#I hardly make it past midnight these days | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daveth-isnt-dead · 8 months

Text

Restlessness

Summary:

She usually only lets Astarion feed on her while she is asleep. Not that she has any problem with Astarion, the case just is that him feeding from her while she is still conscious is profoundly intimate and she can’t really be sure if Astarion has noticed or even if he particularly cares, about how quickly her heart races when he does it. So while she is asleep is better, it's much better. But she can't get to sleep tonight, so she is just going to have to make do.

Contains: Fem Unnamed Tav, Explicit Sexual Content, Blood stuff (comes with the territory) Word Count: 5,143 Read on AO3

Astarion has been feeding on her almost every night for the past month now. Most nights while she is still asleep, though he is always surprisingly insistent about obtaining direct consent before she moves to her tent for the evening, by this point she has just assumed that the agreement is mutual and that there is little need for him to keep asking. Though she doesn't have it in her to be upset about the courtesy.

She generally prefers that he drinks while she is sleeping, only knowing that it happened when she wakes up the next morning with a dull throb in her neck and Astarion giving her a knowing smirk from across the camp.

Not that she has any problem with Astarion, the case just is that him feeding from her while she is still conscious is profoundly intimate and she can’t really be sure if Astarion has noticed or even if he particularly cares, about how quickly her heart races when he does it. So while she is asleep is better, it's much better.

Being the vampire’s resident midnight snack does occasionally earn her some uncomfortable looks from other members of their little group. Especially after one of the few nights she had been awake for the ordeal and the feeling of his hand moving to her hip caused her body to jolt so intensely that Astarion accidentally tore her throat up with his fangs. Shadowheart dutifully healed it, but gave her a stare so oppressive that even a slight uptick of the half-elf’s judgemental eyebrow would surely have killed her on the spot.

Astarion did apologize, but then quickly switched to insisting that she needed to let him know next time she decided to experiment with interpretive dance while he was firmly latched to her throat.

That was the night they both agreed, it might be better if he only feeds while she is out cold.

This night, however. Sleep will not come. She knows that it has been nearly a day and a half since Astarion has last eaten, any and all the fighting that took place today in the dark remains of Shar’s gauntlet were against foes severely lacking in the blood department, and tomorrow will likely be the same. To be honest, they were lucky at all, to find somewhere safe and quiet enough to camp in this miserable place.

She rubs her eyes, still sitting upright in her tent despite all efforts to lull herself to sleep. She sighs heavily, tucking her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, usually a long day like this tires her out completely, and she is a very heavy sleeper, but today’s journey has left her so exhausted that even sleep evades her.

The rustling of her tent flap nearly has her topping over with shock, hardly expecting any visitors after the terrible day they had all endured. The realization hits her when Astarion climbs in.

“Oh.” He says, freezing halfway into the tent, “Apologies, you are not usually so…well, conscious, at this time of night.” She had agreed to him feeding on her again this evening, assuming that she would be well asleep by now like usual. She sighs and gives him a wan smile, “Sorry, I can’t sleep.” “I suppose dinner is off the table then, isn't it?” He replies, wearing a smile that seems far tighter than his usual lazy smirk.

“No!” She says quickly, “Gods no, there’s nothing else for you to eat down here and it’s been almost two days.” Astarion frowns, suddenly becoming very interested in his fingernails, “I can always go back to eating rats if I must, there is certainly no lack of them in this miserable place.” He tries to maintain a casual air, but there is venom behind those words. His voice does return to being playful when he says, “Or, should the situation become incredibly dire, I’m sure that our resident hero would let me have a bite if I asked very nicely.” For some reason, the thought of Astarion feeding on Wyll instead of her causes a thick cloud of jealousy to build behind her ribs. She ignores it, “Just come inside, we’ll figure something out.” she says, shuffling backward a little to give him more room, “And close the front of the tent, please.”

When he turns back to her and takes a seat on the hard ground, she can’t help but notice just how etherial he looks in the soft orange glow of her lantern. Even on the nights when she does sleep, she prefers to keep the lantern on, both because the darkness makes her uneasy, and because (even though she knows he can see in the dark) it feels like common courtesy to leave a light on for Astarion.

“So.” He says

“So…” she replies

Astarion sighs, “Look, darling. If you are simply too delicate for me to have my meal while you are awake, I’m sure that I can find a way to occupy myself for now.” He levels his gaze with her, “Something more entertaining than just staring at each other.”

She bristles, “I’m not delicate, I’m just-” she can’t finish the sentence. She’s just what? Too shy, embarrassed maybe, certainly nervous, “I’m fidgety.” she lies, “and I don’t want to cause another…incident.” He laughs, “Oh yes, not willing to suffer another of Shadowheart’s glares, are you?” “No.” She begins, averting her eyes as she feels her cheeks burning, “Not at present.”

“Then what do you suggest? Since you don’t seem to be planning on getting your beauty sleep anytime soon.” She chews on a knuckle, mulling it over. There’s no way she could handle him leaning over her like that again, his scent surrounding her, one of his hands cradling the back of her head as he finally sinks his teeth into the side of her-

“It might be better, if i’m sitting upright.” She offers. Astarion blinks, “Upright?” “Maybe. I think.”

It would at the very least, be far less intimate, more clinical. Astarion hums to himself, “As you know, i don’t have all that much experience in the matter, but i can hardly see how you would expect to stay upright and the last thing we need is you cracking your skull open on the ground.”

“Then I would just need something to lean against.” She says quickly, “I just think I would be far better at sitting still this way, that's all.”

“Well, I’m right here, darling.” He says, almost dismissively, upset that she wouldn’t consider it herself, “You could always lean against me.”

Her eyes widen. That would defeat the purpose of this whole exercise, but she can’t very well tell him that.

“As long as it wouldn’t make things more difficult for you.” She begins, choosing her words slowly and carefully, “I would at least be happy to try.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” He says, leaning backward a little and letting his thighs fall open, “The last thing this could possibly be for me is difficult.” She stares down at him, eyes wide as she realizes that she has only managed to make this situation worse.

“Oh….kay” She says, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. In the end she opts to face away from him, sitting cross legged between his legs and shimmying backward until she feels his chest pressed up against her back. She sucks a difficult breath in through her teeth and though he isn’t warm, he might as well be, the way she immediately breaks out in a nervous sweat.

“Come come, my dear.” He says, his tone hushed as he carefully draws her hair away from her throat, “I’ve had plenty of time to practice being gentle all those nights you were asleep, no need to be so nervous.” She’s more than a little embarrassed at how instinctively she tilts her head to the side for him, almost beckoning him to bite down. It’s not that part that makes her nervous, not at all. It’s that she recalls a conversation, brief and quickly dismissed, that the two had by a campfire many nights ago. A mention of disgust, words spat like bile about the man who forced him to use himself night after night. A disgust of her own, when she remembered how many days she’d spend staring at him, nights under his body as he fed, wishing and wanting for him to touch her.

She had been far too forward that night, prodding where she shouldn't. Astarion had just laughed, dismissed her concern and refused to elaborate.

“I trust you.” She whispers when she feels the ghost of his breath on her neck.

Astarion tenses behind her, and she closes her eyes as he descends, waiting for the bite that never comes. His lips press against the side of her throat, softly, lightly, the way a lover might kiss. She gasps aloud, and quickly covers her mouth with a hand, trying to hide the sound.

One of his hands wraps around hers, gently removing it from her mouth, “No.” he says, pressing another kiss to the cut of her jaw, “Let me hear you.”

A whimper climbs its way up her throat when he wraps a possessive arm around her, his thumb gently brushing across the lower swell of her breast. She feels his teeth against her neck, not biting, gentle and tantalizing.

This is what she had been afraid of, that she would encourage something like this and then lack the restraint to tell him no. Her head inclines backwards, resting on his shoulder and releasing a keening moan when he sucks on her pulsepoint.

“Astarion-” she tries, breaking off into a moan when he slides his hand up and squeezes her breast in his palm.

He chuckles against her throat, “I do so love hearing you say my name like that.” he croons into her ear, his hand sliding down the collar of her loose linen shirt to cup her breast directly, “Say it again for me, would you?”

“W-Wait, please” She forces out, trying to ignore the growing warmth between her thighs, and the cool press of his palm against her breast.

At her words, Astarion freezes completely. She can barely even feel him breathing anymore.

“Yes, of course.” He says quickly, too quickly, there’s something that sounds like panic in his voice, “I- well, I hope i didn’t misread the situation.” “No! That’s- that’s not what I meant, it’s just-” She reaches her hand up backwards until she finds his face, cupping his cheek in her palm, “Astarion…you don’t have to if-“ if you don’t want to, if it doesn’t mean anything, if it hurts too much, or Gods forbid if you think you owe me something.

He stays still for long enough that she begins to worry she said something wrong, that she overstepped a boundary and he was just going to laugh dismissively again. Instead, he turns his head so he can lightly kiss the palm of her hand.

“I know.” He breathes, and it somehow soothes all her worries at once, “I know I don’t have to, but I do want to.” She can almost hear his smile when he says, “That is, of course, provided that you don’t want me to stop.”

“Gods no…” she exhales, leaning back against him, “That’s the last thing I want.”

“Good.” He nearly moans, his hand jumping to the laces at the front of her shirt and quickly undoing them until it hangs wide open all the way down to her sternum. It surprises her a moment, how familiar he seems with undoing her clothes, but then she remembers each morning, waking up with a bite at the join between her shoulder and neck. A courtesy, so none of the others would see it, but he would only be able to reach that low by loosening her shirt.

She feels herself growing warm at the thought, smirking when she asks, “You’ve undressed me before, have you?”

Astarion huffs, licking a stripe up the side of her neck, “Nothing more than was necessary to get at your shoulder, darling.” his cold hands grab both her breasts at once, and he groans, “I was trying to save you from any judgemental stares.”

Her head lolls backward and she moves her hand to his hair, tangling her fingers in tight. His hands are cold against her bare skin, but she is already so warm all over that any reprieve from the heat is a welcome one.

“Is this why you could never sit still while I was feeding on you?” Astarion breathes, one of his hands sliding down the front of her torso to rub over the front of her woolen breeches, “Because you couldn’t stop imaging this?” his hand slips beneath her breeches and into her smalls, “Gods…” he hisses through his teeth, “You’re so wet and I’ve barely even touched you.”

“Don’t act so coy.” She replies, gasping aloud when his talented fingers dip inside her just enough that she is quivering in anticipation for more, and when his thumb reaches up to circle her clit, she whimpers desperately, “You have all the clarification you need right here.”

“Do I?” He asks slowly, fully removing his fingers from her cunt and resting his hand on her hip, “What if I want to hear you admit it?”

She whines, missing his touch already, “Please…” “No no no, you know what you have to do.” He murmurs, breath ghosting across her neck as he presses another kiss to her skin, “You did lie to me about it earlier, don’t I deserve to hear the truth from your delectable lips?” “F-Fine.” She mutters, shame dissolving into something far more sinful as she finally confesses what she is certain he already knew, “The real reason I asked you to only feed while I was asleep, was because I-” his free hand joins the other on her hips, slowly edging her breeches and smalls down over her thighs, “Because I didn’t think I could control myself.”

He laughs warmly against her skin, fingers just barely skirting around the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs, “My my, with talk like that, you’d think that it is I who should be afraid of you.”

“Maybe you should.” She says, trying and failing to maintain a casual air even as his fingers slowly descend, “After all, who knows that I might- nhg!” “Hm? Sorry, what was that?” Astarion asks, two of his fingers now knuckle deep inside of her.

“I’m h-hardly in a state to offer much witty banter, Astarion.” She stammers, barely even able to speak as his fingers start moving, slow and precise, like he is savoring it.

“But I do so love when you try.” He smiles against her neck, a third finger easily wriggling in alongside the other two. She goes practically boneless against him, unable to keep her hips still as he curls his fingers upward just right and when his thumb teases another utterly devious circle around her clit she feels herself tightening around his fingers. Astarion groans, hiding his face in her shoulder and grinding himself against her lower back, “Hells, darling, you are perfect.”

One of her hands moves to his thigh, struggling to find purchase as she completely loses herself to the pleasure. If the full weight of her body essentially collapsed against him gives Astarion pause, he doesn’t show it, his fingers never falter. The pace he maintains is utterly languid, slow and warm and wet, fast enough that she wouldn’t call it teasing but like he wants to work for it, to enjoy the luxury of taking his time with her.

She moans when his other hand returns to her breast, rubbing addictive circles around her nipple with his thumb. Everything starts to turn hazy at the edges, her body is twitching and desperate.

“Gods…” She hisses through her teeth. Astarion chuckles against her throat, “Come now, darling. There’s only one god here.” she feels the light graze of his sharp teeth, “and he’d much prefer you call him by his name.” “Astarion…” she tries, “Please.” He exhales a shaky breath, but otherwise maintains his composure, “Please what, my sweet?”

She’s on the exhilarating precipice of her climax, barely even able to speak, her body feels so hot that Astarion’s hands nearly burn in their coolness and she can scarcely imagine a world where she doesnt have them pressed against her. Whimpering and mewling under his touch and so unsure of what it is she even wants until: “Bite me!” comes bursting out from her mouth.

Astarion chokes on a breath, and she feels the soft lick of her tongue over his pulsepoint, “Are you sure?” “Yes!” She hisses, practicaly fucking herself on his fingers now, “Gods yes.” She feels more than hears the rumble of his moan, “Do try to stay still.” he purrs, and then sinks his fangs into her throat. The immediate pain feels almost electric jumping from her throat, to her fingertips, to her toes, a quick sharp jolt that is near instantly replaced with a nauseating bliss.

Her head lolls to the side, relishing in the feeling as he begins devouring her. The beat of her heart is loud in her ears, and the pump of his fingers is no longer so tender, with each movement his thumb brushes firmly against her clit and her whole body tenses. He curls his fingers upward, and her hips cant forward violently.

Unlike last time, Astarion is quick to pull his fangs from her throat, before any real damage can occur, “You really can’t sit still, can you?” He groans in her ear, his voice void of any of its usual musicality as he grinds himself up against her in time with his fingers. A bubbling laugh escapes her mouth as she revels in the feeling of his length pressed firmly against her lower back, at the way his own hips don’t seem to want to stop moving, “N-Neither can you.” she says through her moans. “What can I say?” He murmurs, mouth slowly returning to the open wound on her neck, “You are positively delicious.” He does not bite again, instead lapping and sucking at the blood as it flows freely out of her. She can barely breathe, lost in utter exhilaration as the lightheadedness takes hold, his fingers curl and thrust inside of her, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat as she finds herself completely unable to hold back her whimpers and moans.

Astarion completely covers the bite mark with his mouth, sucking with true fervor now as she teeters closer and closer to her climax. Her eyes squeeze shut, and she frantically grinds herself against his awaiting fingers, the warmth builds and builds in her belly until she feels like she is about to turn to lightning in his arms.

“A-Astarion, I-” Her words collapse into a desperate, aching moan as she tumbles over the edge, the world turning white behind her eyes and the heat rushing out from her core all the way to her fingertips. The euphoria is so encompassing that she nearly sobs as his fingers begin to slow their movements within her.

He has the sense not to say anything, at least for a moment, and she can scarcely imagine how she looks right now. Her hair clings to her forehead with sweat, tears are beading in her eyes and- oh gods had she been drooling? She quickly raises a hand to wipe her mouth, and as she is doing so, she turns her head to look at him and oh.

Astarion blinks down at her, and the look in his eyes is heady and lust drunk, but there is something else to it as well, bordering on reverence. His cheeks are flushed, and she knows that can only happen when he has just fed. She swallows thickly at the red colouring of his lips, where her own blood is currently spread. Curiosity does something sinister to her, and she wants to taste it herself.

His eyes go wide when she kisses him, and wider again when she darts out her tongue lick over his teeth. Astarion’s chest is heaving when she pulls back, his red eyes watching cautiously, as though unsure of her next move. She reaches out and takes his cheek in her palm, his skin is warmer than it was before.

“Your turn.” She whispers, trailing her hand from his cheek, down his sternum to the waistband of his breeches. She looks up at him quickly and is emboldened by the desire she still sees in his eyes, untucking his shirt and pulling it up over his head. He’s all perfect, smooth, porcelain skin, but her eyes can’t help being drawn to the way her rough undressing has left his hair disheveled. She tangles her fingers in it, smiling at how boyishly handsome he looks with his hair in disarray.

“If it’s all the same to you, my dear.” He breathes, beginning to sound impatient, “I’ve waited for you long enough.” She laughs, edging his breeches and undergarments down over his hips, “So impatient for someone with your lifespan.”

He frowns at her, but she is surprised to find how easily she can tell he doesn’t mean it, “If anything, that should speak to just how much I crave you.” He croons as she swings one leg over his hips, hoving just over his lap, “You should be flattered.” “I am.” She replies with not a hint of irony, “I consider myself incredibly lucky.” Astarion reaches up to her face and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “As do I.”

She wraps her arms around his shoulders to steady herself as she slowly lowers herself down, stutting a gasp when the head of his cock meets her entrance. It’s as cold as the rest of him, and she has to bite down on her lower lip to keep herself from crying out when she takes in the first inch. She’s still incredibly sensitive from her first climax, and the coolness of him feels so alien and utterly addictive that she is already panting and whimpering by the time he bottoms out inside of her.

Astarion lets out a shaky moan when she finally sits down fully, his hands jumping to her waist and his head falling to rest on her shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, just clinging to each other, no sounds but their breathing and the rapid tattoo of her heart.

When he looks up at her again, Astarion’s smile is utterly salacious, “You have me now, darling.” he whispers, pressing a cool kiss to her shoulder, “Perhaps it would the perfect moment for you to show me some of those, things you have been thinking about doing to me all this time.”

Astarion isn’t usually that much taller than her, but even still, there is something addictive about their current positioning and the way he has to peer up at her. She tilts her head to the side, taking in the sight of him, his blood flushed cheeks and the glint of his teeth behind his wide smile.

“Would it be…strange-” she begins, tangling one of her hands in the back of his hair, “-If said that i had often imagined biting you.” “Hah!” Astarion exclaims, grinning broadly, “Well, it would be hardly fair for me to ask you to keep your teeth to yourself, wouldn’t it?” Her brows pull together, “You can say no, Astarion.” His eyes go wide for a moment, and his face is awash with a sudden vulnerability, “I- Yes, I know that I can.” His smile returns, but now the look in his eyes is warmer, softer, “But I don’t want to.” He inclines his head to the side, exposing the length of his throat, “Go on, darling. Let me know how I taste, would you?”

She leans into his neck, breathing in his scent as she presses a soft kiss to his skin. He makes a noise, a startled intake of breath, his hands on her waist gripping tighter and she opens her mouth and bites. Astarion cries out, and his hips stutter his cock deeper inside of her. She moans against his skin, grinding her hips down to meet his and languishing in the feeling of just how well he fills her.

