his luggage out the door. He turns to look back at her, and she’s rushing back up to connect their lips, “Be careful, Charles.”

“I will.”

There’s a silence that begins to inflate around them. The nothingness of midnight creeping upon them, he can swear that he hears their unsaid ‘I love you’s floating in the air.

“I -”

There’s another car honk.

“You,” She says, her hands pushing the door shut, “Have to go.”

He does, tumbling from their apartment as she shuts the door in his face. She’s waiting for him when he comes back from Bahrain. A smile on her face and he forgets the ache in his bones or cramp in his legs. He’d rushed back to see her. Nearly pushing past the reporters and speeding through the driver's debrief afterward.

Charles hopped on a plane first thing, still smelling of gasoline and champaign. The victory still singing in his veins, he felt as if he could soar to her, gather her in his arms and float to the stars. He’d won and he was returning to her as a champion. Though, he knew, deep down, that he could’ve returned p20 and she’d love him regardless.

He has to stop himself from kicking their apartment door down. Anticipation heavy in his stomach, his hands shake as he slots the key through. It opens with a quiet click, the light of the hallway spilling into the darkness of the apartment. The silence curls around him, and for the first time, he can feel the exhaustion in his bones. Pressing against him, reminding him that he’s traveled halfway across the world.

He pulls his luggage through the threshold of the door, dropping it in the living room. He knows it won’t be unpacked until days later, even more, he knows he’ll need to be gone in just a few days time for the next race.

The thought makes his heart hurt, but the sound of soft feet against the wood floor draws him back to reality. Before he can even ask, she’s standing before him. Clad in his sweatshirt, with a blanket wrapped around herself, she stands right before him.

His beautiful, beautiful girl.

“Welcome home, my Champion.”

His blood burns as he crashes his body into hers. Locking his arms around her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. She smells like home and it makes his head spin. He’s missed her so fucking much.

There was nothing that could ever take this moment from him.

Holding her in the darkness of their home, feeling as if there’s no one else in the world but them. He is so very in love with her. Her love twists around him, filling every crack in his soul, hoisting him from the waters of his self-doubt. She is the sun that shines in the morning and the moon that glows at night and he loves her more than anything.

“I missed you,” He mutters against her skin, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

She lets out a soft chuckle, the air that escapes her mouth floating past his ear, “I know.”

He smiles, trying to burrow himself further into her skin. He missed the heat of her touch, setting him aflame in the best possible way.

An eternity feels as if it's passed, but they just stand there, holding one another. The world ticks slowly by them, but they don’t mind. The stars waltzing in the sky above them, the sleepy city below them, they are perfect where they are. Just here. In the moment.

“Welcome home,” She pulls back slightly, only enough to angle her face to his and he pulls back just enough to face her.

The sight of her takes his breath away. His body craves her, it sings for her, “Thank you for the welcome.”

His hands find her waist, sitting just upon the small of her back, “Will you let me show you how much I missed you?”

There’s something that dances in her eyes, it makes the fire in Charles’ stomach grow brighter. She smiles coyly up at him, staring at him through her eyelashes, her hands pressing themselves against her chest.

“If you must,” She says, but the blush in her cheeks betrays her.

“I must.”

He doesn’t waste another second, scooping her into his arms. He’s nearly running to their bedroom, swallowing her giggles with a kiss.

Fuck, he’s missed her.

All of her.

__________

They’re together in Austria. Charles managed to convince her to take the week off to be with him and he’s glad he did. To have her here with him, finding her beaming face in the crowd, through the spray of champagne, meant more than everything.

She was staring up at him like he held the world in his hands, like he’d carved the moon and stars. It makes him wish that the ceremony would speed by, that he could just throw himself at her and fall apart in her arms, the exhaustion creeping up his spine.

The road leading up to this race was hard, and for a moment, Charles feared that this race would be lost to him too. He was still trying to keep himself in the Championship race, trying to never let Max get too far out in front of him in points.

He could do it, he was sure of it. He could be the World Champion.

“Hello, my Champion.”

With her, he could.

She found him in his driver's room trying to peel his soaking overalls off his body. The sight made her burst into laughter, the arms had gotten tangled around his middle and he was stuck.

“You are just going to stand there?” He questioned with a laugh, “Horrible.”

She threw her head back, setting her bag onto the couch by the door.

“But you still love me,” She said, walking towards him. She reached for his sleeves, pulling them apart and helping him step from his suit as it pooled at his ankles.

He looked down at her as she worked. What? Love?

It was true. He loved her. He loved her more than anything. More than everything, but neither one of them had said so. It wasn’t that they were afraid, they weren’t - he wasn’t. It just…their feelings always felt so real, so palpable. He never doubted for a moment that he loved her or that she loved him, he just knew. So saying those words - saying that he loved her - never felt like it was demanded. He was in love with her and she knew.

“Perhaps you are right.”

“Perhaps?” Her eyes grew wide as she feigned offense, but she couldn’t hide her smile, “Charles Leclerc.”

“Perhaps,” He cut himself off, hands falling to her waist and pulling her close, “Perhaps more than just perhaps?”

For a moment, she stared up at him. There it was, those feelings burning in his eyes, but she knew. She hummed, letting her chin rest against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat, it was almost dancing with his. He was at peace. With her in his arms, just here. Breathing.

Silence balloons around them, and he feels the comforting weight of the nothingness. His heart had calmed, the champagne on his skin had dried, and he was finally with her. His beautiful girl. Charles had just won a race but she didn’t love him because of that - she loved him and he just so happened to have won a race.

