#the pity friend who you tolerate for a year and then just move on because it won't hurt as much as it does for me because you never cared

[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. winter, the first time. the start of the year, the start of it all. minors dni, nsfw warnings under the cut. 7k words part two part three part four part five

18+ because: brat taming, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, spit, unprotected sex, overstimulation, booty call!, masturbation (f receiving), voyeurism, mad sass, fucking porn without plot basically.

There’s nothing special about the club scene in Monte Carlo. If you’ve been to a club in any major city, anywhere in the world, you’ve been to a club in Monaco. It’s all neon lights and kaleidoscope colors and poorly lit dance floors and mid-tier DJs who think they’re the next coming of Jesus. 

Tonight is no exception. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of floral perfume and alcohol, the entire room shaking with the pulsating beat of the bass, reverberating off every single corner and shaking the liquor in your glass. Bodies move—yours included—half in sync with the music, half in step with their drunken stupor. Perched in the safety of Charles’s section, away from the swaying forms of laughter and shouting and screaming, your entire body thumps alone to the beat from the DJ booth a couple meters away. 

Across the section, Charles sits stoic on a couch, taking up a seat and a half and frozen like some magnetic force. His eyes are stuck on you in a way that pulls goosebumps from your skin, makes you irrational angry at him. You’re feeling particularly bratty today, egged on by the tequila and his visible annoyance. 

You’re on your way to interject into his pity party when your sister catches your arm, pulls you by your bicep to dance with her. Her palms are sweaty and cold and you hope that it’s the condensation from her cold glass that’s got her all clammy. The two of you have always been quite a sight after a few drinks. You get your tolerance from your mother, are both disastrous lightweights, feel the need to give any and everyone around you a show. 

The two of you twirl to the music with little effort, laughing like you’re seven and the hazard littered floor under your feet is the old brown carpet from the family room you grew up hosting dance parties in. It’s all hair and giggles and hands in the air like you just don’t care. Everytime your glance catches his, he’s staring back, nursing his drink and half participating in a conversation with your brother-in-law and Jo. 

“What’s his fucking problem?” you ask, leaning over to shout into your sister’s ear.

“He can’t dance,” she slurs. You snort. He can dance.

You whistle, loud and commanding and cat-call-ish even though he’s already watching you. “Charles! Get out here and dance, you fucking buzzkill!”

Your sister joins in on the fun, playfully swaying her hips to the music, tossing out an imaginary fishing line to her husband and reeling him over, calling along teasingly to Charles. “Yeah, show us what you’ve got, Il Predestinato!”

Charles rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I don’t dance,” he calls back with a soft chuckle. He tries to play it cool, like always, but everyone in the room knows you’re pushing his buttons. You always are. The reason he keeps you around is the same reason you stay around; your families’ relationship predates any animosity between the two of you. That, and the friend group was founded before you loathed each other and it would be too much work to try and split it up now. You’d probably never see Joris again. 

You dance closer to him, putting on a dramatic show and a poor fight against the urge to continue challenging him. “Come on,” you tug on his arm, just out your bottom lip into a pretty little pout. “Live a little.”

He’s never been able to turn down one of your challenges, however thinly veiled they might be. It’s his own personal sore spot, the one that you poke and prod as often as you can. Competition has always been the foundation of your mutual annoyance, it’s not going to suddenly change after some eighteen years of consistency. Finally, he relents, lets you think you’re pulling him to his feet, dragging him to dance with you and your sister. 

His moves are stiff and awkward, almost hard to watch. You laugh, because he’s wound up so fucking tight in two weeks you’d have a diamond. “See!?” your sister laughs, the contagion of it spreading to even the brunt of the joke. “I told you!” she continues, slinking her arm around her husband’s neck sloppily. His arm grips her side to hold her steady. It makes you feel sick. 

A smirk tugs on his lips, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something more in his eyes. Not annoyance or frustration. Something seven, something innocent and childish. It’s fleeting, and you take a deep breath because the music feels quieter now. You down what’s left of  your cocktail to clear your head, to calm the sudden flutter of nerves. 

The more he drinks and the longer he’s forced to dance, the lighter and more magnetic he becomes. “You know, Charles, I never thought I’d see the day,” you tease. He’s been in a near constant state of pity-party for weeks now, ever since his dumb ass got dumped by another girl wildly out of his league. 

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is as amused as it is drunk. “Don’t get too excited. It’s the liquor,” he retorts, a piss poor attempt at downplaying how much fun he’s having. He wouldn’t dare to give you the satisfaction. You lean in closer, brush your body against his, fueled by the noise and the alcohol. 

“The liquor doing the touching, too?” you ask. 

He’s always been a touchy drunk. Since before you and your friends were allowed to drink, he’s been hands-on. And maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s grabbing your hips, the first time his broad hand is flat over your stomach, but you’d never noticed him as this touchy with his girlfriends or his girls that appear when he’s around. Whatever it is, the more he drinks, the more comfortable he is with his hands on you, and the less you find the nerve to care. 

It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, though. Every touch burns your skin. It’s a sick little game you two play. Sick and twisted and so, so unlike the two of you. 

Watch yourself—he warns, hand on the small of your back. You play with fire. Well established and well documented, though; you never back down either. No, the thrill of annoying him is enough to dive head-first, to push his buttons until they stick. “Am I?” you ask, as innocently as the tequila can muster, taking hold of his wrist and moving it so his arm is wrapped around your midsection, fighting to settle in the space between your waistband and shirt hem. 

You respond to every one of his careful touches, ever lingering finger on your arm and your waist and your back. When you close your eyes, you imagine the nonsense patterns he draws on your skin like it’s on canvas in a museum, hung front and center just for you. Your inhibitions are slipping too, and you let yourself trail wandering fingertips over his body, too.

This isn’t the Charles you’re used to, the one you go head-to-head with every fifteen minutes. This is something entirely new, so far into uncharted territory you’re not even sure which way is north. There’s something particularly intriguing about the nerves bouncing around your gut. 

Everything fades away into the dark and crowded club. You don’t know if your sister and brother-in-law are still standing there, if any of your friends are. All you know if the electric charge of this, of every teasing remark and touch that draws you closer, forces you to test the waters of the newfound layer of tension. 

Everything is building, it feels like, to some grand crescendo of emotion and desire. Before there’s room to explore it, though, to dive deeper into the unspoken shift, the moment is interrupted by the return of the friends you didn’t notice leaving. 

The night drags on, the lines between annoyance and attraction blurring into some chaotic muddle of intoxication. Nothing is clear, nothing except the sobering and unignorable pull. It lingers in the air above you, in the space between like a secret just begging to be unraveled. 

You’ve got another drink now, because you can only think of one decision that would be worse than more tequila. In due time, you’re worried you’re a lost cause when it comes to that choice as well. His eyes stay on you, even from a distance, and you revel in the glory of his attention. Embolden by it all, you continue fucking with him. “Having fun yet, Charles?” you ask, knowing smile, voice dripping in subtle suggestion. 

He raises a brow, the corners of his lips quirking up. You don’t think you’ve ever spent much time looking at them, the soft shade of pink and the softer skin. “I suppose I can tolerate it,” he replies with teasing eyes. He’s irritated by your laugh, by your proximity, by your lips brushing against his ear when you whisper; you’re not the only one here trying to have fun. His jaw tightens but he doesn’t take your bait. Instead, he pulls you closer, sways in rhythm with you and replies, “I’m here to enjoy myself, not entertain you.”

He sends your brattiness running full-tilt. Forces you to carefully consider every movement, every ounce of playfulness that you allow to seep into your demeanor and the proactive sway of your hips. You grin at him every chance you get, sly and calculated, daring him to resist.  

You lean in close, brush against his ear and can blame it on practicality, on the bass and the music and the DJ if anyone were to question your actions. You rest a hand on his chest. “I know you love my attention.”

His breath hitches at your audacity, heart racing so quick you can feel it in your palm. He pulls you closer, dangerously close to your lips and says, “you talk too much. Maybe it’s time someone shuts you up.”

You scoff, low and teasing. “I’d like to see you try.”

[18 minutes later]

You step into the well-lit lobby less than a pace behind him. Your hands are interlocked, have been for every block of the darkened streets—since he grabbed yours and pulled you out of the club. “Admit it,” you giggle. “You love having me push your buttons.”

He remains stoic, jaw set as he pushes the button on the elevator. The tension is at a boiling point. You’re either about to kill each other, to be on the news for some grand double murder, or something so, so much worse is going to unfold. 

He leads you to the apartment without a word, but as soon as the door closes behind him, all is lost. Your head is bumping into the drywall before you even realize what’s happening, his lips harsh against yours, the pent up frustration and desire snapping like a dried twig. 

It’s fierce and passionate and while you never, not for a single moment in your life, imagined what he would taste like, you somehow knew it would be like this, cool and fresh and drunk. He licks into your mouth, messy and intense, teeth clacking and both of you fighting for some nonexistent upper hand. 

Fireworks are going off outside. They shake the windows with explosive gravitas as you’re blindly led by his backwards steps down the hallway. You realize that in an entire lifetime of knowing each other, this is the first time you’ve been in his place. It’s not what you expected, from what you can gather—all clutter and red cars and a boy who never had to drop his dream. “They’re going to look for us,” you say between sloppy, open mouthed kisses. 

He mumbles against your skin, strong hands on either side of your jaw. “Let them look.”

You walk through a doorway, into a bedroom clad with clutter and blue sheets. He would have blue sheets. There’s another firework, loud and booming, it makes you jump. You check your watch over his shoulder, pretend your hand doesn’t shake. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Okay.” Your knees bump into his and he sits on the edge of the bed.

You laugh, climb onto his lap, your arms strewn around his shoulders, broad and strong and you laugh again–this time into his mouth. What the fuck is going on. Seriously, what the fuck is this? “Happy New Year.”

He sighs, pulls his mouth from yours long enough to roll his eyes, to speak annoyedly into the hot air between your lips. “Yeah, whatever. Happy New Year.”

“Charles,” you mutter, hand on his chest. You think he’s going to regret this more than you will. People have always told you he’s the best kind of person. You’re not held in the same regard, and you know it. Some people are made to regret and others are made to be the regret. 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs, but it’s curt and passive. Annoyed, as always, even when he palms at your ass, traces his hands along the bottom of your hiked up dress and pulls you down against him with a bruising grip. “Shut the fuck up.” You tug at the hem of his shirt, pull it off over his head in a swift movement. 

“You’re doing a piss-poor job at making me.”

He moves you like you’re a fucking doll, like it’s lightwork, tossing you down against the mattress and swapping your positions in a swift movement. The strength and agility of it makes your head spin. He’s not supposed to make your head spin, he’s supposed to make it ache. 

But no, no. You do ache for him. All of you aches for him, for his calloused hands and the roughness of his jeans against your thighs and the soft contrast of his lips against everything else. It’s embarrassing. You can’t believe he’s got you like this, hands pinned above your head while he buries his tongue in your mouth, grinds his hips against yours. The coarse denim is almost painful on your sensitive skin, but the growing bulge pulling the fabric tight is more intoxicating than any cocktail. 

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he says, bites a bruise against the skin just above your clavicle. “Spoiled little shit.”

He sinks to his knees, big blue or green or whatever fucking color his eyes are today watching you intently, boring into you with blown, hungry pupils.  His fingers trail along your underwear, pulling the thin, lacey fabric to the side, and then removes them all together. He gloats when he runs his thumb through your folds. “So fucking wet.”

“It’s not for you,” you goad. 

“Oh?” He nods slowly, spreading your slick with the steady digit, watching you carefully for reaction. “For who then?”

Your eyes flutter shut when the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, circles it slowly, teases you. He’s unfocused, his mind lapsing and giving you a much needed in, a clear shot to piss him off. “Your teammate.”

“Fuck off.” You first. 

“You’re right, Charles,” you speak slowly, careful to control your breathing, to hide every tell you might have. “Someone should shut me up. Do you know anyone?” Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curls them like someone had given him a diagram of your body. You gasp at the suddenness of it all. Yeah, he mutters, utterly delighted with himself. Yeah, I think I know someone.

You roll your eyes, push his head down, down, mouth onto your core. There, in the midst of licking a long stripe through your cunt, he fucking laughs, shakes his head with a subtlety you’d never perceive if it wasn’t for the tip of his nose bumping your clit when he does it. At least he can follow basic fucking instructions. 

His dick must hurt pretty damn bad, all hard and swollen in his pants, because he’s unbuttoning his jeans and freeing himself from the constraints of the fabric while lapping at you, the other hand still fucking into you with steady pace and hazy curl. You can’t see it, view obstructed by the mattress and limbs and hair, but you can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s trying to get himself off at the same time he works on you. 

You’re not going to make his job that easy. You require all of his attention, pure and undivided and hopefully just as infuriated as you are. You reach down to the apex of your legs, pull his head up by his chin. “Just fuck me, already, you prick.”

He rises to his feet, shakes his head, “you’re a needy little thing,” he remarks. Needy? You haven’t fucking seen needy. 

He guides the head of his cock through your folds, spreading slick and spit and smacking himself against your cunt. 

Your lips purse into a sharp line. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” He taunts, “you’ve been teasing for hours.”

“It’s different,” you grumble. 

“How?” You could strangle him, him and all his questions. What’s a person have to do to get fucked properly around here? You already sacrified your morals by pulling tight against the navy blue sheets.  A woman can only make so many sacrifices. 

You groan, heavy and exasperated. He’s such a pest. “It just–oh, fuck you–” without warning, he plunges into you, buries himself in your cunt until he bottoms out, skin on skin and the sore sting of him stretching you. Your fingers bruise into his arms, nails scraping over his shoulder blades with a gasp. He gives you no time to adjust to him, rutting into you with deep, measured thrusts. What was that, he prodes. Somehow, you find the poise to stabilize yourself, to reply smugly. “it just is.”

His objective isn’t your pleasure, no. That would be his prerogative, a side privilege, a requirement in his quest to get you to close your mouth and stop pestering for once. Making you come is just another box to check. 

You don’t fuck someone if you’re not going to finish, though. Sleeping with Charles might be a lapse in judgment, but being someone’s play toy, letting him reap without sowing, that’s a complete disregard of your dignity

Your fingers find your clit, circle it in just the right sequence, combining with the curve of his cock to push you closer, closer, closer to the edge of the fucking world. Your entire body burns, everywhere, all over, all at once you sweat. Tell me–he insists, voice short and breathy. Tell me when you’re going to come. “I thought you were trying to shut me up?”

“Just, fuck, just tell me.” He palms over your breasts, still covered by your bra and the fabric of your dress, however thin. “So many fucking clothes,” he grumbled, stalling inside you, hands slipping under your back, between you at the mattress to pull you off the bed. You hastily pull the dress over your head, toss it somewhere onto the clothing cluttered floor. Better? You ask. “Better,” he nods, bites your bottom lip roughly, licking against your teeth. One of the hands that explore the skin of your back make quick work of the clasp on your bra, dropping the straps from your shoulders and your back is against the sheets again, his hands groping at you, pinching your nipple between his middle and ring finger, working over it until you’re humming profanities and huffing into his mouth. 

Hate and desire is such a fine, blurry line. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar. 

“M’gonna,” you choke on your words. “I’m–shit–I’m coming.”

“Yeah,” He picks up his pace, maintains a steady, toe-curling rhythm. “Come for me,” his voice heavy and growled. “Come on my dick.”

You do. You come for him, hard and long, wrapping a leg around his hip in a failed attempt to still him, to just be full of him and nothing more. He’s stronger, though, and fucks you through the whole thing, faster, harder, big hands braced on your hips for leverage. You explore the idea that a person really could be fucked in half, forced right open. 

“Good try,” you sputter, shaky and broken words leaving your lips before you’ve found a gravity that isn’t him. You lean up to kiss him, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and pull him to meet you halfway. Your fingers tickle the short hair at the nape of his neck, raise goosebumps to his skin. “Maybe next time,” you hum into his open mouth. 

He spits a long string of saliva into your mouth when you move to close the gap. You laugh around it, down it in a single gulp and lick your lips, sticking out your tongue to showcase your empty mouth, big innocent doe-eyes watching his reaction, his eye roll and devilish smirk.

“Like I said–” you start, but he’s flipping you over, tossing you around like a ragdoll.  You giggle, high on the teasing and the taunting and then he’s fucking your face into the mattress. He’s got your hair gathered up into a ratty ponytail, uses it like a handle, forcing your back into an arch, your ass to perk up into the air. 

God, he’s so fucking deep, turning you into a mess of bruises and sweat stricken skin. Your hips bounce back against him, angle in any imaginable way in an attempt to feel him deeper, to feel him in your stomach and your chest and your head. To feel him everywhere that counts. 

“Putain, taking me so good, baby” he groans, lets the praise and the pet name slipping past his lips in a moment that goes unnoticed by neither of you. He smacks your ass with a firm hand, trying to mask his words after they’ve already been spoken. Your eyes roll back into your head and you come again, without warning. You decide before you get to think about it that it was the stinging imprint of his hand that pushed you tumbling over the edge. Whatever the real reason, you’re up two-nothing, or, depending how you look at it, he’s the one winning. 

That’s all any of this is, one big game. A power struggle. You’re always fighting to win, and this is not different. If there’s a way to lose at a game where everyone is supposed to win, one of you is going to fucking find it and force it on the other. 

You’re the one doing the flipping, now. The pushing and the shoving so he’s on his back. You straddle him and he gives you this look like he’s fully pussy-drunk, sick and euphoric and floating somewhere far from here. You’re so winning at this. “Jesus Christ,” you poke, “wipe your fucking drool.”

His entire face contorts when you sink down onto him. Everytime you think you’ve reached a limit, he finds a way to hit a spot impossibly deeper than the last. His hips lift up off the bed to meet you halfway, rutting into pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had, hand moving to your cunt, thumbing lazily at your clit, leaving you fuzzy and drunk in a mess of mumbled moans above him. 

When you come for the third time, messy and sweaty, nothing that leaves your lips is distinguishable, a mess of French and English and curses and nonsensical mewls. “Fuck you,” he moans, breath shaky when he pulls himself out of you. Your body clenches around air, aches for him to return. 

He does, after he moves you back into the position it all started in. “So close,” he tells you, sinking slowly into you, his sigh hot and alcoholic on your shoulder. His pace is slow, then fast, then slow again. He’s as rapid as his breath is irregular. You better pull out–you groan, every muscle in your body strung out and exhausted and you’re coming again. It’s blinding white behind your closed lids, ears ringing and muscles flexing involuntarily. He’s wrecked you, finally, left you a mumbling mess. 

He pulls out almost in sync with your orgasm, jerks himself no more than twice between your legs before he’s coating your stomach in hot stripes of cum, loud, guttural moans leaving his lips in a way that looks and sounds practically pained. “Christ,” he heaves, watches on as your fingers dance through his orgasm, spreading it over your skin and coating your fingers. You don’t break eye contact when you stick two of them into your mouth, swirl your tongue around them tauntingly, sucking them clean and pulling them from your mouth with a pop. You hold the clean hand up for him to see, palm facing him. When you turn it, you pull down all but your middle finger, flip him off cockily. 

He swats you hand away, “Never fucking again,” he tells you. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” you scoff. “I never want to see the inside of this apartment again.”

“Why are you here, then?” He remarks, turning the corner into what you assume is the bathroom, tossing a towel to you from across the room. You clean yourself up before anything dries, before coming up with a quick rebuttal. 

You don’t come up with one, mind as tired as the rest of you. This game has been exhausting. “We’re never talking about this,” you say, pulling your dress over your head, stuffing your bra into your handbag because you aren’t sure you have the strength to clasp it closed. “Ever.”

“No shit,” he says, tosses your underwear in the general direction of you. 

You bend over to pick them up, step into them with the snap of the elastic. “Promise me.” You have no idea where your shoes are, but he’s already ushering you out of the room, herding you down the long hall with wide, swooping waves of his arms. 

“I promise.”

“Pinky,” you say, spot your shoes haphazardly stepped out of in the entryway. You don’t have any memory of them ever being on.

“Absolutely not.”

“Charles,” you lean against the wall to slip your heels on, hook up at him with a sober glare. He closes his eyes like you won’t be able to see them roll behind his lids, pinches the bridge of his nose and squints before dropping a heavy breath, holding out a pinky to you. You interlock it with yours. “Thank you.”

He pulls his hand from yours, turns the lock on his front door and swings it open, fingers wrapped around the edge, other hand gesturing out into the hallway. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“With pleasure,” you say, stepping past him and into the well-lit hallway of sprawling marble floors. You stop in front of the elevator, press the button and wait for his inevitable comment. 

“The whole brat-schtick you’ve got going on isn’t as believable when your leg shakes underneath you,” he calls down the hall. You don’t turn your head to face him, just extend your arm in his direction and flip him off. You hear his chuckle as he latches the door shut behind you. 

Everything about today has been dreary–from the near constant mist that falls over the city, to the chilly temperatures, to the poor excuses for men that grace the screen of your dating app. This is not how Fridays in your twenties are meant to be spent, sulking in the dark of your bedroom after a miserable day at work. 

You’re supposed to be out, partying with friends and making drunken decisions that have you waking up in a stranger’s bed after a good night you hardly remember. 

God, you need to get fucked. It’s been months. Two months and ten days–not that you’re counting. Because you’re not. Counting. You aren’t. 

You’re just restless, basking in the loneliness of the night, unable to shake the weight of your thoughts, of two months and ten days ago. Of Charles and how infuriatingly good he’d made you feel. The complexities of your relationship, the shift in the very DNA of what you know, it makes your heart race–a messy muddle of annoyance and desire that yearns to be untangled. 

You give up on the dating apps, know that even if you do match with someone, there’s nothing that can be done to solve your problem tonight. You opt instead to scroll through social media aimlessly, searching for any distraction from the ache in your gut. Your hand unconsciously slips under the hem of your shirt, cups your breast while you scroll and scroll and scroll. It does little to quell your struggles. In fact, the game is over the moment you become conscious of your hand’s placement, the moment you start to massage your breast, to run your fingers over your nipple until it’s hard and perky. 

You switch to the other breast, fingers gently tracing over the skin, sending chills up your arms, pinpointing the ache in your core. Your hand slides down your stomach, dips below the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear. You’re so worked up–pent up, reaching a boiling point. 

Your middle finger glides through your folds, grazes over your clit, teases the slick at your entrance before dipping in, collecting enough to spread it around. Your clit is swollen, needy like the rest of you, and the pad of your fingers do little to relieve the pressure. Your fingers move clockwise, then counter. Vertical and horizontal and every combination of every direction and even though you can’t remember the last time you were this horny, this desperate to come, you can’t. 

You slip in a finger, and then another, try to find the right curl and the right spot–to no avail. Now, you’re thinking about his fingers, about how much bigger his hands are, how his nimble fingers pumped in and out of you with sheet-gripping, whimper-inducing pace. 

Your phone taunts you, his contact behind the locked screen just waiting to be messaged. 

You try to resist. You hate him. He hates you. God, he knows how to fuck you, though; veiny hands and thick cock leaving you a writhing mess. Fuck. Fuck, why can’t your fingers move the way his did?