Her teeth are far blunter than his, and actually drawing any blood would take a considerable amount of force and cause a considerable amount of pain, but even without the taste of blood in her mouth there is still something so delectably perverse about biting down on him, about burying her face in his throat. She moans, kissing from the base of his neck and up to the curve of his jaw, sucking gently on the skin there and smiling when she pulls away to see purple marks blooming on his pale skin.

Astarion’s breath is heavy when he looks at her, but his eyes are soft and relaxed, “Admiring your handiwork, are you?” He laughs a little, peering up at her coquettishly, “Does it suit me?” She traces a finger over the crescent shaped bruises left by her teeth, smiling at him as she whispers, “Very much so, and now I believe we are even.” “Are we now?” Astarion replies, a mischievous look crossing his face as his hands move down to her hips, “Because as far as I can recall, only one of us has seen stars this evening.”

“We’ll need to rectify this situation then, won’t we?” She says, her breath quickening as she grinds down on him.

Astarion’s grip on her hips grows tighter and he chokes on a groan, “You look beautiful up there, my dear.” he thrusts up into her, slowly and deeply, “Sitting pretty on my lap, just for me.”

Her head lolls forward, whining as his cock brushes against that perfect spot inside of her.

“Look at me.” Astarion whispers, and she tilts her head up to meet his eyes. His breath stutters when he sees her expression, desperate and adoring, “I want to see your face as I’m fucking you, darling.” She giggles shyly, resisting the urge to hide her face in her hands and Astarion smiles, “Good girl.”

He uses the grip on her hips to lift her up and she whimpers as his cock leaves her, only to cry out when he drops her back down. Shifting her weight to her knees, she follows his lead bouncing on his cock to meet him on the upstroke. He never breaks eye contact, staring as her breath leaves her, watching reverently as she pants and moans with each of his movements.

“A-Astarion…” She moans, leaning forward and pressing her forehead to his, “You’re so good, you feel so good.”

He laughs breathlessly, “Would you believe that you feel even better?”

One of his hands moves from her hip around to her front, his talented fingers rubbing encouraging circles on her clit. She keens loudly, digging her nails into his shoulders, “Didn’t I say it was your turn.” She forces out, “You really don’t have-” “You greatly underestimate just how much making you climax arouses me, my sweet.” He groans when he rubs her a little faster, feeling her walls clench around him in response, “I have been thinking about it, constantly.”

She can feel her orgasm building again, the combination of his fingers and his cock driving her absolutely wild. He’s so warm now, her own growing heat slowly warming his cold skin over time, she wants to grab onto him and never let go. His hips are losing rhythm beneath her, driving his cock up into her with short, stuttered thrusts. Gods she can feel him throbbing.

“I’m-I’m close again.” She breathes.

He groans at even the thought of it, “Good. So am I.”

“Fill me, Gods, Astarion- please” She moans, tightening her arms around his shoulders, pressing him flush against her.

His own arms wrap tightly around her waist as he fucks up into her at an utterly desperate speed. His breath coming quick and fast, he buries his face in her shoulder, mouthing at the side of her neck, waiting as always, for her permission.

“Fuck! Yes, Please, bite me!” She cries out, feeling the warmth of her oncoming climax already blooming in her belly, “Gods, Astarion, I am all yours.” His breath hitches at that, the frantic movement of his hips stopping for only a moment, “Mine…” he breathes, and then sinks his fangs into the side of her throat. She can barely comprehend what she is feeling, him all around her, inside her in more ways than one. She’s open, vulnerable, yearning and Astarion is all she ever wanted.

Her second climax of the night is louder, twitchier, her whole body quivers as it feels like she is shoved over the precipice, her insides clenching desperately around him and her hands digging into his hair as she howls into the open air.

“H-Hells!” He stammers at the feeling of her coming undone around him, clutching to her as tightly as he can before emptying inside of her.

There’s warmth, for some time, as the two of them return from the white hot afterglow. She gently runs her fingers through his hair, and Astarion softly laps at any of the mess left on the side of her neck before kissing tenderly over the bite mark left behind.

“Would you stay?” She whispers, hiding her face in his shoulder, nervous for his answer.

Astarion chuckles, “Are you that insatiable, my dear? Can’t get enough?” She shakes her head, “No, I mean it. Stay with me until morning, we can talk, or sleep, I don't mind.” His breath is shaky now, and one of her hands comes up to rest on the back of her head, “I don’t really know what we are doing.” he breathes, “But I’d like to try, with you.” She sits up a little, meeting his eyes. There is apprehension there, yes, but more than that there is something warm and real. She smiles, “I guess we’ll have to figure it out together.”

His smile is lopsided and effortless, “Though I’m sure Shadowheart will have something entertaining to say, come morning.”

She laughs, “I’ll have to get used to withstanding her glare, I think, as I plan to make, well, whatever this is, a regular occurrence.”

Neither of them feels a need to define what they are feeling, or even what comes next. But she smiles when Astarion presses a kiss to her temple, and decides that for now, it hardly matters. They’ll figure it out eventually.

#astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion ancunin

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nicksolemnlyswears · 5 months

Text

WAYS TO DESTRESS

summary: after a long day, all coriolanus wants to do is blow some steam off. nothing will stop him from getting what he wants…not even your sleepy state

pairing: young! coriolanus snow x capitol! reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, somnophilia, dub non-con, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, pussy spanking, belly bulge (?), LISTEN I KNOW ITS UNLIKELY BUT LET ME BE UNHINGED, a bit rough nothing too crazy, get your holy water though, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please)

a/n: this came to me the moment i opened my eyes this morning. pure filth. i shouldn't be proud but i am. goes to show how much coriolanus is plaguing my thoughts day and night. my new little hyperfixation. a new villain to add to my collection <3

PT. 2

requests open ✨

All Coriolanus feels is anger. It's been pumping through his veins throughout most of the day, almost causing him to lose his composure at all the wrong places. He can never afford to fuck up. He already did it once, and second chances are nonexistent in the Capitol.

He owes a lot to Dr. Gaul. After all, she saw the value in Coriolanus. She saw right through him and his faux kindness and unearthed his true wickedness. He simply needed a nudge in the right direction.

While working for with her is an honor, it is hardly easy. Like all aspects of his life, he's had to adapt to how she runs her lab. Coriolanus is hardly a follower; he's a leader, but as long as he remains under the tutelage of Dr. Gaul, he will have to follow her orders. Which means he has to talk when spoken to and perform how she expects him to.

There are days when it all becomes too much. His pride rises to the surface, forcing him to stifle it as best as he can before he does something he regrets.

He has to think of the scrutinizing gaze of his peers waiting for him to fail. As much as they pretend to be his friend, they want him to make a mistake so they can rise to the occasion. He won't allow that.

His apartment is silent when he steps in. The lavish decor is obscured by the lack of illumination. It's to be expected, seeing it's well past midnight.

Leaving his coat by the door, Coriolanus walks towards the bedroom. He needs to destress now, or he'll carry all his anger and frustration on his shoulders for the rest of the week. He can't have that. He can't lose control and look bad in front of Dr. Gaul and the others.

In the master bedroom, he finds you lying on the soft mattress, tangled in the silky bedsheets. He watches your chest rise and fall with gentle breaths, your pouty lips slightly ajar. It's a shame he's going to disturb your sleep, but he needs to let off some steam. That's one of the numerous reasons he has his pretty little girlfriend.

Coriolanus unbuttons the red waistcoat and removes his shoes, leaving them in the armchair. As he approaches your side of the bed, he notices the bright orange bottle on the nightstand and your book thrown haphazardly on the floor.

It's rare for you to take sleep aid medication because you hate how they knock you out. You only take them when you've had a particularly rough day. It seems Coriolanus is not alone in this. Today has been bad for both you and him.

Still, his plan remains the same. Coriolanus leans over you, kissing your forehead gingerly before his lips continue to trail down to kiss your cheek and lips. You don't stir with the soft touches.

Coriolanus darkly chuckles. It's not often he gets to do this. He'll take it as a treat for his patience throughout the day. He'd say the universe is working in his favor if he believed in such silly things.

Having you so pliable and willing in his hands excites him to no end. Lying on the bed, he digs his head on your shoulder, leaving marks for you to find in the morning. It spurs him on to hear little gasps falling from your lips.

"Beautiful and all mine," he mutters into the silent room as he lowers down the thin straps of your night dress to reveal your chest.

Coriolanus takes his time with your body. Even while asleep, it responds to his touch. He sucks and squeezes on your breasts harshly, biting down on the stiff peaks of your nipples.

He's not as gentle this time around compared to other times in the past. Then, you were simply asleep; now, you're completely doped out. He will miss your whines and the way you berate him.

Coriolanus continues down your body until he settles between your legs. "Fuck, darling," he audible groans when he lifts up your nighty to find a patch on your panties. Who would've thought you'd be as responsive to him while asleep.

He gives into his urges as he presses his nose against your center, smelling your arousal and licking up the wet fabric with his tongue. He only parts for a moment as he roughly slides the thin fabric off.

With you like this, there is no reason to tease. He doesn't have to kiss your thighs or hold himself back. Coriolanus can truly delve into what he wants without a spectacle.

It's why he buries his tongue into your wet cunt as soon as he has the chance. He holds your limp thighs on his shoulders as he presses himself against you, his blue eyes closing in ecstasy at the taste.

Soft noises- moans- come from above him as you slightly stir in your drug-induced sleep. While Coriolanus suck on your pearl of nerves, he wonders what you're dreaming about and if he's the protagonist as well.

His hips roll onto the mattress underneath, soothing the ache on his cock. He could go straight to fucking you but wants this to last. He needs to keep his mind busy, and eating you out is the answer.

Unconsciously, you grind your cunt on his tongue, chasing your release. Coriolanus smiles at this and rewards you with fucking you with his tongue. He's determined to make you cum all over it.

"Oh," he hears you whine when his nose rubs on your sensitive clit. He knows you're close. He feels it in the way your thighs are suddenly clenching around him.

There is no doubt in his mind you're still asleep. If you were awake, you'd be gripping his hair like a vice and calling his name for everyone to hear. You'd be begging him to fuck you silly.

Coriolanus laps up your juices like a starving man when you cum. Despite living in poverty, he never felt the need to act in such a way until he tasted you for the first time. He treats his sweet little girlfriend's cunt like a delicacy.

He stops himself before he almost makes you cum again as he slurps and sucks on your cunt. From up close, he can see the way your clit twitches under the pleasure. He leaves a bruise that will turn purple by morning on the inside of your thigh. It'll be a telltale sign he was there, devouring you while you soundly slept. A reminder you're his to use whenever he pleases.

Taking the rest of his clothes off, Coriolanus returns to your sleeping body. He pumps his cock in his fist as he looks at all the bruises and marks he left behind, and you'll have to hide because you can't have him seem like a pervert in front of his classmates.

Kneeling on the bed, he wraps your legs around his hips. He teases your wet cunt with the fat head of his cock, nudging over your clit repeatedly. He continues this until his cock is slick with your juices. As an extra, he spits down on your cunt, spreading his saliva over you. Not because you need lubrication but because he likes the sight of him on you in every which way.

No matter how many times Coriolanus has fucked you throughout your two years of being together, he's always had trouble pushing his cock in. He has to take a deep breath when he bottoms out as your cunt tries to choke him out. It's one of his favorite things about you, a constant reminder of the day he took your innocence.

It's only when he begins rocking his hips into you that you give any indication of waking up.

"What?" You whine as panic settles into you. Your brain isn't working properly. You're hazy and confused. Not knowing where you are, you get scared, and your heart races.

Coriolanus holds your hands as you begin struggling. As he leans down to talk to you, he pins you down, leaving you impaled with his cock. He immensely enjoys the struggle but can't have you screaming out in panic.

"It's just me, darling," he coo's in your ear, nuzzling his nose against your face. It works as your heart begins settling down.

"Coryo?" You sniff with tears in your eyes as your panic is quickly swept away. You try to speak, but the pills leave your tongue heavy and your brain foggy.

"Yes, your Coryo," he responds, kissing your cheek sweetly.

You've stopped struggling and spread your legs once again, just how he likes it. He even feels you clenching down purposefully around Coriolanus' cock. You're no saint; you enjoy making it hard for him even in your drugged-out state.

"Relax, darling. Go back to sleep," he hushes you, softly rocking into you.

Your eyes are already closed as he utters the words. You have no choice in the matter. Granted, now you sleep calmer, knowing it's Coryo touching you and making you feel food.

Coriolanus calls your name once, twice, and there is no response. You're back with the sandman, peacefully asleep. He takes it as a sign to keep fucking you.

Kneeling back on the bed, Coriolanus brings up your thighs to touch your chest. Your pretty cunt is on full display, showcasing the hues of pink and glistening fluids that shine under the lowlights of the bedroom.

Coriolanus licks the pads on his fingers before they smack down on your center. The only way it'll look even better is if it had that familiar twinge of red. He aims for the center, straight at your pearl, and smacks his hand down several times.

It manages to wake you again, eyes hooded with sleep, staring at him and complaints falling from your lips. Each time the 'smack' reverberates and you flinch, he soothes the sting, spreading the clear strings of arousal that drip from your hole.

Only when your cunt is flushed red and your clit is puffed out of its fleshy covering, does he pull you down on his cock. He fucks in and out of you mercilessly, addicted to the way your tight walls hug his cock even as he pulls out.

He glances towards your face and notes you're back to sleep. If it were up to him, you'd take the pills more often just so he could find you waiting for him asleep, naked on the bed. A real-life doll of his own.

The sound of skin slapping and his desperate moans and grunts fill the room, along with some of your smaller ones. He doesn't tend to be so vocal; he prefers listening to you beg for him, but with no one to hear him, he lets it all out.

Coriolanus places a hand on your lower tummy, pressing down to feel himself through your walls. It's an erotic thing to feel his cock slipping in and out, reaching the deepest parts of you.

He slows the pace of his thrusting, opting to go harder and deeper, just where he can make out the bump on your pelvis of his cock head.

The pressure Coryo is causing doesn't go unnoticed by you. Groggily, you open your eyes to find him with his head dipped down, whispering profanities to himself, a pretty sheen of sweat covering his fair skin.

"Mmm, Co-coryo," you moan, catching his attention.

With a glint in his eyes, he grabs your hand, placing it where you can feel it too, his fingers lacing through yours as he holds it down, "Feel this? No one will ever get you to feel like I do, darling. I'm going to ruin you for all others. Not like I'll let you leave anyways."

It's never crossed your mind to leave Coriolanus. Not for a second. The moment you set eyes on him, you knew he was it, and the ring on your finger is a promise of that. It's why you let him use you as he pleases.

You babble out a response as the darkness consumes you once more. By morning, you'll barely remember a thing as a side effect of the pills, but Coryo won't let you forget.

The mixture of your relaxed state, Coriolanus' hand pressing down on you, and the angle of his thrusts allow for something that hasn't happened before. Something he'll enjoy for the years to come.

As he viciously snaps his hips to chase his release, you wiggle under him. There are words on your heavy tongue neither can make out, a warning.

"Shh," Coriolanus quiets you down, focusing on the way you're milking his cock for all that his worth.

He's in for a surprise when a particularly angled thrust causes you to squirt around him. A stream of your juices covering his cock and abdomen. Although he falters for a moment, he quickly pulls out and rubs at your clit, causing a smaller stream to leak out of you.

His night has become a hundred times better. His eyes widen in wonder as his brain creates new ways to have you and make you do it again. "This is going to be fun."

When you wake up in the morning, you don't remember what happened, but you know something did. It's in the way your cunt aches and how thick cum runs down your leg when you get up.

Brief, blurry memories surface as you shower. Truly, you didn't care. If anything, you're upset you missed out on the fun and can't remember the pleasure. Ultimately, you trust Coriolanus and that he won't hurt you.

You feel well-rested as you dress and make breakfast for the two of you. There is an undeniable ache in your cunt, but that's always welcomed. Your problems from yesterday are only a quiet hum in a dark corner of your brain.

"My love," you softly call out to Coriolanus, touching his naked shoulder.

"Good morning," he says with his eyes closed, although there is an undeniable grin on his lips. All the stress he felt yesterday has dissipated, leaving a pleasant feeling in his chest.

"Good morning to you, too," you giggle as you lean down to catch his lips in a kiss. There is a tangy taste attached to them that you recognize well. "Had a good night, did you?"

"I certainly did. Do you remember anything?" He asks, sitting up on the bed. The falling bedsheets reveal his toned chest and stomach. Gently, you grab the tray with food and place it on his lap.

"Barely," you scoff, "It's a shame." You technically haven't had sex with Coriolanus in two long weeks. His stunt from last night did nothing to satiate you or your mind that keeps picturing him in all sorts of compromising positions.

Coriolanus hums as he takes a bite of toast. You know him well enough to know he's amused that you don't remember and that he's hiding something.

"What is it?" You prod, brushing a strand of pale blonde hair away from his eyes.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug. He's making you work for it. Coryo loves his games, after all.

"Coryo," you speak his name with a warning.

He takes his time, sipping on the glass placed on the tray. "I just…I didn't know you could squirt," he reveals cheekily, stabbing his fork on a piece of fruit.

"What? That's because I don't," you say, taken aback.

A crease forms between your eyebrows. You and Coryo are not ashamed to talk about sex. It took you by surprise at first because he always presents himself so elegantly and no-nonsense. Behind the scenes, though, when he's with you, he's open to discussing everything he wishes to try and his likes and dislikes.

You, in return, have been the same. Admitting that you've never been able to squirt and might never be able to. It's been a topic of conversation numerous times, seeing as it's something Coryo has always been curious about.

"Yes, you do. Last night, you squirted all over my cock and my fingers and my tongue," he boasts with a smirk as he remembers all the times he made you cum after that.

"I did?"

"You were such a good girl for me, darling," Coriolanus responds, putting the tray of food to the side and cupping your face, "All you had to do was relax."

"Hard to do when you're edging me for hours," you roll your eyes at him. Edging you is just one of the fun ways he tortures you.

"Don't be a spoilsport," he frowns, gripping your face harder before planting another kiss on your lips.

"It's not fair. I can't remember anything," you softly murmur. It's a real damn shame you won't remember the first time you squirt or the face Coryo made at the realization.

"Poor thing. I can show you how to do it again. I practiced last night a couple of times," he whispers in your ear, kissing down to your pulse point, "But I can't right now, or I'll be late."

"Huh?" You dumbly respond, enthralled by his words, imagining all the pleasure he'll give you.

"Thanks for breakfast," Coriolanus says, standing from the bed and heading into the bathroom butt-naked.

You watch after him lustfully and angrily, forced to continue your morning as if nothing happened.

In less than an hour, Coriolanus is ready to return to Dr. Gaul's laboratory. He has to check for any progress in his experiment before heading to the university for his classes.