He tightens his arms around her. Here, they're perfect. Nothing more to be said, nothing more to -

“I don’t want to lose this,” her words pop shatter the silence and Charles can’t stop the way his body pulls back.

She tenses, and before he can apologize or tell her that it just startled him, she’s pushing forward. Her hands found him, bringing them to her chest, “I don’t want to lose you the way you are now.”

“What are you talking about?” He can’t stop the question.

“I mean this,” She gestures around them, “You’re happy and smiling and you’re…you.”

Charles is sure that confusion takes its form on his face because she lets out a big sigh, “I’m saying, I don’t want racing to change you.”

“Racing made me.”

She purses her lips. That probably wasn’t the right thing to say but Charles can think of nothing else. It’s the truth. Racing made him. He was crafted from oil and smoke, blood and tears, roaring engines and blurring lights. He was the creation of the track, of the world of motorsport - it was his blood. Even if he didn’t want it to be.

It was everything he was.

She doesn’t frown, but Charles knows she wants to.

The air is colder and he hates it.

“You won’t,” He tries, “I promise to make the circles interesting for you.”

She doesn’t smile, she just looks up at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes.

Something in his chest grows tight, “You won’t.”

He pulls her close once more, and she sighs against him. He rests his forehead on hers, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes.

“I promise.”

She stares at him. Her beautiful eyes filled with so much emotion, burning right through him. She can see him, see all of him. There is not a single part of him that he can hide, there isn’t a single part of him that he wishes to hide. He’s open for her to see.

“I love you, Charlie.”

His mouth goes dry. The words nearly knock him off his feet, but she’s there to steady him. She loves him, his heart begins to drum and he can’t help the smile that pulls across his face or the fireworks erupting within him.

“I love you and I don’t want to-”

“I love you,” He cups her face, pulling her impossibly closer “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He can’t contain it, the fountain of words, but he doesn’t want to. He wants her to know, needs her to know.

“I love you.”

Forget everything else.

__________

He’d lost. Ferrari had screwed him over yet again. It was eating away at him, this was his dream, this had been the only thing he had ever thought about when he was young. He’d finally gotten it, he was here. He was where Jules should have been, where his father wanted him to be - and it was going to shit.

He stormed into his driver's room, throwing his helmet into the corner of the room. He was a few seconds away from destroying the Ferrari regalia that sat around him, taunting him. The tiffosi hated him, he hated himself. It wasn’t even his fault.

Charles wanted to scream.

Anger was hot in his veins, searing his body as he began to tear his overalls off. A stupid tire decision had cost him the entire race, he was forced to watch Verstappen rush past him, snatching victory. His victory. Embarrassment made his face burn, and he pushed his face into the palms of his hands.

How could this happen? They were just on top, riding the high of the beginning of the season, why was it all starting to fall apart for him? Why now? He was supposed to be the one, he was ‘Il Predestinato’ - it was supposed to be his victory. Charles was the one that was going to drag Ferrari back to the top. It was his job, his dream, his burden.

This was finally supposed to be their season - all the testing, all the simulator hours, all the meetings, all the changes - it was supposed to be different. But it never was.

Never with Ferrari.

“Charles?” He heard a few knocks accompanying the voice, it was Andrea.

“Leave me alone,” Charles muttered. He was going to feel terrible for talking to Andrea like that tomorrow, but that was for the next day. Today, Charles was allowing himself to wallow in his self-pity.

He heard the door of his room squeak open and spun around on his heel, anger hot in his veins, “I said -!”

She’s standing there with wide eyes.

His rage dies in his throat.

“Mon ange…” He steps towards her, the tension releasing from his shoulders when she doesn't step away, “I-I am so sorry. I thought - thought it was…”

He’s too flustered to fully speak, losing his words. His brain is a mess of french and english. But she doesn’t rush him, she doesn’t even laugh.

“I know,” She says, closing the door behind her, “They told me you were in here.”

Charles stares up at her, unsure of how to apologize - he doesn’t know what to apologize for. For being a failure? For screaming? For -

“Get out of your head, Charlie,” She whispers, he hadn’t noticed she’d crossed the room. Only snapped from his thoughts at the motion of her hand reaching up to cup his face. Though he yearns to feel her touch he turns away from it.

He doesn’t deserve it, not now.

It’s so very embarrassing. To have lost like that in front of her. He wishes the ground would open and swallow him whole.

“Charles…” She breathes, and the hurt that passes across her face makes him want to scream.

“I - I,” He finds her eyes again, “I am sorry, I can’t.”

‘How am I supposed to face you like this?’ He doesn’t say.

She walks up to him, taking his hand in hers. Her skin is warm against his, he can feel the rings on her fingers and the bracelet on her wrist fall against his. She drags him to her, wrapping her arms around his middle.

“Stop,” She says, “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out, Charlie.”

When he twists his head to the side, unable to look at her, she captures his jaw. She makes him face her, staring her straight in the eyes.

“Don’t.”

Her eyes are full of unyielding love and fierce passion. She looks so serious - a furrow in her brow - it nearly makes Charles burst into laughter. Her grip on him is tight, and he can feel her fingernails on his chin, but it grounds him. He’s anchored to her and he never wants to leave. He just wants to be here forever.

With her.

Without everything else happening outside, just the two of them. Together. In love. Happy.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, his voice hoarse.

“You don’t have to be.”

“But I am,” He reaches up, moving her hand from his face, “I am a failure. I am stupid.

“Charles -” She begins, he can see the anger in her eyes. She hates it when he says things like that, hates when he even jokes like that, but he can’t stop himself this time.

“I am,” His voice is slipping from him, anger falling into his tone before he can stop it, “I have lost. We were on top of the world and now we are here, I have led us here.”