You cave, reaching over to grab your phone and text him. Hey. What are you up to tonight? It’s a mistake, you know that it is. He’s so damn annoying, there’s nothing about him that doesn’t drive you up a wall. Frustration makes the heart go fonder, you suppose, or maybe the cunt ache harder. 

Within moments, your phone is buzzing against your palm with his reply. Chilling at home. You coming over?

You roll your eyes. No.

Ok.

You bite your bottom lip so hard you think you might accidentally draw blood. It’s phantom, almost, the way you can so perfectly imagine the sting of him stretching you out, the soreness of his bruising kisses, the swollen, wet head of his dick slapping against your clit. Come over.

You couldn’t pay me.

Door’s unlocked.

Give me 20.

You’re in the bedroom when he knocks. Three times, you wonder why he isn’t just walking in. You ignore the banging, let the universe decide for you if he’s meant to turn back and walk his happy ass out of your building. The universe decides he won’t be doing that, though, because he knocks again. Louder this time. 

You pull yourself out of bed, feet creaking on the hardwood floors as you move to pull the door open. “I told you it was unlocked,” you grumble. 

“Eh,” he shrugs, dumb fucking grin on his face. “Wasn’t up for your games.”

You internally debate just how bad you need him here, if it’s worth all the trouble that is him. It’s not, almost certainly it isn’t. You invite him in anyway. 

“So, what’s the deal? Can’t get yourself off, so you call me?” He teases. Your frustrated blush gives you away before a witty comeback can slap the smirk off his face. “Oh my god,” he chuckles. “I was fucking around, but really?”

There’s no point in trying to lie now, not when your face has already betrayed your trust and revealed the truth. “Calm down,” you groused. “The last thing this world needs if your head to get any fucking bigger.”

He continues laughing like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. You want to smack the smile off his face, dimples and all. “The last thing this world needs is for this–” he gestures between the two of you, “–to become a thing.”

You mock his movements, the dumb look on his face. “This is not a thing. It’s just two friends–”

“–We aren’t friends.”

You sigh through gritted teeth. “Two not friends helping each other out.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, chews on the inside of his cheek while his eyes trace your finger, head to toe and back to head again. “You do know how ridiculous you sound, right?”

You breathe out in resignation, heading down the hall towards your room. “Can we just get on with it?”

“No.”

You stop in your tracks, turn on your heels. What the fuck is he here for, then? “No?” You close the gap between the two of you, plant your hands firmly on either side of his jaw and kiss him, all tongue and spit and rough lips. You knock him off balance, falling out of step when he kisses you back with a matching intensity, hands hovering over your hips. He doesn’t rest them there, you can feel the warmth in the space between your skin and his, the force that pulls you together. 

When he does settle his hands, it’s not to deepen the kiss, to swallow any more frustration. It’s to put distance between your mouths. “I want you to–”

You nibble on his earlobe, cut him off with your hushed words. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, I want–”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he commands, voice failing to waiver to your hushed level, an air of snugness to him.

“Charles,” your voice cracks with his name, a hint of your under the surface insecurity peeking through, putting themselves on display for him. Here! Here! Look at me! 

“Show me, or I’m leaving,” he says, and it’s all throaty and husky. 

(Eleven minutes later)

Legs spread for him, two fingers moving busily against your core, circling your clit, teasing your hole. 

He stares at you like he can see your fucking soul, watches from his spot across the room, leant against the old wooden dresser, arms folded and ankles crossed. You stare back–harder, maybe–like if you win the little contest your cheeks won’t burn so bright, you won’t feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so embarrassed. 

Those feelings fade, they do, with each flick of your wrist. With every glance of his hungry eyes to your fingers, to your cunt, tracing their way up and down your body, you feel calmer and calmer. And when he runs his hand over his mouth, along the stubble of his jaw and off his chin, you’re closer and closer. 

It pulls whimpers, soft and slow and sweet, from your lips. There’s a sick thrill to it, to him seeing her like this, all needy and open and sensitive. It’s empowering, almost. 

He breaks no more than twice, watches every brow quirk, lid flutter, and lip twitch with raw, intimate eyes. He’s less interested in what you do to yourself, the curve of your fingers or the noises they create, than he is in the way you react to the movements. 

“You’re not even fucking watching,” you say, the letter sounds falling to your breath, hitching as your fingers angle just right. 

“Watching what matters.”

“Oh? And, uh–” you huff. “What’s that?”

He laughs, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. You’ve always thought they made his smile so childish, like you can’t take anything seriously when it comes from someone with primary-school dimples and giddy eyes. You don’t struggle to take it seriously, now. “You’re thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh parting your lips. “Says who?”

He pushes himself off the dresser, saunters over with heavy feet, stopping at the foot of the bed. “What are you thinking about?” He humors. 

Your eyes roll. You’re thinking about a lot of things. Half a dozen, atleast. About your fingers, the way they move against your swollen cunt, sticky with creamy slick, and how his fingers are that much longer than yours. About how loud he walks, how his heavy feet stand at the end of your bed, crossed arms that pull his t-shirt tight across his chest. About the fact that you’re not sure you locked the door behind him because you were so distracted by the way his sweatpants hung from his waist. About how he doesn’t bother to adjust or hide the protruding bulge under the fabric right now. About the curve of his cock, about how pathetic and full it makes you, utterly unable to spend time thinking about anything but how well he stretches you out. About his hair, flat and straight and wholly unstyled, how your hands would mess it up so nicely, tug and twist until he has something smart to say. Beyond frustratingly, he’s right. As you quickly approach a high, breath quickened and movements desperate, all you’re thinking about is him. “Things.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, ever the rake, unsatisfied with your response. 

You add a third finger, steady pace and a held stare. The muscles in your leg twitch. You’re so fucking close. “What are you thinking about?”

He sways, rocks his weight from his left foot to the right, runs his tongue over his teeth. “Things.”

A coy smile upturns the corner of your lips. “Mmhmm,” you mock. 

He moves around the bed, trails his fingers over your skin; from your ankle, along the bone of your shin, a bruise on your knee. They stall on your thigh, trace small, soft circles on the inside of your leg. “You really want to know?” 

He’s such a tease, keeps moving up, up, up, over your stomach and through the valley of your breast. “I–ah– I,” you stutter through your words, fingers working tirelessly to push you over the edge. Restless, further irritated by his delicate touch, his fingers up to your jaw now, slotting themselves there, you nod. “Yes.” 

He leans over you, your lips inches apart, open and hot breathed. “Too bad,” he whispers into the space between, closing the gap and kissing you with an insatiable kind of fervor. Your fingers still, your other hand reaching to grip the back of his neck, to pull him deeper into the kiss. It’s a kiss that’s half as good as the sex, the breaking of the unbearable tension that’s filled the room while he’s watched, the promise of what’s to come. A lustful implication. His hand leaves your jaw when you pull apart for air, moving over your stilled hand. “Let me?” He asks, and it doesn’t feel like much of a question, the way he’s already slipping his fingers under yours before you can even squeak out an answer. 

There’s something entirely different about his fingers, like the way that you can’t tickle yourself. You can’t predict his moves, every movement of every ridge of his fingerprints is something entirely surprising. “Yeah, fuck, you make, ah, make yourself…” You give up on the sentence, your body failing your mind in its ability to spit out a comeback. Yeah, you wish you could tell him. Yeah, make yourself fucking useful.  

He laughs, slides his long middle finger inside you, pumps it twice and slips in another. You gasp at his sudden movement. “You’re embarrassing yourself, baby.”

Your back arches off the sheets. “Don’t call me that,” you seethe. 

“But,” he curls his fingers against the spot you’ve been trying to reach all night. A moan tumbles from your mouth and he smirks. “It makes my job so easy.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was going to let you come first, but,” he chuckles. He’s so proud of himself it makes you ill. “If you insist.” 

His hand stills, threatens to pull out of you entirely, but you’re covering it with your own, holding him there when you look up, hips instinctively grinding against him. “I’ll kill you. I will.” 

You’re pushing him out of your apartment by the end of night, locking the door behind him. Your leg shakes when you slide down the door onto the floor. This is the last time, it has to be. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence. Thrice. Thrice would be a pattern. You won’t let it become a pattern. 

You wake up at seven-thirty and your hair is still in knots, your body still aching from him. You find a new bruise every time you look in the mirror. You can’t shake the image of his messy hair, of the feeling of the brown locks between your fingers and the sound he’d make when you’d tug on them. 

It won’t be happening again.

#oi #this is getting me sent to hell. #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc series #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #ferrari

[andersonlore]

#BRAINROT! — abby anderson x reader

abby never thought she would be so lucky to have an opportunity like this. the two of you were roommates, two peas in a pod unable to be separated until ellie had won your heart. filled with anguish, abby had tolerated your relationship for the past two years. putting on the bravest face, being supportive, letting you lean on her through the lows of ellie.

ellie wouldn’t see it this way.

your girlfriend, seemed to grow an ugly green head at the burly blonde’s wondering eyes. ellie had made her case many times, trying to convince you abby wanted more than to be your best friend during your relationship. she wants you. stupid, rage fueled arguments started by her always ended up with a curse of roommate’s name. all roads lead to abby, especially your big blow up fight a few nights ago.

ellie gave you an ultimatum, her or abby.

both of them were here at the new year’s eve party with jesse as rhetorical hosts and you decided to stew. angrily, bitterly stewing. ellie didn't have the right to push someone out of your life just because she felt jealous. someone you care about, one of the few people who fully understands, helped you through your lowest moments and ellie expected you to just cut ties, as if it’s easy. as if you want to.

ellie is sitting next to dina on the couch and abby just made her way outside on the patio to watch the fireworks. the god awful turning feeling growing in the bottom of your stomach, nerves boiling over as rhea adrenaline pumped through your veins because you knew.

you knew, you knew, you knew.

the person you couldn’t leave without, the answer became clear when forced upon you.

you watch the clock as it winds down.

11:57

she didn’t speak a single word all night. all you were welcomed with were puppy eyes and a bleeding heart each second you refused to talk with her. ellie’s green orbs caught wind of your own, looking at her. you know she loves you, even when she can’t help it when she becomes crazy jealous, only spurring out insane nonsense. in her own way, she does but the anger her father left is drowning you, making it inescapable. she wants you to come to her, you know she does. even if ellie is mean when she’s afraid, she irrevocably in love with you.

but you can’t. because ellie knew you better than you knew yourself. you knew she didn’t want to be, but her eyes filled with regret as yours resembled pity. it beamed as brightly as a full moon on a starless evening, tears in her eyes as you made yourself across the living room to the back door.

11:58

your senses are met with the smell of cigarettes and cheap tequila, but you see her sitting beside herself away from her friends. she’s on a bench swing, rocking her body weight back and forth. she looks perfect with a beanie as her locks lightly framed her chin.

she’s anxious, forefinger picking at the label in beer, condensation making it easy for it fall away. abby wonders if everything will leave just as easily, you mainly. tonight at least she does, you hadn’t spoken a word to anyone really. she wonders if she did something wrong, if she’s hurt you in any type of way. abby hopes she’s just in her head too much because she can’t stand the thought of you hurt at all, but especially by her hands.

abby is pouting so badly, she misses you going up to her. until your weight sends the swing moving slightly, before she digs her feet into the wooden planks. you grab a swing of her beer, a drink you ate but you’ll need all help you can get if you still want to follow through with this.

it isn’t because this is difficult, it’s the easiest thing you’ve done all year. it terrifies how quickly you made the decision once you picture a life without her. you can’t see one, it’s not a possibility at all.

11:59

“c’mon, what you are you doing out here? it’s almost midnight. go find ellie, bub. is everything good?” abby says, but you almost don’t catch a thing she’s saying. you’re looking at her lips, licking your own in anticipation.

“it’s cold, too. where’s you jacket?” abby doesn’t wait for you to respond. she peels of your bomber, wrapping it warmly over your shoulders.

“i guess, i don’t know, i got distracted. i’m perfectly fine, abby.” you say, getting lost in beautiful blues. never really appreciating them like you should. if she let you, from this moment on, you’d never stop.

you’re leaning in closer to her, right hand resting on her thigh, and abby’s more confused than ever.

“are you sure everything is alright? why aren’t you trying to find ellie?” abby furrowed her eyebrows, trying to put the pieces together but nothing was fitting.

“i know exactly where ellie is.”

“okay….” abby looked at you skepticism glazed over her face.

the people you love, friends and family, they start count down from sixty.

“can you tell me what’s going on?”

“ellie wants me to make a choice and i’m making it. so just, sit there, ring the new year by my side and let me, please?” you begged.

“she really said it’s me or her?” abby whispered out, trying to hide the small grin trying to break out. all you did was give a nod.

the counts come down to twenty when abby asks another a question. “your girlfriend of two years gives you an ultimatum, and you’re deciding to sit with me.” the blonde is having a hard time believing you, slowly putting the pieces together one by one.

“yeah, there’s isn’t anyone i’d rather be. it’s you abby, i-it always has been.” you move your head so you can look at her, the two of you are leaning in closer, it’s when you notice the love in her eyes. how deeply it flows and god you hope it flows all over you. maybe it’s been there all along, just waiting for you to be there, waiting for you to feel the first drop.

12:00

everyone’s cheering as abby’s lips meet yours and dear god are they perfect. luscious, bottom lip separates your own as her calloused hands cradle your face as she angles the kiss deeper. abby pulls you closer as she handles you with all love in the world. you forget where you are and you’re moaning into the kiss, allowing abby to slide her velvet tongue in your mouth, claiming you for the first time.

the moment she’s imagined is more perfect than she deserves but she takes it anyways. abby can’t believe it as she pulls away, forehead resting against her, looking at you like you just the placed the world in her hands. and in a way, you kind of did.

“if there was ever any doubt, it’s always been you, too. but, i’m pretty sure you already knew it. i’m not one for subtly.” abby kisses you once more, and now you know this is how it was always meant to feel.

#this is a little rough but i’m posting so it’s a win #shit i almost had her go w ellie #but abby girl 4lyfe <3 #✭・۪ ⊹ ֗ ray’s works #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x poc!reader #abby x reader #abby x masc!reader #abby x you #abby x fem!reader #abby x y/n #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby anderson fluff

[lilibethwrites]

The Love Given Unsought

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader

In a last-ditch effort to save the realm, Rhaenyra and Alicent half-heartedly agreed to wed their children. Y/N Targaryen, daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, would be escorted to King’s Landing to marry her nephew, Aemond Targaryen. An unsuitable couple, if there ever was one. Though Gods were the most entertained when blazing hate turned to red-hot love. 

Warning: smut (rough-ish sex), incest

Word Count: 5920

Dragonstone became your home years back. The only relic of your youth spent in King’s Landing was your dragon, which hatched alongside Alicent’s children. Aegon was a close friend back then, certainly more tolerable than his younger brother, Aemond. And Helaena was family to you. So, when it came to naming your eggs, you followed after them and named yours Moonfyre.

 You were flying low, almost in hearing distance, on a clear morning when Rhaenyra’s own guard rushed to the courtyard. He was jumping up and down to catch your attention, his heavy and intricate armour riding up to his neck with each heave of his hands as he breathlessly shouted up.

 “Princess! Princess, pray land! Your mother demands an urgent audience! Princess!”

 To say that you took your beauty from Rhaenyra and the mischief from Daemon was an understatement.

 You weren’t heartless, though. Perhaps not so much an inheritance from your parents but from spending your days and evenings under your oldest half-brother, Jacaerys’s influence. So, you landed.

 “What is it? Did father upset her again? Am I to play the mediator?”

 Your riding coat was well-sewn with dragon scales on the shoulders and cuffs which blended seamlessly with the same pattern on your gloves. You took them off with your teeth despite your mother’s warning in the back of your mind, and stuffed them under your belt as you made your way to the throne room.

 Rhaenyra sat—slumped on a chair, her head hanging low. Daemon was unlike himself as well, with his back turned to you and his face to the tall fireplace.

 “What is it? I am beginning to worry.”

 “Sit,” Daemon spoke first.

 Rhaenyra only inhaled, playing with the crumpled corners of written correspondence in her hands.

 “I have news that concern you, Y/N.”

 “Mother, if this is about spilling ink on the Septa, I promise it was not my intention and Luke saw—”

 “You are to be wed to Prince Aemond,” Rhaenyra spoke slowly, emphasizing each word solemnly.

 You laughed incredulously at first, without joy nor shock. Your fingers were attempting to tear the plush velvet from the handles of the chair.

 “What?” Silence.

 Then you turned to Daemon, who only gave you a pitying look and a nod.

 “No—no, no, no! This is—this is not possible!” You jumped to your feet, pacing up and down the room.

 “No! I will not! I would sooner die than to— to—“ It was difficult even to utter it.

 “If this is because I declined the marriage to that Stark boy, I shall marry him—but—”

 “The boy is upset beyond recompense. You did not reject him, you insulted him,” Daemon reminded you that perhaps your refusal could have been more politically convenient. Or, that the boy couldn’t handle rejection.

 “No matter. I will fly to Winterfell. I will bear gifts and offer my sincerest apologies! I will—” you clutched Rhaenyra’s hand, begging to no avail.

 “You will do no such thing. You will, however, marry Prince Aemond.”

 Locking yourself in your chamber and refusing supper, the untouched trays that came and went, and even neglecting Moonfyre, who sat riderless for many turns of the moon did not move Rhaenyra. She didn’t budge, not for a lack of love for her daughter, but from oppressive desperation that tied her hands.

 Soon, a few seamstresses were escorted to your chamber, you were pulled out of your bed and measured for your wedding gown. Across the fog, in King’s Landing, your groom—the bane of your days since Rhaenyra’s announcement, was just as lacking in thrill as you.

 Queen Alicent attempted her best to persuade Aemond into showing you warmth and kindness once you landed; promising him that you were both once young and ignorant, but that you, his bride-to-be, have grown into a formidable young Princess, and Aemond was a charming Prince himself.

 “I was never once charming to her. Not even before I—“ Aemond cleared his throat as a tailor measured his shoulders once more, jotting down numbers and going back to the piles of black fabric Alicent sifted through.

 The night Aemond lost his eye, you were there. Upon King Viserys’s questioning, you defended your brother—at the cost of dishonesty and throwing Aemond to the wolves. You were never close, but that night tore you apart with a rift that never quite healed. You were only a child, but you were conscious enough when you exclaimed that losing an eye did not change Aemond, as he could not get any more unpleasant to look at.

 Though he grew taller and handsome, more handsome than all the knights and lords and princes that you have seen come and go at Dragonstone and Red Keep, and you regretted that one silly remark in your rocky friendship the most.

 His handsome face and tall stature did not stop you from throwing fits, ripping the seams of the gown and threatening your mother with slit wrists. Likewise, Aemond was firm in his belief that your beauty meant very little when you behaved like a Dornish barbarian.

 Aemond didn’t get along with your half-siblings and for a good reason. Daemon was too unpredictable to be trusted with a pact as delicate as this one, so it fell to Rhaenyra to escort you to your doom, your gilded cage with a predator inside it.

 Queen Alicent and your mother were apprehensive at first, but quickly rekindled their old friendship. Aemond by Alicent’s side, and you on Rhaenyra’s, however, stared daggers at one another. To a less informed onlooker, you seemed more like two slaves bought at the Flea Bottom and pitted against one another in a duel until death.

 Aemond had his hand squeezed into a fist, he stood tall and straight. He was handsome, indeed, but you’d rather marry anyone but him nevertheless. He eyed you up and down once he made sure you were distracted with Alicent’s compliments. The fleeting, lopsided smirk on his lips was long gone by the time Alicent let go of the hug.

 “Greet him,” Rhaenyra nudged you quietly. You only shook your head.

 Aemond proved himself to be the bigger man as when Alicent’s hand left his arm he took a deep breath and welcomed you back to King’s Landing.

 “Thank you, Prince Aemond.” You weren’t going to call him your husband. Your mother shook Alicent’s hand, you did not have a say in the matter.

 You stubbornly seated yourself between Aegon and Helaena come supper time. Aegon seemed sunken and less lively than when you left him, but Helaena’s companionship always put a genuine smile on your face.

 “Tell me more, Y/N.”

 “For the Seven’s sake, sister. Let Y/N drain her cup first,” Aegon protested, dismissing the servant to fill your cup himself.

 The banter and the laughter brought you back to your childhood—the awful reality of your pending marriage almost fled your mind, that was, until your eyes traced a faint tapping sound to Aemond’s fingers on the table. Then, you met his displeased gaze trained upon you.

 You didn’t know him enough, perhaps no one at the table did, to know that his huffs and roll of his eye were less displeasure at your sight and more jealousy that his no-good brother would be more interesting to you than him.

 “A tribute! To our families, to Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Y/N. And to the blessed marriage that is to come!” Alicent rose from her seat, Rhaenyra herself raising her cup with delight.

 “Hear, hear!” Aegon was sarcastic as ever.

 Helaena clapped excitedly. Neither you nor Aemond raised your cups, which did not go unnoticed by your parents.

 “A dance, then,” Rhaenyra suggested. She sounded unassuming to everyone at the table but you. You knew her anger was brewing at your disobedience. “Perhaps the bride and groom-to-be will take the lead.”

 “Yes, mother,” you forced a smile. “Certainly.”

 You did not grace Aemond with the courtesy of waiting for him nor did you spare him a glance. He wasn’t quite keen on pulling your chair or taking you by the hand, either. You simply dragged your feet to the corner of the room, and soon strutted Aemond toward you.

 He reached for your waist with the tact of a knight handling his prisoner.

 “You have not changed,” he whispered. You haven’t changed towards me, was what he rather meant.

 “Neither have you. Still haven’t grown an eye, either.”

 He scoffed. “I have no need for it.”

 “Then perhaps Jace should take this turn, cut out the remaining one.”

 “And I shall remain unchallenged by your strong brothers yet—but I shall also remain in their debt that I will not have to look upon your unpleasant face.”

 Gods, he was insufferable.

 “I shall never submit to you.”

 “I expected as much.”

 “At least you shall be free to pursue your whores.”

 “My interests lie elsewhere. I leave the… baser endeavours to my brother.”

 “I suppose even coins and titles cannot buy you love. Not even for a night.”

 The music came to a stop and the table applauded your dance. Aemond was left to bite his lip over what he meant to retort.

 The days leading up to the wedding ceremony were painfully slow but somehow went by incredibly fast at once. Aemond avoided you as much as he could and you did the same.

 Your handmaid from Dragonstone was your chief lady-in-waiting, and the years of bond you have formed over her service and company was the sole reason you did not go for her throat when she woke you up before the sun rose.

 “My Princess. Your bath is drawn. The royal seamstresses shall be here to dress you soon.”

 At the opposite end of the wing, Prince Aemond was already up as it was customary of him. He was sitting in a tub of his own, watching the birchwood burn up in the freshly lit fireplace.

 His coat, black with gold buttons and a high yoke of emerald velvet, was laid out on his bed. A cape of black silk, trimmed with the same velvet and embroidered with golden thread was neatly folded and sitting on his pillows.