He sits you on the bed before he leaves, though, to show you something 'important.' "I'll see you tonight," he says, kissing the crown of your head and turning on the TV.

The screen shows you lying on your back, whining helplessly as Coryo slips two fingers into your cunt rapidly. The rings on his fingers and the palm of his hand glisten with your sticky juices.

He did not lie about your new ability as you watch your hole leak clear liquid. The Coryo on the screen, who had been encouraging you with lewd words, eagerly attaches his mouth to catch it all. When he pulls back, his chin is dripping with your release.

Watching yourself in that fucked out state and Coryo behaving so obscenely gets your silk panties wet. Glancing at the clock, you note you have 30 minutes till you have to be at the door.

In no time, you're spread out on the bed with your hand under your university skirt, panties pushed to the side fucking two fingers into your cunt. Your eyes are focused entirely on the screen, rewatching the clip.

thanks for reading! i hope you liked it!

part two for coryo making her squirt while she's actually conscious?

#fanfiction #smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfiction

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luminoustarlight · 6 months

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As Fate Would Have It | DILF!Anakin Skywalker

Anakin Skywalker gets a new assistant, who also happens to be his favorite OnlyFans performer.

◂ previous ▸ chapter two

rating: explicit | pairing: anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 3.7k | read on ao3

warnings: modern!au, undisclosed age gap, SMUT [use of toys (dildo and fleshlight), mutual masturbation, squirting, watching of pornography]

After midnight is Anakin’s favorite time of the day. His kids have been asleep since 8:30 pm— their weekday curfew— and he’s finally stopped working on the project he brought home from work. It kept him from watching 101 Dalmatians with Luke and Leia but “it needed to be done.”

He completed it well after the twins went to sleep, his neck was aching, and he needed to unwind. Now, he’s settled on the left side of his king bed, back propped against the headboard and his tablet waiting for him on the nightstand. He’s been thinking about this all day. Ever since he got the notification at 1:48 p.m. that HoneySuckle uploaded a new video.

While he was at work. On a very busy day, he might add. As much as he wanted to get away to watch it immediately, he couldn’t. But now he has uninterrupted time to enjoy himself and the woman he’s about to watch.

Anakin watches HoneySuckle exclusively. For over three years now, he has been subscribed to her page for $7.99 a month, which is an absolute disgrace to the quality of content she puts out. That’s why he tips her at least $200 for each video. It’s a number that hardly means a thing to Anakin. But to HoneySuckle, it is everything. It’s a cushion for incidentals. For the flat tire on her Mini Cooper. The vet bill for her orange tabby, Panini. She has expressed her thanks to him in their private messages, but it never seems to be enough.

Their casual conversations are never enough.

It comes as a great surprise to Anakin to see that her newest video is dedicated to him. Him— Anakin Skywalker AKA skyguy81. AKA HoneySuckle’s biggest fan and number one supporter.

Squirting for Sky 🖤

He’s never clicked on anything faster in his life. The edges of his brain are beginning to fog. The mere thought of Honey getting off to the thought of him makes goosebumps prickle along his skin and his cock begin to swell. But then he sees what she’s wearing. Or, not wearing for that matter. Usually, she’ll begin videos with a full set on. Whether it’s a lacy bra and panties, a teddy, or a babydoll, teasingly taking off her lingerie is part of her brand.

Not in this video, though. In this new 23 minute video, she is wearing a black garter and thong with roses embroidered in the mesh along her hip bones. Sheer black stockings are pulled up to her thighs and as she spreads her legs— dear God— Anakin sees that her panties are crotchless.

Every video is expertly angled so only the bottom half of her face is on camera. She’s mentioned to Anakin in the past that this is not her full time job and therefore some anonymity is important. He doesn’t need to see her whole face to know she is beautiful.

“I bought this just for you,” Honey says directly to Anakin. “You said you liked black. I hope you like this.” She goes to grab the vibrator next to the pink dildo on her bed.

“I love it,” Anakin mumbles. Running her hand over one of her bare breasts, she turns on the vibrator. The familiar hum of the toy reminds Anakin to put on his headphones. Just in case.

Now with that taken care of, Anakin can begin taking care of himself. It doesn’t take long for the guy to get hard when he’s watching Honey. Hell, he can just think about her and he’ll be horny. The melodic cadence to her voice, the angelic sounds she makes when she cums, the lustful desire to bury himself in her cunt. She is the only woman he has desired since his wife and he doesn’t even know her name. But he knows the curves of her body as if he’s felt them with his own two hands. God, how he wishes he could touch her, kiss her, pleasure her.

It’s pathetic. He is pathetic for wanting the impossible. Anakin Skywalker is a smart man. A genius in many regards. Yet he’s delusional enough to think her messages might mean something. That this video dedicated to him means something.

Of course, it doesn’t. Everything about his conversations with Honey is transactional. It’s part of her job. That’s it. Nothing more. You’re not special.

But fuck, does it make his cock hard thinking this is all for him. Well, this is for him. The title of the video says so. With her legs spread nice and wide, Anakin can see how wet she has become from the vibrator on her clit.

Stiff and dribbling precum on his belly, Anakin wraps his long fingers around his equally long shaft. He swipes his palm over the tip to lubricate the rest of his dick. Honey has now turned off the vibrator and grabs the dildo. Despite its playful color, it’s a formidable size. A similar 7 inches to Anakin’s cock, she opens her mouth and the tip disappears. Then a little bit more… and a little more… until she’s gagging. She pulls it out of her mouth with a loud gasp. Messy strings of saliva fall on her chin and chest.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “I love choking on your cock. Feeling it so deep in my throat until I can’t breathe.”

This sends a jolt through Anakin’s whole body. His cock lurches in his hand and he knows all too well that his hand will simply not suffice tonight. He pauses Honey’s video and reluctantly gets off of bed to retrieve his Fleshlight from his hidden stash in the closet. Usually, his hand does just fine. He’s used to it by now. Being a single dad in his early forties and the CEO of his own company, he doesn’t have time to go on dates. He has one woman on his rolodex of hookup numbers and even then, he doesn’t contact her often. Usually it’s her who needs him. He prefers it that way, anyway.

Anakin returns to his bed with the barely used Fleshlight in hand and immediately resumes the video. Honey continues to give the dildo a blowjob, making Anakin ache for it to be his cock in her mouth. He can only imagine how warm it is. How he’d make her relax so he can shove his entire length down her throat. How she’d sound choking on his dick and not some pink toy.

Again, she holds it in her mouth until her lungs are screaming for air. Anakin ruts his hips up into his fist. He’s waiting to use the Fleshlight until she puts the toy in her cunt.

Which is right now. She lines the tip of it to her opening, pushing the head in teasingly before removing it and dragging it along her folds.

“Have you been good today? Do you deserve to fuck me?” The seductive nature of Honey’s voice is so familiar to Anakin, yet every time dirty talk drips from her lips, his spine tingles.

“Please, Honey,” Anakin whispers, hovering the opening of the Fleshlight over his cock. “Put it in, baby.”

As if obeying his command, Honey pushes the toy into her hole. At the same time, Anakin lowers his own toy onto himself. The tight Fleshlight sucks in his dick and it damn near has Anakin’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. He’d forgotten what it feels like… how similar yet different it is to real pussy. Fuck, what he would do to have his cock in Honey’s actual cunt. The best he can do is use his overactive imagination.

Honey is thrusting the dildo in and out of her and soft moans fill Anakin’s ears. He yanks the Fleshlight up and down—a lazy way of using it, he knows— but it does the job. “That’s it…” he breathes. His heartbeat is racing impossibly fast, chasing down an orgasm that is going to arrive far too soon. “I fuck you so well, don’t I, Honey?”

“Mm…” she whimpers, pushing the toy deeper and further into her. “Your cock’s so big… fills me up so well. Feels so good!”

“You have no idea how good I could make you feel,” Anakin growls. In his mind she’s on her back, just as she is now. Her knees are pushed up to her ears and Anakin is thrusting into her tight hole to no end. He’s so deep, he can see himself in her stomach. He kisses her, finally tasting her on his own lips. Their tongues are doing a dance, his fingers are on her clit for maximum pleasure. And she’s screaming his name. She can’t believe how good he fucks. How he, at 42 years old, can last as long as he has. “I’m not fucking geriatric,” he’d say. He’d make her cum at least twice before he does, just to prove a point.

Honey then takes the dildo out of her cunt and brings it back up to her mouth. Anakin removes the Fleshlight. She hollows her cheeks around it whilst reaching for the vibrator. She turns it back on and returns it to her clit. Her toes curl at the sensation and a moan is muffled by the cock in her mouth.

“Let me hear you,” Anakin encourages, no matter how silly and pointless it is to do so. “Please, Honey. I love hearing you moan.”

She takes the dildo out of her mouth to announce that she’s going to cum. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!”

She’s squirming on the bed, mouth shaped in that glorious ‘O’. As her orgasm rattles through her body, she keeps the vibrator on her swollen nub and returns the dildo to her pussy. Anakin follows suit and sheathes his cock once again, thrusting his hips up to the speed Honey is fucking herself.

“I hope you…fuck, that feels good,” she is interrupted by her own pleasure. It’s her authenticity that Anakin adores and enjoys the most. It never feels like she’s performing. “I hope you’re making yourself feel as good as I feel. Are you fucking your hand? Your mattress? A pillow? I bet you wish you were in my tight cunt. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Anakin breathes. He is on fire now. He’s not sure the coil in his belly could get any tighter. He’s going to cum soon and Honey hasn’t even squirted yet. There’s five minutes left of the video. “You wouldn’t believe—ah, fucking hell— wouldn’t believe how badly I want to fuck you.”

“I’m gonna squirt! Oh my God…please cum for me. Cum while I squirt for you!” Honey removes the dildo as the clear liquid sprays from her cunt. Anakin abandons the Fleshlight and takes over with his tried and true hand. He’s pumping quickly, he’s mesmerized by Honey and how she squirts a little more each time she puts the dildo back inside of her and pulls it back out. Her back is arching off of the bed as she drops both toys and cums one last time.

Anakin is cumming now, too. His sack twitches up toward him while he releases his load on his belly. He stuffs a fist into his mouth to silence his moan. He bites down on his own hand with fervor, and it hurts. He isn’t completely finished when he hears her utter the words ‘last video.’

Wait, what?

He needs to go back. Surely, he didn’t hear her correctly.

“I hope you all enjoyed yourselves while watching. I know I did. This is a bit of a last hurrah for me. I’m starting a new job next week and I just don’t think I’ll have the time to upload, so this might be my last video. Thank you for all of the support over the last three years. I had a great time. Kisses, HoneySuckle.”

And that’s the end of it. Anakin is stunned. He watches her video again. And then once more. There's a lilt to her voice that makes Anakin think she is happy to be done with this. He should be happy for her. But he hangs onto the word ‘might’.

Honey said this might be her last video. Anakin shouldn’t feel so fucking relieved that his favorite OnlyFans performer might still upload videos. What is wrong with him? He has no real connection to her whatsoever yet he feels disappointed by the idea of not having her videos in his life anymore.

Fuck it. He sends her a $500 tip, a little message and goes to wash up.

Panini is pressed against your side, purring contentedly while you stroke his back absently. You’re wrapped in a sherpa cozy in bed while watching The Great British Bake Off. It’s your bedtime show. You’ve probably seen every series at least 3 times, simply because it’s the show you put on to go to sleep. But most of the time, you end up staying up to watch it as if you’ve never seen it before.

Your phone lights up with a notification. You glance at it but immediately do a double take. You grab your phone off of your nightstand and stare at the screen with your jaw dropped.

Skyguy81 sent you a tip!

$500

You pause in the middle of Prue Leith giving her thoughts on someone’s Showstopper. You swipe right to open the message.

That was spectacular, Honey. From the lingerie to the beautiful way you cum. You certainly know how to put on a show. I must admit, I was a bit disappointed to hear that it might be your last video. You are the only performer I watch. I will miss you. I wish you the best of luck with your new endeavor.

And I know what you are going to say. “It’s too much.” It is not. Please accept the tip as a token of my appreciation. You helped me feel less lonely on the days I needed someone the most. - Sky

Why do you feel like you’re about to cry? Sky has been your top supporter since you began uploading videos during COVID. It was just supposed to be a way to make ends meet. To pay off the student loans and any other financials that came up. The tips started off relatively small. $50 here, $75 there. He was the first to give you a $100 tip.

Then, after about a year, he upped it to $200 after each video. Your thank you messages to him turned into conversations. Short ones, never deep or personal, yet you feel like you know him. You feel like…no, it’s silly. You feel like he could be a friend. If you both weren’t hiding behind a screen and fake names, maybe you actually could be.

You begin typing a response.

Sky- I am going to say it anyway. THAT IS WAY TOO MUCH!!! You have been far too generous to me over the years. I don’t deserve it.

He replies in a matter of seconds.

I have to disagree, Honey. I wish I could do more for you.

Like what?

I would take you out to a nice dinner. Perhaps share a bottle of wine while we get to know each other.

Would you take me home after?

Whose home?

Whichever you’d like.

I’d take you back to your house and leave you with a goodnight kiss.

That’s all?

You would like more?

What the hell are you doing? Are you actually flirting with this man? He could be 60 years old and bald! Not that there’s anything wrong with being 60 or bald, but come on. You’re in your 20s. You have to have some limit. You stare at his username. Skyguy81. Maybe 81 is his birth year? So, that would put him at 42. 42 isn’t too bad…

Oh, what the hell. It’s not like you’re actually gonna meet this guy, right?

Well, I might wear something special underneath my dress. Something that I paid for with the money you’ve given me. Wouldn’t you want to see it?

Yes. I would.

What would you do if you took me home?

When you don’t hear back from Sky after thirty minutes, you assume he fell asleep. It is nearly 1 a.m. on a Thursday night. Or is it early Friday morning? Regardless, he probably has work in the morning.

With a rather loud yawn, you decide it’s time for you to go to sleep, too.

Luke and Leia barge into Anakin’s room at 7:30, dressed and ready to go to school while their dad is still fast asleep. He must have slept through his alarm. Luke is poking him in the side and urging him to wake up.

“Alright, I’m up,” he grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Have you two eaten?”

Leia nods. “Eggos and orange juice.”

“I wanted a Toaster Strudel,” Luke says.

“And I told him we don’t have any Toaster Strudels,” replies his twin sister.

“Yes we do! You just didn’t look hard enough.”

Anakin pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels a headache coming on. He didn’t drink last night, so why does he feel hungover? “Ahsoka ate the last one when she was here on Tuesday, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Luke recalls.

“Dad, we’re gonna be late for school if you don’t get out of bed,” Leia says.

Anakin checks the time on his phone. Your message from last night is at the bottom of his notifications. He already has five work emails to answer. His calendar pings with reminders about meetings and his assistant’s retirement party. “Bring your things to the front door. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

In the rush of getting himself dressed, not only does he put on two different pairs of socks but two different pairs of shoes, too. He doesn’t realize this until after he enters the office and Dorothy, attentive as ever, points it out as he’s walking past her desk and into his office.

Dorothy is 74 years old, a widow, and owl fanatic. She has been Anakin’s assistant since he started the company 20 years ago. “Did you get dressed in the dark, Mr. Skywalker?”

Even after two decades of Anakin’s insistence on calling him by his first name, Dorothy continues to defy him. “I overslept,” Anakin answers. “I was rushing to get ready because you know how Leia gets when she’s late to anything.”

Dorothy nods. “Yes, she is the most punctual 9 year old I know. I presume you did not eat breakfast.”

“No, I didn’t.” Anakin opens his emails.

“Why don’t I get you an egg sandwich from Dexter’s after I retrieve a matching pair to one of your shoes.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Anakin cracks a smile. Dorothy has always been two steps ahead of Anakin. She’s been somewhat of a mother figure to him over the years. She believed in him when no one else did. How many people are going to put their faith in a cocky 22 year old with wild engineering innovations? Dorothy was there when his wife passed away and nannied the twins off and on for a few years while Anakin regained his bearings. His heart contracts. He is truly going to miss her. “Do you have to retire, Dorothy?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dorothy replies with a bittersweet smile. “You will be just fine. And I trust my successor will attend to your needs just as well as I have. I picked her myself. I know exactly what you need in an assistant, Mr. Skywalker.”

Did Dorothy just wink at Anakin before leaving his office? What the hell does she have up her sleeve?

Gold and brown leaves dance across the concrete in the courtyard of Skywalker Enterprises. The autumn air bites at your cheeks and you’re thankful you decided to wear a beanie along with your plaid pea coat.

You notice Dorothy’s silver hair before the rest of her as she walks toward you with two cups of something hot in her hands. “Good morning, Y/N.” she hands you the cup.

“Good morning, Dorothy,” you reply with a smile. You lift off the lid to smell the contents. The steam tickles your nose before recognizing the warm spices of Chai. “You remembered my drink order?”

“Of course.” Dorothy sits across from you. “I trust you went over the files I sent you regarding Mr. Skywalker? How are you feeling about the job?”

You take a meager sip of your Chai latte. It’s still too hot to drink. “I read all of them at least three times. He doesn’t seem too high maintenance.”

“Far from it,” Dorothy replies.

“But…” you begin, wondering if you should even mention it.

“What is it, dear?”

“I just find it a little strange that I haven’t met him. I would’ve assumed he’d be part of the hiring process. Isn’t it important we get along?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Anakin gets along with everyone! He’s a charmer,” Dorothy sips on her drink. “He entrusted me with finding a replacement for myself because I know him better than anyone. I know his needs better than he knows them. And you, my dear, have shown you are more than capable to take over. Your references spoke very highly of you.”

Right. Your references— one of which was your best friend who pretended to be a famous influencer who you “assisted” for 2 years after college. The other was a family you nannied for for only 2 weeks while the wife was out of town and the dad thought he could pull off some fantasy of fucking the nanny. The only good thing that came out of it was him telling you he’d give you a stellar reference for your next job. Turns out he wasn’t lying.

“So, I’ll start on Monday? By myself? No shadowing or anything?”

Dorothy nods. “I will officially be retired by 5 p.m. today. After which, Mr. Skywalker is yours.”

Don’t you wish. You’ve seen photos of him in Forbes. It’s an understatement to say he’s handsome. And it would be a lie to say you didn’t apply for the job because of his looks. By some miracle you were chosen out of hundreds of applicants and hired. You’ve signed the papers already. You’re officially on the Skywalker Enterprises payroll. Of course, you’ll be on probation for 90 days but Dorothy seems confident you’ll be a good fit.

Hopefully you will live up to Anakin Skywalker’s expectations.