“How could it all be your fault?” She squeezes him.

“It is,” He can’t explain it. Truthfully, he doesn’t know it himself, but it is just how it goes, “I have lost, I am nothing.”

“That is not true,” Her voice wobbles, but she keeps her steady composure, eyes fiercer than ever, “You are so much more than just racing. You know that.”

He didn’t. Racing is all he’ll ever be. It’s was he was bred for, he knows nothing else. There is nothing else.

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” Their voices are raising and there’s a small part of his brain that’s worried about others hearing them. The room has little to no real soundproofing. If the tabloids are waiting outside, or even just standing near, this will be all over tomorrow.

“You are to me.”

Something in Charles snaps. Knowing he’s everything to her, knowing she’s everything to him. But also - with a feeling of dread - knowing that he is nothing without racing. That he is nothing without Ferarri and though he may hate it, he doesn’t know how to live without it. He doesn’t know the world without it.

But to be with Ferrari is to win.

He hasn’t.

“Who would ever want to be near me if I am not champion?!” He screams, “Who would ever love me?!”

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“I would!” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, “I will love you no matter what. I will love you even if you never race again, I will love you.”

Charles has nothing to say, breathing heavy as he listens. Her words weigh on his chest and he begins to cry. The tears come and he can’t stop them, not even if he tries. He drops his head into his hands and cries. He doesn’t sob or scream, he just weeps.

The anger and sadness boil into one, they melt into each other and now, Charles can’t tell the difference. She pulls his hands from his face, and Charles turns away from her.

He’s so pathetic letting her see him like this. Crying like a child over a race result.

But she finds his eyes. There are tears in hers too, rolling down her cheeks and it only makes him cry harder. He’s such a -

“I love you, Charlie,” She whispers, pulling him down by his collar, locking her arms around his neck, “My Charlie.”

He’s frozen for a moment before he collapses against her. Weak hands grabbing at her clothing. He sucks in air, trembling lungs unable to do anything else. The smell of her penetrates his lungs and he’s filled with the scent of her perfume. She is air and water. His body feeling at ease with her, in her arms.

She holds him as he cries, hands buried in his hair. He grips onto her, fingers digging into her waist. He’s terrified she’ll float away, that something will take her from him. But she never leaves, cradling him until his cries diminish into sniffles, and his sniffles turn to silence.

Charles is still full of emotion and it threatens to spill over, but he isn't afraid to show her. Not to be open to the expanse and warmth she provides.

“I love you,” He breathes. He chants her name like a prayer, following it with, “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I love you.

______________

The apartment was silent when Chalres rushed in. The anger, still burning within him. It seemed to be all he could feel these days. Searing hot anger and drowning disappointment.

He was never at peace, there was no calm. The championship had slipped from his fingers and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. It wasn’t even his fault, he’d done his best, put in the hours - the care - but it was so far beyond his hands. Ferrari was his dream and now he was left feeling utterly hopeless. He had never experienced heartbreak like this one, being let down by the very thing he has sacrificed his entire life for. It was all for Ferrari - all of it - and now, he was a loser.

It fucking sucked.

Charles pulled his luggage behind him. The break couldn’t come soon enough. He was tired from being out on the road, he just wanted to be home. He wanted to be in his bed, in her arms. He wanted to feel loved, cared for.

He could feel the ache in his back and his legs, sitting still on a plane was never his favorite thing. The thought of sleep was so wonderfully appealing. As he began to pull his clothes off, dumping his things by the couch, he heard the soft patter of feet.

Charles couldn’t hold the heavy sigh that left his lips.

“Charles?” He heard. The light of the hallway flickered on, and she was there, a shadow at first, but then she approached him. There was a smile on her face, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“You’re home,” She breathed.

He reached for her, body calling for her, but just as he did, he drew himself back. The anger bubbling within him all over again.

He stood there, crossing his arms, refusing to meet her gaze, “I told you to sleep.”

She waited for him.

She waited for him and he couldn’t even face her.

There was a part of him glad she did. Seeing her was like a breath of fresh air, it was resurfacing from the dark ocean of his misery. Just the sight of her face made his heart warm. But those feelings were buried under his anger. He had returned to her a loser. A failure.

How could he ever face her like this?

“I’m going to bed,” He declared, moving to brush past her.

“Charles,” She called, her voice made him stop in his tracks, stern in its tone.

He shut his eyes, a sigh escaping past clenched teeth. He was exhausted, he couldn't do this, not right now, “Please.”

“Please, I - I am tired. I just want to sleep. Tomorrow is a very busy day, test at the factory, then simulator -”

“Tomorrow?” Her eyebrows furrowed and she closed the distance between them, “Charles, tomorrow is -”

“I know,” He raised a defensive hand, hoping to stop the disappointment that rolled from her in waves. It filled the room and only served to make his stomach twist further. God, he really was a piece of shit.

“I have spoken to him. He says that it is fine, and I can always just take him out another day.”

“He’s your brother!” She reached out to touch his arm, staring up at him as if he’d just said the most absurd thing in his life, “He’s been looking forward to this for ages, you can’t just cancel -”

“He will understand!”

Charles continued, “He understands the important things. This he will get.”

For a moment she was silent, and Charles swears that his voice echoed. There was something in her eyes that Charles couldn't make out, it made his palms sweat. He hates this. He hates fighting with her.

“Family used to be important to you.”

Charles felt like he’d just been slapped in the face.

Before he could stop himself he screamed, “RACING IS IMPORTANT TO ME! IT IS EVERYTHING!”