 Your dress was of heavy silk and brocade. Yards and yards of white silk and satin, hand embroidered with black and red threads in vines and flowers entangled in delicate dragon motifs was your skirt. The bodice had the scales of your dragon, the same as your riding coat but in white satin instead. The sleeves were laced up at the shoulders where a cape of your own was attached to the dress as well.

 Your silver-white hair was delicately combed with a heated brush, braided and twisted into a bun with golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads while Aemond’s was loosely braided into a half-up at the request of Alicent.

 You sobbed at first, the big gown sat as a heavy shroud on your shoulders. Then your tears dried and your brows furrowed as you resolved on a quiet oath that Aemond would find not an obedient wife but a stubborn menace in you.  

 Alicent was by Aemond’s side as he stood still, the heavy cape draping down from his shoulder as the servants walked in circles around him, looking for a minute crease they might have missed.

 “Treat Y/N with the care and respect she commands.”

 “Which is none.”

 “She is a Princess. The Gods look down upon any many who mistreats a woman, much more so a wife.”

 “Speak it plainly, mother,” Aemond shrugged off the hands patting down on his coat.

 “Your concern is to avoid a war—a war I could win for you alone. Declare it and I shall win it in a turn of the moon. Then we can be done with this far—”

 In an impulsive act that surprised both the Queen and her son, Alicent struck Aemond across the face.

 “Watch your tongue. Your father does not have long, and the chaos his death might plunge us all into is not a war that you can simply hop on your dragon and win. So, you will marry Y/N and you will show her the respect she commands.”

 “And she will do the same to me, mother? Hm? The Princess who would once have me questioned sharply—tortured— as I sat with a Maester’s needle in my eye? The Princess who so scorned me to torment me at every chance?” Aemond’s voice was dripped in venom.

 “You were both young. This is a new beginning. For you both.”

 “That it is,” Aemond repeated. A chance to do over, to do unto his nephew what she once did and got away with.

 The ceremony was a disappointment: your groom took away the only silver lining you had hoped to find in the situation. Where you had hoped Aemond to fidget and stumble, and appear as a crude warrior out of place and out of his depth, he walked in as a proper Prince. He carried himself impeccably, stood tall and behaved as if he had cut his teeth on royal engagements.

 He stood next to you with his face trained on the Septon who invoked the Seven Gods to bless and officiate your unity.

 “I cannot wait to drive a dagger into your throat,” you whispered.

 “Hm. You would impress me if you could manage.”

 “You are flesh and blood like everyone else, Aemond.”

 “Yes. But you are a clumsy, spoiled brat. Do you require a servant to cut your stea—"

 “I’m a dragon rider!” You whisper-shouted with your hands bound with his by a rag dipped in scented oil. You did behave as a petulant child save for the stomping of your feet.

 He was good. So far, he managed to infuriate you more than you could rile him up.

 “A joy rider, perhaps. Do you think yourself a knight? Visenya reborn?”

 “Are you a knight? Ser Criston is a tourney knight now and that is all you will ever be.”

 He scoffed. No man was impenetrable, you simply had to find Aemond’s weakness.

 “And that is more than you could say for yourself, wife.”

 The feast that followed drew lords and ladies seeking the King’s favour from all six corners of the realm like flies to a bloody carcass. You were seated next to Aemond, and with a smile that never grew larger or faded away plastered on your face, you accepted the good wishes for your marriage. May the Gods smile upon your union and may your womb be filled with many sons in spades, but not enough may you find the strength not to strangle Aemond in his slumber.

 “This is a bore,” you mumbled mostly to yourself, playing with the venison pie on your silver plate. Though what usually followed wedding feasts was not much to look forward to, either.

 “You must feel right at home, then,” Aemond leaned in to whisper with an equally false smile of his own.

 His scent—oils of herbs and spices—lingered for a moment after he pulled away, returning his attention to the cup of wine he nursed.

 The deal Queen Alicent struck displeased Aemond greatly, but what truly disturbed him was the fact that there were thoughts floating around in his mind that he couldn’t banish. He truly despised himself for finding you beautiful; more beautiful than he expected you to grow to be, and beautiful in a way that eerily resembled him of the kind of woman he designed in his mind with his hand down in his breeches on a lazy evening.

 You also thought you could do worse. Aemond was a thorn in your side, but to say that he was easy on your eyes was a grave understatement. Maybe you even preferred him to Aegon now, though it irritated you to think that you would prefer Aemond to anything. Despite his impeccable looks and velvet voice in your ear, he was still Aemond, after all.

 “The hour grows late. We must permit the newlywed Prince and the Princess to retreat for some quiet,” Alicent announced.

 That was a virtuous way to phrase that you needed to consummate your marriage. The guests were eager either to depart for their journey back home or retreat to their chambers around the castle, as well.

 Ser Criston personally escorted you to the chamber that you would share as man and wife. Truth be told, it was thrice as big as your chamber back at Dragonstone, but you felt thrice as trapped, too. The heavy doors creaked close behind the Kingsguard, and you found yourself standing with Aemond, staring at him without a bother to conceal it and him doing the same in return.

 “So… what now?” You hoped to end the uncomfortable silence, though your question did not start a conversation either of you would find comfortable.

 “You know what. I am to bed you, and I suspect there are at least a few ears pressed to the walls expecting for it to happen at any moment.”

 His attempt at humour caught you off guard. You stopped loosening your braids for a moment and gave him a hearty chuckle. Aemond despised that he liked it, and utterly hated knowing that he would pursue more of it.

 “Well, best not keep them waiting then.”

 “Well, moan away as you wish, then,” Aemond gestured to the door, removing himself from between you and the carved heavy wood.

 “You will not bed me?” Were you… disappointed? Disappointed to find that perhaps Aemond couldn’t even get it up, of course.

 “I won’t torture you, no,” he spoke with his face buried in a heavy book in High Valyrian.

 “Aemond. It’s… Not my desire, but it must be done nevertheless.” For tradition, or for you?

 Aemond marked the middle of a sentence with his finger, considering your proposal with his bottom lip sucked under his teeth. He didn’t like that his animosity toward you was diluted with fear so soon—fear that he might change his mind about you if you were ever intimate with him.

 “Very well, then,” he discarded the book and his nimble fingers went for the buttons of his coat as he got up.

 The headache the tight braids coiled together brought you subsided as you let your hair down, massaging your scalp with your fingers. He watched you run your fingers through the loose waves that cascaded down to your shoulders.

 “Help me with the back. The ties,” you gestured toward your back where the bodice was fastened with silk ribbons.

 Strange enough, you felt comfortable around him when you expected to be nothing but tense. Aemond, perhaps thanks to wine, seemed more amiable than what was usual of him. He only nodded with a hum and stepped close to carefully unlace the bodice.

 There wasn’t much in the way of intimacy. You seemed like friends rather than a couple, but that was better than enemies all the same.

 Aemond returned to undressing himself. With his coat off and undershirt open to reveal his chest, he was as if he materialized out of the pages of one of your romances. He caught you staring only because he’d already been doing it himself.

 His body alone told you just how rigorously he trained with the way his chest and abdomen were shaped like stone carved with love and precision. The veins in his arms popped with each twist and turn of his hand as he stepped out of the remainder of his clothes.

 Aemond stood in front of you dressed only in the warm light of the candles. Your arms wrapped around your chest in a futile attempt for comfort. It wasn’t so much that you were naked but that the intense, unflickering look in his eye was trained on your face. His icy blue eye cut your skin, layer by layer, with each heavy blink.

 “I hate you, Aemond,” you whispered, unsure if you hated him or yourself more for considering there might be an alternative to how you felt about him.

 “And I you, Princess.”

 So far, your wedding night was nothing tender and romantic as you used to imagine it would be. But, Aemond didn’t make it into a torturous nightmare as you feared, either. So, he neither pushed or pulled you around nor did he sweep you off your feet and carried you to the bed. You laid down unceremoniously and he climbed after you with his hands on both sides of your head to keep his body from crushing yours.

 “We do not have to do this.”

 “We do, Aemond. We are expected to produce babes.”

 He nodded, dutiful as ever. It was terrifying for him to imagine that he would have you beneath him so often while attempting to remain cold and distant to you. He hoped that thinking of the deed as part of his responsibility, an act stripped of its emotions and intimacy might ease the turmoil of his heart and head.

 He stared at you for a moment, taking in the curve of your brows, your eyes heavy-lidded from a tiring day of ceremonies and a feast (and not from lust, surely), your hair splayed out on the pillow, and your lips parted to seduce him into tasting them.

 So, he leaned down, but the sudden turn of your head led his lips to close around your neck instead. He looked up, confused.

 “Don’t,” you spoke softly, avoiding his gaze. “Kisses are for lovers alone.”

 You didn’t strike him as the kind of woman to esteem acts of devotion as anything other than carnal necessities. Perhaps you were gracefully turning him down in particular, that kisses weren’t for lovers alone, but they weren’t for Aemond the One-Eye, either. He wouldn’t blame you. Even behind the safety of the eyepatch, he assumed he was a sight not many lusted after.

 Aemond didn’t concern himself with your pleasure or comfort after that. Not because he resented you but because he resented the cruel tapestry the Gods weaved you and him into—at least not at the moment. He didn’t concern himself with his own pleasure either.

 He bowed his head and gave himself a few strokes—that was all it took for his cock to jolt in his hand, and it was enough to accomplish his duty. He has done this countless times before. It was a matter of economy of time and effort for Aemond: a way to quickly relieve himself before slumber or in the morning before practice. He turned sour, then. If it was affection you so despised, it was antipathy you would get. He was all too familiar with taking care of his urges without passion.

 He guided his cock into your folds—he was considerate enough to go slow, though his size and lack of preparation did not make the stretch any less uncomfortable. You squirmed, and he dug his fingers into your hips to still you. He was in bed as he was outside it: a quiet fury ruled over him and misled you into challenging him to a losing battle each time.

 Your defiance, which typically led your parents and peers into abrupt combustions of rage, did not seem to affect Aemond much. The abrasive, quick-witted and sharp-tongued man played along to every show of stiff-necked impertinence you tested him with. It was as if you did not matter to him enough to elicit a response that pulled a muscle in his face.

 Aemond maintained a consistent, idle rhythm. His hips rolled into you while his eye was shut tight, partially obscured by the silvery-white hair that fell on his face with each bow of his head. His face was fixed in an expressionless cast, and he showed no sign of satisfaction except for an occasional sharp inhale. You could easily replace the sound of skin hitting on skin with the clash of the swords, though it likely would have elicited more response from your husband than steadily working your cunt.

 You closed your eyes as well and let out a moan that would have sounded false even to a naive stablehand.

 “Gods, Aegon! Aegon…”

 Aemond stilled with his cock buried deep inside you. His riposte did not miss a beat.

 “Juvenile as ever. You do this on purpose.”

 His tone was flat—whatever annoyance or jealousy you had hoped to raise in him did not betray him.

 “What? That I chase pleasure in the image of the better brother? Yes, I indeed do that on purpose.”

 Aemond nodded slowly, his bottom lip was once again under his teeth. The brief moment of reprieve his unmoving hips gave you diverted your attention from the ache in your cunt to the man responsible between your legs. A sheer layer of sweat coated his chest and shoulders where strands of hair stuck to his pale skin. His muscled abdomen contracted with each pant. Maybe you rendered the verdict with a wet cunt instead of a sound mind, but you thought he looked dashing.

 Then, you flinched, thinking the abrupt raise of his hand was to come down to your face or wrap around your throat, that days—weeks of relentless attempts at the limits of his patience have come to a bitter end. Instead, he pulled himself out of you and pressed your legs to his slender waist. He most likely would have dragged you by your legs still if you hadn’t wrapped your arms around his neck in a desperate attempt to remain balanced as he got out of bed.

 “Aemond? What—what are you doing?”

 In an ordinary marriage, you assumed, a wife’s first thought at that moment might not have been that your husband intended to fling you out of the window.

 He all but slammed you against the cold stones of the wall, bottoming out in you in one quick thrust all at once. A hiss escaped between his gritted teeth.

 “I’m giving you what Aegon cannot so you do not mistake me for that jester ever again.”

 In all his life, very little ired Aemond as fast and as fiercely as being compared to anyone, good or bad. It was even more so volatile when he was pitted against his older brother with whom he shared nothing but blood, and regrettably so.

 You saw so in his eye. The idle look which made you suspect at times that he might have been bored of you so much that he could have fallen asleep with his eye open was gone. In its stead, his dilated pupil glimmered with indescribably incandescent fury. In that moment, he was more dragon than human.

 The hint of pain from just how overwhelmingly stuffed you were began to grow on you, but his languid pace couldn’t possibly prepare you for what was to come. Aemond’s hips snapped unrelentingly as he pounded into you, the crown of his cock hitting a spot that made you dizzy and blurred your vision with the merciless pounding he gave you. His hips struck your ass with each buck and rut, drowning out your choked moans with the lewd sound of smacking flesh as sweat slicked your bodies.

A shaking hand gripped the back of his head, pulling Aemond’s hair in a feeble attempt to set yourself free from the wall he pinned you against with his weight. But Aemond remained unbothered by the tug at his scalp nor did he mind or ease his rhythm when you tore a fistful of white strands out.

 Your heart was racing and so was Aemond’s with his chest pressed against yours. He didn’t stifle the strangled noises anymore, joining your whimpers and moans in unison.

 You pleaded and begged between groans for Aemond to slow down, overwhelmed by the way your body was reacting to his by setting your nerves on fire. Heat spread under your skin and your toes curled with each thrust. You slapped his shoulder once, twice, all in vain. Your walls clenched around his cock too sweetly for him to slow down.

 “Aemond,” you intended to cup his scarred cheek but it was more of a sloppy stroke with the way your back slid up and down with each thrust. He squeezed your wrist in place, fearing that you meant to strip him of his last line of defence—the eye patch.

 It should have embarrassed you to lick so soon what you spat, but you swallowed your pride in the pursuit of something better.

 “Aemond—kiss me.”

 His face was dangerously close to yours; though it fell to you to close the gap as he only stared into your heavy-lidded eyes, unmoving save for his hips and the hand that let go of your wrist to hook under your thigh once more. It shouldn’t have surprised you when he leaned away from your lips. He remained buried inside you as he leaned back in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered.

 “Kisses are not for us, I’ve heard.”

 Aemond’s lips trailed down then, ghosting over your neck as cold, cruel revenge sank in, and instead of a kiss came a bite. It raised goosebumps and made your walls flutter around his cock in the wake all the same.

 You didn’t last long after, writhing and thrashing in Aemond’s arms as he kept working your spot raw from his unrelenting pounding. He twitched inside you as you convulsed around him—he was close behind, savouring the helpless squirms more than your contracting walls. He entertained the idea of spilling out for a moment. You bedded him, the ever so dutiful wife of his, so he could put a babe in your womb. What better way was there to a crescendo than to deny you the end you bore the means for?

 Even while losing composure, he was still in control. Ever the calculating, restrained Prince that had the displeasure of being your husband.

 “Be still, Baela,” he rasped, taking delight in the sharp inhale and the wide eyes of disbelief that were his rewards from you.

 You slapped him—a weak, pathetic one that must have felt more like a caress than a strike. It only spurred him on, knowing he could get to you oh so easily. He turned his head back to you with a wicked, lopsided grin. Perhaps it was not the best course of action when you needed a moment of reprieve to recollect yourself as you rode the tremors of pleasure that had you undone.

 You were limp in his arms with trembling thighs that ached and burned the same way your cunt did. Now that you were coming down from your release, torn from you so mercilessly and yet so delightfully by Aemond, you could feel every vein and slight throbbing of his cock inside you. You felt him twitch and began to spill himself when you held him by the neck and coaxed him into a kiss that he surprisingly did not protest.

 His fingers dug into your flesh, kneading the muscles strained from being tightened and wrapped around his waist for what felt like the whole night.

 Aemond invoked the old gods of Valyria, his lips barely apart from yours, as he jerked his hips, flooding you with his seed. It was a blasphemy that paled in what he was sure would condemn his soul to Seven Hells even before his death came.

 “Skoro syt ēdruta ao sagon ñuha qilōnarion?” He lamented. Why must you be my punishment? He didn’t flaunt. On the contrary, High Valyrian came naturally to him. As you would soon find out, he tended to talk in his sleep, in flawless High Valyrian more often than not. Sometimes he mumbled, and sometimes he tossed and turned with his forehead wrinkled and coated in sweat, shouting, before he shot up, drawing sharp, shaky breaths and reassuring you that it was nothing to be concerned of.

 So it came naturally to him to lament in High Valyrian as he surrendered all control, retreating back to the depths of himself as he bemoaned the fate for sending him the one woman he might not be able to challenge nor withstand. Though he bit your shoulder to stop himself from confessing more than he had already intended to despite your confused look telling him that you couldn’t tell his confession from an insult with all the lessons you have skipped.

 Aemond’s hips came to a halt eventually, though not before pushing you over the edge again, wrenching away another, weaker orgasm from your overworked cunt. He pulled out with a hiss, his seed beginning to leak out of your folds.

 The fiery passion in his eye was gone, replaced by the aloof curtain that made him seem lifeless at times. He released your thighs without tact or thought, chuckling dryly as you slumped over and your knees buckled.

 “Oh, very noble of you,” you grumbled, pressing your palm to the wall for support.

 “Hm. Assuming me a noble was your first error, wife.”

 Aemond stepped into the discarded pants, tucking himself and lacing up just enough to keep it around his hips. A bath was in order, but delaying that meant the ghost of your hands remained on his skin just a little longer. He seated himself on the sofa without so much as a look in your direction, reaching back for his book as if your first time together was a mere distraction to what truly mattered to him. Though his mind was racing and his heart was still beating at the same pace as when your chest was pressed against his and your sweet mewls filled his ears.

 He truly hated you, though for a different reason altogether now. He re-read a line on Valyrian cave formations over and over again, thinking instead of just how powerless you made him feel, how he helplessly watched as his resolve slipped away from his fingers like sand with each moan of his name that fell from your lips. He has never been a man of cravings up until this very moment. As he sat, watching you wipe yourself with the silk of your headdress from behind his book, he understood for the first time just how sweetly the wine called to Aegon, and how he was honest when he swore he had no say in how his hand reached for a bottle. Aemond would reach for you in the same manner, so soon and so often.

 You tried not to think about him at all, though it was impossible with his seed between your legs and his scent on your skin. You thought it was embarrassing that you would reconsider your oath to menace and dislike over a touch, a fuck, and a kiss. You hoped that come morning, when your emotions were not so high and your knees not so trembling, you would cease to consider him handsome, dashing even, and irresistible like a sheep to a hungry dragon.

 “I still hate you, Aemond,” you murmured, though it sounded more like a question than a statement. Do I still hate you, Aemond? You hoped that proclaiming it out loud might shape your mind back into reason.

 Even if your back wasn’t turned to him, the hefty tome he held up would have concealed his smile from you.

 “And I you, wife.”

-

Aemond Tag (let me know if you’d like to be added to it):

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#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd #house of the dragon

[redhead-batgal]

Hi I new to requesting but I was wondering if you could do a shy!reader x Damian or Jason?? Sorry if you wanted more

Type: One-Shot

Pairing: Crime Junkie! and Shy! Reader x Jason Todd/Red Hood

Content: Crime... obviously 😂, violence, cursing, anxiety thoughts, kind of stuttering and repeating words, quiet and shy reader, lowkey impulse control, and protective friend mode.

Word Count: 3, 872

P.S: This isn't entirely a shy read but like, the crime junkie! reader was calling to me, I'm sorry but not entirely 😅

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crime wasn't just murder; it wasn't just blood spilling in rages and bodies buried under may feet of earth. Crime was more then bullets in brains and poison racing towards beating hearts.

It was more then darkened alleyways in which life is stolen and corpses remain. Crime was passion and theft. It was the shattering of rules and shifting of morals.

Crime was more then murder and unfortunately you were completely and totally captivated by it.

It had been nearly seven years since you became somewhat obsessed with crime. Fictional crime, true crime, white collar crimes, blue collar, drug crimes, homicides- everything and anything involving crime interested you.

It over came your life, lapping into your vocabulary, what you ate and bought even into how you decorate your room as a child. So, when you moved into an apartment and your parents moved to Metropolis, you were free to let the full furry of your obsession escape.

It covered your walls in maps and shining pins, your ceilings in newspaper clippings and stained reports thrown out, your floor in pieces of shredded files pieced together and held by really shitty tape.

Your bed was stained with splotches of mystery substances you ate in the oddest hours that not even the deepest wash could remove. Pillows littered among notebooks and pencils, sheets smeared with lead and ink from the many notes you wrote in your notebooks. On your very tiny and worn nightstand your phone and the radio you snagged from an open cop car sat, side by side almost inseparable.

At first your obsession was cute, at least that's what all the people who saw it told you. It was adorable how into crime you were, how many podcasts you were listening too and how much information you knew. But the longer it lasted and the more into it you got the quicker the "cute" faded.

It appeared the only person in your current circle not weirded out by it was your roommate and best friend. She found it quirky, then again, she found most things you did quirky, like the way you talked and walked. How certain sounds, colors and textures you couldn't stand because it bothered you... in a sensory way.

She claimed you were just quirky, and that people should get used to it. part of you assumed her tolerance had more to do with her oncoming psychology degree then her actually finding you quirky. She probably thought you'd be a good case study. Anyone would after all you were insane.

Crazy

Weird

A Psycho

No better then the loons who run around at night.

You were used to people telling you what you were, use to people believing your silence as a deadly attribute. An unusual one. You didn't understand though, wasn't Batman, a revered person known for being quiet?

Was it because you weren't him or because you were young? Was it because you had strange obsessions and hobbies that led people to question whether you were even human at times? You didn't know but your mind loved to race for questions, for answers and to send comments shuttering down your spine.

Were they all right?

Were you a psycho, a loon?

A rogue in the making?

Were you dangerous?

Do you really think that anyone actually likes you?

They're just pretending after all, they pitied you. You were weird and strange and made people uncomfortable by existing. You couldn't even do the thing you loved the most, the thing you were so obsessed with... so what was the point?

Thoughts and episodes with much harsher thoughts and frantic observations overcame you at random moments, In the middle of work, at night in bed, during meals. Even when you were investigating cases. Even at the most inconvenient of times... like when your roommate, Cress, had brought her most recent boyfriend home.

"Y/n," She had said with a smile gesturing towards the guy next to her, "This is Kyle the guy I've been telling you about."

You looked up from the book in your grasps, you would occasionally read non-crime novels... only ones, however, suggested to you by a close friend or family member.

You were on the couch, far enough away to see the way Kyle loomed over Cress, eyes dancing as the words pressed into your mind and you remembered something.

"Kyle... kyle.. kyle pryiton?" You muttered under your breath.

Cress blinked, a tight smile on her face as she stepped forwards Kyle staring at you, tilting his head as you avoided eye contact.

"What was that Y/N?"

"he-Hes-... He's Kyle-Kyle Pryiton. r-right?"

Cress froze for a moment her eyes widening and Kyle flinched eyes narrowing as he glared at you. You don't know why, maybe it was because of what you knew but it must have been he assumed something.

"Y/n what the hell are you talking about?"