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◂ series masterlist ▸ chapter two

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x f!reader #anakin skywalker fan fiction #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker imagine #dilf!anakin skywalker #dilf!anakin #dilf anakin skywalker #modern!anakin skywalker #modern anakin skywalker #as fate would have it

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loveindefinitely · 3 months

Text

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

10 — I'D KISS YOU AS THE LIGHTS WENT OUT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

[I HIGHLY RECOMMEND LISTEN TO DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED BY TAYLOR SWIFT FOR THIS CHAPTER FOR THE BEST EXPERIENCE!]

The wraps, as promised, taste heavenly.

“Fuck,” you moan around a mouthful, covering your face’s lower half with your hand. As you chew around the food, then swallow, you move your palm to beam at Gaz, whose chin rests on his fist, split between watching you eat and looking through a notebook.

“Glad I can add you to my list of customers, Sweetheart,” he smiles, skimming through his book, the lamp standing in the corner of the room your only source of light. It’s well past midnight, now, curtains drawn and the lights of the hallway turned off.

“Seriously,” you use a napkin to wipe at the corners of your mouth, “That was like. Orgasmic.”

He huffs a laugh, dropping his notebook on his bed, arms outstretched behind him as he leans back against them, legs spread. You sit at his small desk, the wooden chair uncomfortable underneath you, but durable.

“Your shoulder feeling alright?” He asks, lazily looking over your form, dark features soft in the dim light. He looks like sin incarnate, and you feel as helpless as a moth to a flame.

Rotating your shoulder a bit, you shrug. “Hardly feel a thing. Get used to the pain, after a while.”

He hums, before moving to stand, heading to his wardrobe and looking through it. Having changed out of his uniform, he now adorns a faded green shirt and deep grey sweats, not unlike your own.

“Looking for Narnia?” You taunt, making sure that the desk is free of crumbs as you stand, moving over to stand behind him. “Think pushing you in could help?”

Moving back, you regret your words as you see the instrument in his hands.

“You…” You swallow. “You play guitar?” Looking to him, entranced by the tendons in his hands, the intricate wood of the acoustic in his gentle grip. The pick hanging from the chain around his neck makes sense, now.

If his cheeky grin is breathtaking in the light of day, it’s deathly stunning in the darkness of night.

“Yeah. I play guitar,” he mocks, giving back what you gave. With a jerk of his head, he encourages you to sit beside him on his bed, which you do quickly.

“Playing and being good at are very different things,” you retort, but you find the usual energy in your words is lacking. You don’t entirely believe them, not with the way you’re watching his hands, the way he so carefully holds the instrument. The way he had so carefully held you.

Positioning the guitar to be played, he leans his head back, looking to the roof with a soft hum, contemplating. Folding your legs beneath yourself, you watch him with lidded eyes as he starts to slowly strum unmatched notes. Gathering a feel for his rhythm, the weight of the guitar in his hands, the tempo playing in his head.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he warns, shooting you a knowing look as he starts to hum along to a broken tune. “I’m not known for my singing.”

Your chuckle is a light, airy thing. “If I know the song, maybe I’ll join in,” you shrug, body loose where you sit.

The lighting, the smell of boy in his room, that masculine scent you can’t quite place, and the heat of his body, it’s all a concoction for comfort. You feel oddly safe, protected, like you belong, maybe, if such a thing is possible for someone like you.

Clearing his throat, Gaz gets comfortable, starting to build a rhythm where he strums his calloused fingers against the strings, his other hand moving around the neck with practised ease.

I loved you in secret

First sight, we loved without reason

Oh, twenty-five years old

Oh, how were you to know?

You feel trapped, almost, fully encompassed by the beauty of his skill, the beauty of his voice – the beauty of him. His hair looks suddenly too pullable, like it exists purely for you to grip onto and hold against your aching body.

When was the last time you’d done anything close to romantic? Sexual?

Being with Graves was like using your own hand. Maybe worse, on a bad day, and it had rarely been a pleasurable experience.

Right here, with Gaz softly playing the guitar, dim light haloed around him, voice velvet against burning hot coal, feels closer to freedom than sex with your Commander ever had.

An angel.

Kyle Garrick looks like an angel.

All smooth skin and dimples, light freckles and saccharine smiles. The light smell of citrus and cleanliness, honey and mildew. With the lamp where it is, it colours the tips of his curls, highlights the depth of his face, the chocolate of his stunning eyes.

Like a punch to your gut, you realise the effect this man has on you.

In a way no one else – not before leaving Graves – ever has.

And darling, you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis

People started talking, putting us through our paces

I knew there was no one in the world that could take it

I had a bad feeling

Focused on his hands, the placement, the speed – Gaz doesn’t notice the way you watch him. How you hang onto his every movement, the indent his teeth leave on his lower lip, the dip of his brow, the slope of his nose.

If only you could preserve this moment in time forever.

Where nothing mattered, but you and him. There was no impending doom in the form of Phillip Graves, no distrust in the eyes of Ghost, no haunting spectre from your past.

Just you and Gaz and his music.

Your heart aches with the bittersweet of it all. How nothing would be normal, not after the past few days. But maybe now, just for one night, you could pretend to be normal. Pretend that it was just you and a friend spending time together.

Pretend that everything’s okay, and your world as you know it isn’t falling apart at the seams around you.

Pretend that you’re okay.

I’d kiss you as the lights went out

Swaying as the room burned down

I’d hold you as the water rushes in

If I could dance with you again

He feels so close. In every sense of the world. And you yearn and you yearn and you yearn.

For what? For a sense of belonging? Haven’t you always yearned for that – desperate to hide the loneliness in your chest and replace it with bravado? Pretend that your baggage is simply a crate locked and stored away forever?

The beat in your chest, matching the beat of the song, Gaz’s skillful fingers against the strings. Oh, how you suddenly wish to be a poet, just to capture the feeling within you with mere words against paper.

What was it like to be loved?

Honestly and deeply – earnest and true. To be held against a chest for the simple feat of existing, that very truth alone enough to be deserving of such a gesture. The very thought sounds so perfect, now, to be cherished in such a pure way. But who could give that to you?

Gaz?

A fool’s hope. A fool’s dream.

Dancing with our hands tied, hands tied

Yeah, we were dancing

Like it was the first time, first time

Yeah, we were dancing

With the final strum of the final note, you understand what being alive is truly like.

The two of you sit in silence, for a moment, and it’s like a hurricane of emotion and need and want crashes into you all at once, leaving you breathless.

As he, at last, looks back up to you, expression almost shy, every word evaporates from your brain. Like a drop of water against a barren desert floor. Gone.

“How’d I do?” He asks, voice breathy and tense and oh.

You feel so, so utterly lost.

Nodding, hand gripping the sheet atop his bed, you wet your bottom lip. “Good. I’m – you’re really good, Kyle.”

His name tastes like dew on your tongue, a blessing to even say the syllables, form the sounds in your mouth. A gift from the gods, a treasure to be varnished and cared for.

Sparkling brown eyes track the movement of your mouth, his own eyes half-lidded and hazy in the low light, and your stomach heats with something you’re not sure you want to place. Something you’re not sure you’re allowed to.

“We should get some sleep,” you find yourself saying, almost on autopilot.

Gaz nods, eyes still transfixed on your mouth, before shaking his head lightly as if to gather his thoughts once more. He gets up, stiff in his movements, carefully putting the guitar away.

“You sure you’re fine sharing a bed?” He asks, ever careful and gentle.

“Yeah,” you say, a breath, “It’s fine. I’m a soldier, I’ve experienced worse.” An attempt of a joke, one that falls flat in the unbreakable tension of the small room. “Do you have a bathroom?”

He jerks a nod. “The four of us get special treatment ‘round here. Ensuite. Help yourself.”

Getting up on shaky legs, you give him a quick smile, before heading in to brush your teeth and splash your face.

When you look in the mirror, you see a version of yourself that makes you wipe at your eyes.

You look. New. Changed. Different. Any multitude of words to say that you aren’t the same woman that you were days ago. Not the same woman you were under Graves’ leadership, and certainly not the same woman that you were under Shepherd’s training.

If only she could see herself now.

Using the hand towel to wipe off the water, you allow yourself a moment to expel the air from your lungs, and inhale deeply.

Shutting the door behind you with a soft creak, you find the lamp to be turned off, the only light coming from Gaz’s phone as he scrolls through it, laying on his side against the wall.

Awkwardly, you find yourself moving to lay down beside him.

“Sorry,” you whisper when you brush against his arm, the narrow design allowing for next-to-no room for either of you.

Squeezing in closer to the wall, he murmurs back, “It’s alright. Just make sure you’re comfortable.”

Silence falls between the two of you as you get yourself situated, managing to not press against the man again. He’s silent, except for a few breaths, as he looks through his phone. As soon as you’re still, however, he shuts it off, plugging it in and leaving it to sit underneath his pillow.

Sleep clings to your eyelids, a taunting thing, but your body still feels the need to move – to release the energy building up within your limbs.

Minutes pass, like the tick of an analog clock.

It’s about ten minutes of silence, before Gaz breaks it with graceful ignorance.

“You feelin’ alright?” He asks, truly meaning the words – and expecting a proper answer. The ruffle of the singular blanket has you focusing on his movements, but he does nothing more than roll over, facing you now.

“It’s,” you nervously look to the roof, the pitch black of the room doing nothing to aid your internal dilemma. “It’s just a bit cold.”

“It is, innit?” Gaz nervously laughs, and his obvious hesitance, surprisingly, has you more comfortable. You, too, roll over, your faces mere centimetres apart. He seems so warm. Even without the ability to see, you can almost feel his eyes searching your face, desperate for answers to questions he doesn’t want to ask.

What is to live, if not to take risks? The only reason you were here, in this very bed right now was because of a risk, right?

His breath fans against your face, and even that small warmth has you leaning in closer to the Sergeant. As he swallows, it’s an audible sound, the slope of his neck bobbing with the movement.

“Can I hold you?” He asks, a gentle thing, and without a word, you curl up against him.

Bulky, trained, masculine arms wrap around your torso, pulling you in close, sharing the warmth of your body with his own. Your face buries against his shoulder, into his neck, and his scent is so him that it has you burrowing in further. His own hands tighten in the fabric of your borrowed shirt, and what a feeling it is.

You can only wish that you never escape the hold of his arms, if only so you don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, without his frame to keep you upright.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear as he speaks. His hands move in circles, a kind motion, and you melt against him.

His thigh slides between your own, an unexpected motion, and you barely conceal a whimper as it slides against your clothed pussy. The sweats do nothing to conceal the heat, the ache you feel between your legs, and the sudden presence of him has you freezing up.

Without a word, he just lets it rest there, continuing to rub soothing circles on your back.

Your lips fall open, spit-slicken, and your nails bite into his back as he leans in closer, pushing his thigh in closer to your core.

Your breaths become shared in the small space between you two, harried and genuine in the sudden intensity between you both.

“Sergeant,” you breathe, brows furrowed, mouth open as he leans in closer, hands slowly moving from your back, trailing down to your hips, pulling you forward against his thigh.

It's quiet, for a moment, a gentle pause in the current rushing between you both. His hand smoothes over your cheek, cautious and adoring, a reassurance more than anything.

Your eyes flutter shut.

“Colonel,” he returns, and presses his lips against yours.

His mouth moves against your own, sensual and slow, easing in the way he darts his tongue over your lips, meeting your tongue. He tastes like the sweetest of candies, a forbidden fruit’s nectar. Hand moving from your cheek to your neck, he pulls you in closer, turning his head to devour you against his pillow.

A moan slips from you, drowned out by his being melding with your own as he grinds his thigh higher, a perfect pleasure shooting up your spine at the movement.

Thoughts are a difficult thing, at the moment, a rare commodity. When your brain comes back online, you’re sure to hold some regret – but now? With his soft lips on yours, his grip on your neck, the bulk of his thigh? Regret is the last thing on your mind.

When he breaks away, finally, to breathe, a soft sigh escapes his plush mouth.

“Is this okay?” He asks, the words asked in a whisper against the corner of your mouth as he presses gentle kisses along your cheek, the crease of your eye. “Please, love, tell me.”

Your exhale is shaky, but you nod, meeting his lips with a turn of your head. A quick, reassuring exchange.

“Yeah,” you chuckle lightly, thighs squeezing around his, tits pressed against his own flat chest, “This is okay, Kyle.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he gasps, a devotion, before moving to straddle you, hands falling into your hair like a lifeline as he ravages your mouth once more. Small nips to your lips, a tongue searching your own, his pelvis pressed tightly against your soaking pussy.

“Fuck,” you whimper, turning your head to breathe as he moves one hand to slowly follow your frame, brushing your collarbones, tugging at the fabric of your shirt. Your nipples feel unbearably tight, achey, and you’re desperate for his touch.

“Can I take this off, love?” He asks – a plea, really. “Let me see your pretty tits.”

You’re nodding, frantic, as he pulls the shirt over your head, helping you sit up a bit to take it off entirely, throwing it to the floor with little care.

His hands are warm against your cold chest, careful as they first graze your tits, both of you letting out tense breaths as he cradles them in his hands, feeling out the weight of them, entranced. The heel of his palm presses against your nipples, and you let out a small cry as he rubs them in those circles he loves so much.

“Shh, Sweetheart,” he whispers, noting your noises. “I’ll take good care of ya. Y’know I will.”

Your eyes shut as he leans in, licking a stripe across the expanse of your breasts, using one hand to squeeze while he uses his mouth to treat your most needy spots.

Hand moving to rest at the nape of his neck, you form a tight fist in his hair, pulling him in closer to your body. He lets out a low hum, the vibration of the sound sending sparks shooting behind your eyelids as he toys with your nipples, meticulous.

“Sergeant,” you whine, breathless, wanting, “Sergeant, please.”

He moves away from worshipping your tits to meet your lips, licking into your mouth with the energy and fervour of a virgin. The brush of your naked chest against his clothed torso has you aching.

“Colonel,” he challenges, tugging at your lower lip with his teeth, drawing a drop of blood, “Let me lick your pussy, love, c’mon. I’ll kiss ‘er real nice.”

You’re helpless to do anything but nod.

With one hand, he undoes the tie of your sweats, pulling down the pants as he goes. Lifting your legs with ease, he takes them off all the way, chucking it over the edge of the bed to join your shirt.

His hands rub soothingly over your bare skin, slowly moving upwards on his knees until he meets your thighs. Leaning down, like a beggar at an altar, he starts to leave open-mouthed kisses on the skin near your pulsing heat, sucking on the unseen area and leaving behind marks. His hands hold onto your hips like they’ll provide him mercy.

Both hands in his hair, lightly pulling, you start to grind against his face when he starts leaving kisses around your folds, fingers leaving imprints with the viciousness of his grasp around your hips.

Your mind feels numb, no goals, no thoughts, other than that of pleasure.

The first lick against your pussy has a desperate whimper bubbling out of you, nails scraping against his scalp as he flicks his tongue over your swollen clit. There’s a viciousness to it, one that he embraces, his teeth softly grazing your tender bud as he caresses you.

“Oh,” you moan, head flung back, mouth fallen open as you grind against his giving mouth. “Fuck. Please. Feels so good.”

He pulls away, just far enough back so his lips brush against your core as he whispers, “Gotta stay quiet, love, yeah?” Smoothing his hand over your stomach, pressing you down further into his bed, you clasp one hand over your mouth.

Smirking against your thigh, he praises, “Atta girl.”

Your lower stomach burns with need, and you feel electricity line your veins as he savours your taste, keeping you pinned to the mattress with his calloused hand. He’s passionate about it, laving over your pussy with precise strokes. Your thighs squeeze around his head, and in response, he only lets out a long, drawn-out moan, muffled by your body.

His finger moves to rub at your entrance, rubbing softly around it, before slowly thrusting his index finger in.

Swallowing a whine, you pull him in closer, your stomach tightening as he pushes in a second finger. He’s good with it – knows where to touch, how deep, the movements. Practised and skillful in his strokes – a musician, through and through.

“God, Kyle, you’re doing so good,” you mumble, hair splayed on the pillow beneath you as you rut against him, using him for your own gain. It feels perfect, the way he’s putting your pleasure over anything else.

So unlike any other man you’ve been with.

“If I could spend my days with you sitting on my face,” Gaz admires, leaning back, heaving deep breaths, continuing to lazily finger you as your grip loosens in his hair, “I’d do it in a heartbeat, Colonel.”

“Don’t stop calling me that,” you order, tightening your grip once more and pulling him back. He goes without a word, energy increasing tenfold, two fingers turning into three. He goes at it like a man starved, and the noises that leave your lips are nothing but sex-addled.

He tries to reply, but it’s muffled as he continues to eat you out, relentless in his devotion to the act.

Hand softly moving from your stomach, he outstretches it, searching for your own hand with small squeezes. When you shakily meet it with your own, he intertwines them, pushing them to the mattress with strength and determination. With every thrust of his other hand, or lick of his tongue, he tightens his grip.

You find your core tightening, your release coming up quick as he plays you like the instrument now lying in his wardrobe. The pure darkness of the room only aids the sensuality of it all, the air existing between just the two of you.

Any thought of right and wrong feel nothing but unnecessary, now, and utterly pointless. What's the purpose of worrying about the morality of it all, when you're both consenting and wanting and ready? When it feels so fucking good to have him servicing you between your legs?

If only you could see him, the beauty of his pussy-drunk face, the glisten of you on the stubble of his chin.

“I'm close, Sergeant, fuck,” you gasp, gyrating your hips against him, his nose bumping your clit where he licks in your entrance.

He doubles his efforts, fingering and savouring and worshipping.

Your release comes when he broadly licks over your clit, fingers pressing against just the right spot inside of you, his moan a small vibration against your sensitive bud. Keening, hand coming up to slam over your mouth, a tear drops from your clenched eyes as you ride out the aftershocks.

Allowing you to use him for the last few moments of pleasure, he doesn’t untwine your hands, but he does stop fingering you to rub at your thigh in reassuring circles.

When your hips start stuttering, your keens turning into overstimulated whimpers, he slowly moves away, licking over the essence coating his mouth and lower face. His hand still remains in your own as he leans in, opening your mouth with languid strokes and smooth kisses. You arch into it, breasts pressing against his still clothed chest.

Breaking away from the embrace, thumb stroking over your inner wrist, he brings up his slicken hand.

“Gotta clean up your mess, love,” he gently encourages, opening your jaw with a soft grip of your chin, before slowly dragging his fingers over your waiting tongue. His breath brushes your cheek as he explores your mouth.

“Sergeant,” you mumble around the intrusion, eyes blissfully shut, “Need to make you feel good too.”

He freezes, a moment, a barely noticeable thing. “Makin’ you feel good got me off. Don’t worry, Colonel – next time.”

Now it’s your turn to freeze as he extracts his fingers, wiping them off on his own shirt. “Next time? I,” you swallow, “What is this, even? What are we doing?”

Reality and consequences and everything hit you all at once, your chest tightening even in the afterglow of your orgasm.