She pulled away from him, taking a few steps back. His words hung in the air and Charles wanted nothing more than to take them back. He’d realized it before he could fix it, and when he reached for her, she kept her arm close.

He whispered her name. It was a prayer, “M-Mon Ange, I -”

“I’ve lost you, Charlie,” Her voice is so soft and thin, it makes Charles want to cry.

Charles can’t speak. Trying to swallow through the thick ball of emotion curled in his throat,

“What are you talking about?” He asks. He’s just wasting time now. Just trying to prolong her time with him, maybe even get her to stay, “I - I don’t understand.”

He understands perfectly. She was right. He let this fury consume him, he let the racing consume him. He had no idea where he began and Ferrari ended, he wasn’t even sure he had a place anymore - it had all become one. He was lost.

But he had never imagined he would let it rip her away from him.

“Charlie -”

“I - I can fix it,” He rushes, casting his hands out, he reaches for her. He needs her now. He’s drowning and she's all that’s keeping him afloat.

“Ne pas partir,” - ‘Don’t leave me’ - he begs, “Je ferai tout pour toi…”

‘I will do anything for you.’

She stares up at him. There are tears streaming down her face, her brow furrowed. Her eyes are full of heartbreak, he can see it, he can hear it. And all he wants to do is fix it.

“I love you, Charlie,” She whispered, “But we’re just - we just can’t right now…”

“We can,” He pulls her closer. Charles needs her to feel him now. He knows he’s all anger and flame, but he needs her to feel the love that resides within him, he’s lost but he will always love her. That will never fade.

“You’re not mine.”

“I am!”

“You’re not,” She said, and she didn’t even need to explain, “And that’s okay.”

Charles has nothing else to say.

He looks in her eyes and knows, there’s nothing else he can say.

The drive to her apartment is slow, he feels like he’s crawling past the streets, turning into the steep corners. All he can do is wish this moment will stretch on forever, wishing he could keep her there with him forever.

But it’s over.

He’s ruined it all.

When he does reach her building, pulling into the parking lot with a small screech, neither one of them move. Neither of them want to leave - at least, Charles doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want her to walk away, not like this.

Not when he loves her.

“I-” He tries, not sure what to say, “I don’t - I am not -”

She reaches over, her hand sliding past the console that separates them, and interlaces their fingers. She doesn’t say anything, doesn't even turn to look at him, but he can see the tears fall down her cheeks. He can see the way they glimmer in the moonlight that seeps in through the windows, he wants to reach over and catch them.

Charles hates that he’s made her cry. He hates that he’s not strong enough for her, not right now. He hates that he’s made her so miserable, so tired. He loves her.

Charles loves her more than anything.

He just wishes he could have picked her over everything.

They sit in the thick of their feelings, not saying a word to the other. Just there in front of her apartment building, clutching her hand. He prays she understands. That she can just hear the drum of his heartbeat - that she can hear the way it dances for her. That she can see the imprints of her love on his soul - that she sets him alight. That she can feel the way his breaths come easier because she’s around - because she’s the air he breathes.

He needs her to know.

There’s a part of him that is sure she does.

But he doesn’t want to shatter the thread of silence holding them together. He can’t risk losing her. He doesn't want to push her away anymore, he can’t stand to be any further. He knows it’ll kill him.

He knows -

“I would never ask you to leave racing,” She hasn't looked at him, her voice low.

Charles wishes that she would just scream, that she would hit him and scream. He wishes she would explode in anger, maybe beg him to change his mind and he would. If she asked him to, he would.

But she would never ask him.

Never because she knows he would.

Never because she knows it would rip him apart, but he’d do it because she asked.

“But please,” She pulled his hand close, “Please don’t let them destroy you.”

Her words hang in the air and he can’t stop himself from leaning over the console and kissing her.

Her lips taste of salt, but he’s not sure if they’re her tears or his.

____________________

A/N:This work has been cross posed on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to requests fics about any of the drivers <3

#charles leclerc #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #ferrari #scuderia ferrari #x reader #reader insert #one shot #wattpad #female reader #angst

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bruciemilf · 1 year

Note

Werewolf! AU

The Kane are pureblood wolf, Thomas was human. Martha's brother became disinterested in Bruce thinking he was human like his father. And in a sense it was true. But during his training in the League, Bruce dies and Talia resurrects him using the Pit, resulting in the wolf's dormant genes being reactivated. Bruce won't find out until years later, when he's Batman, and has just adopted Dick. His wolf's instincts howl for a pack. And for a companion, getting him out of the way whenever Superman is near.

Honestly, I’d fucking love a batcat dynamic with this. Like. Overgrown puppy battinson who unconsciously thinks he’s a kitten and jumps on selina whenever. Poor woman is reduced to a gym rat because her man needs to be carried 24/7 like he’s dainty and delicate despite being a marble statue

#bruce wayne #dc #ofc bruce wants his puppies pampered as well #selina truly hates rich ppl bc how dare you treat me like a sugar daddy while paying for everything #like I’ll do it but Christ above #anyway batcat is only good when they’re equally simps imo #batcat #selina Kyle

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crookedfivefingers · 14 days

Text

I had this thought about Ten and Martha traveling back to Venice in the 1700’s.

Naturally, they wind up separated during the trip — which is how Martha eventually finds herself in the company of a charming, if hauntingly familiar stranger…

One who can’t seem to keep his eyes off of her.

Ten x Martha | Martha x Casanova

✨WIP snip from ch.1✨

In May of 1758, the many streets of Venice are packed for the annual Feast of the Ascension —but a day filled with food and laughter is cut short when Martha loses sight of the Doctor in the crowds.