You blinked, looking up at Cress's nose, you couldn't look her in the eyes. No, no you didn't like eyes, they could notice boogers and lettuce stuck between teeth. Tears and reddened cheek. They could notice weird freckles and oddly shaped limbs. You didn't like eyes, no no nope. No eyes no.

"He-he. He's Kyle Pryiton... he no- no no. Don't don't trust. Nodon'ttrust. No trusting, not trustworthy. Bad-bad prytion bad kyle no trust. Nobadbadbadbad."

Your hands fidgeted, the book now against your lap as you shook your head muttering bad under your breath again and again and again.

Kyle let out a curse of sorts before he and Cress suddenly began arguing. You were used to tuning things out, so you looked away, at the window where the lights shined and flickered and shadowed figures leaped.

"They're a psycho!" Kyle yelled and you blinked.

Cress was going to agree, she was going to say he was right and leave. Just like everyone else, why couldn't you have kept quiet? Maybe your suspicion was wrong, he might be an okay guy.

But-but Cress... she would have gotten hurt. You could have prevented it; no no. Cress would be safe-safe. She trusted you and your word.

The door slammed and you blinked to see Cress's face red, wet with tears and she let out soft huffs. Upset, she was very upset... you didn't like it when people got upset, it was your fault, always your fault.

Why couldn't you just shut up, shut up shut up!

"Y/n, what were you thinking?"

You blinked looking to Cress whose eyes were wide in confusion.

"Bad... he's bad. I don't like him; I don't trust him."

Cres sighed shaking her head at your response and she moved towards you her brow furrowed.

"Why? Why? What did he do?"

You fidgeted, Cress was at your feet and close, too close. You didn't like that close. No, no and and why? Why? Because of your case! He was involved in the case, you were sure of it!

"He's involved in my case-"

Cress let out a sigh and you could hear the sound of tears beginning to build up in her throat.

"Case? Your case? Are you serious Y/n?"

You nodded sitting up straight and Cress turned away from you.

"Yes! He's-he's not a good guy. He's tied up in this crime-"

"Are you kidding me Y/n? God, I've gotten so sick of this! You aren't an actual detective! You haven't solved any crimes. Hell, you are just a coward! You haven't even done anything other then speculate about these cases. How would you know anything about anyone? You are a coward and-and- ugh. You ruin everything!" Cress bellows tears spilling down her face.

You flinch feeling something building up in your throat as Cress shrieked, she turned shaking her head and cursing under her breath as she dashed out the door. You swallowed feeling something in you crack.

Coward

Coward

Coward.

You weren't a coward though... right? No, you had gone out to investigate, it was just when Cress was out partying, you had gone out and-and-and you were going to again!

Standing up feeling your hands shaking and something warm spilling down your cheeks your walked towards your room. Your hands bounced and swung, and you began to stim.

Gathering your supplies, you filled your large jacket pockets with a taser, water, mini notebook, pencil and your phone. Finally grabbing onto your police radio, you clipped it to the inside of your shirt and yanked your jacket on.

Walking towards the door you grabbed a water bottle and left, locking the door behind you. Walking out of the apartment you began your trek down the sidewalks towards crime alley.

You knew something was going to go down out there, more specifically Kyle Pryiton was going to be tied to a crime. because the group he ran with, the criminals and gang members were planning a robbery. You had heard whispers on the streets and small crimes of theft for equipment that could help with this final heist of sorts.

The radio on the inside of your shirt crackled and hissed and you dipped your head down pressing it against your collar hearing the quiet report of a junkie found in an alleyway, half-dead and in need of medical attention.

Reports like these were common, you were used to it. So, you pulled away from your collar and felt your hands buzzing and stimming as they fluttered and bounced along with your legs. Walking you'd been walking for a while right?

"The-the warehouse then to the club. Drugs, booze and money money. yes, yes yes. This-this makes sense sense... sense." You muttered nodding.

"Bad guy, bad guy., He's bad bad bad. You'll... you'll see see Cress. He's bad, bad bad."

Continuing down the street you thought for a moment. It was cold, and quiet. The streets not even having the sound of wind rattling trash cans or shutters. Something seemed off.

You paused just for a moment looking around slightly and not seeing anyone. Hmm, strange, very strange. Strange, strange. Maybe it was the hour of night... well morning, but you doubted it.

For a moment you heard the sound of footsteps, and you looked up finding a man in front of you. oh...ohohohohoh oh OH. It was a vigilante, not just any vigilante, it was Red Hood.

it was just your luck to run into Red Hood, just your luck that you were now stopped by a vigilante.

"Hi," he remarked, and you looked up at him feeling something swirling in your stomach.

No- no eyes, no real tone due to voice modification.... hmmmmmmmmmm. You didn't know if this was a good thing or not. But still being near another person-a stranger at that made your skin begin to crawl. You didn't know him and felt your heart begin to beat faster and faster.

Should you reply? Or ignore him? You didn't know but you didn't want to talk to him, no no talking never ended well and and... weren't you busy? What had you been doing again? Hmm outside, with your jacket and-and your radio... then what were you doing? You probably had been investigating, but what?

"You alright?"

You blinked a few times seeing Red Hood taking a step closer to you. You stepped back you froze.

"Ff-fi-fine...i-i... I'm F-fine."

You hated how your voice would shutter and stop almost stuttering when you spoke to strangers. Hated how your voice dipped and went quiet all because your nerves spun and raced in your chest.

Red Hood didn't reply, and you heard the crackle of your radio again. Blinking you didn't move. He looked at and you narrowed your eyes. Did he think you were going to ignore him? No, no he was too close to close for you to ignore him.

"What are you doing out here?"

Why did- oh yeahyeahyeah. Vigilante, he had come a long way and was now with Batman again. No killing and helping out with his investigations. Red Hood is probably just worried about a civilian or possible criminal out on the streets.

"I-innn... inves-investigaat-ting. C-" You stopped closing your eyes it didn't matter, investigating was enough to tell him what you were doing.

"Investigating? What exactly are you investigating?"

You blinked looking at Red Hood, you weren't a criminal. You needed him to understand this, maybe then he'd leave you alone.

"I'm-m I'm not not not a cri-criminal criminal."

"You've never committed a crime?"

You blinked feeling your cheeks flush as the radio pressed against your skin nearly burning it as the memory of you taking it flashed before your eyes.

"What'd you do?"

Lying wouldn't be good, plus if you're honest you might get away fine. After all Red Hood had definitely done worse things.

"Sto-stole stole stole."

A laugh of sorts escaped Red Hood and you looked at him tilting your head. He nodded before asking,

"What did ya steal?"

Your fingers moved before your mind could catch up, pulling the radio from your shirt you held it up. Red Hood laughed and took a step back.

"You snatched a cop radio?"

Slipping the radio back onto your shirt you replied, "Yup,yup,yup. Got it rig-right from from their car car car."

"Damn, nice job. So, why'd you take it?"

"Crime... I" You let out a breath thinking for a half a second that it was nice to have someone to want to hear you talk, "I w-want to sol-solve crimes crimes crimes."

"Hmmm, interesting. So, you on a case right now?"

"Yup-yup...." You replied trying so hard to resist the urge to say the final yup, but unfortunately it won out, "yup. Damn it."

"What case? Murder? Assault? Drug trade?"

"Theft or rob-robbery. Gan-gang robberies robberies robberies."

Red Hood paused and you could have sworn he was giving you a strange look.

"Gang robberies?" He asked.

You nodded feeling your hands beginning to fidget and heart beating faster and faster.

"Multiple reports port ports... on gang initiations. People people people see-seeing members sc-scoping out out out a-a club."

Silence followed and you picked at your fingers, you couldn't stim, not right now when you were in front of someone. It wouldn't end well; you could barely stim in front of Cress... Cress. Oh oh!

"I have have-have to go."

Red Hood tilted his head and shrugged. You gave him a wary look and he froze, and you faintly heard a voice almost. It must be the comms for communication between the vigilantes. Maybe now was your chance to walk away.

You took a step back when Red Hood held up a hand. You paused for a moment and Red Hood reached towards his helmet slowly pulling it off.

"Yeah, yeah Oracle. I know, just give me a second."

Walking towards you, Red Hood holds up his helmet and you flinched slightly. He paused before tossing it towards you.

"Hold this for a second sweetheart."

You instantly caught it blinking to finally notice the black eye mask much like Red Robin's, Robin's and Nightwing's, on Red Hood's face.

Heat flushed your cheeks as your mind shrieked. He was attractive, fucking shit. Short dark hair with a white streak near the front, sharp and chiseled jaw lined with faint scars.

It doesn't matter you tried to tell yourself, it doesn't matter he is a vigilante and being nice because he cares about Gotham and its people.

You blinked noticing him press a hand to his head, drawing attention to scars at the edge of his hairline. You felt yourself watching his face contort as he spoke to the other vigilantes quietly.

Well, he's busy now, might as well inspect his helmet. Looking down at your hands you slowly raised the helmet towards your head and just to your luck he turned away from you. Sliding the helmet onto your head you blinked to find your vision filled with a screen.

It scanned Red Hood who was in front of you, and you watched a bar began to appear with the word loading spinning around. Turning away from him, the screen shifted to show the street, the loading a tiny icon in the corner. Suddenly bolded text appeared on the screen

Current Location: 3rd street, East Side Gotham

Active crime in process two blocks away, starting route to location...

"Woah," You whispered as you raised a hand and the letters disappeared to show a line, more then likely guiding you to the crime in progress.

A map suddenly appeared covering the whole screen and you paused scanning it to see it was a map of Gotham. A blinking dot showed your location just south of crime alley. A thin line, flashing directed you towards a star and you raised your hands once again waving them in hopes to move around on the map.

Unfortunately, nothing happened. However, as you moved the dot moved as well. Waving your hands, you began to walk forwards feeling a bit of glee race over you.

Giggling slightly, you moved forwards, only to hear Red Hood's voice get clearer.

"i know, I know. Listen I don't have time for this..."

His voice trailed off and you walked forwards some more, something warm getting closer to your outstretched hands. Suddenly you heard Red Hood's voice clearly. However, the loading circle in the corner stopped and texted flashed across the screen.

Scan complete....

Results loading

"What-? I'll see you at the cave old man... I have something to take care of calm down. Bye."

There was some shuffling, and someone was pulling the helmet off of your head, just as the results were about to appear on the screen. You blinked seeing a somewhat surprised and amused Red Hood right in front of you.

"Hi." He remarked a smile on his face.

Heat flushed your cheeks and you ducked, yanking your head fully out of the helmet muttering,

"... oh, hi hi hi, sorry sorry sorry."

Just what were you thinking? You were so dead, dead dead. Very dead. How could you be so stupid?

Instead of shooting you on the spot like you thought he would, Red Hood chuckled and looked you over. Tucking his helmet under his arm he hummed slightly.

"What's your name kid?"

"I'm not-not a kid."

He blinked and looked you over once more. You swallowed, feeling the urge you wrap yourself into your jacket and hide. Like a turtle, a snapping turtle. You liked snapping turtles; they were smart and safe. And currently you didn't feel like either of those.

"Okay... come on, I'll take you home."

Red Hood began to walk the way you came, and you narrowed your eyes.

"Why?"

He hesitated for a moment before shrugging, "For a pretty kid like you, it's dangerous at night."

You froze and the words slipped off your tongue clearly and quickly, the first time at all tonight anything was clear from your mouth, "I'm not pretty."

His head snapped towards you, and you froze. His face was twisted in an angry kind of way, and you swallowed.

"What?"

"I'm weird and and and creepy and a psycho and and a coward." You whispered, "I-i can't be-be all those things and and and be pretty. I can't can't can't."

He paused with a sigh before running a hand through his hair and shrugging. Shooting you a quick look he shrugged, "Okay, I'll take you home because... I'm curious. Curious...about how dedicated you are to investigating."

You narrowed your eyes and looked down at the helmet in your hands.

He's a vigilante, he is talking with you even though he could have left. Clearly you don't scare him or weird him out. It won't hurt for him to walk you back. After all,... blinking you looked at your watch, it was almost six am, Cress will be worried. Were you really out here for almost four hours? No, no it was more then that. it was almost midnight when you left, then you walked around for a while till, till now. Six hours, six hours you were out. How did time fly by so quickly?

"Okay."

Red Hood blinked and you tilted your head, he nodded before you turned and began walking home.

"So, you gonna tell me your name."

Conversation, he wanted to have conversation. But why? You were weird, even too weird for vigilantes. However, talking to someone who didn't treat you like a freak was too good of a thing to pass up.

"...A nam-e." You muttered feeling your stomach flutter and swirl.

He let out a huh of sorts and you took in a breath, you could do this.

" A-a name for for for a name."

He laughed at your comment and shook his head. "We both know i can't do that."

"Nick-nickname then."

You watched as an eyebrow rose on his face and he shrugged with a smile of sorts on his face.

"Negotiating? Alright. Nickname, Hood."

You narrowed your eyes and he looked to you waiting for you to say yours and you turned away from him remarking, "Psycho."

"That doesn't count."

"Nei-neither does hood hood hood."

Snorting some more Red Hood nodded with a smile across his face. He shrugged and you noted how he looked you over out of the corner of his eye.

"Oof Sweetheart, you got me there."

Walking down a street you noticed the lights on in your apartment and you stopped. Red Hood stopped with you, and you looked to the building before back at home.

Pointing at the lit room you turned towards him, "That-that's mi-mine."

He pressed a few buttons on the helmet before looking up at your apartment and his brow furrowed.

"You left the light on?"

"No-no. My r-roo-room-ma-mate. Roommate."

He nodded then began passing his helmet in-between his hands watching you, "you have a roommate?'

"Yup, yup, yup. Worried... worried. She-she's pr-probably worried... or-or not. She-she was m-mad."

Red Hood passed his helmet to his left hand before pausing. You turned towards him, and he remarked, "Catch."

Suddenly helmet was in the air and bouncing against your chest. Your hands darted out capturing it before it fell towards the ground. You looked at it then back at him your eyebrows raised.

"Wha-what?"

"Keep it. You seem to like it more then I do."

You gave him a confused look and turned the helmet over in your hands. He smiled slightly before shrugging as you shot him another look.

"Who knows, I might need your help sometime."

Heat flushed your cheeks, and you looked up at him smiling ever so slightly. He might need your help?

"T-Thank you." You muttered hugging the helmet to your chest.

Rubbing the back of his neck suddenly, Red Hood cleared his throat before stepping back.

"Alright I gotta get going. See ya later sweetheart."

"Bye," You remarked, and he turned and bounded away into the darkness.

Smiling with Red Hood's helmet pressed against your chest you turned towards your apartment.

A vigilante might need your help... maybe you were useless or a cowards like Cress thought. You weren't hollow, but full of use. It felt weird, but nice. To not be hollow.

Tag List:

@andromedaj2003 @daemonnix96 @zvtanna @masset-fotia @thomasbeloved @thefallingstarlight @krswrites @yorsgf

#one-shot #batfam #batboys #jason todd #y/n #reader #crime junkie!reader #shy!reader #red hood #oracle #barbara gordon #reader x red hood #reader x jason todd #y/n x jason todd #batboys x y/n #y/n x red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n #batfamily #batkids #batboys x reader #batboy x reader #batboy x y/n #request

[anyalovesu]

tolerate it.

iv. lay the table with the fancy shit.

— “they told me multiple times that it shouldn’t be that hard, i’ve been with him for longer than i am not but i fear that there’s one thing that they’re overlooking. he is not the same person anymore. i was sitting in my dining table with a complete stranger. i don’t know who this person is anymore.”

If it’s what she has to do, then it’s what she’ll do. Eli has spent the rest of her life abiding by the rules that were given to her and as much as she hates it, she’s grown too used to it to unlearn it.

So here she is, cooking what she remembers to be Leon’s favorite meal in hopes that she could lure him out of his den. She stared at the pot of sinigang as she turned the stove off. It was crawling under her skin once again, the feeling of pity for herself for how desperate it is to cook for someone just to get them to talk to her. She never even cooked for herself ever since she had roommates unless it was completely necessary, but here she is… looking for bowls to plate what she just cooked for someone that’s supposed to be her best friend.

Every move she did only made her think how desperate she was in trying to do what she was told to do. Who would’ve known that at the age of 22, given her status and background, she would be setting up the table with the fanciest shit she could find with new porcelain and cutlery, even lighting up new candles,  hoping that he would show some appreciation because from the looks of it, it seemed nearly impossible to get a reaction from him.

To say that it was wishful thinking that Leon would break, was a foolish attempt to make herself think that she wasn’t the problem. If she was honest to herself, the past years since their falling out only made her think more and more of what she could have done to make him ditch her that easily. Isaac was there to distract her from that void inside of her heart that used to be filled by Leon, but now that Isaac is gone, who is there to distract her from it? Now that the answer to that void is living under the same roof as her but still refuses to break and talk about their fall out.

Eli’s phone dings from a notification that she just received. Expecting it was an email from a client that she and Ynes had taken a few days back, she scurried to unlock her phone and check who had sent her a message. As if the feeling couldn’t get any worse, disappointment washed over her when she figured that it wasn’t the client, instead it was Amina Park’s assistant, emailing her and Leon about the pre-made appointments that needed to be done for the wedding. 

In hindsight, maybe it was one of their ameliorations to manipulate them into thinking they are still in control of their lives after what they just did. As for Eli, it was already way too late for her to think this way. No one is in control but their parents. Nothing is as important as their decisions. And any attempts to go against that would only lead to them being strangled in harder situations than the ones given at first hand.

from: Chelsea Alcantara ([email protected])

to: Ruby Elijah Yang ([email protected]), Leon Abel Park ([email protected])

Good evening, Mr. Park and Ms. Yang. 

I am Chelsea Alcantara, Mrs. Amina Park’s personal assistant. I am tasked to inform you about your appointments regarding your wedding day this upcoming May. Listed below are the dates and specific appointments that you have to attend to in preparation for your special day. Mrs. Park is asking for your compliance among the following:

Amina Park’s assistant had sent them the schedules for multiple agendas regarding the preferences for the wedding. 

Months ago, Eli never even saw herself getting married this early. She and Isaac have never even talked about it before as Isaac was only stepping into medical school and it would be too much of a hassle if they wanted to get married sooner. She never visualized herself getting fitted into wedding dresses or picking out colors that would look great for her guests… even what flavor of cake she would want was never even on the table because she never loved cakes in the first place.

Elijah wanted to be obliterated at that point. In a span of a week, she was being bombarded with so much change on top of constantly being requested to understand and try to help Leon warm up to her… it was all beginning to be overwhelming. 

In an attempt to ground herself from an impending panic attack, she managed to find 5 things she could see, and unfortunately, one of them was the vintage white grandmother clock that Ynes had managed to scour over the internet to find, which told her that it was already approaching 8PM and they haven’t had dinner yet.

Shit.

Elijah, who seemed to have had her feet glued to the floor at that point, managed to pull herself together and find her way in front of the door that is supposed to lead to the master’s bedroom.

“Leon, dinner na,” she called carefully after knocking three times

No response.

“Leon?” she knock three more times. 

No response.

“Leon, I made dinner. Lumabas ka na d’yan. Kailangan pa pagusapan ‘yung in-email ng assistant ni tita,” she called one more time, voice a little louder the previously. 

“God, magintay ka! Palabas na!” He said with so much hate in his voice as if her mere presence, even behind the door annoyed him. 

The door opens harshly which reveals to him a very startled Elijah who flinched slightly when the door opened. It was so quick that if he didn’t know Eli any better, he would gaslight himself to think that it never happened. He knew that look. The same exact look when she’s about to fall apart. 

Has he been causing this?

“Oh shit- Sorry–” He tried reaching out for her, out of impulse, perhaps guilt as well that he was able to put this much distress on her on the first night, perhaps maybe even a part of him knew that he was being a complete asshole since he got there.

But as quick as she covered up for the slight flinch she did a while ago, Elijah stealthily steps back to avoid him.

She looked at him blankly, eyes starting to gloss as she tried to regain her feist. He is one mean motherfucker, that’s for sure.

“Lalamig na ang pagkain, kumain ka na,” despite how loving it must be to remind someone to eat before their food gets cold, Elijah’s tone was flat. To be fair, saying it again was against her will. Everything in this entire ordeal is against her will but at the end of the day, she’s just one of the puppets her papa plays with strings.

It did not seem to bother Leon anymore. As if he snapped back to his usual mean self after her cold response.

—

“May food tasting this coming Friday, sa Sunday Vine, 10:30AM. Doon rin natin makikilala ‘yung mga kinuha nilang organizers.” Leon felt like he was listening to a robot enumerate what the email contained. To be fair, Elijah was done being nice and trying to show feigned enthusiasm over their situation. She has reached the point where no amount of optimism could save this asshole for a person and only did what she did best, reciprocating what Leon could give her. “Then Saturday, make sure your schedule is free kasi kailangan tayo sa sarili nating engagement party apparently. That’s going to be in Batangas.”

“Dadaanan pa ba kita?” He asked, though he was lowkey hoping that she’ll say yes, his pride managed to take over and continued, “Magssite visit kami ni kuya around 9AM. Baka hindi kita madaanan.”

“I don’t need you to pick me up,” Eli replied to him, without sparing him even a glance, only looking at her untouched food in front of her. “My car would be back bukas. Wag mo na isipin.”

They sat there in complete silence for a good half an hour before Leon spoke. At this point, Elijah was already expecting it to be one more of his indiscretions, but it turned out to be related to their topic beforehand.

“May gusto ka na bang kulay?” He asked, but Eli just shrugged, still refusing to look at him. One glance and she’ll break. She’s been hyper aware of that for the past hour for her to even attempt to see if her conclusions were right. “Red would look nice on you.”

That’s what he remembers to be Eli’s favorite color. It was her name after all, Ruby. It matched the pigeon blood-colored ruby that sat daintily on her left ring finger with a gold band that had diamonds encrusted all around. He never even had to go down on one knee. It was just casually given to her to wear that night before they left the restaurant. A ring never looked more beautiful in someone’s hand, he thought. Though the thought made him guilty to think about because he used to think that way for Margot, it was something he couldn’t deny anyway.

“I don’t like red anymore,” she replied, shortly, not bothering to follow it up with anything. 

She had changed her favorite color not very long ago. It was one small thing, but it pained her to realize that she has not been friends with Leon for that long for him to miss the moment she lost her interest in her favorite color. It was so childish, but maybe Leon was right. She was childish. Never too mature. Never acted old enough for her age.

“Tapusin mo na ‘yan,” she mumbled quietly, getting up after finally taking one bite of her supposed dinner.

“Maupo ka,” Leon called, sternly. “If you want this to work, we should eat our meals together. Kung hindi mo ako kayang tiisin, at least be civil sa harap man lang ng pagkain.”

“Wala ka sa posisyon na hilingin ‘yan sa akin,” she replied bluntly, finally gaining the guts to look him dead in the eye. “Not when you treated me like shit the entire day.”

“Sit down.”

It was a stare down right then and there, waiting for someone to break and submit to the wishes of the other person. Neither wanted to break eye contact. They stayed like that for a good moment before Leon finally stood up and sighed, holding both of Elijah’s arms to get her to loosen up. She had that same expression again, and god knows what will happen if she does end up falling apart. 