He furrows his brows, untwining his fingers from yours and rubbing soothing patterns over your hand, his other carefully pulling back your messy hair behind your ears. “We can’t tell the guys,” he admonishes, slowing his movements as he realises. “We can’t – they’ll crucify us both, and –”

“And?” You ask as he trails off, your brows matching his, now, as he rolls to his side, pulling your back to his chest. He rubs at your waist, your hips, lips pressed to the back of your neck.

“Nothing,” he’s quick to amend, “Don’t worry about it. Just… focus on the feeling. Gonna be a shit show, the next couple of days. Lay with me, get some rest.”

You hum, non-committal. Relaxing further against him, his head resting in the crook of your neck, your breaths come out slow and calm. “You and Price,” you start, a niggling in the back of your mind that yearns for information causing you to speak the words. “The two of you – you’re different.”

He halts his movements, head slowly moving back from your neck. “What – what do you mean?”

Hand searching behind you, you pull him back in, his head burrowing further against your shoulder, your skin. You try and think of the best way to put it, the comfortable silence helping you gather your thoughts as you do.

“You’re… You like him, don’t you?”

Gaz’s responding laugh is grating, a choked off thing, a sad one. Your heart sinks to your feet, his body suddenly stiff against your own.

“No. I don’t like my Cap,” he huffs, indignant. Like it’s the craziest thing you’ve ever said, and not something based on quiet observation.

“You’re sure? Or is it just that you think he doesn’t like you?”

He pauses. Stilling, but processing your words for what they are. His response is a sceptic, “Like is a juvenile idea, anyways, Sweetheart.”

“I like you,” you admit, words soft as they leave your mouth, kind. Genuine.

“If it was that simple, everyone would be too busy getting with everyone they liked to live,” he admonishes, just as soft, as respectful. He’s so introspective – the most underestimated of the 141, but the most receptive. Understanding and watchful.

“It can be that simple. Sometimes.”

“Didn’t realise you were a dreamer, Colonel.”

“What else combats the nightmares?”

Silence. Your most common enemy and foe, fills in the blanks between you both. He holds you against him tight, now, like you’re an anchor, and he’s a yacht in the stormiest of seas.

“We can’t tell ‘em,” Gaz states after the silence takes hold for minutes on end. “We’re dead if we do – can’t let ‘em figure it out, either.”

“It was just a lapse in judgement,” you say, not believing the words as they fall from your lips. Hate yourself for saying them. “No one has to know. I’ll be out of your hair after this is all done with, anyways.”

He doesn’t respond to that. Not for a long while.

It’s only when you’re a single step away from sleep that he does.

“I really hope that’s another lie, Sweetheart.”

“Gaz, Sweetheart – get yer arses up, Laswell got more intel!”

You groan, lazily rolling onto your back, body burning hot from your bedmate’s clinging form. His arms hand around your waist, his entire being pressed against you, snoring softly where his chin rests atop your head.

Wiping at the sleep from your eyes, bleary and tired, you groan when Gaz just squeezes you tighter, pressing his face to your bed-hair.

That same voice calls from outside the door once more, loud knocking following his Scottish lilt.

“Aye swear to god, if either of ye are naked or I see jizz–”

“We’re up! We’re up!” You call out, cheeks heating from how on the nose his joking goad is. “Give us a minute!”

“Hurry up, Sweetheart, or aye will carry ye out over my bloody shoulder.”

Gaz yelps when you scramble out of bed and pull the covers clean off, uncaring of your naked frame as you hop on one leg to tug on the spare sweatpants from last night.

He shoves a pillow over his eyes as you rip open the window’s curtains, allowing the late morning light to filter in as you tug on your shirt. His sweatpants hang loosely around you, and you tie them off with one hand while the other pulls at his arm.

“Gaz – get up!” You hiss as he tries to hit your arm away, you dodging every half-hearted swing with ease. “Unless you want Soap to come in and –”

“Fuck, woman, I’m up!” He instantly acquiesces, sitting as soon as the name Soap leaves your mouth.

You try to hide your smirk, but you obviously fail miserably, as a moment later a pillow is flung into your face. Hands on your hips, you raise a brow, glaring at the man rubbing his palms over his eyes.

Moving to the door, you open it, focusing entirely on not looking like the cat who got the cream.

Technically speaking, Gaz fit that description more accurately, but you weren’t about to get into the logistics. Not when Soap looks at you, then over your shoulder, then back at you. You swallow.

“Mornin’, Sleepin’ Beauty,” he winks, and you barely suppress a groan. He pulls you in with an elbow around your neck, rubbing at your bed hair with a chuckle. “Or is Rapunzel more fittin’?”

“If she’s Rapunzel, you’re the bloody chameleon, you twat!” Gaz calls from further in the room, walking over to join the two of you while latching his watch around his wrist. It’s silver – not too over the top, but good quality, too.

Your cheeks ache with the smile stretching your face, following as Soap swings his elbow around yours, and Gaz follows behind with a hand on your lower back.

“What kinda intel?” You ask around a giggle, and you realise your mistake as the mood sours almost immediately.

Soap nervously darts his eyes to the surrounding hallway, as if the metal will provide him answers. They don’t.

“Soap?” Gaz, too, asks, hand moving to between your shoulder blades in a comforting gesture.

His blue eyes meet yours. Guilty, almost, pitiful. As if he knows the next statement will ruin your fantastic mood, the jovial air between the three of you.

When he says it, he does so with a firm expression.

“We got intel on Shadow Company – and where to find the deal Graves made with Shepherd.”

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hoakaikapo · 4 months

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wanna be yours - clarisse la rue x fem! child of athena oc

A/N: this is a rush draft. i’m tired. just take it as it is. i mentally can’t fix it right now because i need sleep. also, this might be multiple parts but idk yet. okay goodnight!

warnings: implied mention of sex, kissing, fighting, teasing, uh i can’t think of anything else, but lmk if i missed any please!!

_______

It was a mutual understanding between you and Clarisse, one that neither of you spoke about. Why should anything be said when you both were tangled up in hot kisses, hands roaming throughout each other’s bodies like lost explorers whenever you saw each other. There was hardly any room for talking in your guys’ heated exchanges, and even if there was room for talking, neither of you knew how to bring it up.

However, you figured maybe something should be said sooner than later. Clarisse was starting to become more frequent with her midnight visits to your cabin, more jealous whenever someone flirted with you, more riskier in public.

In fact, just a few days ago, one of her half-siblings almost caught you two making out in her bed in broad daylight. You took it seriously, honoring the understanding you two had, whereas Clarisse muttered careless statements about being caught as she kissed your lips again.

You figured there was something there now. You had always sensed it between the stolen glances, the slight finger touches when Clarisse walked past you, the way your body simply melted into hers. The unspoken attraction was there. Maybe it was real. You could only hope it was.

A part of you started to hate running and sneaking around just to keep this “relationship” - your secret affair - a secret. But, you would tell yourself otherwise, because you never knew what was truly going on inside that beautiful head of hers.

———

Capture the flag was one of those games that you couldn’t stand to miss out on. The intensity, the atmosphere, the energy between all players. You loved the game, especially since it involved strategizing.

You lay low among the tall grass of the forest, eyes scanning your surroundings, ears listening for any sounds, the grip on your dagger was tight. Your breathing was steady, almost quiet, because you were afraid that someone could hear it.

A twig branch snaps. You bring your dagger closer to your chest, waiting to attack whoever was incoming. Your breath hitches once you noticed the red plumes emerge from behind the trees.

Stay low, be ready, attack when they’re near. That’s how you rolled.

Once they were close enough, you lunged first, making sure to tackle your opponent to the ground. However, it’s a battle of brute strength. Your opponent was resistant, determined to not lose this sort of wrestling match going on between you two.

As you’re both rolling back and forth on the ground, you feel your opponent grab your dagger and toss it somewhere out of your reach. They shift their body weight so that they’re on top of you on the ground, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. You squirm, trying to slip out of their grip, but it’s tight and firm on you.

“You know, for a child of Athena, I was expecting a bit more of a challenge,” a husky yet familiar voice said. You could recognize that egoistic tone anywhere.

Clarisse removes her helmet, still keeping one hand on your wrists, her curls perfectly intact as if you guys didn’t just spend almost five minutes wrestling each other. She looked down and a sly smug came across her face once she realized you were the one beneath her.

“Well, hello, angel,” Clarisse says, bringing her face closer to yours. “Been avoiding me much? Haven’t seen you in this position in a while.”

You scoff. “As if I have ever been beneath you.”

“You were last week Saturday,” the Ares girl reminds you. You bite your lip, knowing it’s the truth.

An evil look is in her eyes as she guides them down your body. You feel her gaze on you, admiring you in this position. Her face mere inches away from yours once she made eye contact with you again. Clarisse’s free hand has moved to your waist, causing you to gasp slightly at the touch.

Every part in your body began to crave her, craving her lips on yours, craving her hands on your body, craving her. Your body is practically screaming for her. You could tell she felt it too. The glint in her eyes was all too familiar to you.

As Clairsse’s face slowly leans into yours, the grip on your hands begin to loosen, allowing you to slip out from under them. She’s nervous, it seems, as she hesitantly licked her lips. You wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her closer, her lips lightly grazing yours-

Your brain stops you from kissing her. In fact, it reminds you that you still have a game to win - and as much as you want to kiss the Ares girl, winning came first. Surely, she’d understand that.

You use your weight against hers, pushing her off of you and slamming her onto the ground with you now on top. The look on Clarisse’s face showed surprise before it turned into frustration.

Clarisse got teased badly by you. But, you teased yourself as well.

After grabbing two blue bands from your pocket, you tied one around each of her wrists, now implying that she was a prisoner of your team.

“Got you, La Rue,” you cheekily say, hovering your lips over hers once again.

———

Clarisse was pissed at you, maybe a bit beyond that.

The entire time at dinner, all she could do was glare at you. One of your half-siblings noticed and stated that if looks could kill, you would’ve been dead the moment you walked into the mess hall. You shook it off, pretending that the Ares girl was just mad that she was taken prisoner for the first time ever, but you knew it wasn’t entirely that.

A part of you felt guilty. Actually, no, you as a whole felt guilty for playing Clarisse like that earlier. As much as you loved your win later on, you also wanted Clarisse in that moment. If you were able to have both, you would’ve.

Later on that night, you waited outside the Ares cabin, making sure to stay hidden in case Chiron was doing rounds tonight. You sat for what seemed like forever until Clarisse finally came out.

You wasted no time. You grabbed her hand and pulled her to the side, instantly pressing a quick kiss on her lips which caught her off guard.

Clarisse’s eyes were wide in shock, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“I’m sorry, Clarisse,” you apologized, a hint of nervousness in your tone as you weren’t sure how she was going to react. “I-I shouldn’t have done that to you. It was rude, and I want you to know that… I really wanted to kiss you too, but then I reminded myself that we were in the game and I didn’t want to lose. So, I made that stupid decision, and I’m so sorry-“

Clarisse smashed her lips onto yours, causing you to stumble a little bit.

“You think too much. No wonder you’re Athena’s daughter,” she mumbled between your lips before pulling you back in.

It was like a million fireworks being set off at once. That burning feeling of desire in both of your chests was now gone. Clarisse’s hands made her way down to your waist and she held you firmly, as if she never wanted to let you go. You felt your body melt into her touch, wrapping your arms around her neck to pull you closer, even though the space between you two was already minimal enough.

You pulled apart from each other, both out of breath. Clarisse looks at you and smiles before pulling you into a warm embrace.

Despite her rough, aggressive, almost murderous side to her, Clarisse was sweet, gentle, and actually super affectionate.

This side of her was only reserved for you, and you quite liked it that way.

“Tease me like that ever again, and I’ll make sure you taste my blade,” Clarisse mutters into your ear before placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Put a single scratch and I’ll make sure that you’ll never get to see me again,” you whisper in a serious tone. “I mean it, Clarisse.”

Clarisse nods her head. You find it cute that she almost always agrees to everything you say, as if she’s a puppy.

The sound of Chiron’s hooves could be heard just around the corner. As much as you two wish you could have this moment together for just a little longer, dish and stall duty didn’t sound pleasant to either of you.

Clarisse pulls you in for another quick kiss, both on your lips and your hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow, angel.”

#clarisse la rue #clarisse x reader #clarisse pjo #pjo series #pjo x reader #percy jackson

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go6jo · 8 months

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(one can only truly feel with their eyes closed) s.gojo

it’s three in the morning and satoru is standing outside your bedroom door, pinching his bottom lip in between his fingers while anxiously awaiting your arrival. you should’ve been back before midnight and there is something unfamiliar stirring inside him, something that is rendering him restless. there is a heavy lump on his throat that is making it hard to swallow and he can feel himself starting to feel sick.

satoru was born bearing the curse of atlas, the world weighing a little too heavy on his shoulders ever since he was little. the body of a child is a frail one and satoru had been too scrawny at the time, bones too fragile to handle all of that weight by himself. he’d fallen on his knees one too many times and had struggled to stand up on his own until he had grown to become something akin to a god, one who barely even knew fear.

satoru reaches for the phone in the pocket of his sweatpants, waiting for something, a call, a text even - anything to let him know that you’re okay.

however, his head is quick to turn at the sound of heavy footsteps echoing throughout the entire floor when he catches sight of your silhouette emerging from the shadows on the other end of the poorly lit hall. he feels his heart cave in on his chest for you, eyes softening and full of compassion when he notices the sole of your feet dragging laboriously against the floor, weary and sore after being away for so long and having just traveled all the way back here, back to him.

ten days to be precise. that's how long you’ve been gone. and when you manage to make your way along the seemingly endless corridor, so very tired from your lengthy mission overseas, satoru can visibly see your body cease its fight against gravity as you let yourself collapse into him. he is so quick to guide your arms that had fallen limp by your sides to wrap themselves around him, pulling you closer, craving the proximity after having longed for your touch every day for the past week and a half. he follows it by looping his stronger ones around you, offering you the stability you need, holding you and welcoming you back with a quiet good girl whispered to the crown of your head.

in the quietude of the moment, while trying to recover from the fretful state he had induced himself into, satoru realizes now that fear has become a constant in his life.

“you’re late” he threads his fingers through your hair, soothing away your fatigue though he thinks he might have just lulled you to sleep because you’re standing so still, breathing so softly. at your lack of response, his hand cups the back of your head tilting it upwards and your lips begin to part, ready to protest but it’s only then, when you meet his gaze, that you become aware of the distress graven on his handsome features, brows furrowed and bottom lip swollen with the indents of his remaining anxiety, teeth merciless as they tried to chew away the nerves in his system.

satoru is always so good at hiding his feelings. he might’ve been terrified out of his mind, but hardly anything gives it away. his voice never wavers when he speaks and his hands have such a steady grip on you that his inner turmoil would’ve almost gone undetected. almost. because concern is so easily discernible in his eyes - his eyes are so honest, as honest as satoru gets. they have always let on more than his words — they’re his biggest strength and yet his biggest weakness, his blindfold keeping any vulnerability from seeping through.

“i know but i'm here” you close your eyes when his thumb rubs the spot between your eyebrows “my flight got delayed and i didn’t wanna wake you up with a phone call”

“i wasn’t sleeping” not until i know you’re safe.

“i’m alright, satoru. im here” you two speak in whispers like two kids sharing a secret, your voice barely audible as you lean your cheek against his chest, a hand rubbing circles over his heart.

a placid wave of silence envelops the two of you in its calm embrace as you take your time to touch, to grab and to squeeze — to let your hands get acquainted with each other’s skin again — you swear you feel him shiver against you, when you caress the skin behind his ear, where you know it’s sensitive.

“let’s get inside, baby.”

you nod against his chest and squeeze him in your arms one last time before you pull away to unlock your bedroom door. you lace your fingers together with his and pull him along, dropping your luggage somewhere in a corner and not even bothering to turn on the lights instead guiding him towards the bed that you’ve shared during so many other nights before — so eager to be cradled in his arms, to drift off in the warmth of his presence. but when satoru drops his head to your shoulder from behind, you halt all movements, stopping in your tracks.

he doesn’t say a word, just moves the palm of his hand gingerly up the skin of your exposed arm, only stopping where the strap of your dress sits on your body, gripping the fabric in his fist, begging to see you, whole. to make sure there is not some invisible force holding you together and that you won't fall apart under his fingers. he still touches you so carefully as if you will.

for a long time now, satoru has worried that the eyes he has relied on throughout his entire life might fail him sooner rather than later. reality can be deceiving and he has grown to harbor a certain skepticism towards it. after all, his best friend had met his demise at his own two hands, had taken his last breath in his arms, however, that unfaithful day in shibuya there he stood, intact - alive. satoru is now imbedded with a constant feeling of uncertainty, doubting what otherwise he would’ve believed to be the undeniable truth.

you lift your hand to rest over his, loosening the grip he has on the fabric of your garment before you slide both straps off your shoulders, letting your dress fall to the ground and revealing your partially nude body to satoru’s prying gaze. he closes his eyes with a sigh that makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise in anticipation. he brushes a few strands away before he presses a kiss to the mound of your neck where your spine protrudes your flesh, where your skin is most tender and delicate, feeling the subtle bumps of your skin against his lips — the way your body reacts to him proof that you’re not just some hallucination. that you’re here. that you’re alive and well.

he figures he is so much more in tune with his surroundings whenever he’s not looking. his eyes are closed shut yet the way you shudder under him when he runs the tip of his finger up the curve of your spine, the little sounds you make, the gasp that unintentionally escapes your lips when he lays the most gentle of kisses on the shell of your ear — he’d know you anywhere, even with his eyes closed. he knows the way you feel, the way you sound, the way you smell. even blind, his other four senses would still lead him to you.

he touches you until your skin starts feeling feverish under his fingers, wishes you’d just melt into him and would fill in every crevice in his body until he’s so completely covered in you he can barely breathe. and when he needs more, he carries you to bed in his arms then lies you down in the white linen sheets. he reaches for the back of his shirt and tugs it off before taking the spot next to you, yearning for the feeling of his skin against yours.

he kisses your collarbone, left then right, worshiping you whole, paying equal attention to every part of your body, then dips lower to kiss over your sternum. he loves on the freshly inflicted wounds on your skin then proceeds to run his tongue over the newly healed scar that runs diagonally on the flesh of your stomach — your taste, that, too, he has memorized by heart.

“i always come back looking worse than when i left” and it's supposed to be a lighthearted joke because you're smiling and your tone is somewhat playful but it makes satoru wonder if you think he loves you any less because of it.

sometimes it’s hard baring yourself to satoru like this, he knows it. your scar ridden body a striking contrast to his almost pristine, untouched one. however, it’s on nights like this one where you feel closest to him, laying bare your insecurities to him and, in return, he entrusts you with his — more often than not as he impulsively lets them escape his lips in the form of strangled moans against the sweaty skin of your neck, telling you he loves you. don’t ever leave. i don’t know what i’d do if i lost you, too.