By the time she’s finally able to break free and locate the missing Time Lord, she’s stunned to see him being tugged into a carriage by a beautiful young woman… A carriage that swiftly disappears down the road and out of sight.

Alone, hurting, and more than a little cross, Martha suddenly realizes that she’s stranded in an unfamiliar city… over two hundred years in the past. Bloody brilliant.

She can’t even remember where they parked the TARDIS at this point — not with the endless narrow alleyways and labyrinthine streets.

It’s a modest blessing, but she takes some comfort in knowing she’s at least dressed appropriately for the times, straightening her elaborate wig as she begins walking in the carriage’s general direction.

As time passes, the sun tucks itself away beneath the edge of the horizon, and the crowds finally begin to dissipate. Without the excess noise and foot traffic, Martha has more room to process the events of the evening, sort-of-searching for the long-lost carriage (but mostly brooding) as she puts increasing wear on her shoes.

After some time, the sound of music and laughter drifts into her ears, catching her attention to pull her from the darkness of her thoughts. She allows herself to be drawn towards it without hesitation, and not three minutes later, she’s standing at the edge of a ballroom in the Palazzo Pisani Moretta.

Partying shouldn’t be top of mind, of course — but after a full day of celebrating throughout the city, she can’t imagine putting any more stress on her aching feet. The poor extremities scream for reprieve in the wedge sandals that hide beneath her skirt, scolding her for not putting more thought into her choice of footwear.

To be fair, the move to enter the building isn’t entirely void of strategy. After all, the Doctor could be in here. Seems like just the sort of place his little date might like to mingle, she thinks with a healthy roll of her eyes.

To say the Palazzo is extravagant is putting it mildly. In addition to what may well be a few hundred elite guests in attendance, the spacious hall is adorned from floor to ceiling with finery, the glowing chandeliers illuminating marble statues and countless works of art. Servers in masquerade weave through the crowd with practiced ease, trays of nibbles and beverages balancing on splayed fingertips.

Feeling inspired, Martha snags a cup of wine as soon as she’s close enough to reach for one, downing half of the bitter, eighteenth-century swill with as much haste as her twenty-first-century taste buds will allow. She forces a smile through her grimace when the server looks to her for approval, still concerned with cordiality [even as she crashes a party wherein she knows no one at all].

Partygoers welcome her readily: happy socialites with hair as big and dramatic as the wig she’s been regretting picking out all day. The compliments they lavish her with almost make it feel worth the hassle, however, and in that moment, she’s grateful that the Doctor let her raid the wardrobe. It feels so much easier to exist in a time period without standing out — at least, more than she already feels she does as a black woman.

(The Time Lord really can be thick, can’t he?)

Over and onward, Martha decides to let loose as much as she can, keeping a wary eye out between little sips of murky, purple wet. It’s been at least three hours since she last saw her mate, and though the environment that surrounds her is intoxicating, she can’t deny the little pinpricks of worry that emerge in her gut.

Surely he wouldn’t just sod off for a shag... would he? Leave her all alone without a word?

Is that really something the Doctor is capable of after everything they’ve been through?

An image of his disappearance flitters across her mind’s eye: a flash of a woman’s smiling face as she drags him into her fancy carriage by the lapels, her giggles resounding off the stone walls as they slip away together.

Another image nips at the heels of the former, only this time, it’s the Doctor’s stony expression as he returns from across the field in Farringham, having just had a proposition rejected by Nurse Redfern. The same proposition he made the morning after finding out how his companion truly felt for him, easily filing that information away as a “non-issue.”

Alright, so maybe he can be a bit of a tosser. Great. Maybe he has no interest in being found just yet, being fully aware that Martha can handle her own.

Everything’s always on his terms, anyway.

Furthermore, and she hates to even think it in the first place, but: who’s to say he didn’t think slipping out unannounced was the only way to get away from her for the night?

Blimey. If that’s the way he really thinks of her...

No. No, no, no — those thoughts aren't helpful for anyone. Not right now.

Worst case scenario, Martha will find a kind local to seek shelter with before night’s end, though she prays it doesn’t come to that. The idea of even thinking about sleeping knowing the Doctor is just out there somewhere makes her stomach churn — even if he has got… friendly company.

Sigh.

Time for more wine, she reckons; her eyes flick about the crowd until she spots the closest server, and then she attempts to head in her direction.

While en route, a portly man in technicolor robes requests a dance, which she turns down as politely as possible. Then another guest — a dark-haired noblewoman about forty-five years old — stumbles on the mosaic when her heels catch the train of another woman’s dress, and Martha helps her to her feet.

All the servers carting wine around only seem to be getting further away, and it feels like a sign. Perhaps she shouldn’t be consuming any more alcohol — at least, not until she has a little more peace of mind.

To her surprise, she doesn’t have to wait long at all.

Through a sea of bobbing heads, swaying bodies shrouded in brightly-colored fabrics, and a thin haze of incense smoke, their eyes lock from across the room — and Martha briefly foregoes the right to oxygen.

She knows she should be relieved (or perhaps furious — definitely furious), but as her throat grows tight and dry, all she’s got the presence of mind to feel is the frantic fluttering of her heartbeat as blood roars in her ears.

The Doctor has never looked at her like that.

Temporarily immobile, she can only watch as he approaches her with deliberate, single-minded steps, the dance floor seeming to part naturally around him. He doesn’t falter or pause and he doesn’t need to; this man claims a route that no one capable of sight would dare interfere.

Somehow, in the last few hours, he’s wound up in a loose red tunic, tight black trousers — tights, essentially — and matching black boots. A black, silken band wraps around his neck, purely decorative, bringing the black from the rest of the outfit together to complete the look.