“Look, sorry, okay?” Leon mutters defeatedly, realizing that he has yet another responsibility in his hands. “Maupo ka at ubusin ‘yang pagkain mo. Pagusapan na’tin yung iba pang nasa e-mail.”

So he read it. 

But he made Elijah seem like she was explaining the entire thing to someone incapable of understanding because of how cold he was being. 

Nonetheless, Leon guided her back to her seat and waited for her breathing to slow down. Eli was close to hyperventilating but she was too upset to notice the changes in her own body, which that alone is fucked up… but that needing to happen for Leon to show an ounce of concern is even more fucked up in her head.

“Okay ka na?” with much concern, Leon asked before filling up her water goblet that was daintily decorated with lilies of the valley on its short stem. It was only when he gave her the glass of water did he finally think of how much effort and time did she put into putting this house together, that even to the tiniest details of the porcelain and the water goblets matched the theme of the house.

“So kulay,” he said. “I’m not the best in colors.”

“Obviously.”

“Kaya, ikaw ang magdecide.”

“Blue.”

“Something blue?” He asked. It surprised Elijah that Leon had a clue on what that meant. He didn’t seem like the person to know things like that.

“Yes. The guests, they are my something blue.”

“One more thing out of the list, no?”

Then there’s silence again. Leon seemed to want the conversation to keep on going so he continued asking. “May idea ka na what kind of wedding dress ang gusto mo?”

“Wala,” she replied curtly. “Wala pa naman akong balak magpakasal before so I never thought of it.”

The fact applied to them both. Their parents’ plans worked so well because of that. None of them wanted to get married yet when they were forced to do this. Leon hasn't even thought of buying an engagement ring because he and Margot haven’t even reached the first year mark yet. 

“What about yung mga bridesmaids mo?”

“Sila Ynes lang din,” she replied. “Bianca too, if gusto n’ya sumama.”

“As long as hindi kayo iinom on the bachelorette, that’s okay,” Leon shrugged. “It’s her first time na pupunta ng kasal na hindi flower girl.”

Eli sighed fondly, remembering Bianca’s sweet face looking at her this afternoon. “She grew up so fast.”

“I know.”

“Ikaw? Covey na rin ang groom’s men mo?”

He nodded. “P’wede rin si Kuya Santi at Cielo kung gusto nila sumama.”

“You could ask them,” she said, before glancing at her phone that lit up with a notification. It was their family group chat, it seemed like her Papa was going to go ballistic again on asking updates, so she set her phone aside for the meantime and carried on with their finally peaceful conversation.

“Do you want to get married sa simbahan?” He asked.

Elijah slouches back to her seat which gives Leon the answer he was looking for. “Right, what for 'di ba? Magsisinungaling lang rin naman tayo sa harap ng Diyos.”

“Right.” Elijah answered.

“So saan mo gusto?”

“I don’t know, basta anywhere na hindi simbahan.”

“Noted. Anywhere na hindi simbahan,” he tries to pull a tight-lipped smile before breathing heavily. “Kumain ka na muna. Tas magpahinga ka na. Ako na ang bahala dito.”

“Wag mong basagin ang plato ha,” Elijah scoffs at him. “I know you don’t like me and all but mahal yan. Lalo na yang mga baso.”

“Oo na,” Leon jokes. 

Elijah only scoffs at him again. “Seryoso ako. Pati si Ynes hahabulin ka kapag binasag mo ‘yan.”

“Alam ko. Hindi ko nga babasagin.”

It was petty to think that he wouldn’t do what he just said. Leon had broken too many things to believe that. That included her ability to trust and to believe that he is saying the truth when he promises. Eli was never fond of trusting strangers, which made contracts a very helpful tool for her in her line of work. And the person in front of her is someone as good as a stranger to her now. 

Especially after he did what Leon had promised his entire life to protect her from.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ characters ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ previous ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ next ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

#enha angst #sunghoon angst #angst #sunghoon #jake #jay #heeseung #ni-ki #sunoo #jungwon #forced marriage #forced proximity #filo!enha #enhypen angst

[its-chelisey-stuff]

Love Between Fairy and Devil eps 1-10 (thoughts and feels!)

It's been a while since I made a post like this (and since I wrote one this long lol) but it feels right that it is about this drama. Because I love it!!! IT'S AMAZING!! I was suffering a drama slump and then decided to give this a chance, pressed play and now this has become my new personality! I love every second of this deliciously glorious, well-told, magficently acted and gorgeously looking drama!!

It's even more amazing because I didn't think much of it in the beginning. Right on ep 1 I couldn't see what they hype was, but then it all changed on ep 2. I was wrong about you, drama!!! Forgive me, Moon Supreme lol. Also, so many kisses!!! Hehehe I always love it when dramas get creative with these or touching between OTPs and especially those who initially cannot tolerate each other. And the fact that the kisses here are actually a tool for the plot to keep evolving is *chef's kiss*

The fact that this is how he was freed and simultaneously trapped to her forever, is so silly, but I LOVE IT!!

And how funny is it that this evil lord, the most feared and powerful in all three realms, cannot touch a single hair on the head of this adorable and kinda silly fairy unless he wants to suffer the same as her??? hahaha and then he just decides to move in with her to keep her away from any potential danger for them? Which in turn ended up being the reason he has come to care for her in a surprisingly healthy manner for the "villain" of the drama.

I love that the progression of their story wasn't rushed but also, wasn't totally a slowburn. Cause even if they're not together after 10 eps, it's pretty clear the foundation of very strong feelings is already there (even if on Dongfang's part is more of a possesive feel rather than actually love or adoration, I'll take what I'm given as long they deliver my favorite tropes lol). They were reluctant at first (he wanted to kill her hahaha), then they got used to each other's company (he was exasperated with her), then they started to understand each other (I love that he didn't pity her, he just told her feelings were gonna be a problem for her, and she had many of them) and then they became friends and he was actually worried and was sincere in helping her. Also, everytime he was there to save or help her, I was madly cheering and clapping. It made me so giddy.

But of course that domestic life wasn't going to last forever and I love that the pace of it was just right.

BURN!! It is now that I see the value in having the villain of the story as the man who loves you, ‘cause he’d be devoted to you entirely, but the hero would choose to sacrifice you...not a good look, Changheng.

I've never seen anything Esther Yu has been in before, but she's so lovable and cute in her role as Orchid. At first I thought she was gonna be one of those overly cute and annoyingly stupid characters but nope! She manages to do something that I think it's hard, because barely anyone ever does it right. Most roles like this I've seen in the past, end up looking like a grown woman acting like a five year old, which is odd to say the least. But Esther's Orchid is wonderful and smart, and of course it makes perfect sense that a lovely character like her is what has melted Moon Supreme's cold exterior. Well, kinda.

Meanwhile, our second lead suffers from the sterotypical stupidity that made me sure within 5 eps that he was not gonna get the girl (I know, shocker), even though he had her in the palm of his hand (despite the odds being against him after he erased her memories of him!), but was too much of an idiot and a coward to actually grab her and to not let go. Still, I do not hate his character. I mean, he's a genuinely good God which in a xianxia drama is like finding a unicorn. Of course, I think Zhang LingHe does a very good job, even though I don't like his character that much.

One thought about this whole drama and my experience with it that couldn't be more true, is that I've never enjoyed Dylan Wang or any of his characters, as much as I have in this drama, with his performance of the Moon Supreme. He was born for this role and I never knew he had this much talent in him, but now I know, and everyone else!

And now, to watch ep 11, ‘cause they just changed bodies hahaha

#love between fairy and devil #dylan wang #esther yu #zhang linghe #cang lan jue #cdrama #btw i love the opening and closing credits #they're so beautiful #most cdramas just put a sequence with spoilers of the whole thing #and while not exactly non-spoilery #the credits of this drama manage to do something i don't always want to skip or ff

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hi, I’m an INFP dating an ISTP in a long-distance relationship. We’re both 21 and have been dating for about 3 years. But I have a problem with our relationship that I don’t know how to fix. We’re really attached to each other and spend as much time as possible together, although I am definitely the clingier one most of the time (he has his moments too).

I find myself getting really defensive and on guard whenever he acts more “neutral” to me or makes “logical” observations… I know it’s stupid, but I start taking everything offensively when he’s not overtly affectionate or lovey-dovey with me, which I know rationally isn’t proper, but in the moment I can’t help but get emotional over nothing, and I kind of feel myself being destructive but struggle to resolve it anyways. I’m surprised he tolerates me, I’m sure it’s incredibly annoying, and sometimes even his reassurance isn’t enough for me because it feels shallow or like he’s just saying what I want to say since he usually isn’t very elaborate about his feelings or moods.

I guess it kind of scares me that I can’t read him, even though he’ll say there’s nothing to read… I can’t help but assume he’s against me or doesn’t like me or something in the moment if he’s not flirty or affectionate, when he’s probably just being his normal self. I also get stupidly jealous when he hangs out with his friends, although he usually tells me he misses me when we can’t spend time together or talk and that he’d rather be with me.

I think it’s because compared to him I lack a social life… most of my friends aren’t close to me anymore and don’t really care about me in my opinion, so I rarely see them. All I do is go to college, and I don’t have any real friends there either, and I still live with my parents who can be toxic and overbearing. So I really only have him, and it’s just hard. But I don’t like the direction my mentality is going, and I don’t want to get worse, so I guess I’m asking for some advice or steps I can take to improve myself and feel more secure in my relationship.

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

The more dependent you are on something, the more you will fear losing it, which often leads to desperate or overbearing behavior. As a general rule, you shouldn't depend on only one person to fulfill all of your emotional needs. By doing this, you turn love into a burden for your romantic partner. While they may be willing to shoulder the burden, it isn't fair to them, and it sucks all the fun out of the relationship. How can dominant Fi be healthy and feel at peace when you're behaving in a way that is exploitative?

You've already pointed out a major aspect of the problem: you don't have any other social and emotional supports in your life. If you're in college, it means you're an adult, but you aren't properly nurturing adult independence. Independence doesn't mean you have to do everything alone, rather, it means you have to take the initiative to get the things you need and want in life. Independent people take matters into their own hands and don't waste time with waiting around, self-pity, or wishful thinking.

For example, you could put more effort into building yourself a social support network as well as engaging in activities outside of your romantic relationship. Many introverts struggle with this. You don't have to be the life of the party or a social butterfly to build a social support network. A small handful of carefully chosen friends should suffice. Join clubs or group activities. Observe some good friend candidates and take the initiative to strike up a relationship with them. If it works out, great. If it doesn't work out as expected, oh well, simply move on to the next person.

Remember that once you leave school and enter the workforce, it becomes much more difficult to make new friends. College is an ideal time to make friends because there's much more opportunity to meet like-minded people. Knowing more people in college can open more doors for you personally and professionally. Don't waste the opportunities right in front of you. This will require you to develop auxiliary Ne and entertain a wider range of possibility in your life (see the Type Development Guide). Ne development is also necessary for changing repetitive patterns of behavior, through choosing new and different paths for opening yourself up to the world.

#infp #infp relationships #auxiliary ne #si loop #social skills #socializing #social support network #independence #ask

[battycandy]

I keep thinking how I do not want this life or to be this person. I don't see any benefits no matter how hard I try to get some. How I desperately try to hold onto hope.

If I had a chance to start over and be anyone else then I would.

My memories only get flooded with negativity and I feel pointless. People tell me I can get the same out of life as everyone else but they are so wrong. I would trade places so fucking fast. Please be me instead then maybe you'll understand how desperate I am for anything resembling change.

I've been so sad and desperate trying to latch onto something that will let me live a normal life. I want the normal things but I am getting older. It feels like my only purpose is to move aimlessly and observe everyone else live a life I've never have. I am so bitter playing a friend to everyone else who just gives me pity looks. Giving me false encouragement. I try to smile it off and pretend I don't feel it. I can see it in their eyes and the pity smiles so I no longer open up even the most vaguest details of my life.

Like haven't you thought for one second that I've observed people my whole life and everyone is so easy to read? No. No one really does because it is their world I'm living in.

I've only had one person see my life from a different perspective. Sometimes a situation happens and automatically I am not given a platform or opportunity to speak up for myself. People say whatever the fuck they want and their assumptions are the only thing to surface then they walk away. How does it feel to never have a voice? Never given a chance to explain or defend? To ignore, laugh off and shut off because these interactions seem to be nearly everyone's default towards someone like me?

I have a coworker that has been nice to me and treated me like an equal. Asked me a random question one day so I'm fumbling around for a pen to respond. But no I wasn't fast enough and they turn their body completely away from me to continue conversation elsewhere. The interaction is gone. So I stop reaching and sulk a little. Like you didn't even wait and it shows you don't give one fuck. This is my life. How funny is it that I don't matter not even for 10 seconds? I wouldn't have done that to someone else but no one thinks. I wish I could say this wasn't common. I am the first person to notice when other people talk over or interrupt someone. Are they not important too? I don't understand this. How could they not notice their rudeness? No one cares

I've carefully build up a shell to deflect. I had no idea what to say when someone else had asked me how I could deal with this. I don't know. This is my life and it's all I've ever known. I am not given a choice to do so. I just live in these sidelines. I accept it. It's probably why I've blacked out years of my childhood and why the only memories I remember only haunt me. I wish I had new memories to completely erase my past.

There isn't anything else I can to make myself worthy. I could've worked myself to death and it wouldn't have been enough. Not normal.

I can't earn this through suffering, putting myself through work or trying to be the best I could be in a relationship. There are no rewards to earn. I've foolishly believed once that I could have anything. It never crossed my mind that I couldn't but that's what happens when you grow up thinking there's nothing wrong.

I feel like I'm reverting where my choices don't matter so I don't ask or say a thing anymore. It feels like a burden. I don't want to cause problems.

My anxiety only gets worse and I'm trying to ground myself. I feel like everyone wants to hinder my growth and I have let them walk all over me. Given no chance to do otherwise but I am so fucking tired of my pathetic life.

I am a nice person but my tolerance is nearly depleted. I don't care about first impressions and I've become too blunt with people 10+ years younger than me. Funny enough it is never viewed as rudeness because how can someone /so nice/ be rude and manipulative?

By default I am not confrontational.

Now I'm just empty and I want to be heard.

[heich0e]

if you're still doing prompts I would love a tednou piece ❤

mint i cannot put into words the things i feel for this man and i'm so sorry i will never be able to do him justice but oh i tried

When you were young, your grandmother always told you that time was a fickle friend.

It had meant little to you back then, just another one of those silly phrases that the elderly woman seemed to have an endless supply of, on topics that ranged from the weather to catching frogs. You’d always accepted them for what they were and moved on, years passing as the fickle friend ticked ever forward.

But as you’d grown older you realized that time was not your friend at all.

It moved fastest when you were doing things you liked, so it never seemed to last.

Slowest when situations were their least tolerable, so it felt as though it would never end.

And most cruelly of all, it separated you from people who you loved.

You rolled over in bed, the flat cotton sheet between your body and your duvet winding itself around your waist in a way that was uncomfortable and constricting but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

It was the least of your most pressing concerns.

It had to be early, despite the fact that you didn’t know the exact hour – the blinds were open just enough in your bedroom to make out a strip of barely lightening sky on the horizon, throwing the cityscape into backlit relief.

You swept your hand under your blankets, looking for something, knocking the unusually large croissant shaped plushie beside you off the bed in your search. When you felt your touch brush the smooth, solid form that you were looking for, you wrapped your fingers around it and pulled it out from under your pillow where it had been hiding.

The bright screen of your cellphone told you, almost tauntingly, that the hour was 4:58AM. You blinked a few times as you processed this information.

No, time was definitely not your friend at all.

Your fingers seemingly had a mind of their own as they continued to slide across the screen, finding the right places to touch without you even having to think about it. Before you knew it, a ringing sound echoed through your bedroom --the repetitious jingling puncturing the perfect stillness that had previously surrounded you.

“Did you know that the oldest person who ever lived was 122?” you heard a familiar voice ask, in place of a proper greeting — as was his tendency. A second after the question was posed the video of his face filled the screen with light.

“Hi,” you said, your voice still a little sleepy despite the fact that you had probably been awake for the better part of an hour. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“She was French too,” Tendou replied, pushing some hair out of his eyes as they crinkled up in the corner with a smile.

He’d been letting it grow out lately: no longer the eccentric, pushed up style of his youth, nor the buzzcut he’d spontaneously gotten when he first moved to France because he hadn’t known how to ask for a trim. It was a nice length on him —the soft strands framing his angular features complimentarily. You couldn’t help but think he looked a little older, more mature with the added length. You wanted to run your fingers through them, feel their softness for yourself.

It had been so long since you’d been able to do that.

Pesky time, again.

“Are you okay? Why is it so dark? Isn’t it late there?” You watched his eyes search the screen curiously as he fired off question after question, struggling to make sense of your entirely dark FaceTime call. He was in his own bed, you could tell from the floral printed pattern of the pillows just behind him.

You crawled a little further over, the sheets rustling as you untangled yourself from them, until you could reach the lamp sitting on your bedside table and flicked it on. You blinked against the sudden illumination, rubbing your bleary eyes as they struggled to adjust.

“I can’t sleep,” you complained to the screen, almost laughing at how pitiful you looked and sounded on your end of the call. You shimmied back in your bed, to a more comfortable position on your own pillows, nestling down.

Tendou’s face curled into a little smile, and he shook his head disapprovingly though it was almost entirely feigned.

“You scared me for a minute there, I thought something was wrong!” he chided you playfully.

“Something is wrong” you replied indignantly, offended that he thought so little of your sleeping problems.

He laughed at you, no trace of sympathy in the sound, resting his cheek in his palm as he propped himself up in bed.

You narrowed your eyes at his dismissive laughter in response to your very important and very pressing issue. “I’m hanging up” you said, your finger ghosting over the button to end the call.

“Don’t!” he protested loudly at your own childish threat, his grin only widening at your sudden petulance.

“I’m gonna call my other boyfriend, Wakatoshi, who I’m sure cares a lot about my delicate sleep schedule” you sniffed indignantly, looking away from the screen.

“He’d answer you know — he’s probably already up and getting ready for his morning run,” he remarked, his head lolling to the side and pressing further into his hand so his cheek squished a little bit around his fingers.

Your lower lip jutted out —you’d been hoping for more of a response.

“You’re cute when you're tired,” he said to you, the words teeming with a familiar fondness. His softness made you feel a little weak.

You breathed out slowly.

That was what you were calling for.

“I miss you,” you said to him, rolling onto your side and leaning your cellphone against one of your pillows, freeing your hands in order to tuck them under your head as you settled down on your side. Your positions were almost mirroring each others, even though you were so very far apart.

“Come here,” he said to you simply, as though it was an obvious solution to such a big problem.

“You come home,” you replied, your counter argument flawless as usual.

“You know I can’t,” he sighed, his playful smile still on his face but his eyes flickering with something a little more sombre. The solemnity didn’t suit him.

“I know,” you said. And you did know. You always knew.

It wasn’t as easy as that.

But you still said it every time, anyway.

“Why can’t you sleep?” Tendou asked, trying to lighten the mood by changing the subject.

You didn’t say anything, rolling instead so that your face was buried in the crook of your own arm, hidden.

“Helloooo,” he tried to coax you out of hiding, a smile in his voice as he changed his tactic. “I’m hanging uuuuup.”

“Don’t!” Your head popped up as you protested, eyes wide. He was grinning when you looked and the screen, and you quietly cursed his use of your own threat against you.

“There she is.” Satori smiled at the camera. “So, why can’t you sleep?” he repeated his earlier question, twiddling with his fingers on his end of the call.

You watched the way his fingers moved, long and lithe, tugging and twisting at themselves as he waited for your response.

“Well?” he pressed.

“I had a dream about you,” the words came from your lips in a sort of sigh, barely words at all.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, his voice a little different than before. Breathier, and deeper.

“Hmmm” you hummed, nodding a little.

It was quiet for a moment.

The city had yet to wake up outside of your windows, and all the way on Tendou’s side of the world in Paris, the city was finally winding down for the night.

“Wanna hear another fact?” Tendou asked, the first one to speak after the prolonged pause of just staring at each other through the screens of your cellphones.

You hummed in agreement, your eyes fluttering closed.

“In french, instead of 'I miss you', we say 'tu me manques'.”

Hearing Tendou speak french made a pleasant little shiver dance down your spine, just like it always did. He’d come a long way in the time he’d spent since leaving home. You curled around yourself a little tighter under your blankets.

“That’s nice,” you said, meaning it.

“It doesn’t mean ‘I miss you’ though,” he continued, but it wasn’t in the usual vibrant voice he shared his bits of trivia in.

No, this was softer, gentler in every utterance.

“It means ‘you are missing from me’.”

Your eyelids squeezed shut a little tighter, a pang that was neither painful nor comforting and yet somehow both pulling at your chest.

“I think the french might be on to something,” you murmured, letting your eyes flutter open only to see him staring at you intently.

“Maybe,” he agreed with a smile.

“I’m sorry to call you this late,” you said, your lips pursing a little as your cheeks warmed uncomfortably. “I know you have to be up early for work.”

“You can call me whenever you want. You know that,” Tendou laughed, finally letting his head fall onto his pillow, his red hair fanning out around his cheek. “My time belongs to you, anyway. Always has.”

You blinked a little at the screen, wondering each time you opened your eyes if the soft smile on his face would have twisted into something more teasing. But it didn't.

Because he'd meant it.

Maybe you could still make a friend of time after all.

#tendou x reader #tendou drabble #tendou fluff #tendou satori #writing #liv got mail #the way i held back from using any more french than was strictly necessary even though i am literally bilingual #c'est maladroit mais assez sincere ca #hq drabble #hq writing

[kpop---scenarios]

Torn Apart (2 Final)

Pairing: Surprise! x Reader

Warning: Smut, Sadness, Angst Maybe? Mean People

Word Count: 5.4k

It had been weeks. 

Weeks of sobbing into your pillow, weeks of feeling like things were going to get better, until you found the most insignificant thing that belonged to Chanyeol and you broke down all over again. You missed him. You missed his touch, his warmth, his smile, the way he made you laugh when you were sad. You missed it all. You were broken, and it was all Chanyeol's fault. 

Until you scrolled through Instagram, and saw pictures of him with Maya, that bitch. You had never hated anyone in your life until you had met her. You couldn't even begin to fathom what even slightly redeeming qualities Chanyeol saw in her, but apparently there was something to that wench.

You were curled on your couch in the fetal position as you cried at the ending of Strong Girl Bong Soon. You wished you had a love like that. The way An Minhyuk loved Bong Soon was the relationship you wanted, the one you would strive for. He loved her so much and you just wanted to be loved by someone like that. 

You groan loudly as your doorbell rings, and then whoever pounds on your door. You didn't want visitors, you didn't care who it was, you wanted to hermit. 

"What?" You yelled from the other side of the door. 

"Y/N, let me in." You hear from the other side. You recognized the voice immediately. 

"Baekhyun, I look like a troll. Kindly leave." You sigh. 