“you returned, baby. that’s all that matters.” he utters against your belly then comes to rest on your chest, ear pressed atop your heart.

satoru has grown fond of the sound of your pulse lulling him to sleep, slow and steady. he unwraps his arms from around you, moving his hands up your sides until they settle around your ribs, feeling the way your lungs fill up with air, his head moving up and down, in sync with your heaving chest. he smiles fondly to himself, every heartbeat, every breath you take a reminder of the life flowing inside you.

he looks up, eyes searching for your face after a few minutes have gone by since you stopped playing with his hair. he had wanted to protest but then he takes in the image of you, mouth slightly agape, a subtle frown on your face — an angel lying under him. so fragile, so innocent.

you're sound asleep and satoru is overcome with the intensity of the sheer adoration he feels towards you when he comes to the realization that you had felt so at peace in his arms it had only taken you a couple minutes to doze off. it is as if your body reacts to his presence on its own, telling you that it's okay to let your guard down, that it’s safe around him. to him, there is no bigger privilege than to know his touch brings you such tranquility — that he’s your safe haven.

upon further inspection, however, as his eyes linger on you for a little longer, there’s a cold shiver that makes its way up satoru’s spine when he notices how still you are, barely even moving. apart from the subtle rise and fall of your chest, you’re so inert, so lethargic. so lifeless.

and suddenly it is as if there is not enough oxygen in the room as he finds himself gasping for air, lungs growing heavier by the minute as he starts to drown in mirages of your inanimate body in his arms, hands clammy and fingers digging into the flesh of your ribs instinctively, out of desperation, as if he’s trying to stay afloat.

he calls out your name once, and he would’ve felt bad for waking you up but, right now, he can’t even seem to think straight. he could be so selfish at times still you never resented him for it. so he calls for you again.

you don’t answer at first, his voice too weak to even pull you out of sleep. satoru hoists himself up on the bed, lying sideways next to you, his body looming over yours as he brushes the strands of hair that are sticking to your forehead away from your face — your complexion looks so much paler under the moonlight.

“baby.” he calls in between heavy breaths, eyes frantic searching for something. anything. this time you stir in your sleep, turning around and nuzzling into the crook of his neck as if seeking for the heat of his body on instinct alone. he sighs releasing some of the tension inside him “baby.” though there is still a hint of urgency in his voice.

“im sleepy, satoru” he can barely hear you as you bury yourself deeper into his neck.

“i know, baby. i know” he tries to soothe you, cradling your head closer to him but pulling you away from him just as quick, grabbing your cheeks in between the palms of his hands and gently holding your head up to take a look at you instead. your eyes remain closed, still so heavy with sleep.

“just need you to say my name.” it sounds like a desperate plea.

“satoru.” you barely even manage to mumble as you lean deeper into his touch, lips brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of his hand. moving only on instinct still, too drowsy to even make sense of what is happening, to notice his agony.

“that’s it.” he pecks you on the lips “again.” he is trailing kisses across your cheeks, his breath heavy on your skin when he begs you in a quivering voice “please."

the feeling of his hands shivering against you it’s what gradually rouses you, opening your eyes only to be met with his wide-eyed gaze, pupils fully blown out in the dark, alert with fear.

you know how he gets, it isn’t the first time this happens yet it never fails to alarm you. you’d seen it in his eyes many times before and you’d seen it again earlier tonight, when you arrived, tenuous yet just waiting for the smallest trigger to so easily turn into something out of control.

it's as if he's suddenly put in a trance and nobody can pull him out of it. his hands start wandering everywhere and in a rather frenetic way, feeling around your skin as if he has gone blind. hands fumbling to hold whatever is within their reach, clenching whatever it is you're wearing in his fists, searching for something that you can’t quite understand.

you never know what to say, you can only hold him in hopes it will pass. you hold him and coddle him, whisper words of reassurance in his ear in hopes that you can be as much of a source of comfort to him as he is to you.

he apologizes afterwards, he always does. apologizes for needing you so much that sometimes it drives him close to insanity. then he always whispers a thank you from under his breath, thank you for letting me rely on you, but he barely ever does, only when he so desperately needs it — when it’s him lending others his strength, being relied on, who says thank you to him.

you sit up in bed, extending your hand towards him, waiting for him to take it. you pick him up when he does and you let a hand wrap around the back of his head, guiding him to rest on your shoulder.

“satoru, satoru, satoru.” you whisper against the shell of his ear while stroking his hair. he thinks he could fall sleep right here, like this.

please, lean on me, too.

i got you, you don’t have to be strong all the time.

if you let me, i can be strong for the both of us. satoru thinks he knows what you’re trying to tell him.

“i’ll say it as many times as you need.”

once again, he is so overwhelmed by his profound infatuation that it is as if his love has grown a will of its own, as if it has grown fangs when his teeth sink, unwarranted, into the skin of your shoulder, love wishing to seep itself deep into your bloodstream. “want you whole.”

“so greedy.” you wince quietly, nonchalantly against his snowy hair and he runs the tip of his nose up the side of your neck.

he keeps on nibbling on the tender skin of your jaw, as if he’s hungry and trying to prove a point. that if he so wished to, if he was greedy enough, vile enough, he’d devour you full.

“i'm the greediest, baby” for what is love if not greed. is it not wanting to consume the other person and let yourself be consumed in return? for his entire life, satoru has known nothing but an insatiable hunger. always wanting more, always needing more. gluttonous for more, more, more. in the end, he always managed to get what he wants and he doesn’t hold back, you never asked him to either.

he knows he owns you wholly, that you placed your soul, mind and body fully on the palm of his hand and he doesn’t think he could ever settle for less. doesn’t think his hunger would ever be satiated with less than a handful of you.

he places a trail of kisses that goes down to your shoulder again and he pulls away from your skin with one last kiss to the spot where he left a mark. a mark that is so unlike any other in your body. one that comes from love.

“i'm sorry that i need you so much” he envelops you in the tightest of embraces, touching his heart with yours.

he wishes you understand that he’s apologizing for so many other things, too. he’s sorry that he can’t give himself to you the same way you’ve given yourself to him. you’ve always kept your heart so willingly open to him yet it seems that he only ever allows you a glimpse into the heart inside his chest on nights like this, when fear holds him in it’s strong, relentless grip or when he’s falling apart at the feeling of being inside in you, body panting above yours, too lost in his own pleasure. only then does he allow himself to be vulnerable with you, spilling all of his heart's content into your distracted ears — when he thinks you’re far too gone to listen, to truly acknowledge his feelings — but you treasure every single moment of fragility of his, for they are so scarce, listening attentively even when he thinks you don’t.

“say my name one last time” he breathes against your ear.

here, in these sheets, satoru pretends to forget his name and the burden that inescapably comes with it. he forgets the world needs him and lets himself need you instead, just this once. — just this once, he’ll pretend to be the weak one, the one who needs saving and finds a shelter in your arms.

“satoru…” your words are spoken barely above a whisper, like they’re meant just for him.

“again” he connects his lips with yours and holds the back of your neck with one hand, the other resting on your lower back for support as he dips both of you down onto the mattress.

and you say it. again. and then again. not because he asks you to but because satoru knows how to get what he wants. he pries his name out of your lips as he trails open mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, forces it out of you in the form a laughter as he nibbles on the inside of your thighs, tickling you with his breath and ultimately earns it in moan that you cry as a prayer when he sinks down on the mattress and makes a home in between your legs — until you're chanting his name over and over again, sobbing that you love him, you love him, you love him.

he smiles to himself, does it half smugly, half earnestly. satoru is now twenty eight and his shoulders a little lighter, the world fitting all too perfectly in this queen sized bed.

#tw suggestive #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #.mine #gojo

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hyuckmov · 7 months

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haechan — settle down pt.3 (rockstar hyuck) | preview

wc: 904 words genre: angst, suggestive? | read part 1, part 2 a/n: life is crazy and scary, but this fic and interacting with u guys about it has been a constant and i'm so grateful for that :) motivating myself to keep going by posting this here, this is the opening to part 3 - the final part! let me know what u think!!! thank u for all the love <3

there was something wrong with haechan.

something's different. that's what jeno had said earlier, after the show. exhausted from sleepless nights, screaming fans making him feel nauseous, haechan barely paid attention to anything during his performances except for his own guitar. he hardly looked at the crowd, didn't acknowledge their pleas of his name, as if it wasn't one he recognised at all.

he'd started missing parties, and was barely there even if he showed — ignoring the way girls swarmed around him, wondering if he was playing a new game, one where they had to work harder to earn his attention, one that they never could seem to win.

but out of all of haechan's bad habits, this might be the worst of them – sitting in the living room past midnight, sipping down to the last dregs of his alcohol, waiting for the knock on his door.

it was late now — so late that the hours had bled into the next day. he hadn't seen you at the concert, not at the party, and despite telling himself not to dream, not to hope, he still carried enough desperation in him to stay up again.

he's relieved he did.

his hands shake as he opens the door. his hands falling to his sides as he drinks in the sight of you, letting you in.

"hi," you breathe, and you don't ask before you lean into him, soft lips brushing his plush ones.

he's at a loss for words, his tongue numb in his mouth, limbs still heavy from how tired he'd been all day. he lets you guide him to the couch, into the cushions. lets you straddle his hips, holding your body close to his with careful arms, as he meets your kisses gently.

something's different, but haechan's not the only one who's changed. on nights like these, it feels like all you do is take and take and take.

"i haven't seen you in a while," he murmurs. quietly, softly, the words almost getting lost in between kisses. immediately after he says the words, he slots his lips with yours firmly, as if afraid of what you would say if he let the space between you and him grow, his tongue stroking over yours.

"i've been busy." at the crestfallen look on his face, a small smile tugs at your lips, and you lean in to brush your lips with his. "why? did you miss me?"

"i did," he says, almost timid. "i missed you."

at this, you raise your eyebrows. "you could have had anyone else."

but he shakes his head. "i missed you," he repeats, hands mapping your skin, as if checking if you were really here, seeking the familiar way you fit into his palms, your slopes and your edges.

"i missed you too," you say, meaningfully, letting him pull you in. but when you push against him, body rocking into his and mouth open and wanting, the glow in your eyes tells him you're talking about something else entirely.

his mind races. the feeling of you against him wakes him up like nothing else, the way you touch him, your smell and your taste setting fire to all his senses. there's something sweet about your lips tonight, something he wants to savor on his tongue and drown in all at once.

he doesn't want to waste any of this, because this was the only thing you ever wanted to see him for, now — and that's what he reminds himself as he pulls you into his body, because finally, finally, your attention is all on him, an electric heat simmering over each fibre of his being, the feeling of your body too good to be true.

but it's been one too many nights he's waited, a weight on his chest and a drowsiness he can't shake overcoming him like a cloyingly sweet poison.

"i–" he's cut off by a shuddering inhale as your lips travel down to his neck, your hips grinding against him just right. "baby, i'm sorry," he tries again, his hands now gripping onto your waist, trying to steady you, even as he gives up. "i don't think i can take care of you tonight."

you still.

"don't go, please," he begs. "i'm sorry, it's been…it's been a long day and i…" he breaks off. the performance. the fight with the band. the fact that he'd been drinking for hours, the starless sky inky black outside his window, his fingers still stinging from plucking at guitar strings all night. "just give me a second," he stammers, burying his face in his hands, tugging at his features, before looking up at you with tired eyes. "i'll be fine in a minute, then we'll go to the bedroom, i just —"

your hands slide down the slope of his shoulders.

"don't go," he repeats, hands fumbling for yours as he brings them up to his lips, like a prayer. "i can take care of you, i promise. just…"

"donghyuck," you say, softly. again you smile, cupping his face in your palms. his round cheeks, plush lips, the slight flare of his nose. he almost goes cross-eyed staring at you, as you lean in close and kiss him again – this one different than the rest, close-lipped and chaste.

"hyuck, let me take care of you tonight, okay?"

caught in a riptide of his own longing, he lets go.

#haechan angst #fic: rockstar haechan #haechan smut #haechan x reader #haechan au #nct dream angst #nct dream smut #nct angst

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thedensworld · 7 months

Text

Healing Hues | Jeon Wonwoo

Pairing: Actor!Wonwoo x Professor!Reader (ft. Ex!Joshua)

Genre: Slowburn, angst, fluff, friendship

Synopsis: Exhausted by the monotony of his life as a celebrity, Wonwoo makes a pivotal decision to return to his childhood hometown and embark on a heartwarming project: building a small library named 'Healing Hues.' Little does he know, this journey will lead to a series of unexpected and transformative events.

Author Note: reader is she (don't hate me and my writing preferences:( please) i would love to receive a request. Send me an interesting plot!

Jeon Wonwoo knew deep down that his decision had been impulsive. Packing his belongings and embarking on the drive to Changwon, all on the heels of securing a two-week vacation leave, was hardly a meticulously planned expedition. But sometimes, life calls for a dash of spontaneity. His destination? None other than his father's villa nestled in the heart of his hometown, Uichang-Gu. The key to this haven of cherished memories was handed over by his father himself, a tacit approval of his quest for respite.

Seoul, the city that famously never slept, had held him captive for too long. It had embraced him, and in return, he had embraced its fast-paced, modern rhythm. But as he cast his gaze upon the bustling streets and the neon glow of the city one last time before his departure, he felt an inexplicable yearning for the simplicity of days gone by. It was a yearning that whispered to his soul, beckoning him to escape the whirlwind and find solace in the embrace of his roots.

The decision to seek refuge in Mujeom-ri, the place where his childhood dreams had been nurtured, was driven by this unshakable yearning. The memories were etched in his mind with vivid strokes, a testament to the beauty and tranquility of that place. Mujeom-ri had been his sanctuary, a place where his spirit could roam free, unburdened by the demands of the modern world. It was a slice of heaven on Earth.

Wonwoo had visited his hometown a few times before his family decided to make the permanent move to Seoul. Those visits had been a lifeline, a chance to escape the chaos and rediscover himself in the simplicity of country life. The six-hour drive from Seoul to Mujeom-ri was hardly a hindrance; it was a journey to a world where the forsythia lined the roads, their golden blooms lighting up the night like a string of stars. It was the charming countryside, the antidote to the urban hustle and bustle.

The clock struck midnight as he finally arrived in Mujeom-ri. He hadn't bothered changing out of the outfit from his last promotional event, a testament to the whirlwind of his recent schedule. Stepping into the villa, he was greeted by a scene of warmth and familiarity. The passage of time hadn't been unkind to this place; it had been meticulously cared for by the people his father had entrusted with its upkeep. These twin villas had once been his family's sanctuary, the backdrop to his childhood adventures, before they were transformed into welcoming havens for guests.

Before surrendering to the allure of sleep, Wonwoo made it a point to notify his father of his safe arrival. The weary traveler then retreated to his bedroom, a sense of nostalgia and excitement mingling within him. He was back in Mujeom-ri, his cherished childhood haven, ready to embrace the memories and tranquility it promised. As he lay in bed, the whispers of the past and the promise of new adventures danced in his dreams, setting the stage for an unforgettable journey of rediscovery.

A heavy sigh of relief escaped from his lips, a cathartic release of tension as he lay down. He closed his eyes, a weary smile tugging at his lips as he surrendered to the embrace of slumber. Tomorrow held the promise of wonderful things, and he was eager to seize them. His plan was simple: to get himself a bike and embark on an enjoyable ride through Dong-eup, leaving behind the bustling life he had known in Seoul. The city's relentless pace had worn him down, but here in Mujeom-ri, his hometown, he hoped to rediscover the simple joys he had left behind.

As he shifted in his bed, on the verge of drifting into dreams, a sudden thud shattered the tranquility of the night, jolting him awake. His body tensed, and his heart raced as he scanned the room with a growing sense of unease. Anxiety crept into his thoughts, and he couldn't ignore the feeling of menace that hung in the air like a dark cloud.

"Who are you?" he inquired with a quiver in his voice, his eyes wide with panic. But there was no response, just an eerie silence that deepened his unease. Without hesitation, he rose from his bed and cautiously made his way out of the room, guided only by the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Another thud echoed, this time from outside the house, urging him to hasten toward the source of the sound. The night seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with anticipation, as if the universe itself conspired to create an atmosphere of suspense and mystery.

Flinging open the door, he was greeted by an unexpected sight—a woman gracefully jumping down from a two-meter-high fence. His gasp mingled with her startled exclamation as they found themselves face to face in the moonlit night. The dim light failed to reveal her features clearly, and his glasses did little to aid his vision. Fatigue weighed heavily on his eyelids, further obscuring the woman's identity. All he could muster was a question about her sudden arrival, his voice trembling with curiosity and concern.

"I live next door," the woman explained, pointing to the smaller cottage adjacent to his own. Her voice was as soft as a whisper in the night, and her explanation illuminated the reason behind her unconventional entrance. "The gate was locked, and I thought the housekeeper had something to do with it."

Wonwoo couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt; it had been he who had locked the gate, an oversight driven by his fatigue. He nodded in understanding, concern etched on his face as he inquired about her well-being, knowing that her descent from the fence must have been quite a fall. Assured of her safety, he retreated back into his bedroom, ready to bury his thoughts in slumber once more.

Wonwoo had never been a morning person. Back when he shared a house with Kim Mingyu, his bandmate, they were notorious for missing their alarms, only rousing from their slumber when their manager intervened. Waking up early was an arduous task for Wonwoo, a self-proclaimed night owl. His brain seemed to function at half-speed in the morning sun. Unless there was a morning schedule requiring his presence, he typically awoke in the afternoon, cherishing his days off and contemplating his erratic sleep patterns.

However, today was different. He found himself stirred from his sleep by the unmistakable crowing of roosters, heralding the arrival of a new day. Wonwoo couldn't recall the last time he had woken up with a smile on his face.

As he embarked on his day, he began by making his bed, a simple task that had become a comforting habit from his time living with Mingyu. Unpacking his belongings, he realized the need to stock up on essentials for his two-week stay. He took note of the absence of a nearby gym, a realization that left him pondering the necessity of one in the villas. The thought of driving nearly an hour to the nearest gym was less than appealing. In his mind, he made a mental note to suggest the idea of installing a home gym to his father.

Wonwoo decided to embrace the morning with a run, clad in his workout attire. A bit of cardio seemed like a good idea to invigorate his senses. After lacing up his running shoes, he embarked on a journey through the village that had nurtured his childhood. Memories blossomed like flowers in his mind as he inhaled deeply, savoring the sights of his hometown. Passing by his old elementary school, he couldn't help but notice the renovations that had taken place over the years. Yet, a single red-painted swing held a sweet memory of his childhood crush and the innocent moments they had shared. A fond chuckle escaped him as he reminisced about those bygone days, wondering where that childhood crush might be now. He encountered an older woman he remembered from his youth, an auntie who used to sell fish in the local market. She stood out with her distinctive presence, her husband and son working as fishermen in another district. The memories of her warm smile flooded back, reminding him of the simpler times.