It’s an entirely different getup than the one she helped him pick out this morning, but let it be known that it’s no less gorgeous for it. Even his hair is different than she’s ever seen it, appearing softer and lighter with significantly less product than usual (if any at all), and he looks…

Bloody hell, he looks incredible.

When he arrives, he gets quite close — closer than Martha’s body and mind are anywhere near recovered enough to be prepared for — and she has just enough time to notice the color of his eyes when he takes her hand.

Are his eyes... blue?

The smile he fixes her with is slow and certain; it simmers just as the gaze he ensnares her with. He seems to reach right into her soul’s lowered defenses to bury himself at the thick of it, lifting her hand to his mouth to rest his gentle lips against her skin.

The touch is just jarring enough to wrench Martha out from the clouds as the realization hits her.

This man is not the Doctor.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” he murmurs, his voice and cadence eerily identical to the one she knows. “If I'm honest, I just couldn’t resist your magnetism for another moment longer.”

His words, though softly spoken, seem louder than anyone or anything else in the room, effectively shutting the rest of the world out.

"Erm," Martha chokes, eyes wide. Stunned. "I-I, er..." She shakes her head slowly, her voice (and brain) temporarily evading her. It feels as though she's fallen through a crack in dimensions. Perhaps she has.

“Right — sorry," the man chuckles. "Bit rude of me. My name's Giac." He finally lowers her hand between them, flashing a wink, giving her fingers the softest of squeezes before letting them slip through his. "Though I must admit... I am far more eager to learn yours.”

Note: This is a post-Blink story in which Martha is seduced by Giacomo, inspiring clarity and an almost possessive jealousy within the Doctor. How ever will he handle it? I’ve also considered an eventual threesome, but should that happen, it will be strictly het Martha-worship. (Also, per the David Tennant miniseries, Giac is pronounced “Jack”)

#doctor who #tenth doctor #martha jones #tenmartha #ten x martha #casanova #martha x casanova #crossover #david tennant #freema agyeman #dw fic #wip snippet #I looked it up and was deeply deeply bummed there are no fics like this #i thought for sure there would be at least one #I know the market for this couldn’t possibly be more niche and maybe two people will read it #but it has taken full command of my smutty drive tonight #I really don’t know if anyone will read this post but if you do please be nice 😂#just trying to share my horniness with the world #PS I will acknowledge Martha having concerns that maybe this is a fobwatched Ten - but it isn't

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pengweng-quack · 3 months

Text

Being a Witch with Vampires

Carlisle Cullen x Witch!OC

Summary: Stella (A witch) and Carlisle (A vampire), and how they blossomed from roommates to friends(?) to partners

Chapter 6/7

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Notes:

This was inspired by this fanfic on tumblr by lis-likes-fics titled "In My Defense, I Was Left Unsupervised"

This is also on Ao3 under the same title and same username too if you'd like to read it there (https://archiveofourown.org/works/53448940)

Posting is random lol, hope you guys enjoy this story

This is officially the last chapter before the end, and holy shit thank you so much for the support that you've shown in this series, you guys are all wonderful!

As I have said, I do have another Carlisle series in the works, but I will most definitely post some other things before that so make sure to leave a follow if you're interested in some of my other works

Word Count: 2722 words

TW for this chapter: Death mentions

Timeline: Breaking Dawn

Masterlist

There were 18 vampires in the Cullen household, all either willing to fight or be witness against the Volturi, and a Jacob, and Sam (who Stella has convinced to be of witness for them as well)

“Carlisle might not ask you to fight, but I will. For the sake of my family.” Edward started, his desire to protect his family higher than ever “But also, for yours. And for the way you want to live.”

“The packs will fight. We've never been afraid of vampires.” Jacob immediately started

“I will fight alongside.” Sam announced as well “The Volturi have terrorized our home, and the home of our fellow witches. About time that we get them back and avenge our fallen soldiers.”

Soon, everyone was announcing them joining. Stella snuck out of the crowded room and into the privacy of hers and Carlisle’s room to accompany him, looking up at the portrait of Volturi that he had

“He’s a brave man.” Stella muttered, wrapping her arms around Carlisle who was in deep pondering

“Until when will we be forced to be against the Volturi?” Carlisle asked quietly as Stella sits next to him

“Until they decide that the Cullens are not of threat anymore.” Stella answered softly “You know they won’t stop until they get what they want.”

“They’ll start with you.” Carlisle whispered, facing Stella and resting his hand on her cheek “They consider you the weakest, yet they know that your death will do the most impact to us.”

“Then I will die protecting our family.” Stella answered at once, holding onto the hand that was on her cheek and leaning onto it

“And besides, you heard Sam. They’ve terrorized my fellow witches for thousands of years already. I will die protecting you and avenging them. I would have done my purpose as the blessed witch of today.” She continued

“I would not be able to live in a world without you.” Carlisle said quietly, the thought of losing his confident witch scared him

“Nor would I be able to live in a world where I didn’t die protecting you.” Stella responded

“I love you.” Carlisle muttered softly, pulling her face and leaving a peck on her forehead

“And I—” Stella started, pulling Carlisle for a kiss on the cheeks “—love you more.”

Benjamin used his skill to start a bonfire, getting Stella to immediately position herself near it, still not being used to the cold. Benjamin and Tia sat down next to her, looking at Stella with a smile.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Jacob said with a small smirk, nodding as he sits next to Stella “A little pre-battle bonfire. Telling war stories.”