"Y/N, if your trolly ass doesn't let me in, I will break down your door." He threatens, which makes you laugh for the first time in days. You both knew he would never be able to do that, and he would likely end up hurting himself. 

"Baek, you would break your leg." You say, pulling the door open. On the other side was a sympathetic Baekhyun, who had tissues, ice cream, chocolate and a bag full of movies. You smile at his kindness. "You know I have Netflix right?" 

"Shut the fuck up and move, this shit is cold." He barks, moving past you and into your kitchen. "Look, I have all the necessities. We will get you through this. Because I for one, cannot stand the sight of Mayeol and I want to gouge my eyes out, and I need someone to do it with." 

"I don't understand how that has anything to do with me." You say, grabbing two spoons.

"Sehun is gone, he's so in love with those two, hes bordering being a psychopath, Jongdae and his wife are just tolerating, Suho, Kai and Kyungsoo are avoiding them like the plague and Minseok and Lay have been MIA, so you're my last hope, Y/N." 

"I really don't want to talk about him, Baek." You admit, the hole in your heart somehow feels larger than before. 

"That's fine, I'll stop, let's start a movie." He suggests, grabbing a random one out of his bag. 

And for the next few hours, that's all you guys did. You watched movies, making comments, laughing and you genuinely had a good time with him. It had been so long since you actually felt happy and you were grateful to Baekhyun for bringing at least a little joy back into your life. 

Until he left, and you were alone again. All the feelings came rushing back, except they hurt a little less this time. You didn't miss him quite as much. 

** 

The next day, at the same time, your doorbell rang again. You open the door, your eyes puffy and bloodshot and you see Baekhyun standing there again, a new flavor of ice cream in hand, a new kind of chocolate, and a new bag of movies. This time he said nothing to you, instead pushed his way past you and through the door, setting everything down on your living room table as he popped in the movie. You smiled to yourself before turning around to join him, it felt nice to be cared about, and the fact that he was going out of his way to do this for you, and make you feel better. You truly appreciated Baekhyun. 

As he sat there and watched the movie, you watched him. The way his eyes lit up at a part of the movie he enjoyed, the face he made when he took a bite of his ice cream, the wrinkle he had in his nose when there was a cheesy scene. You never truly noticed how handsome Baekhyun was until now. His distinct jawline, his large hands, his toned body, you briefly.. very briefly began to wonder how large his..

"No Y/N, no. Do not go there with your existing bestfriend." 

You quickly shake off the thought, moving your eyes to the TV screen, trying to focus. 

"How are you feeling today?" Baekhyun asks, sliding his phone back into his pants pocket. 

"A bit better, I guess." You answer. Before Baekhyun could say anything there was another knock at the door. "That's good." He smiles, standing up. "There are some people who wanna see you." He says, opening the door. 

Minseok, Suho and Kyungsoo file through the door, looking at you with pity as they all sit, surrounding you.  

"Hiiiii." Suho pouts, protruding his bottom lip. "How are we feeling today?" 

"Um, hi." You laugh. "I'm fine." 

"Oh good, so we can go." Kyungsoo pipes up, standing up and walking towards the door. 

"Sit." Minseok sighs, pointing back at the seat. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, shuffling back to his spot and flopping down. 

"She's fine, Chanyeol is fine, so why are we here? Everyone is fine." He groans. 

"Have you seen him? Is he fine?" You hesitantly ask. You weren't even sure if you wanted to know. 

"Oh he's more than fine." Kyungsoo groans. "He and Maya are all over each other all the time. It's honestly nauseating. Like I want to be able to eat my sandwich without hearing your girlfriend moan when you kiss her." He gags. 

You bite your bottom lip as you slowly nod your head, tears welling in your eyes. These were most definitely details you did not need to hear about your ex and the girl he cheated on you with. All the men whip their heads to look at you, who now had your head hanging low as your shoulders shaked. They all look back at Kyungsoo, with only one speaking up.  

"That's it." Baekhyun growls. "Kyungsoo, get out." He spits, pointing to the door. 

"What did I do?" Kyungsoo asks, innocently. Baekhyun rolls his eyes, looking at you, softly whimpering into the sleeves of your sweater. 

"Out. Now." Baekhyun says, giving him the middle finger before flinching as Kyungsoo stands up, whispering "Don't hurt me."

"Don't listen to him." Minseok sighs. "Kyungsoo has zero social cues, he also could not read a room if his life depended on it." 

As Kyungsoo opened the door to leave, in rushed Lay, who looked at the man leaving and just nodded his head, realizing he had probably said something rude and was asked to leave. It wasn't the first time and would not be the last either. 

"Y/N." Lay breathes. "How do you feel about tall, muscular men who sing?" He asks. 

"I do enjoy them. Why?" You ask. 

"I have a friend from the hospital.. I think you two would get along really well. He's in his third year of surgery residency and is looking to date. I may have shown him your picture and he instantly said yes." He tells you. 

You look around the room, Suho and Minseok are nodding enthusiastically, while Baekhyun sits with his arms crossed against his chest, and a pouty look on his face. 

"What do you think?" You ask Baekhyun. He looks up at you, his face softening immediately. 

"I uhh, it's up to you. Yanno, if you're into muscular, tall men.." he mumbles.

"You know what? Sure, yes, I will. Chanyeol and Maya are out there living their best lives while I'm sitting here sulking, mourning a love that clearly didn't mean as much to him. So yes I will go out with him." You announce, perking up already. "When?" 

"Tonight." Lay says. "More specifically, an hour." 

"I need to get ready." You smile, jumping from your seat to rush to your room. You slowly peak your head around the corner, softly smiling at your friends. "Thank you, you guys. You've all really helped me these last weeks. I greatly appreciate you all." You finish, heading back into your room to quickly throw yourself together. 

By the time you were done, you had 15 minutes to spare, and you were damn proud of what you accomplished in the last 45 minutes. You showered and shaved to become a hairless human from the eyelashes down, you managed to get the knots out of your hair and it looked in decent shape, as well as hide the semi-permanent redness of your eyes with a lot of makeup. You almost didn't recognize yourself in the mirror when you looked. You didn't see the heartbroken girl anymore, you saw someone confident, hot and worthy of a great love. 

Stepping out into the living room you blush at all the 'oohs and ahhs' from your friends. 

Except for Baekhyun. 

When you looked at him, his eyes shined and for some reason it made your heartbeat a little faster. You watched his eyes trail up and down your body, seemingly taking in every curve, every inch of you. When he notices you staring, he clears his throat and looks away. "You look prettyish." He mumbles as he walks away, there's a knock at the door. Baekhyun is the one to answer and looks up at the tall man. 

"You must be.." he begins, moving out of the way, letting the man walk in. 

"Hi." He smiles at you. "I'm Matthew." He says, holding out his hand. 

"Hi Matthew." You grin. "Y/N." You finish, introducing yourself. 

"It's really nice to meet you. You look phenomenal." He says, holding your hand up to spin you around. You can't help but let out a loud laugh as a blush spreads across your cheeks. 

"Thank you." You whisper. "Shall we?" 

He waves to Lay and everyone else before taking your arm in his and leading you out the door. You left three excited men behind you and one who felt annoyed but didn't quite know why. 

** 

You hadn't laughed so hard until tears rolled down your cheeks and you held your stomach for a very long time. You honestly were surprised at how much you and Matthew had in common. You both enjoyed the same type of music, food, and pastimes. You had yet to meet someone who loved the same authors as you, who enjoyed doing your favorite activities and who genuinely seemed like a great person but here he was, sitting right in front of you at this nice restaurant. 

"I have to admit something." Matthew begins. Your stomach drops as you feel like he's going to tell you he's married or has a girlfriend, something that's going to make you lose trust in men, again. 

"Go on." You say, forcing a smile before taking a sip of your drink. 

"I really like you." He grins. "It's insane, I have never met someone I had so much in common with until tonight." 

"I was just thinking the same thing." You laugh, feeling relieved at his confession. You liked Matthew, he seemed as though he would be good for you and treat you right, although you thought that Chanyeol would do the same and look how that turned out. 

Beep 

Beep 

Beep 

Matthew's pager beeps incessantly. He takes it from the waistband of his pants, checking the page and stands up abruptly. "I'm so sorry." He sighs. "I have to go, there was an accident and I'm needed in the OR." He explains. 

"Go." You say, waving your hands to emphasize. 

"I had a wonderful time Y/N, and I hope I get to see you again." He grins. He places down a few hundred bills on the table before kissing your hand, and with a wink he was off and your heart was pumping fast as red spreads across your cheeks. 

Oh boy. 

Your blush is still present as you walk through the door of your apartment. You see Baekhyun sitting on your couch with his arms crossed as he watches a show, not even acknowledging your presence. 

"Why are you still here?" You ask, tossing your purse on the chair. 

"I wanna hear all about Matthew." He mimics, rolling his eyes. "How was your date?" 

"It was really nice. We have a lot in common, which is strange. He seems really nice and we get along amazingly. He was paged into surgery so it ended early." You tell him. "So cool." 

"Oh wow, surgery huh?" Baekhyun says, nodding his head. "Did I tell you I'm auditioning for a band?" He smiles. 

"Are you really?" You ask, a little shocked. 

"Maybe." He says, clearing his throat, turning back to the show. 

You sit beside him, you dress riding up just a little to expose your thigh. You're focused on the show, barely realizing that Baekhyun has now rested his hand on your bare thigh, his thumb lightly rubbing the same spot. 

Why did you feel butterflies? Why was your pussy throbbing? It's probably just friendly, there's no way Baekhyun has feelings for you. 

Right?

As the show played on, your eyes became increasingly droopy, feeling the exhaustion and excitement of today finally catching up with you. Your eyes slowly close as you lean your head back onto the couch. 

You weren't sure when it happened, but you woke up, what you're assuming is a few hours later with your head on Baekhyun's lap while he gently rubbed your head, running his fingers through your hair. Your body shivered at the gentle sensation and you closed your eyes once again, feeling safe and happy as you dozed off. 

** 

When you woke up the next morning, you were laying on the couch, alone with a blanket draped over you. Your eyes searched your apartment and there was no sign of Baekhyun.  You had no idea when he had left but a part of you felt a little hurt that he left without saying goodbye to you. You rolled yourself off the couch and shuffled into your room, changing your clothes to something more comfortable. 

When you were done you made your way to the kitchen to find food when your front door opened. In walked Baekhyun with a large bag from your favorite food place. 

"You didn't." You grin. "It's so far away." 

"I did, and it was worth it to see the look on your face." He laughs, setting the bag down on the table. 

The two of you sit down, and have breakfast together and chat. You hadn't realized that Baekhyun actually had a lot in common with you as well. You didn't know why the two of you had never talked about these things but you felt like it was a crazy coincidence that two men match with you so well. Although you knew Baekhyun's feelings were strictly platonic, there was no way that he felt anything romantically for you. 

"I gotta go to work, but we'll hang out later, if you're up for it?" He asks, throwing his garbage away. 

"Of course." You smile. You look in his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes and you just want to melt. You liked Baekhyun, alot. Maybe it was just from how good he's been treating you lately, or maybe the feelings were real, you would never know because you were going to focus on changing your feelings for Baekhyun to feelings for Matthew, someone you knew you actually had a chance with. 

** 

Later that day you were doing some work on your computer for the company you work for, luckily you're able to do your work from home, giving you plenty of time to be free during the day for activities. You're brought out of your zone by a text from Matthew, asking you if you wanted to grab a late lunch around 2pm, and immediately your mood changed, and you happily replied that you would love to. 

At 1:50pm, you sat at the restaurant, a drink in front of you while you waited for Matthew. Seeing him walk through the door, your heart did a mini dance as he smiled at you, heading towards the table you had already gotten. 

"Hey there beautiful." He grins, sitting across from you. 

"Hi." You giggle. "How has your day been?" 

"Busy and stressful, but that's all been forgotten now that I have you in front of me." He says. You smile widely, burying your head in your hands. He was so sweet, and you didn't know how to react to it. After the two of you order, you're in the middle of a conversation about a movie you had each recently watched, when out of the corner of your eye, you notice someone familiar. You look over and at a table that was too close for your liking sat Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Maya. Your attitude, demeanour and mood completely changed when you noticed them. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes as you looked away. You look at Matthew who instantly looks concerned. 

"What's wrong? Did I say something?" He asks, leaning in closely to whisper to you. 

"T-that's my ex.. and the girl he chose over me, and his best friend who I'm still friends with." You whisper, nodding your head towards them.

Matthew discreetly looks over and notices the blonde man looking in your direction, pain in his eyes from the moment he saw you. 

"Look at me." Matthew whispers. You look up at him, trying to control the tears. "That boy is an idiot for giving you up. You are one in a million. You're smart, funny, beautiful, caring and an all around amazing person to be around. Don't give them anymore of your tears, princess. They don't deserve them, and you don't deserve to cry over them." He smiles. 

You sit up, taking a deep breath, smiling at the man across from you, staring at his beautiful smile. You glance over to the table and see Chanyeol staring at you, sadness in his eyes while Maya glares at you and Baekhyun, he stares at you with what seems like a look of anger. He glares in your direction, his face like stone and you had no idea what you did to make him so mad at you. 

"Would you like to go somewhere else?" Matthew asks. 

You nod your head, knowing you didn't want to be in the same restaurant as Mayeol, it was bad enough to have to be in the same city as them. Matthew grabs the check, escorting you out, his hand hovering over your backside as you walk out, the feeling of eyes watching you burning into your back as you exit the restaurant.  You and Matthew stand outside your door, and he smiles at you. "I'm sorry about the date." He sighs. 

"It wasn't your fault. If anything I should be sorry." You say. 

"You did nothing wrong." He tells you. "I have to get back to the hospital now, but I'll call you." He says, leaning down he presses his lips to yours quickly before pulling away and saying goodbye. 

You walk into your apartment, feeling a little confused. That didn't go how you imagined it at all. As you're trying to get out of your sundress, there's a knock at the door before someone walks in. You turn around and see Baekhyun standing there, watching you. 

"You looked pretty comfortable and intimate with what's his name." He blurts out, walking towards you. He stands closely behind you, you can feel his breath on your neck as he pulls down the zipper of your dress. 

"Yeah well you looked pretty comfortable with fucking Maya and Chanyeol." You retort, trying to storm away from him. Your dress slips off your body, landing on the floor. Baekhyun follows you, reaching out to grab your wrist. He spins you around to face him. He pulls your body closer to his. 

"What do you want?" He asks. You don't answer, your lips parted as you try to form a sentence. Baekhyun's eyes drop down to your lips. He licks his lips and sighs. You can feel his breath, so close to you, almost kissing you. "What do you want from me, Y/N?" He asks. 

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest. You look into his eyes, one word on the tip of your tongue. 

You. Just say it. You want him. Tell him. 

But you say nothing. 

Baekhyun sighs. "That's what I thought." He says,  moving away from you and picking up your dress from the floor. He hands it to you, leaning in to press his lips against your temple. "Call me when you know what you want." He says, walking away from you and out the door. 

What did that mean? Did he want you like you wanted him? Why couldn't you have just told him right then and there? 

You were scared. You were scared of rejection, you were scared he didn't mean it, maybe his feelings towards you weren't real. But then again, you would never know unless you talked to him. 

Later that night you laid in your bed, thinking about Baekhyun. You couldn't sleep, so you grabbed your purse and your keys, drive aimlessly around town. A little while later, you glance at the clock that reads 2am, you park your car and you pull out your phone and call him. You felt like you were going to vomit as the phone rang. 

"Hello?" A groggy voice answered. 

"You." You whisper through the speaker. "I want you."  

"Y/N." He breathes. 

"Open the door, Baekhyun." You whisper. 

You can hear him get out of bed and stomp towards the front door. He pulls it open and there you are, your phone pressed against your ear, wearing a nightshirt and shorts. 

"I want you." You say again, pulling the phone away from your ear. 

Baekhyun pulls you inside, slamming the door behind you before pinning you against the front door. 

"Fuck it." He groans, crashing his lips against yours, pulling your body in closer to his. His hands roaming your body as he slides his tongue into your mouth. His hands move under your shirt and up your torso, cupping a bare breast. He groans into the kiss as he pinches your hard nipple, rolling it between his fingers. He presses his crotch into your leg, allowing you to feel his hard cock pushing against his boxers. 

You reach your hand down, sliding it into his waistband, grabbing his cock and slowly pumping, making his knees buckle. 

"Fuck." He murmurs, breaking the kiss. He leans his head into your neck, placing small kisses as you stroke his cock. 

Suddenly he stands up straight, pulling your hand from inside his boxers. He grabs your hand and leads you to his bedroom. 

"Take off your clothes." He growls. 

You maintain eye contact as you slip your shirt off your body, dropping it to the floor and the shimmy off your shorts, letting them pool around your ankles. You stand there naked in front of Baekhyun who takes in every curve and crevasse of your body. 

"Get on the bed." He whispers. You move to the bed, slowly climbing on and laying on your back. 

"So fucking beautiful." He moans, crawling on top of you. "I just wanna be inside you." He whispers. You nod your head, giving him all the consent he needs. 

Baekhyun spits on his hand, pumping his cock. He lifts your legs over his shoulder before lining him up with your entrance. He pushes himself into you, stretching your pussy out, making you cry out loudly. 

It had been so long for you, you forgot what it felt like to be fucked. Your hands grip the bed sheets as Baekhyun slides his cock in and out of you slowly. 

"How do you want it, baby?" He asks, moving slowly still. 

"Faster." You moan. "Fuck me Baekhyun." 

His eyes become dark after hearing your words. His hands wrap around your ankles as he starts thrusting harder into you, the sound of skin slapping fills the room.

"Oh god." You cry out, your hands cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples as he pumps his cock into you. 

Baekhyun releases one of your legs, placing his thumb between your lips to rub your clit. He rubs in circles, making you clench around him. 

"Just like that." You cry out as you buck your hips. You knew you were going to cum soon, you hadn't had an orgasm since Chanyeol left. 

"Fuck." Baekhyun groans. 

"I'm gonna cum." You scream as he fucks you harder, and continues to rub you. 

Your orgasm hits you, making you scream out in pleasure, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you tighten around Baekhyun once again. 

He groans loudly, suddenly cumming, shooting his load inside of you, breathing heavily as he works through his orgasm. 

"Holy fuck." He sighs, pulling out of you. He lays next to you, and you snuggle into him, not caring about the mess, just being completely and utterly happy in the moment.

**

"So.." Baekhyun starts off the next morning, as you lay in his bed, tangled in his sheets. You have one leg and one arm sprawled across him as you snuggle in closer to him. "What about Matthew?" He asks.  

"I called him yesterday after you left, and I told him I didn't think things were going to work out, but I would like to remain friends." You explain. 

"And he was fine with that?" He asks. 

"He asked if there was someone else." You sigh. "I told him I wasn't sure, but I hoped and he wished me luck." 

"I didn't like you seeing him." Baekhyun admits. "It hurt but I felt like I couldn't do anything." He says. 

"Why?" You ask. 

"Because.. Chanyeol is my best friend and you were his." He tells you. 

"Chanyeol made his decision, and he chose Maya. I'm free to date whoever I want, and I want you." You whisper. 

"Oh baby girl." Baekhyun growls. "You have no idea what you do to me." He whispers, rolling over on top of you, pressing his lips to yours. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him in closer to you, never having felt so wanted or loved. 

** 

It has been a few months of you and Baekhyun dating, and you've kept it under wraps for the most part, wanting to stay in your little bubble of happiness. But now your friends were getting suspicious and you felt like it was time to tell them. And what other perfect time to tell them then at a dinner party that everyone is attending. 

That night you and Baekhyun had brought a spinach and artichoke dip that you made together and it was the best thing ever. You told Jongdae and his wife the news first, and they were both extremely happy for the both of you. 

Next, Minseok, Suho, Kyungsoo, Kai and Lay were told and they were all happy for you two, except Lay who was disappointed that things didn't work with Matthew, but he was happy that you were happy. 

You all sat around the dinner table when Chanyeol, Sehun and Maya walked in. Things instantly got tense and quiet the minute they entered the room. They hadn't noticed you yet and you could feel the knots forming in your stomach. 

"Hey guys." Chanyeol smiled, looking around the room and then his eyes landed on you and his smile dropped. 

"Hi friends." Maya chirps up, not realizing you were there until Sehun pointed it out, quite loudly and rudely. 

"Why is she here?" He asks, nodding his head towards you. 

"Because she's our friend." Jongdae pipes up, glare at Sehun.

"It's just weird." Maya comments, sitting down at the table. You ball your hands into fists under the table. Baekhyun reaches under the table, grabbing your hand to calm you down, showing you he's there and has your back. 

"It's not weird, actually." Baekhyun pipes up. "What's weird is coming to a gathering when you know no one here likes you. That's weird." He says, looking at Maya. 

"Baek." Chanyeol sighs. "She's my girlfriend." He says, as if that's a good enough reason. 

"Okay." Baekhyun says. "And she's mine." He says, nodding towards you. "So tell your girl to show some respect." 

"You're what?" Chanyeol asks, staring at you and Baekhyun, not even acknowledging the fact that Maya is sitting there with her mouth open and offended. "You're dating my ex-girlfriend?" 

"I am." Baekhyun says, not caring about Chanyeol's reaction anymore. 

"You.. you can't do that." He says. 

"And why not?" Baekhyun wonders. "You left her. You chose that over this amazing woman. You have no right to be angry here. You broke her, tore her apart and I'm putting the pieces back together." 

"I don't want her here." Maya pouts. 

"And no one wants you here." You chime in. You were tired of her and she had only been here for a few minutes. 

"Chanyeol." She whines, nudging him but he's still not paying attention to her, only looking at you and Baekhyun. 

"So.. what did you guys bring?" Lay asks, nodding towards their dish.

"Buffalo chicken dip." Maya says, with a smile.

You burst out laughing, rolling your eyes. "You mean you're still making the recipe that Chanyeol and I made together?" You ask with a smile on your face. 

Maya's smile instantly drops, looking at you with disgust. "Chanyeol." She yells. 

"What?" He snaps, turning to look at her. 

"Do something." She whines. 

"You don't have to do anything, man. We're gonna go. Thanks for having us, Jongdae. It's been interesting." Baekhyun says. He looks at you and holds out his hand. "Ready?" He asks you. You smile at him, taking his hand and walking out, hand in hand with the man who made you the happiest you've been. 

** 

A few days later you're in your apartment, singing and dancing as you clean up the place. You no longer missed Chanyeol, his name no longer brought pain to your heart, seeing things that reminded you of him no longer made you cry. You had Baekhyun now, and he treated you like a queen. 

You're walking past your front door when you hear a faint knock. You open it slightly and see an exhausted looking Chanyeol standing on the other side. 

"Can we talk?" He asks. 

You didn't want to hear what he had to say, but you decided to be nice and let him in. 

"What?" You ask, sitting on your couch as he stands in front of you. 

"I fucked up." He blurts out. "I should have never chosen Maya over you. I didn't realize what I was doing at the time, Y/N, please forgive me. I miss you. I miss us. We were great together." He breathes. 