Wonwoo greeted the woman, and to his surprise, she remembered him and even mentioned his father's name. Her kind offer of breakfast was met with a polite decline, as he wished to continue his exploration of the village. She assured him that her daughter would deliver food later and extended an invitation to her home should he need anything. His stroll led him to the field where he had spent countless hours playing football with his friends. Memories of his cheerful and outgoing childhood self surfaced, leaving him pondering how he had changed over the years.

"Jeon Wonwoo?" a familiar voice called out, breaking him from his reverie.

He turned to find Park Giyong, one of his closest childhood friends from elementary and junior high school, standing before him. Even though they had stayed in touch during his visits to his hometown, it had been nearly five years since they had last met. The loss of contact had been due to Wonwoo misplacing his smartphone, and their reunions were usually in Seoul, where Giyong was pursuing his medical degree at Seoul University. However, since Giyong had returned to Mujeom-ri to establish his own clinic, they had drifted apart. Wonwoo's morning jog suddenly became more enjoyable with Giyong's company.

After an hour of reminiscing about old times, Wonwoo returned to his villa. He planned to enjoy a cup of instant coffee he had purchased from a convenience store earlier and dive into one of the several books he had brought along. As he prepared to settle in for his reading session, a woman entered the lawn, holding a pack of food containers.

"My mother sent me to bring you this," she said, referring to the promised meal.

An overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over Wonwoo at the kindness he had already encountered. He thanked the woman and introduced himself. She confessed that she recognized him from their shared school days and even mentioned that she enjoyed watching his dramas. Sometimes, Wonwoo forgot that he was a celebrity.

He learned that her name was Yeonju and expressed his gratitude once again. Out of friendliness, he invited her to join him for breakfast, but she declined, explaining that she had already eaten and had to work as an elementary school teacher at his former school. Wonwoo bid her farewell, promising to return the empty containers to her mother's house later.

Wonwoo's gaze fixated on the smaller cottage next door, memories of the previous night replaying vividly in his mind. "I locked her outside. I haven't formally apologized," he mused, a weight of regret settling in his chest. His attention shifted to the sumptuous spread before him. Should he share?

A flurry of uncertainties raced through his thoughts. "What if she's already eaten? What if this isn't to her taste?" The questions echoed, filling the room with their unresolved tension.

Summoning a resolute breath, he spoke aloud, a determined whisper, "Just try it, Jeon Wonwoo." The words hung in the air, a silent promise to himself. He rose from his seat, each step towards the neighboring door measured and deliberate.

With a hesitant hand, he knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet air. The weight of his actions settled on his shoulders, a mixture of apprehension and hope coursing through his veins. The seconds that followed seemed to stretch into eternity, a suspended moment of anticipation.

The door creaked open just a crack, revealing a woman with disheveled hair and sleep-heavy eyes. Wonwoo could only catch a glimpse of her sleepy visage. He cleared his throat, his voice still heavy with the remnants of sleep.

"Um, good morning," he began, his words stumbling slightly. "I was wondering if you'd like to have breakfast together? I thought it might be a nice way to make up for last night."

She blinked, struggling to process his words through the fog of sleep. After a moment, she seemed to register his request, and she nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

With that agreement, she gently closed the door, leaving Wonwoo in quiet anticipation. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, she emerged, transformed. Her hair was now neatly combed, and her attire, though simple, exuded a fresh and lively air.

Wonwoo couldn't help but admire the remarkable change, his own gratitude and admiration evident in the softness of his gaze. They exchanged a tentative smile, a shared understanding of this simple yet profoundly meaningful gesture. Together, they headed towards the table, the air tinged with a newfound sense of camaraderie.

"A grandmother I know sent this, and I thought it would be good to share with a neighbor," he explained, a gentle warmth in his voice, as they both settled into their seats.

"I'm Wonwoo, Jeon Wonwoo," he offered with a friendly smile, extending his hand in introduction.

"Kang Y/n," she replied, her voice a soft whisper, reciprocating the gesture with a polite bow.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Wonwoo insisted, graciously inviting Y/n to feel at ease.

As they sat across from each other, a delicate dance of courtesy and curiosity filled the air. Wonwoo's gaze lingered on Y/n, captivated by the grace with which she approached her meal. Her movements were deliberate yet unhurried, each bite savored with a quiet appreciation. When she looked up, her perceptive eyes met Wonwoo's, a gentle curiosity in her expression as if she could sense the depth of his observation.

"Is there something on my face?" she asked, her voice carrying a touch of amusement. Her fingers delicately patted her cheeks, checking for any stray crumbs.

Wonwoo couldn't help but chuckle softly, touched by her awareness. "No, nothing at all," he reassured, a warm smile gracing his lips.

"Actually, I was the one who locked the gate last night," Wonwoo confessed as he raised his spoon and dived into his meal.

A faint blush dusted Y/n's cheeks. "Ah, I'm sorry for last night. I lost track of time in library. I must have interrupted your sleep," she said, a hint of regret in her voice.

Wonwoo quickly shook his head. "No, I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't know that someone was occupying the house next door," he explained, his tone earnest.

Y/n hummed in understanding, nodding her head. "I was informed that the owner's son would be joining in a few days. It must be you," she said with a warm smile, reaching for her food.

"It must have been difficult for you... umm... jumping over the fence," Wonwoo added gently, referring to what he had witnessed the night before. Y/n's reaction was immediate, a surprised laugh escaping her lips, only to be followed by a fit of coughing.

Wonwoo, a bit flustered, hurriedly rose and went inside to fetch water. As he stood in his kitchen, he realized he hadn't installed tap water yet. He grabbed the grocery bag he had bought earlier, relieved to find several bottles of mineral water.

Returning to the table, he offered one to Y/n. "Here," he said, his concern evident in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I should have had this ready."

Y/n accepted the water with gratitude, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and appreciation. "Thank you, Wonwoo. You really didn't have to do this."

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his gaze. "It's no trouble at all. I want you to feel comfortable here."

As they settled back into their meal, the atmosphere around them seemed to soften. The initial awkwardness had given way to a shared understanding.

"How long are you going to stay?" Wonwoo wondered aloud, realizing he hadn't given much thought to the duration of his hiatus. He had informed his agency that this would be his longest break since his military service, but how long, exactly? A month? Maybe more?

"I don't know yet, maybe a month or two? How about you? How long have you been staying here?" Wonwoo inquired, genuinely interested in learning more about his newfound companion.

"This is my third week. Maybe two more. I couldn't leave my work for that long," Y/n explained, her laughter dancing lightly in the air. It was clear she was a dedicated professional.

"What do you do?" he inquired, his words punctuated by a bite of food. Wonwoo was aware that talking with one's mouth full wasn't the best habit, but curiosity had gotten the better of him.

"I teach at a university in Seoul," she replied, a hint of hesitation in her voice.

Wonwoo's eyes widened in surprise. "You're a professor?" He asked, admiration lacing his voice. Y/n nodded with a humble smile, the kind that spoke volumes about her character. She wasn't the type to boast about her impressive profession.

"How about you? What do you do?"

As Y/n's question hung in the air, it caused a palpable pause in the conversation. Wonwoo's gaze turned thoughtful, realizing that she hadn't recognized him. This revelation stirred a distinct sense of intrigue within him. After all, he was a familiar face on screens, effortlessly slipping into roles as villains, businessmen, and detectives. Encounters with people who were oblivious to his public persona were indeed rare, and this anomaly struck him as decidedly captivating.

"I..." Wonwoo began, his voice carrying a touch of uncertainty, as though he were carefully navigating unfamiliar territory. "I work in the entertainment industry. Specifically, in the movie industry," he explained, choosing brevity over embellishment. Y/n acknowledged his response with a nod, not pressing for further details.

Yet, this moment of revelation only fueled Wonwoo's curiosity further. It wasn't often he had the opportunity to engage with someone who approached him without the weight of his public image. This unexpected encounter held the promise of unfolding in ways he hadn't anticipated, adding an unexpected layer of depth to their burgeoning connection.

Wonwoo's steady breaths puffed out in white clouds as he slowed to a halt, his jog complete. His phone, nestled snugly in his pocket, hummed with urgency. With a quirked brow, he plucked it out, revealing a call from his ever-busy manager. A hint of amusement danced in his eyes at the thought of what could warrant such a sudden update.

"Hello," he greeted warmly, his voice a soothing balm over the line.

His manager wasted no time, diving into the updates. Wonwoo leaned against a nearby tree, listening intently. It was heartening to hear that the actor's career was still making waves in the industry. But as the conversation swayed, Wonwoo took a moment to share a personal triumph.

"I've been reconnecting with old friends from my hometown," he informed, a touch of nostalgia coloring his words. "It's been a wonderful experience."

Then, a request surfaced in his mind, something he'd been mulling over for a while. "I was thinking... could we make a formal announcement about my hiatus? I have a project in mind—a little library for the kids in the village. It would mean a lot to me."

His manager's voice buzzed with activity. "I'll get in touch with PR. They're swamped, you know how it is. By the way, did you hear about Hong Jisoo? Married and divorced, all in secret. The whole industry's in a frenzy."

Wonwoo nodded, his expression thoughtful. He knew Hong Jisoo, though they'd never shared a scene. Their paths often crossed at award ceremonies, a testament to the longevity of their careers. Marriage, especially early on, wasn't uncommon in their world. Divorce, however, bore its own weight of sorrow.

"Alright, no rush on my end," Wonwoo assured, his tone empathetic. "Thanks for keeping me in the loop. Take care, hyung!"

As the call ended, Wonwoo's gaze swept across the tranquil scenery, the village he held dear. His name danced on the breeze, a familiar voice that turned his head. There stood Giyong, clad in a tracksuit, an image of comfort and familiarity. A genuine smile graced Wonwoo's lips, warmth and respect radiating in his eyes as they met the gaze of the Mr. Doctor.

"Good to see you," Wonwoo greeted, extending a hand in greeting. The stories and connections of their shared hometown were threads that bound them, making this meeting all the more special.

"Have you ever met the woman next door to mine?" Wonwoo inquired, his curiosity piqued after their discussion about the government library miles away from the village.

Giyong's brow arched in thought. "She's still around? I crossed paths with her weeks ago, but I assumed she'd moved on by now," he explained, a hint of surprise in his tone. "Seems like she keeps to herself."

Wonwoo nodded in understanding, absorbing Giyong's words. The quiet presence of the neighbor next door suddenly held a touch more intrigue.

"About the library, come by my office after lunch. I'll be happy to accompany you for a visit," Giyong offered, his voice warm and supportive.

As the clock hand swept towards 1 pm, Wonwoo stood before the mirror, giving himself a final once-over. Today was a day of plans and purpose. First, a visit to Giyong's office, where they'd discuss the logistics of the library project. Then, an observation trip to the existing library, an essential step in crafting a space that truly catered to the village's children. Giyong had also hinted at a discussion with the village head, emphasizing the seriousness of Wonwoo's endeavor. The thought of his father's potential support buoyed his determination.

Stepping outside, Wonwoo's gaze naturally fell upon Y/n's door. He hadn't seen her today. The memory of their last encounter flashed in his mind—it was yesterday night, her returning with a stack of books in hand. Could it be, he wondered, that she was involved with the local library as well?

Wonwoo stepped into Giyong's office, only to find himself in a professional medical clinic, complete with a pharmacy and a bustling staff. The revelation that Giyong was not just a doctor, but a savvy businessman as well, caught him off guard. Giyong's explanation about his alternating shifts, to accommodate his childhood best friend, resonated with a deep sense of friendship and dedication. Wonwoo could only chuckle at the revelation as they made their way towards the library.

"It's quite a distance from the school, isn't it?" Wonwoo observed, prompting a nod from Giyong. Memories of the old library near the fish market resurfaced, a cherished place from his past that had unfortunately met its end due to land ownership issues.

Inside the library, they were greeted warmly by the staff, their mission for children's books met with helpful suggestions.

"These books are mostly classics, a bit on the older side," Giyong explained, brows furrowed in concentration as he assessed the collection. Wonwoo nodded in understanding, selecting one of the books that had once transported him to childhood adventures. A warm smile tugged at his lips, memories flooding back.

"We'll need to invest in a good number of popular and newer books. How many are we talking? At least fifty, I'd say!" Giyong exclaimed, his own mental tally underway. He went on to inform Wonwoo about the escalating costs of children's books, a reality that hadn't escaped their notice.

As they delved deeper into their discussion, Wonwoo's gaze wandered through the aisles. There, seated serenely amidst the books with a laptop before her, was Y/n. His smile widened as he approached, the recognition lighting up her features.

"So, you're here every day," Wonwoo remarked, causing her to startle slightly. She offered a somewhat awkward smile before closing her book, her attention now fully on him.

"I've been here since morning. I lost track of time and nearly skipped lunch, so thanks for the reminder," Y/n explained, your tone gracious.

Taking a seat beside Y/n, Wonwoo's eyes flitted between the pages of the book and the contents of her laptop. "What are you working on?" he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

"Just reading a book and working on a paper. It was a pleasant surprise to find this book here," She shared. Wonwoo's eyes fell upon the title, Library Classification History, a wry amusement dancing in his eyes. "Is it related to what you teach?" he inquired, intrigued.

Y/n nodded. "I teach Library and Information Science," she revealed.

Wonwoo couldn't help but chuckle, marveling at the serendipity of it all. He, wanting to establish a library, had met her—a specialist in the very field. It was a coincidence too perfect to be ignored.

"In fact," he began, a glint of excitement in his eyes, "I'm planning to create a small library on the first floor of my place."

Y/n's interest was piqued, and shenodded in encouragement, eager to hear more about his vision. Wonwoo called Giyong who is still drawned by the book. He friendly introduced Giyoung to Y/n and vice versa.

"Indeed, she's a professor. She teaches library science," Wonwoo informed Giyong, watching as the revelation left the man visibly taken aback.

"What a twist of fate," Giyong mused, a sentiment that Wonwoo readily echoed. The synchronicity of their meeting with you, a professor in the very field they were diving into, seemed almost too perfectly timed.

As Wonwoo went on to explain the vision of creating a small library for the village's children, his words carried a blend of earnestness and passion. It was a plan woven with care, a promise to provide the young minds in the village with a sanctuary of knowledge and imagination.

"I can still recall how much Wonwoo adored reading as a child. It's no wonder he feels so strongly about ensuring kids today have the same access to books," Giyong reflected, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. He spoke of moments from their shared past, of glimpses caught of a young Wonwoo engrossed in books in class or within the hallowed halls of a library.

Meanwhile, Y/n sat in quiet contemplation, the weight of the proposition hanging in the air. She considered the potential impact of her brief stay in this time, wondering if it could lend a helping hand in bringing this dream to fruition—a small library, a beacon of knowledge for the children of the village.

"What can I do to assist?" Her inquiry broke the thoughtful silence, drawing a radiant smile across Wonwoo's face. It was a question that held the promise of collaboration, a joining of hands to shape a future of enriched minds and shared stories.

The days had been a whirlwind for Wonwoo, Y/n, Giyong, and Youngmi. Wonwoo's strategic move to enlist Youngmi's help as an elementary teacher had paid off, granting them invaluable insights into the needs of their young audience. With Giyong and Youngmi juggling their own demanding schedules, the lion's share of the preparations fell upon Wonwoo and Y/n. Wonwoo, his sleeves rolled up, threw himself into the renovation project, determined to transform the first floor into a space worthy of being called a small library. Meanwhile, Y/n delved into research, meticulously curating a collection that would captivate and educate young minds.

As the day waned, Youngmi's departure marked the beginning of a quiet evening. With her mother's thoughtful gesture, the duo received a comforting late-night snack and a steaming cup of green tea. After bidding Youngmi farewell, the room settled into a hushed intimacy, the soft glow of a nearby lamp casting gentle shadows.

"Let's take a moment to rest," Wonwoo suggested, carefully placing his paint-splattered equipment aside. On the other side of the room, Y/n set down the tablet that had commanded her attention since morning. She stretched languidly, every movement exuding a feline grace. Approaching Wonwoo, she joined him, both eager to indulge in the late-night sustenance.

The atmosphere was one of contented exhaustion, the weight of their efforts easing as they shared this quiet interlude. Wonwoo's chuckle mingled with the soothing rhythm of their breaths, a testament to the camaraderie that had grown between them.

In this stolen moment of respite, the small library project seemed to take on a new glow of promise. It was more than just a renovation or a collection of books; it was a labor of love, a beacon of learning, and a testament to the power of community.

"Have you thought about the name?" Y/n's voice, though gentle, held a touch of curiosity, breaking the tranquil stillness that had settled around them.

Wonwoo considered her question, his gaze momentarily drifting towards the space they had poured their hearts into. "I have a name in mind, but I'd like to discuss it with everyone first," he explained, a warm smile gracing his lips as he turned to meet her eyes. The prospect of naming their collective creation felt like a pivotal moment, a decision that would forever define its essence.

"Would you mind sharing it?" Y/n inquired, her interest piqued.

Wonwoo's gaze held a contemplative glint, as if weighing the significance of the choice. Finally, he spoke, "Healing Hues."

Y/n's smile bloomed, her eyes bright with approval. "I like it. Being here feels like a kind of healing," she remarked, her voice carrying a soft sincerity that resonated with the quietude of their surroundings. Her sentiment hung in the air, a testament to the comfort their small library promised to offer.

Wonwoo nodded in agreement, a sense of gratification settling within him. "I spent a long time contemplating the paint colors. I wanted them to embody the essence of the name. I believe they do," he shared, pride and certainty lacing his words. The choice of soothing blue and vibrant yellow felt like an apt representation of the healing they aspired to bring.

"They complement each other beautifully. You've done a remarkable job," Y/n praised, her admiration evident. Her words were a balm to Wonwoo's dedicated efforts, validating the careful thought he'd invested in every detail.

Wonwoo's smile widened, a mixture of gratitude and pride lighting up his features. "Thank you, Y/n. Your contribution has been invaluable. Your help means the world to me," he expressed, his words carrying a depth of appreciation for the partnership they'd formed in this endeavor.

"Why Healing Hues, though?" Y/n's curiosity shimmered in her eyes as she asked about the chosen name, her intrigue giving voice to the question that hung in the quiet space.

Wonwoo, seated beside her in the cozy corner of the library, considered her question. He let out a casual shrug, as if the answer was simple, though layered with personal significance. "It might sound a bit cliché," he began, his voice carrying the weight of genuine sentiment, "but when I arrived here, I was coming from a place of utter exhaustion. This place became a source of healing for me. Reconnecting with everyone from my childhood, meeting you, and realizing the dream of creating a small library—it all coalesced into a sense of healing. For the first time in a long while, the colors of my life felt harmonious and whole."