“Or just standing there like frickin’ statues.” He added, looking at the group of vampires that were indeed standing like statues

“There’s a reason that they have marble-like skins.” Stella joked, giggling at her own comment. Garrett moved to where they were, joining them around the campfire

“Name any American battle. I was there.” Garrett mentioned casually, getting Stella to shake her head at him

Jacob mentioned the Little Bighorn, which Garrett mentioned his association to it. Kate moved to where Garrett was, sitting very close to him and mentioning another war, making a side comment about how he didn’t deal with that alone.

Everyone was sharing stories from their time in any battle back and forth. Vladimir and Stefan were soon to share about their time as the considered most powerful coven, before the Volturi overthrew them. Now Stella understood why they were so keen in helping them be witness, it was for their own benefit as well.

“How about you, witch?” Vladimir suddenly spoke up, looking directly at Stella “Any stories to share to us?”

“Oh no,” Stella said, shaking his head not at him “I have been with Carlisle since he left the Volturi, I have no such experience with anything related to battling or overthrowing a coven.”

“We used to be allies with the Romanian witches.” Stefan started, his gaze on Stella as well “Not until we accidentally feasted on their blood.”

“Thanks.” Stella said awkwardly, sending an awkward smile to the two of them “Very comforting for the two witches with you right now.”

“Do not fret. We do not have intentions on feasting on Carlisle’s mate.” Vladimir assured, smiling back at her “We just wish to hear stories as your time before you joined your Carlisle.”

“What do you want to know anyways?” Stella started, trying to remember every detail of her life as if it only happened yesterday

“Why did the witches never try to prove that they’re stronger than vampires?” Liam asked, getting Stella to ponder at his question

“We never liked violence.” She answered, deciding on what was the proper response to his question “We preferred living in peace and quiet. And if that includes letting vampires think that they’re stronger than us, then so be it.”

“Then why be here right now?” Garrett asked

“Because I have something to fight for.” Stella simply replied, looking for Carlisle in the darkness, only to see him already looking at her with a smile on his face

“We’ve always respected the witches that we were blessed to be allied with.” Stefan opened up “They were strong, too strong that we couldn’t keep up with their capabilities during battles.”

“Every one that we kill will be equal to them killing ten.” Vladimir continued “They were a beast, a powerful weapon to have during war.”

“But you killed them.” Sam snickered, sitting next to Jacob

“That has been our biggest mistake.” Vladimir accepted his comment “Our incapability to have self-control like Carlisle does led to our own demise.”

“But a witch’s blood has two outcomes, either it could drive the vampire mad. Or that we will calm them.” Sam continued “Does our blood drive you mad right now?”

“Carlisle has wished that we do our hardest to resist the temptation of having a taste of you right now, Stella more in particular.” Stefan assured them

“Drop that discussion, we can’t be starting a silent war between us right now.” Carlisle called them off, lightly tapping Benjamin’s leg to sit next to Stella. He and Tia moved, giving him the space to sit next to her.

“You good?” Stella whispered to Carlisle. He nodded at her question before leaving a peck on her forehead

“How did you and Carlisle even conclude that you’re mates?” Kate asked

“They just know.” Edward answered for them “It’s almost the same as how we feel that we’re mated to our mates.”

“I mean, I get that.” Kate told him “It’s just, obviously, a vampire meeting their mate is an understood experience by almost everyone here. I just don’t get how it works with a vampire and a witch.”

“Trust me, we didn’t understand it either at first.” Stella assured her with a chuckle “There’s a reason why we spent 280 years being together without accepting that we’re mates. It just didn’t make sense at that time.”

“A witch’s existence is a…complex discussion really.” She continued, getting everyone to listen intently to her

“We’re human, but we’re not at the same time. We’re this thin line between humanity and immortality. In a sense, it puts us in the same group as Renesmee, but not really at the same time. A witch can only be born during a hybrid eclipse, which explains why we’re so human at some part yet so immortal in others.”

“You’re very rare then.” Tia spoke softly in realization “The last hybrid eclipse happened in 2005.”

“Exactly.” Sam answered “We’ll be considered lucky if we have 2 hybrid eclipses happening in a decade. There were only 6 hybrid eclipse in the past century alone, that’s how rare we are.”

“How old are you then?” Garrett asked

“We were both born in 1668, making our family immediately paired us as mates early on.” Sam answered again “We weren’t keen on the idea, her more so, but we just followed. We didn’t know when another witch was gonna be born by then.”

“That’s before I met Carlisle.” Stella added, looking at the blonde vampire next to him before looking at the bonfire again

“Meeting him gave me this sense of hope for myself. The sheer fact that I could be with him without him ever losing control gave me hope that maybe I could leave with him if he ever asks me to ever join him. And he did, two decades after we met.” She continued, intertwining her hands with him

“The best decision I’ve ever made.” Carlisle said softly, leaving a soft kiss on Stella’s hand

“Carlisle!” Stella yelled as Carlisle ran to save Alice and Jasper, her heart pounding heavily in anxiety, watching as he pushed upon the Volturi that were stopping him from saving their children

She watched as Aro and Carlisle had a face off, ending with Carlisle’s head on Aro’s arm, his body being burnt

“No!” Stella yelled, seeing her mate be burned while Aro taunted everyone with Carlisle’s beheaded body

Stella knew what was gonna happen, it was only a matter of time until it was her turn to join Carlisle in the afterlife under her own decisions. But she didn’t want Carlisle’s death to be in vain. She led them to rush the Volturi, wishing to avenge her mate who died in Aro’s hands. She was yelling as she ran to the Volturi, in pain and in anger, as the others with them rushed alongside her

The battle begun, flying bodies of both from the Volturi’s side and the Cullen’s were all over. Stella was using all spells that she knows to finish off the Volturi that were getting near her, her desire to avenge Carlisle stronger than ever.