You're shocked. You had spent weeks crying over him, wishing for him to come to you and say these words to you but now it was too late. 

"You're a little too late now." You say to him.

"I know you're with Baekhyun, but I had you first." He says. 

You scoff at him. "How dare you? How could you come here months after you left me for Maya and beg for me back when I'm finally happy again? It took a long time for me to be okay. Baekhyun has been there for me, he was the one who helped put me back together. You chose Maya. You made your bed." You yell. "Get out Chanyeol." 

"Y/N please." He begs. 

"No, you need to leave. I don't want you. I don't love you anymore." You tell him.

Chanyeol walks out the door, looking back at you with tears in his eyes. You felt no remorse for him. You had felt the way he was feeling, it was his own fault and you refused to be torn apart by him  again. Chanyeol was now your past, and Baekhyun was your future and you couldn't be happier about it. 

#exowritersnet #kpopscape #noonasinnetwork #exo #park chanyeol #byun baekhyun #kai #kyungsoo #bm #matthew kard #lay #suho #sehun #exo scenarios #exo fanfiction #exo smut #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop writing #kpop icons #kpop imagines #kpop smut

[high-functioning-lokipath]

SH - Sherlock x Depressed!Reader - With a Little Help from My Friends - Words: 2,793

IMPORTANT A/N - PLEASE READ: As stated in the title, this story contains discussions of depression. There is mention of suicidal thought and self-harm. I personally don't think it's too intense in it's descriptions HOWEVER!!! If this will trigger you, for your own health and safety please do not read. My messages are always open if you'd like to talk. I wrote this partially based on my own feelings so I can understand to at least a degree. You're amazing and I love you all. As far as this story goes, just remember: it has a happy, very fluffy ending but it doesn't start that way. I hope you enjoy it, feel free to leave a comment!

Brief Backstory: Reader is friends with John and Sherlock. She is a nurse who works with John. The three met shortly after Sherlock came back. Sherlock and Reader have crushes on each other but won't admit to it. I think the story explains everything else.

"Y/N, I'm going to be honest," John said, putting his hand on your shoulder comfortingly. "I may have PTSD but I cannot fully put myself in your shoes. My depression is different than yours." You had called your best friend, John Watson, in a mild panic. You had been feeling depressed for some time, as he knew, but that day had been especially bad. There was no particular reason but your depression had gotten so intense that you knew you needed help to get past this particular wave. John invited you over to 221B, assuring you that his flatmate would be out for the next couple of hours. "As a doctor, I am going to prescribe you some medication. Lowest dose possible and only because I want to help you get some immediate relief but I know you do not want them to become permanent. Let's work on finding another solution for you, ok?"

"I don't know, John," you replied. You'd asked John to be your Doctor since you didn't go to one regularly and he didn't mind your irregular checkups. "I've tried just about everything. The only outlet that seems to help is writing and even then," you trailed off, trying not to cry again. "This feeling just won't go away and I don't even know why it's there in the first place. I just want it to stop."

"I think you should talk to Sherlock."

"What?" You squeaked. "Why in the world would I talk to Sherlock?"

"I can't tell you why, Y/N. As both your Doctor and Sherlock's, I have to respect certain amounts of patient confidentiality. However, as your friend, I think you should talk to him."

"I don't know."

"Trust me," He replied. Smirking slightly, he added, "Doctor's orders."

"Ok, John," you chuckled. He smiled and hugged you. "Thanks."

"Now how about we go and fill this prescription and then maybe get some ice cream?"

"Well, honestly," you sighed. "The ice cream sounds great but I didn't sleep well last night. I was actually wondering if I could just take a nap here for a bit. I sleep better here sometimes." You blushed but John nodded understandingly.

"Of course," He replied. "I'll run down to the drugstore and fill this for you. Meanwhile you get some rest. I'll let Sherlock know you're here just in case he ends up getting back before I do. Will you be ok by yourself?"

"Yeah," You smiled. "This is a safe space for me. I'll go grab a blanket. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it. Just remember, talk to him."

"I'll try."

About 15 minutes later, Sherlock arrived back at the flat. He'd gotten John's texts.

John: If you get home in the next 45 minutes, be quiet. Y/N is over and she's taking a nap. I have to run out for something.

Sherlock: Is everything ok? - SH

John: She said she had a bad night.

Sherlock: She must have had a reason to come over in the first place though. - SH

John: She's going to need to tell you that herself. Don't ask. Do you understand me? Let her tell you. Be nice, ok?

Sherlock: When am I not nice to Y/N? - SH

John: Ok, that is true. You like her too much to be rude to her. If you could just hold back your deductions for one second I will say this: you two have more in common than you think.

He hurried home, not to wake you up of course, but because he wanted to see you. If there was something seriously wrong, he wanted to try and brace himself for it first. He couldn't help the smile playing at the corner of his lips when he thought of you. You two were good friends, that much was obvious to everyone. But Sherlock could see the potential for something more. He liked you a lot. You were just as smart, sassy, and sarcastic as he was. But you also could be extremely kind and caring to others and especially to him. He still didn't quite understand why you cared for him so but he was grateful. Before he could dwell on that too much longer, he arrived at 221B.

He quietly slipped inside and smiled at what he saw. You were curled up on the couch, sleeping like a baby. Apparently, though, you'd kicked off the blanket you had grabbed. Instead of picking up the blanket, he decided to take off his long coat and carefully lay that over you. You quickly cuddled into the warm fabric, unconsciously taking a deep breath, inhaling his unique signature left behind on the coat. Satisfied with what he'd done, he took off his suit jacket and went to the kitchen to prepare some tea for when you woke up. He knew you had a favorite tea and, unless John moved it or drank it all, there still would be some in the cupboard.

You woke to the smell of your favorite tea and a hushed exclamation from the kitchen. Opening your eyes slowly you saw Sherlock in at the counter trying to set up a tray with the teapot and cups. Recognizing your surroundings a bit more, you realized what was on top of you. Sherlock was just about to bring out the tray but you decided to pretend you were still asleep. The chances of fooling the Detective were low, but you wanted to try.

"There," He whispered to himself, setting the tray on the coffee table. You could hear him settling down on his chair, likely getting into his 'palace pose' as you called it. For a moment you were happy. You had actually gotten some quality sleep, you were currently cuddled up in Sherlock's famous coat and Sherlock had even made you tea. But that feeling quickly faded. Tears threatened to spill out of your still closed eyes as self-deprecating thoughts filled your mind.

'John probably told him to make me tea. He probably covered me with his coat so I wasn't as much of a distraction. He doesn't want me here. He never does. Why does he even tolerate my presence? He probably wishes we'd never met,' You thought. Your mind was going a million miles an hour and gaining. Without your notice, the tears began rolling down your cheeks and quiet sobs escaped your lips.

"Y/N?" Sherlock whispered. You're eyes shot open. You hadn't heard him get up. Now he was kneeling right next to you, one hand hovering over your arm. "Are you ok?"

"Oh, Sherlock!" You cried. "I-I wish I knew."

"C'mere," he said, motioning for you to sit up. Once you did so, he pulled you into a tight hug.

"What's this for?"

"You always give me and John a hug when you see us. You haven't done so for the past 5 days. I-" he paused briefly before lowering his voice and continuing. "I missed it."

"Oh." You weren't quite sure how to reply to that. You leaned into his embrace, letting yourself get lost in the moment.

"Y/N? Is there something I can do to help?"

"How much did John tell you?" You asked. You wouldn't have been mad exactly if John had told Sherlock to talk to you, but you wanted to think Sherlock was reaching out on his own.

"He told me you had a bad night."

"That's all?" You asked, surprised. You pulled away slightly and stared into his eyes. Sherlock nodded, frowning slightly as he tried to deduce you.

"Why are you afraid to talk to me?" You turned away, embarrassed and unsure what to say. "Be honest."

"I don't want you to make fun of me. I have-" You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves and preparing to just jump right in. "I have been extremely depressed lately and I didn't want to hear another speech about how all I need to do is exercise and eat right and stop thinking about sad things. Well you know what? I can't stop it! I can't help it if I feel like a useless pile of trash that should be thrown in the bin and burned." By the time you finished your little tirade, you'd gotten up and started pacing the floor. Then you turned and faced Sherlock. His expression was neutral but there was an obvious sadness in his eyes, one you didn't expect to see. It wasn't of pity. If you had seen that you also would have given up on the conversation. No, it was almost an understanding, an empathy. His eyes were actually glistening with tears.

"Have you ever felt like," he paused, voice unsteady. "Like giving up?" He whispered, unable to hold eye contact. You nodded silently. He got up slowly and walked towards you. At first, you thought he would hug you again but then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Uh, Sherlock?"

"Just wait a moment. I want to show you something." He carefully shrugged off the purple shirt that you, admittedly, loved so much and tossed it on the chair. "Only one person knows about this. You will be the second. You remember I told you about Moriarty's network?"

"Yes, the day we met. I asked you about your work, a simple question. And I got an answer that lasted 3 hours." Sherlock chuckled dryly.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Oh, no. Please don't apologise. I-" You sighed, rubbing your forehead. "I tend to make jokes when I'm nervous."

"I know." He smiled at you with, yet again, a completely unreadable expression. "You remember though." You nodded, opting to stay silent as he explained. "Well, those 2 years dismantling his network weren't easy. Not physically and certainly not emotionally. As a result of the different missions, I received many wounds on my body in various locations. I was," He paused, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "I was depressed, guilt-stricken and suicidal. I figured I had hurt my friends enough. If they thought I was dead maybe I should just go on with it."

"What changed your mind?"

"I didn't want to do it on a mission. I wanted to see home again one more time. So to temporarily relieve the pain I," He sighed. Well, I wouldn't let my wounds heal. I'd pick at them. Mycroft finally convinced me to come back officially because he needed my help. I never told him about this. I think he knows but we don't discuss it." He looked down, obviously embarrassed and feeling more emotionally naked than physically. "You can look," he said. It was as if he'd read your mind. You were trying to be respectful and not stare but you realized that's what he wanted to show you. You had, on occasion, seen him shirtless before but you had never realized how bad some of the scars were.

"Sherlock, I-I don't know what to say. I-" You were completely shocked. Not offended. But actually comforted that he understood you. "Thank you," You finally said.

"Actually I wanted to thank you. I didn't just show you this to prove that I understand your feelings." You looked at him confused. "The day we met. You were leaving work, correct?" You nodded.

"It had been my first day there. John had been happy with my work and requested that I stay assigned to his office permanently. John had already finished up and headed home but there was some paperwork I had to finish so I was leaving about an hour late. Come to think of it, John said he had plans with you that evening. Why were you there?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you. I met you less than a month after I came back. I had still been quite depressed so I was still picking at my injuries. That day had been a bad day for me. So I cancelled my plans with John and I decided to go back to where I started this whole mess and finish it."

"Wait, are you telling me that-"

"You saved my life." Sherlock took one of your hands in his own and held it tightly. "I had memorized the work schedules of most everyone there and knew how to slip in unnoticed."

"But you didn't factor in me."

"Correct. When I ran into you, quite literally in fact, as I was entering the building, I was surprised. Not just by your presence but by what I deduced about you. You intrigued me. I had to find out more about you so I invited you to have a cup of coffee with me."

"Which turned into dinner." Sherlock nodded. "And since you were so intrigued by me, you forgot all about that."

"In a manner of speaking. You weren't a cure-all, mind you. You helped, though, by giving me a new mystery to investigate: you. That night, when I got home, I told John everything. He helped me too and when I mentioned you he couldn't stop singing your praises. He is very proud of you and your work you know."

"Yeah, I guess so," You replied, a little embarrassed. "Thank you, Sherlock. I'm sorry that you went through all that, but, I'm glad I have someone who understands. And I'm glad you're here to help me."

"Me too, Y/N. Me too," He replied.

"Can I, um, can I have another hug?" You asked, blushing and smiling. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"If you must," He sighed, holding his arms out. Any other day, you would have thought he genuinely didn't want personal contact. But today you realized he was simply teasing. You wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned your head on his chest. You felt him relax as he leaned forward a little to cocoon you in his arms. "I care about you, Y/N. I don't care about many people but you mean so much to me. I-" You looked up at him and pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him.

"You don't have to say it, Sherlock. I know." He smiled and looked somewhat relieved. You knew he wasn't good with feelings and that was fine with you. "I love you too."

"I wanted to be the first one to say that," He pouted. You chuckled softly and booped his nose.

"You already have." He smiled and kissed your forehead lightly.

"I know this won't fix everything right away. I know you'll still have bad days. But I wanted you to know you could come to me too."

"I know. Thank you again, Sherlock." At that moment, John walked in with a bag from the store.

"Oh, hello!" He chirped, happy to see you hadn't gotten into a yelling match. Then he noticed Sherlock's shirt, or rather, lack thereof. "So, uh," He stuttered, unsure of what to say. "What should I do with this?"

"First of all, thank you, John, for giving me the guts to talk to him about this. And second, I think I'll give it a try. You know, to try and prevent a really bad day when you guys aren't available or if talking still isn't enough. But for today I think I'll be alright," You said, turning to John with a smile.

"Well, I'm glad. So did you just talk about that or did he finally tell you that he's had the biggest schoolboy crush on you from the moment he met you?"

"John!" Sherlock yelled. You laughed loudly.

"Not in those words exactly, John," You replied. "Don't worry," You added, turning to Sherlock and ruffling his curls. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Good. Now if you don't mind, I need your input on this case."

"Me?" You asked, quite surprised.

"Yes," He said as if it was obvious. "You're a woman after all!"

"And that is important because?"

"The killer was a woman obviously but I can't understand why she would do it!" The two of you went off into your own little world, completely ignoring John as he cooked dinner.

John: Ok, mates, get your tuxs out. Won't be long now.

Greg: He finally proposed? 😀

John: Not yet, give it a week.

Mycroft: John, you forget I monitor his spending habits.

John: And?

Mycroft: He's had a ring purchased for some time now.

Greg: 3 days tops.💍

Mycroft: I would estimate about 3 days as well, Detective Inspector.

Greg: We're in a Group Text. Talking about our friend like a bunch of teenage girls at a slumber party. I think you can call me Greg.

Mycroft: If I must.

John: So, girls, will you help me make the plans?

Mycroft: Of course. He is blood after all.

Greg: Count me in! Wouldn't miss it! 🕵️👰

Sherlock BBC Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@ladylulu143

@gaitwae

@for-hearthand-home

#sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock imagine #sherlock fanfic #sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock oneshot #depression #ptsd #mentions of torture #self harm discussion #potentially triggering #trigger warning #TW #anxiety #good friends #john watson #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade

[woopboopboop]

heaven is a place on earth; hell is too

a/n: i just like the idea behind the prompt so i thought i’d write it. and to @harrysgloves​, thank you for the encouragement sent early this year! happy reading everyone! :)

content warnings: strong language, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of drug.

[usually, in the story, the gang leader will kidnap a person, right? this time, it’s the other way around]

“Are you a demon?”

She stops twirling the handcuffs in her hand and put it on the wooden drawer next to the bedroom doorway. For a beat, she doesn’t quiet know what to say because it is not the common “where am I?” or “who are you?” or even him trying to escape. But, only for a beat. Then, she straightens from where she is leaning at the door.

When he asks the next question, she pretends to not hear and calls for Ezra. If it is not for the real intention behind this, she probably would entertain his question and tell him if there is any angel in the room, if she is one, it would be an incarnation of Lucifer.

The younger boy comes as quick as she calls him and stands beside her at the doorway, waiting for whatever she has to say.

“He’s still in the cloud,” she says, eyes still assessing Harry who is lying on his back on the bed before turning her attention to the raven haired boy next to her. “How many did you use?”

“Just like you wrote in the note,” Ezra answers. 

She hums and returns to look at Harry who is now looking at his hands, inspecting for who knows what and mumbling something. Well, she did want the drug to make him forget a little bit. But not to the point where he is delirious. In this condition, there is no way he can give her what she is looking for.

“Are you sure?” Her eyes return to Ezra’s confused ones. There must be something wrong somewhere. He did what she told him to. Maybe not in a way she had instructed it. “You do know there’s a point before the number five, right?”

When she said that the confusion in his eyes shifts to realisation and it dawns on him. That would explain it. He did not forget, obviously. He misread it. He should’ve given Harry a half of the vial, not the whole thing.

She let out a sigh, thinking how there is no undoing this now. She can only hope the effect of the drug will wear off soon. Besides her, Ezra looks like he is trying to say something but the words don’t come out. He gives up then, head drooping slightly, the tips of his ears are red. 

“It’s okay, Ezra.” She gives him a small smile, trying to ease his silent guilt as he knows this plan is important to her. The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes but he doesn’t want to say anything, afraid that it will make the situation worst. Instead, he says his apology before leaving quietly and quickly after she dismisses him.

“Am I… on a boat?” Harry slurs.

At first, she answers him by shaking her head, hand grabbing the abandoned cuffs on the drawer while she strides over to him. The colour is muted in the room and she figures he can’t see much but the faint cold blue of the evening that is falling like a dusky curtain of the room. So when she stops a reasonable distance away from him, she answers him curtly, “No. Not anymore.”

The sight is a great pity. It is almost like seeing someone on the edge of falling off the pedestal. Who would’ve thought that there will be time when she can see a person who is deemed organised and calculated, feared in the underworld, be so weak. Unguarded. His once pressed, white dress shirt stained with dirt and blood.

Seeing how vulnerable he is in that moment; she can just end him then and there. That was the job after all. And she did pull the trigger that had sent brain pieces to fly everywhere before Harry landed face down on the flour sacks stacked on the boat with a thud, leaving white powder dancing in the air. Not really a way to go for a notorious gang leader if you ask her but the woman and the two men on the other side of the canal seemed content which made it another job well done.

Except that the brain blown was not Harry’s. And as far as the world, especially the Abramo who had delivered their order to end Harry’s life and insisted on witnessing it, is concerned, he is a dead man.

“Am I in hell?” His voice snaps her from her trance. She thought he slips out of his consciousness again when he went silence seconds ago.

This sod. She tilts her head, looking at him and shrugs. “Depends.”

There is something in his eyes and she knows he is trying to make sense of it all because she feels his resistance when she tugs his wrist closer to the bed post above his head. A part of him resurfacing, despising to be in such position. But his brain might still be too hazy to think through so he just let her cuffs him without much struggle.

“Oh! Kinky,” he teases, neck straining to look where his cuffed wrist is at which makes her scoffs. He then looks at her like he is taking note of her face, eyes narrowed.

Maybe he is remembering how she looks like so it’s easy for him to instruct his men to hunt her down once he gets out of there. If he is able to walk out there alive that is. 

If he wants to. 

If she lets him. 

Because, even though as organised and calculated of a man Harry is, this time, she has the few steps ahead.

///

“Now, really,” Harry starts. Sitting up becomes more of a task when one of his hands is cuffed and his brain feels like it is rattling against his skull with every move he makes. “If you wanted to see me so badly, we could have just meet up.”

When he woke up minutes ago, he thought he was in his bed until his senses kicked in and it hurt almost as his throbbing head. Since then, he has been trying to get out of the restrain that tied him to the bed post on top his head and figures out what is happening, where is he. Out the window, it is pitch-black.

He probably is in hell; his brain had decided to land him there.

In retrospect, it is as surprising as it is expected. To be in hell, that is. After all of the deals making, bloods spilling, life taking, fists colliding, he knows there is a place for him here. Only that he expects that it would be overwhelmingly hot and full of screaming human, or what’s left of them. Where he is now is opposite of that. The cold nips his skin and the silence is unnerving. Maybe hell is not all fire and brimstones.

“I tried,” the woman says. Her voice is smooth.

That smooth voice is a good sign. It shows that this person is still able to tolerate whatever deal that he can make out of this. But it is not necessarily safe.

“You are a busy man.”

In between the lack of conversation, he tries to place her somewhere and everywhere but he has never seen her before. Moving up to find a more comfortable position, the movement has caused a dull throb behind his head that makes him wince. Somehow, it also unlocks a sound of gunshot and his gaze flicks to her. At the foot of the bed, she is unfazed.

“You shot me.” His voice rumbles lowly; somewhere between amusement and danger.

“That what was asked for.” It is stated oh-so-matter-of-factly and he accepts it.

He is in no place to make a fuss about it since enemies, like friends or business partners, are made along the way. If anything, he is a little bit bewildered at the attempt of keeping him alive and he doesn’t like not knowing what brought him here. Well, aside from someone ordering this woman here to kill him, but he is not dead though, which makes the motive behind whatever this is, is more questionable.

“Am I dead? I am in hell?”

The questions are supposed to be echoed in his brain but his slightly hazy state betrays him which caused the words to left his mouth unfiltered. The words then hang in the air and it makes him internally cringe. Her unamused face certainly doesn’t help with the situation. “What?”

“I never really thought people like you believe in afterlife.” To be fair, he never really thought about it himself. He is too busy living his life here. Not the one after. “And that is the second time you ask me that question,” she continues.

“So, I am alive.” He swears his mouth is really trying to destroy all the reputation he has been building all these years of being a gang leader. Fearless, self-assured and all that but he conceals the uncertainty in his voice with a smirk. “Why? They didn’t pay you enough for you to complete your job? Maybe you are afraid my men would take revenge on my death?”

She raises one eyebrow, shifting her weight from one leg to the other and he takes that as a sign to probe further, “Sentiment, perhaps?”

“They paid enough. A vendetta is the least of my concern. And no, it’s not sentiment.” With every answer to his question, she takes a step closer until she stops at his side.

“Then you’re holding me for ransom? It would be a huge amount of money, although, I don’t think my accountant would be so happy with that much money flowing out –”

“I have more important purpose for you than death or money.”

If it’s not him or his money, so it might be for her own benefit. The thing about Harry or he would like to think so in this way about himself is that his concern when it comes to being in a situation or making a deal is he will be leaning unto anything that benefits him the most. He tolerates as long as he is presented with a mutually beneficial outcome. In this situation, it is no difference. She wants something from him and he wants her to let him go.

“Interesting.” A smirk on his lips is now blooming into a full smile as he tilts his head. “Maybe you can uncuff me first and then we can carry on with our business?”

If she hears him, she is purposely ignoring his question and diverts her attention to reaching whatever it is in her trouser pocket. When she pulls something out of it, she holds a picture of a man at an arm length. Its creased lines showed that it has been folded and unfolded multiple times.

He is about to take it from her hand to inspect something scribbled at the corner of the picture but she retreats her arm half way, still holding it between her thumb and forefinger. “Do you know him?”

“You know, we could’ve discussed about this over a meet up or dinner. The cuff is really unnessa –”

“Just answer me.”

If she has been quiet this whole time, passive, this is the first time he sees her reacting. The smoothness in her voice now has an edge to it, her eyes are hard and piercing; a presage of storm. He presses his lips together and answers with a nod.

“I need you to talk to him,” she says. The picture is folded and put in her pocket again.

He cocks one eyebrow towards her. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I know only you can reach him.”

That is true, to a certain extent. The last question he has now is that will doing what she wants him to do benefits him too, so he asks in the way that he usually does. “What if I won’t?”

Like a fired bullet, her fist catches tight in the front of his clothes and then her hand finds his throat, knocking his head hard against the headboard. He juts his chin up almost defiantly and grabs her wrist with his free hand.

He pushes her wrist away but it is a futile effort as he can feel how her fingers reach near the particular throbbing part at the nape of his neck, digging in. 

“Fir – first the cuff. Now, you are tr – trying to choke me? Take me, fuck, take me on a dinner first, at least.” He grins despite his choked words and his ragged breath.

“You fucker,” she spats, eyes darken, “this is all a game for you, isn’t it?”

The storm he predicts reaches him and he is trapped in it as she pushes him impossibly further into the headboard, her fingers tightening around his neck while his loosens up around her wrist. He is whirling little by little, the full smile reduced to a tug at the corner of his lips.

“The Abramo was right when they come to us, to me, to launch their vendetta. You are a cocky piece of shit and the only place you deserve to be at is at the bottom of the cold, murky canal with a big gap behind your head!”

“Do you regret… no – not killing me?” He chuckles but it sounds strangled.

“You are making it really easy right now,” she snarls.

Maybe it is the restriction of breath or the warmth of her breath fanning out over his face against the coldness of the room but there is a glint in her eyes. He had been in near-death’s hold before but this feels like he is being thrusted into one without warning as he witnesses a sinister gleam in her face. She has been waiting for this moment. However, before she can end it or start it, she let go of him and strengthens herself up.

“Although,” she sighs, backing away. “I believe your mum and sister won’t find it that easy.”

It takes him minutes to be able to focus on her again, blinking and gasping a little. Her eyes are still boring into him. In between relief and dismal and the ringing in his ears, he notices her settling into the unfazed demeanour she was in before until –

“Dotty and Dusty will probably going to miss you too when you’re gone.”

His stills.

Nobody. Nobody knows about the cats. 

Rivals targeting his family is a part of his work hazard and he always makes sure they are under his protection. It is such trivial matter. It is only cats’ names. But to know it specifically holds a certain power against him because it either means that she had been in his house before or it means that she has been in close proximity with either his mum or his sister to know about that much information.

And at that moment, whatever security he puts his family under, it is not safe anymore. His stomach bottoms out and she is delighted to see him in that way to say the least.

“What do you want?” He grits his teeth, moving forward to fight and the cuff clinks against the headboard because of the sudden jerk.

“There’s only one thing that I want.” Her voice is smooth. She is back at the feet of the bed again, now, with a faint smile on her lips. “But I need you to be able to hold up a proper conversation first before we continue with the business.”

It is not much of a mock or provocation but he still feels a squeezing of terror and of anger. His jaw clenches. “I am talking to you now, don’t I?”

She is already walking towards the door, leaving him struggling to stand up behind her. The bed legs scrap against the wooden floor as he pulls the bed along with him when he tries to grab her arm or shoulder or hair but she is already far away from his reach.

“Not enough,” she says while sparing him a look over the shoulder.

When he realises he is not going to go anywhere, not when he is still restrained to the bed, especially, not when the wood under his feet begins to warp, he fell back on the bed, eyes squeezed tight to block the sharp pain of his head. Defeated.

“Get a good rest. I need you fresh first thing in the morning,” she says before the door shuts. 

Wherever he is, be it in the real world or the after, this is hell.

#writings #gangleader!harry #gang!harry #gang!au #Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #one direction #one direction imagines #one direction preferences #one direction imagine #one direction preference #mafia!au #mafia!harry #gangleader!h

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Belonging

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 4606

Content warnings - lots of angst, insecure MC, Mammon is an ass at first ‘cause he’s a tsundere

Prompt/inspiration - self indulgent comfort piece

Summary - That one time when Mammon’s tsundere tendencies broke your heart.

AO3

You had been so stupid. So foolish. So naive.

When you first met Mammon, he took your breath away. You had never seen someone just so...beautiful. It was an honest to goodness love at first sight moment, something that you didn’t even believe possible until then. Yeah he seemed a little harsh, but you convinced yourself it was just because he was shy and easily embarrassed. As soon as he got to know you better, you were sure he’d calm down a bit and open up to you.

It was slow going though. Just when you had started thinking you had finally managed to become friends with him, something would happen that would send you back to square one again. For every step forward you took, you would inevitably take 3 steps back.

But after a while, things did eventually seem to be going your way. He’d come over for movie nights. You were allowed to hang out in his room. He no longer stuttered out excuses when he would walk you to and from RAD. You had started to feel comfortable. Like maybe everything in your shitty life up until now might have actually been worth it because finally, FINALLY you had someone who genuinely enjoyed being around you.

Until today, that is, when you were not-so-gently reminded of your place.

The night began like any other Friday evening - a movie night with Mammon, Beel, and Levi. Everyone had gathered in Mammon’s room, snacks were plentiful, and you were getting to sit next to Mammon. As the movie progressed, you casually adjusted your position so that you could hold his hand. But as soon as your palm touched his and he realized what you were doing, he pulled back and yelled at you.

“What the hell are ya doing?!”

If it wasn’t for the look on his face, you would have sworn he was embarrassed. Instead, there was no doubt in your mind just how disgusted he was at the idea of you touching him. You didn’t notice when the movie was paused. Or when the lights were turned on. All you could see were his eyes boring into yours. Looking like he wanted to vomit on the spot at the very idea of having ever been close to you.

“Umm...I...just…” you stumbled over your words, unsure what to say. What could you even say? He knew you had tried to hold his hand. And that’s all there was to it. You made a move, the wrong one, and he rejected you.

“Sorry...I’ll umm...just go…” was all you managed to finally get out, as you made a mad dash to your room. Your cheeks were burning with shame, and tears pricking at your eyes.

How could you have been so arrogant? Thinking someone could actually be interested in a person like you. This wasn’t your home. These weren’t your friends. They weren’t your family. You didn’t belong here. You didn’t belong anywhere. You had let yourself get comfortable, indulging your delusions and fantasies and ignoring all the many warning signs that you weren’t actually wanted here.

Even though Mammon was your official Guardian, the rest of the brothers still did their part to make sure you survived your year in one piece. And you had mistaken this courtesy as actual kindness. If anyone had been nice to you, it was out of obligation or pity. You were so desperate to believe you had finally found a place of your own that you let yourself be tricked into thinking demons would actually care about you.

You should have known better. It’s not like you hadn’t had this experience before. People who tolerated you and then at the first available opportunity cut you from their lives. You knew there was something wrong with you, there had to be, for as many times as this had happened. But since no one stuck around very long at all, you honestly had no idea what that might be. If someone would have just told you, you would have fixed it.

By the time you had made it to the safety of your room, your tears had already started to fall in large, heavy drops. You didn’t make a sound. You were too numb to even sob. You just laid down on your bed, facing the wall, and cried. If you could even call it crying. It was more like tears just poured from your eyes. You didn’t even know it was possible to cry that many tears, yet here you were - soaking your pillow, unable to stop the flow.

At some point, you had managed to get your breathing under control. And then, even your tears dried up. You turned to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out where you should go from here. You still had to make it through the rest of the year, and you had to find some way of doing that peacefully. Maybe if you talked to Lucifer he would assign you a different Guardian? You didn’t really want a different Guardian though, but you doubted you would be able to emotionally handle spending any more time with Mammon. Especially since every time you closed your eyes you could still see that look on his face.

After weighing your options you decided the only thing for you to do really was to put on a happy face. You’d be polite to anyone that talked to you, but you were going to be smart this time. You were going to keep your distance. Not just from Mammon, but from everyone else too.

There was no point in giving yourself the chance to believe you actually could make any friends here. Doubtless it would end up the same way. So you were going to do the minimum - go to RAD, come back to your room, and stay in your room until it was time to leave for RAD again, only leaving with the exception of meal times. No more movie nights, or gaming tournaments, or shopping trips, or restaurant tours. You were just going to keep to yourself and...survive.

————

Breakfast the following morning was oddly quiet. Beel, Mammon, and Levi kept exchanging looks, but you pretended you didn’t notice and just focused on your meal. You had found a comfortable sense of numbness since the previous night, and had now more or less come to terms with the fact you weren’t wanted here and had gotten carried away.

Lucifer had needed to head out a bit earlier to attend a before school meeting with Lord Diavolo, so you asked if you could walk with him instead. He raised an eyebrow at your unexpected request, but thankfully didn’t ask any additional questions. Of all the brothers he was actually the one you were most comfortable with at the moment. Probably because you never had any doubts about the fact he wasn’t overly fond of you.

When classes had ended for the day, you realized that you would need to walk home with Mammon. But after a full day of perfecting your “nice” smile, and mastering how to behave “politely” without taking things personally, you felt better prepared to handle it than you had that morning. Mammon seemed nervous, blushing and fidgeting most of the way. Any other day, you would have asked him what was wrong, but now you were committed to keeping your distance so you ignored him.

Once you arrived back at the House of Lamentation, however, he finally started talking to you before you had a chance to hide away in your room again.

“Uhh...about last night...I…”

“It’s fine, Mammon,” you said, smiling your best, bright smile, “I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

“That’s...I was jus’ surprised is all…”

“Then I’m sorry for surprising you.”

“So umm...do you wanna...try again...maybe…?”

For the briefest moment, your smile faltered. You were quick to correct it, but of course Mammon noticed that split second of hesitation before you answered.

“No thank you. It was nice of you to offer though. But I don’t think I’ll be going to movie night anymore, so you really don’t have to worry about me.”

“Huh? That’s not what I was...this wasn’t about the movie…!”

You gave Mammon another perfect, reassuring smile before leaving him in the entryway, flustered beyond belief at what just happened. He could understand that you might not have known what he was asking right away, but to say you didn’t want to go to movie night at all? That seemed like a bit of an overreaction. Not to mention the fact that the entire conversation just seemed...weird. You were smiling too much for one thing, and he really didn’t like it. He enjoyed making you smile, but this just wasn’t right.

And he couldn’t just let that go.

No sooner had you sat down at the table in your room to begin on your assignments, than the door was flung open as Mammon barged in. You stared at him, stunned, unable to grasp why he had followed you to your room. When he saw you looking at him, he once again got flustered, but was quick to recover this time - he was on a mission.

“Look I know I yelled at ya and all, but that ain’t a reason to skip movie night. Who's gonna feed Beel? Or make sure Levi doesn’t put on those weird anime movies with the tentacles and shit?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage. You had to have worked things out somehow before I arrived. You don’t need to try to include me,” you replied, turning your back to Mammon so you could focus on your work.

“Movie night was your idea! Ya can’t just quit!”

“I said it’s fine,” you could feel your frustration building in your chest. You had wanted to do this peacefully, but Mammon was so stubborn, more stubborn than you had anticipated given his reaction to you yesterday.

“It ain’t fine!”

“Leave it alone, Mammon,” you snapped, stopping what you were doing as you tried to calm yourself down again. You weren’t going to let him get to you. He’d wear himself out and lose interest eventually. You just needed to be patient until he realized he didn’t have to entertain you anymore.

“How can I leave it alone? I’ve said worse stuff to ya before and you haven’t acted like this.”

“I know when I’m not wanted. It’s fine.”

You weren’t about to open up and confide in him all your worries and fears. Even if he was asking out of politeness, you knew he wouldn’t really want to hear about that stuff anyways. He barely tolerated your physical presence, there wasn’t any way he’d want to be burdened with your emotional baggage too.

Mammon was silent for a while after that. He didn’t know what to say, or how to explain. He knew he had fucked up. Badly. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you next to him. He did. More than he’d care to admit. Which was actually part of the problem. He didn’t want to admit he cared. Because admitting he cared would mean you could reject him. If you weren’t aware of his feelings, then you would just be stuck with him, and that was good enough for him. It had to be.

At least it had been up until now. Now, Mammon feared if he didn’t say something, anything, he’d lose any chance at ever talking to you again.

“...I wanted ya there…” he finally whispered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah I do!” he said, much louder than he had spoken before. Couldn’t you tell he was trying to say that he liked you? That he enjoyed your company? Did you really have to argue with him about it?

“...whatever,” you said with a sigh as you began to open your school books.

“Hey! Listen to me will ya!? I’m trying to say I like you!”

You flinched at Mammon’s sudden declaration.

“And you expect me to believe that?” you replied, your tone laced with venom. You knew what was coming next - his inevitable backpedaling that he always did. Where he made excuses and belittled you and made sure to crush any hope you may have had that he actually liked you in any capacity because the idea of anyone thinking he actually had a soft spot for you was apparently absolutely appalling.

“Why wouldn’t you?! You should feel honored and…!”

“Why wouldn’t I?? Seriously?? You’re asking me that?”

You turned in your seat to glare at Mammon, angry tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. Did he seriously think so little of you that he just expected you to believe whatever you told him?

“I dunno Mammon, maybe it’s because ever since I got here you made a point to remind me what a burden I am and how much trouble I cause. Maybe it’s because you constantly dump me on your brothers to avoid your responsibilities. Maybe it’s because every time I try to be nice to you, you push me away and make me feel stupid for even trying. But hey, what do I know? I’m just the dumb human, right?”

By now your tears had started to fall, but you couldn’t even be bothered to dry them. You finally had the chance to get everything off your chest that had been building since you were dragged down to the Devildom and you didn’t feel like stopping anytime soon. Your rational thoughts had long since flown, and all that was left was your extremely hurt, angry, emotional self that was bound and determined to make sure Mammon knew just how much pain he had caused you.

Mammon, for his part, was completely dumbfounded. Personally, he thought he had been doing alright trying to get to know you. He wasn’t used to people actually being nice to him for one thing, so he was always so suspicious whenever you were.

But what he hadn’t realized though, was how genuine all your advances had been, and how much he had hurt you in trying to protect himself.

“I-I-I…”

“I’m not the sort of person anyone likes. I know that. So whatever joke it is you’re trying to pull, just stop it already!”

“I ain’t messin’ around!”

“What are you not understanding here??” you yelled, slamming your hands down on your desk as you stood up to face Mammon, “I don’t connect with people. I’m never the one that gets picked. So just stop it ok?! I don’t know what Lucifer threatened you with…”

“He didn’t threaten me with anything!”

“Oh please, like you actually want to spend any time with me.”

“Of course I do! That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell ya!”

“...you don’t mean that. No one ever means that.” You crossed your arms, hugging yourself tightly, averting your gaze. Your anger had started to fade and all that was left was an overwhelming sense of sadness.

“Why do ya keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true. It’s just what happens. Whatever it is that lets people make friends, I don’t have it. I always think I do, but it never works out. So why would this time be any different? I just...I can’t do this again.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because I love you!” you shouted, having finally reached the end of your patience with Mammon’s endless questions. This wasn’t how you had wanted to tell him. But you didn’t know what else to say at this point because nothing else seemed to be getting through to him.

Cautiously, Mammon took a step forward. Then another. Until he was standing right in front of you. You kept your eyes trained on the ground, refusing to look up. You didn’t want to see the look on his face. Not after you had just confessed to him. It had been bad enough when he yelled at you for holding his hand, and you were sure seeing him now would kill you.

But, Mammon didn’t force the issue. Instead, he slowly reached out for your hands, carefully twining your fingers together as he lowered his head to rest it against yours.

“...do ya mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you mumbled, “But it doesn’t matter. It never matters. I’m not good at this stuff.” You rubbed your fingers over Mammon’s hands, playing with his rings as you tried to distract yourself from the conversation you were having. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you were so nervous you couldn’t stand it. It almost didn’t seem real to you, to have him standing so close to you, willingly touching you. Perhaps that’s why you weren’t shying away from being honest about your feelings and why you were letting yourself touch him like you were. If it was all only a dream, it didn’t matter anyways.

“It matters to me...I like ya too. A whole lot. And...I’m sorry for makin’ ya feel anything different. It’s just…” Mammon hesitated. This was the most honest he had been with another being in centuries, and his instincts to pull away and run were still strong. But you had been honest with him, and after all the hurt he caused you, it was probably the absolute least he could do.

“It’s just...I know how it feels. Ta not be wanted. And I uh...didn’t trust ya at first. I thought...you would be like my brothers and were just mocking me…”

That last sentence made your heart ache and you lifted your head slowly to look at Mammon. His eyes were closed now, but you could see the tears gathering at the corners and the dampness of his lashes. It was clear to you then that these were his true feelings, and not something he was sharing easily. Without a word, you released his hands, slipping your arms around his waist to pull him into a hug. He flinched at the sudden contact, but didn’t waste any time returning the gesture, wrapping his arms around you and hiding his face in your shoulder.

“I’d never do that,” you replied.

“Well yeah, I know that now.”

“I think you’re amazing, you know? I always have fun with you. And I like spending time with you. When you’re not acting like I’m the plague,” you teased, turning your head slightly to catch a glimpse of Mammon’s face and the faintest hint of a smile that tugged at his lips.

“S’rry. I think yer pretty amazing too. You put up with me an’ my brothers for starters.”

You laughed softly at his reply, feeling his arms tighten around you as he hugged you closer.

“Do you umm...wanna watch a movie…?” Mammon asked, hopeful that you’d take him up on the offer so he’d have a good reason for staying with you a little longer.

“Yeah, we can do that. I didn’t get to finish the movie from the other night.”

You pulled away from Mammon to grab your laptop from beside your bed, before climbing into it and making yourself comfortable. When you looked up, Mammon was still standing awkwardly in the middle of the floor, blushing furiously.

“Oh. Do you not want to sit here? Sorry! We can…” you started to ramble, terrified you had made him uncomfortable again and already messed up everything that you had just seemed to fix.

“No! It’s uh...not that...umm…” Mammon said, moving to sit on the edge of your bed, “Do you umm...wanna try...ya know...holding hands…?”

You blinked a few times as you processed Mammon’s request, staring at his outstretched hand that he was offering to you. Was this what he had been trying to ask you about after school…?

“I mean! It’s fine if ya don’t want to!”

“Wait!” you grabbed his hand quickly, before he had the opportunity to pull it back, “I’d like that. A lot,” you said, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, “Can I ask you something?” Mammon nodded as he scooted back onto the bed so that he could sit next to you, “Is this umm, what you were trying to ask me about earlier? When we first got back?”

“Yeah,” now sitting comfortably beside you, he adjusted his grip on your hand, lacing your fingers together and allowing you to snuggle up next to him and rest your head on his shoulder. He was nervous at having you so close, but at the same time, he didn’t think he had ever felt more relaxed. There was a certain comfort in knowing that you felt the same way towards him and weren’t going to chase him off for wanting to be near you. He still had a long way to go in the “open and honest” department, but at least with you he didn’t have to hide his feelings any longer.

As the movie played, Mammon found himself struggling to concentrate. You had said a lot of things earlier when you had been so upset that he hadn’t been sure what you meant, or how he was supposed to respond. One thought in particular kept echoing in his mind that he really felt like he needed to address - that you didn’t feel wanted.

“Hey, do you umm, think we could talk?” he finally asked. You paused the movie and closed your laptop, nervous to hear what he had to say.

“Sure,” you replied meekly and Mammon gave your hand what he hoped would be a reassuring squeeze.

“I guess I just want to make sure you know that I want ya around. I know I can be a bit of an idiot at times and don’t always think things through...but that’s how I feel. And I know my brothers feel the same too.”

“Thank you. For telling me.” You could feel your throat tightening and you knew you were probably close to tears again, as if you hadn’t already cried enough today.

“And I’m gonna prove it to ya, you know? The Great Mammon’s gonna show ya just how special you are.”

A small smile spread across your face as you snuggled closer to Mammon. He nudged you gently with his elbow, which only made your smile broaden, and you nudged him in return, causing him to laugh. It didn’t take long for a full on tickle fight to erupt, which only stopped when Mammon had managed to successfully pin you to the mattress. Realizing the position he was in made Mammon’s face flush, but he didn’t move, and you simply looped your arms around his neck holding him in place with a hug. He carefully lowered his body so he could wrap you up in a hug of his own, as you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

You had been so certain earlier that you’d never get a chance to have a moment like this with him. And part of you feared if you were to let him go, he’d leave for good. But no matter how tightly you held him, Mammon held you just as tight. He too had been waiting for this for a long time and wasn’t about to let you go any sooner than necessary.

—————

The following morning, Mammon was already gone by the time you woke up. The realization stung, but you tried to focus on the positives and pushed those thoughts aside, determined not to let yourself jump to the worst case scenario before you had even eaten your breakfast. You quickly got yourself ready, and made your way downstairs, taking your usual seat at the table. Mammon had yet to make an appearance, so you focused on your food, anxiously waiting for him to join you.

When you heard the dining room doors open, you quickly snapped your head up, smiling as Mammon made his way into the room. He locked eyes with you, grinning, but as soon as he noticed that his brothers were also watching him, he averted his gaze and your heart shattered.

Of course, you thought, how could you have forgotten? Just because he admitted to liking you in private didn’t actually mean he would treat you any differently. The thought made your stomach churn, and you had to fight the urge to dash from the room, choosing instead to return your attention to the food on your plate. This was going to be so much worse now that you knew he was aware of your feelings, you thought, blinking back tears.

Shit.

Mammon had reflexively looked away from you for the briefest of moments when he had become aware of his brothers staring. But almost immediately he had stopped himself and looked back at you to offer you a smile. It hadn’t been quick enough though, and he only caught sight of your face as it fell and you attempted to hide your disappointment. He really hadn’t meant to hurt you. Especially not so soon after the two of you had finally opened up to each other.

And now what was he supposed to do?

Well, there really was only one thing he could think of - Make ‘em jealous.

Taking a deep breath, Mammon walked to his seat, nudging his chair over until it was right next to yours, before finally sitting down. You looked up at him, stunned and confused, and he flashed you his usual cocky grin, which only made your heart leap in your throat. Just what was going on? you wondered.

“Ooo Mammon, you’re sitting awfully close today,” Asmodeus teased.

“What’s it to ya, Asmo? Ya jealous?” Mammon, quipped back as he started serving himself some breakfast. He could feel you staring as you struggled to wrap your head around what was happening, and he smirked, shooting you a sideways glance.

“It’s just not fair that you keep hogging them all to yourself. The rest of us should get a chance to sit next to them too.”

“Enough. It’s too early in the morning for this sort of nonsense,” said Lucifer, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You know, dear brother, you’re going to get horrible wrinkles if you don’t get more rest,” replied Asmo, shifting his attention to Lucifer.

Mammon turned to look at you, not at all surprised to see that you were still staring at him in shock. He looked down at your lap, and you followed his gaze as he opened his right hand, palm up, and offered it to you. You stared at it for a few moments, before finally sliding your hand into his. You looked up at him again, only to find that his cheeks were now a very deep shade of red, one that spread all the way to the tips of his ears. He was clearly not prepared for how...different...it was going to feel to hold your hand when surrounded by his brothers, and you couldn’t help but smile at him.

He was quick to turn his attention to his breakfast, and you did the same, occasionally sneaking glances at Mammon as you ate. Mammon could feel your eyes on him, and while mildly embarrassing, also made him ridiculously happy. Up until yesterday he had been so afraid of making a move in your direction, he hadn’t even stopped to think of the possibility of you actually accepting him. And now that he was holding your hand, he was determined to never let it go.

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