And as the number of the Volturi was slowly decreasing, Aro walked to the battlefield, the same thirst to kill and avenge his mates high.

“ARO IS MINE!” Stella yelled, running to Aro, no sense of sympathy on her face

They met in the middle, where Stella used her magic to stop Aro from even moving. She wanted him to die, the cruelest way one could ever think of.

“This is for my fellow witches!” She yelled, tugging off his arm with one swoop

“This is for those you’ve terrorized!” Stella yelled again, finishing off his other arm

Stella felt the same stabbing pain as before, Jane was targeting her, but she ignored the excruciating pain flowing through her body, focused on one thing in mind. It didn’t take long until the pain disappeared, figuring out that either Bella has shielded her, or someone has targeted Jane.

She forcefully pushed Aro down to his knees and grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing him to look up at her.

“Did you find satisfaction in killing him, Aro?” Stella asked, a demented smirk on her face

For the first time in Aro’s long existence, he felt fear.

“It seems like Carlisle got you to be his mate.” Aro taunted despite nearing his death “No wonder you were so adamant in being the one to kill me.”

“This is for Carlisle.” Stella laughed in such a horrific tone that caught all of the Volturi’s attention

In Stella’s final attempt to avenge Carlisle, red flames flowed in her hand, it was a death sentence for her as the fire was burning her away. Stella dug her nails deep into Aro’s head, using all her strength to separate his head into two lengthwise pieces of it, the fire already causing some parts of him to burn. Multiple Volturi tried to save their master, all piling up on his and Stella’s burning body. She was trapped in the middle, joining them as they burn to ashes.

Stella could hear Emmett and Rosalie’s pained yell from outside the piled bodies above her. She could hear Alice’s gasp in shock and Edward and Bella’s rushing feet in an attempt to retrieve Stella’s body from the pile of burning vampires. She could hear the fight continuing, the Volturi witnesses wanting to avenge their masters.

But she closed her eyes in acceptance of her fate.

Had this been her end, she will be happy. For she will not have to suffer a lifetime without her Carlisle.

Alice showed what would be Aro’s fate had he continued the fight against the Cullens. Making him back down, to Caius’ dismay, but knowing that he will be back for Edward, Bella, Alice, and the other gifted vampires there one day.

Stella pulled Edward and Alice from the celebrating group, hugging them and kissing the temples of their head

“You both are so strong for having to see those visions.” She murmured to them

“You could see it too?” Edward asked

“Learned a bit of telepathy myself before being with Carlisle.” She winked to him “Just didn’t use it as much. I see how much of a stress that it with you, so I just choose when I use it.”

“So—

“I know a lot of things that you wouldn’t tell, Carlisle.” Stella answered to the shying Carlisle, playfully winking at him

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Edward murmured “It must have been tough to keep your composure, seeing Carlisle die like that.”

“You’ve been dealing with that for centuries; I want to carry the burden that you two do. Even if just for today.” Stella hushed, pulling the two for another hug

Carlisle watched the sight of the three of them hugging, a content smile on his face. He doesn’t personally know what vision Alice showed for Aro to back down like that, but he was glad that no fight broke out

It was finally over; their family is in peace again.

He gets to be in peace with his Stella.

“No!” Stella said, waking up from seeing another version of what the fight could have been

“What’s wrong?” Carlisle asked, a book on his lap “Another nightmare?”

“You keep dying in every single one of it.” Stella frowned “I keep killing Aro but that doesn’t stop the fact that you’re dead in every single one of it too.”

“I’m sorry mi amor.” Carlisle frowned, putting the book on the nightstand and pulling her closer to his chest

“If it makes you feel any better, I can help you if you can’t sleep.” Carlisle offered, a plan bubbling behind his golden eyes

“How so?” Stella asked, a small smirk forming on her face

Carlisle didn’t answer, but his hand made its way down to the hem of the tank top that she was wearing. He was toying with it, teasing her as if he was gonna lift it up. It didn’t help that Carlisle stayed topless when he accompanies her to bed. “Just so I can cool you down quicker” he says

What a complete bullshit.

“Mr. Cullen, you surprise me.” Stella said, an amused smile on her face as she sits up properly to look at him

“I wasn’t doing anything.” Carlisle said, fake innocence in his tone

“Aww,” Stella fake pouted

She left the bed and started to undress herself down to her undergarments, an expensive set that Carlisle gifted to her. She knew Carlisle was watching her every move with intent eyes, she didn’t even need to look behind to know so.

“I am gonna be in the shower, in need to cool down a bit.” Stella announced, though her tone hinted that she wanted Carlisle to do something

“Why need the shower if you’ve got a perfect cooler in your bed right now?” Carlisle asked in a sly tone, making Stella look at him

“Oh?” Stella asked, turning around and looking at him, a smirk on her face. He opened his arm, waiting for Stella to come back in his embrace

Stella rushed back to the bed, pulling Carlisle in a deep kiss and resting her hand on the band of his pajama wear. Carlisle wasted no time wrapping his arm around her. He pulled her down the bed as he positions himself on top of her.

“I love you.” Carlisle murmured, indulging himself and leaving shallow bite marks on her shoulders

“I love you more.” Stella replied back, tracing her hand down the vampire’s cold but toned torso

@kisekihany

#carlisle cullen #twilight saga #alice cullen #bella swan #carlisle cullen x reader #edward cullen #jasper hale #rosalie hale #the cullens #twilight renaissance #twilight x reader #twilight #no esme on this one (i love her though i promise)#emmett cullen

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