Wonwoo's explanation was delivered with a calmness that belied the depth of feeling behind his words. In his eyes, there was a hint of reminiscence, a fleeting recollection of the hectic days and the monotony that had once defined his existence just a week ago. But now, those memories seemed to have faded, replaced by the vibrant hues of happiness and purpose that colored his days in his hometown.

The library around them seemed to bask in the warmth of Wonwoo's words, as if it too understood the significance of the name chosen. The air was charged with a sense of quiet contentment, the space itself bearing witness to the transformation that had taken root within its walls.

Y/n listened, the weight of Wonwoo's words settling in her heart. It was a name that now held a profound meaning, one that she knew would resonate not just with them, but with anyone who stepped through the doors of Healing Hues. In that moment, she felt the power of names, how they could encapsulate the essence of something greater, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for being a part of this journey.

The morning sun streamed through the windows, painting the room with a warm glow. Giyong's cheerful voice roused Wonwoo from his slumber, a gentle nudge to action amidst the promise of a busy day ahead. Wonwoo blinked away the remnants of sleep, realizing he'd drifted off on the couch after a night of painting the entire room.

As he stirred, a comforting weight pressed against his shoulder, reminding him of Y/n, who had fallen asleep beside him, equally exhausted from their efforts. Her peaceful slumber painted a serene picture against the backdrop of their fledgling library.

Giyong entered the room, accompanied by a few helpers carrying stalls that would soon hold the carefully curated collection of books. Wonwoo, still rousing himself fully, turned his attention to Y/n, gently shaking her to rouse her from her rest. "Morning already," he whispered, a fond smile gracing his lips as she shifted to a more comfortable position, her head no longer resting on his shoulder.

The arrival of the stalls had happened faster than expected, a pleasant surprise for the duo. Giyong explained that the specific table they had been looking for was still in production, prompting him to order a similar one. He couldn't hide his relief that the color matched seamlessly with the rest of the room.

With the stalls in place, Giyong spoke of the imminent soft opening, his eyes briefly landing on Y/n, the dedicated curator of their book collection, who still asleep. She had worked tirelessly to ensure that each selection met Wonwoo's approval, carefully crafting a library that would captivate and educate young readers. The initial collection included 25 children's books, a blend of encyclopedias and stories, alongside 15 books tailored for older readers. Y/n had finalized the order late into the night, her commitment unwavering.

Giyong couldn't help but tease, "She's worked even harder than you, I'd say," his tone light and teasing. Wonwoo simply nodded in agreement, a smile playing on his lips. He was too drained from their collective efforts to engage in playful banter. The room buzzed with an air of anticipation, each piece falling into place, culminating in the realization that their dream of Healing Hues was on the verge of becoming a reality.

"Let's have a quick meeting after this to discuss the soft opening agenda," Wonwoo proposed, excusing himself to the second floor for a moment of reprieve and rejuvenation.

As he returned, the scent of seafood pancake wafted through the air, a tempting invitation from Youngmi's breakfast. He couldn't resist asking, "Can I have some of this?" before indulging in the morning meal.

He found Giyong and Youngmi settled on the couch, waiting for him. However, Y/n was conspicuously absent. Concern pricked at Wonwoo's senses, and he inquired, "Where's Y/n?"

Youngmi promptly explained, "She's outside, taking a phone call," before they delved into the meeting.

They decided on a soft opening with a beach vacation theme, a concept that promised both relaxation and exploration for their guests. Youngmi suggested a personality test to recommend books, a touch that added a personal connection to the experience. When Y/n eventually joined the meeting, she readily agreed with the proposals and offered her assistance.

Yet, even as discussions flowed, Wonwoo's gaze kept returning to Y/n. He sensed a shift in her demeanor, an unspoken weight that seemed to settle upon her since that phone call. It troubled him, an unspoken concern nagging at the edges of his thoughts.

"Y/n, could you take care of the food?" Giyong suggested, drawing Y/n's attention. The idea was met with unanimous agreement, and the meeting concluded swiftly as Giyong and Youngmi headed off to work.

Left alone, Wonwoo couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. When Y/n made a quiet exit, he moved to stop her. "Is everything alright? Did something happen?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry, his eyes searching for answers in her gaze.

Y/n's response was measured, her voice calm but carrying a hint of weariness. "Nothing. Just tired."

Wonwoo, respecting her need for space, didn't press further. He gently reminded her of their evening meeting with the others, watching as she nodded and made her way home in haste.

As Wonwoo watched Y/n depart, a gnawing worry settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that something weighed heavily on her mind. Her usually serene demeanor had been replaced by a quiet reserve, leaving him with a sense of unease.

He recalled the phone call that had preceded this shift in Y/n's demeanor. The suddenness of her withdrawal from the meeting, coupled with her distant expression, left him with a growing concern. What could have transpired in that conversation to cast such a shadow over her typically composed demeanor?

Wonwoo knew Y/n to be a private person, but this was different. This was a shift in her usual disposition, a veil drawn over the window to her thoughts and emotions. It left him feeling powerless, aching to reach out and offer comfort, yet hesitant to intrude on what might be a deeply personal matter.

The bond they had formed through their shared project and the days spent working together had fostered a sense of camaraderie. He cared for Y/n's well-being, not just as a collaborator, but as a friend. Her sudden change in behavior tugged at his heart, leaving him torn between respecting her privacy and wanting to be there for her.

As the day unfolded, Wonwoo found his thoughts frequently returning to Y/n. He couldn't shake the worry that lingered, a subtle undercurrent to the day's activities. He hoped that their evening meeting would provide an opportunity for Y/n to open up, if she felt inclined to do so.

Wonwoo's heart dropped at the sight that met his eyes. Y/n stood before him, her once vibrant complexion now drained of color, cold sweat glistening on her forehead. She looked as though she could barely stand. Before he could utter a word, she collapsed to the floor, her strength failing her.

"You're burning," Wonwoo murmured, a mix of concern and panic surging through him. Without hesitation, he reached for his phone, dialing Giyong's number in a frantic hurry. He relayed Y/n's condition, the urgency in his voice apparent. Giyong, on the other end, instructed him to bring Y/n to his clinic immediately.

With great care, Wonwoo lifted Y/n into his arms. He carried her to his car, the urgency of the situation propelling him forward. The drive to Giyong's clinic felt like an eternity, every passing second amplifying his worry.

Giyong was already at the clinic, preparing to leave for the night. He quickly assessed Y/n's condition, confirming that she was indeed suffering from exhaustion and dehydration, which had led to her dangerously high temperature and overall burnout.

"Is she going to be okay?" Wonwoo's voice trembled with concern, his eyes locked onto Y/n, who lay on the examination table.

Giyong met Wonwoo's gaze, offering a reassuring but solemn explanation of her condition. "She'll need to stay here for IV treatment. She should be able to go home tomorrow morning. You did the right thing checking on her when you did. Her condition could have worsened if left unattended."

Wonwoo nodded, a mixture of relief and lingering worry washing over him. He knew that they had caught this just in time, but the sight of Y/n in such a vulnerable state was a stark reminder of the importance of taking care of oneself.

After Giyong reassured him that Y/n was in capable hands, Wonwoo left the clinic, the weight of worry still clinging to him. He returned to the house, his steps heavy with concern. As he approached Y/n's door, he remembered the urgency of the situation earlier and realized it was still unlocked. He extended a hand, preparing to secure it, when a sound from within caught his attention.

A faint ringing echoed in the quiet of the house, originating from Y/n's phone. His mind raced back to that morning, to the phone call that seemed to have brought about such a drastic change in her condition. Could this call be the cause of her sudden illness? Wonwoo wondered, a knot of unease forming in his chest.

Unable to ignore the persistent ringing, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The scene that greeted him weighed heavily on his heart. Y/n's phone lay on the coffee table in front of the couch, its screen displaying the caller ID: 'Jisoo,' accompanied by a white love emoji. Wonwoo's brows furrowed with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Was Jisoo someone significant in Y/n's life? The thought passed fleetingly through Wonwoo's mind, leaving him uncertain about how to proceed.

He opted not to answer the call, feeling that it wasn't his place to do so. As the call ended, he couldn't help but notice the numerous missed calls from the same number. A quick glance at the screen revealed several unread messages, evidence of Jisoo's persistent attempts to reach Y/n.

Wonwoo hesitated, unsure of what to make of this new piece of information. It was clear that Jisoo held some importance in Y/n's life, but the nature of their relationship remained a mystery.

The phone screen illuminated with a cascade of messages from Jisoo, each one more forceful and accusatory than the last. Wonwoo's heart quickened its pace, startled by the sudden intensity of the conversation he inadvertently stumbled upon between Y/n and this person named Jisoo. The tone of the messages sent a shiver down Wonwoo's spine, a mixture of concern and unease prickling at his senses. What could possibly be transpiring to elicit such a charged exchange?

Another call punctuated the quiet, a shrill ring that signaled a persistent urgency. Wonwoo's determination solidified. He couldn't bear the thought of Y/n being embroiled in this apparent turmoil alone. With a steady resolve, he accepted the call, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation that awaited on the other end of the line.

"Where are you? We need to talk!" Jisoo's voice crackled through the phone, urgency dripping from every syllable. Wonwoo's disapproval of this person, whoever he was, surged with each passing second. He couldn't fathom how anyone could address Y/n with such forcefulness.

"Answer me! My career is on the edge! Don't you dare to run away!" Jisoo's words thundered through the line, carrying an undercurrent of frustration and desperation. Wonwoo closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath to brace himself against the torrent of anger. The waves of intensity emanating from the conversation were almost suffocating..

Wonwoo held his ground, his voice steady and composed, determined to navigate this unfamiliar territory with a clear head. When Jisoo demanded to know who he was, Wonwoo responded with a calm assurance that hinted at his resolve. The seconds that followed held a tangible tension, as if the air itself was bracing for what would come next. Jisoo's reply carried a blend of both curiosity and suspicion, a clear indication that he was deeply invested in the situation.

The back-and-forth continued, with Jisoo pressing for more information. "Who's this? Why is a man picking up Y/n's phone? Who are you?" Each question was laced with a growing intensity, revealing the gravity of the situation that had prompted Jisoo's concern.

Wonwoo weighed his words carefully, opting to disclose only what was necessary. "I'm her neighbor," he stated evenly, offering a concise explanation. He didn't want to overstep boundaries or divulge more than was appropriate, respecting Y/n's privacy while still conveying the urgency of the situation.

There was a discernible shift in Jisoo's tone, the frustration that had been simmering now mingling with a genuine concern. "Just tell her to call me once she checks her phone." The edge of urgency in Jisoo's voice was impossible to ignore, revealing a complex mix of emotions that hinted at the depth of his connection with Y/n.

As the call ended, Wonwoo couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled in his chest. He was now entangled in a situation he didn't fully understand, but his priority was clear: ensuring Y/n's well-being. He resolved to be there for her, to offer support in whatever way she needed, even if it meant delving into the complexities of her personal life. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, but he was determined to face whatever came their way.

"Sorry, I caused you inconvenience," Y/n mumbled softly as they both settled into the car. Wonwoo couldn't help but chuckle, his warm laughter filling the space between them. With a gentle hand, he turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life. "Is it okay if I take you somewhere before we head home?" Wonwoo asked, motioning for Y/n to fasten her seat belt.

Y/n nodded, a shy smile gracing her lips. "But can we grab something to eat first?" Her request was met with an immediate nod of agreement from Wonwoo.

After a brief stop to satisfy their hunger, they continued their drive, heading toward a destination known only to Wonwoo. Y/n leaned back in her seat, allowing herself to be enveloped by the soothing motion of the car. The gentle warmth of the sun kissed her skin, and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment.

Wonwoo stole a glance at her, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached to adjust the controls, smoothly retracting the roof of the car. The world outside stretched before them, an expansive canvas of beauty and serenity. Y/n's laughter danced through the air, a testament to her genuine delight at the unexpected surprise. Wonwoo found himself captivated, not only by the breathtaking view but also by the vibrancy that seemed to radiate from Y/n in this moment, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the night before.

As they continued their journey, Y/n's curiosity got the better of her. "Where are we going?" she inquired, her eyes filled with wonder and anticipation. She was open to whatever adventure awaited, as long as it offered a spectacle for her eyes to behold.

Wonwoo pointed towards the expanse of ocean that stretched out in the distance. "We're going to the beach," he revealed, a spark of excitement mirrored in Y/n's eyes.

"It's been a long time since the last time I went to the beach," Y/n confessed, her voice tinged with nostalgia.

As the car glided along the road, Wonwoo stole glances at Y/n, watching her eyes light up with the prospect of the beach. Her excitement was palpable, and it filled him with a quiet sense of contentment. He was grateful for the opportunity to share this moment with her, to witness her rediscovering the simple joys of life.

The wind tousled their hair, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and the soothing sounds of the sea. Wonwoo's own spirits were lifted by the sight of Y/n's animated expressions. Her presence beside him was like a breath of fresh air, a reminder of the beauty that could be found in the world, even in the midst of uncertainty.

The car came to a gentle stop, and they both stepped out onto the warm sand. Y/n kicked off her shoes, letting the grains sift between her toes. Wonwoo followed suit, relishing the sensation of the soft sand beneath his feet. The rhythmic crash of the waves provided a soothing backdrop to their surroundings.

Wonwoo watched Y/n with a mixture of fondness and admiration. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, her features softened by a serene smile. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a respite from the chaos of the outside world.

As the sun painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, Wonwoo couldn't shake the subtle turmoil churning within him. He watched Y/n, her presence a calming force against the backdrop of the serene beach. It was in moments like these that he found himself drawn to her in a way he couldn't quite put into words.

Confusion tugged at the edges of Wonwoo's thoughts. He was no stranger to the intricacies of human emotions, but this felt different. It was a gentle tug, a quiet whisper of something unspoken. He wrestled with the unfamiliarity of it all, grappling with the realization that his feelings for Y/n went beyond mere friendship or neighborly concern.

He stole another glance at Y/n, her silhouette etched against the fading daylight. She seemed to belong to this tranquil moment, a part of the natural beauty that surrounded them. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring them here, to this beach, at this precise moment in time.

Wonwoo stood at the edge of the shore, the briny scent of the sea filling his senses, each breath a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. His gaze, tender yet uncertain, lingered on Y/n. There was a delicate warmth that surged within him, a revelation that both unsettled and strangely comforted him.

Turning to her, he began, his voice a soft melody tinged with vulnerability, "Y/n, there's something I need to tell you."

Y/n, her eyes pools reflecting the twilight's fading embrace, met his gaze with a gentleness that seemed to bridge the expanse between their souls. A profound understanding flowed in the silent exchange, words unnecessary yet the connection profound.

Steady, yet carrying the weight of his heart, Wonwoo continued, "Last night, while you were at the clinic, a call came through on your phone. The caller was named Jisoo. The messages and the call log... they held an air of urgency."

Y/n's eyes widened slightly, her mind processing the revelation. A fleeting worry etched across her features as she retrieved her phone from Wonwoo's outstretched hand. With furrowed brows, she scrolled through the messages and call history, each line a testament to a history she had kept veiled.

"He's... someone from my past," Y/n confessed, her voice carrying the echoes of reluctance and resignation. "We were once close, but things changed. Something bad happened, and he need someone to bear the weight of blame."

Wonwoo nodded, a profound understanding washing over him. He could feel the tapestry of emotions woven into Y/n's being, the intricate threads of their shared history. Reaching out, he rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, an unspoken promise of solidarity.

"You don't have to face this alone," he reassured, sincerity filling the air between them. "Whatever path you choose, I stand by your side."

Y/n met his gaze, a shimmer of gratitude and relief dancing in her eyes. Her hand found its place atop his, an unspoken affirmation of trust and the blossoming bond that held them together.

And as the day surrendered to the night, they stood, two souls joined in a quiet understanding, their hearts harmonizing with the ceaseless rhythm of the waves. The horizon blazed with the last embers of sunlight, casting a warm, golden hue over the sands. Together, Wonwoo and Y/n embraced the uncertain future, fortified by the strength they found in each other's presence.

Wonwoo and Y/n returned home well past sunset. Giyong and Youngmi were patiently waiting, meticulously preparing containers for the snacks destined for tomorrow's soft opening. As Giyong rose from his seat to accept the grocery box from Y/n, concern laced his voice as he inquired about her well-being. "You weren't at clinic when I arrived this morning," he expressed, worry etched in his features.

Y/n responded with a warm smile, touched by the genuine care from everyone. Giyong, in turn, informed her of the arrival of the books, eager to see them find their place on the shelves. Youngmi, however, interjected, playfully scolding his use of the term 'decorated' when it came to books, emphasizing their purpose beyond mere ornamentation.

Suddenly, Giyong's tone shifted, a note of unexpected seriousness entering his voice. "By the way, can we talk after this? I have something to say," he asked Y/n, catching her off guard. It was a rare occurrence for Giyong to seek a private conversation with her. Meanwhile, Wonwoo observed the exchange, his gaze flicking between the two of them. He held back the urge to pry into Giyong's intentions, his lips pressed into a tight line.

In the midst of it all, a question lingered, unspoken yet palpable: Wasn't Wonwoo the only one harboring feelings for Y/n?

As the evening unfolded, the room gradually emptied, leaving only Wonwoo and Youngmi in its quiet embrace. The air held a certain tension, a subtle undercurrent of unspoken thoughts.

Youngmi, perceptive as ever, cleared her throat gently before speaking. "Wonwoo, can we talk for a moment?" Her voice was gentle, inviting, yet tinged with a hint of concern.

Wonwoo nodded, his gaze shifting from the empty chairs to Youngmi. He could sense the weight of the conversation to come, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation settling in his chest. "Of course, Youngmi. What's on your mind?" he asked, his tone steady.

She hesitated for a moment, choosing her words with care. "It's about you and Y/n," she began, her eyes meeting his with a searching intensity. "I've noticed... there seems to be something more between you two. Am I right?"

Wonwoo's heart skipped a beat, the question hanging in the air. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, the truth too important to evade. "Yes, Youngmi," he admitted, his voice measured. "I've developed feelings for Y/n. But I also value our friendship and want what's best for her."

Youngmi's expression softened, understanding and empathy in her eyes. "I appreciate your honesty, Wonwoo. It's not an easy situation for any of you."

He nodded, gratitude for her understanding washing over him. "I just want her to be happy," he confessed, his voice carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Youngmi's reassuring touch on Wonwoo's arm provided a steadying anchor in the midst of swirling emotions. Her gaze held a mixture of understanding and kindness, a testament to the depth of their friendship.

"I want to assure you, Wonwoo, that Giyong's concern for Y/n is solely rooted in care for her well-being," Youngmi began, her voice warm and sincere. "He's like a brother to her, and he only wants to see her happy and healthy. There's no hidden agenda, I promise."

Wonwoo's tense shoulders eased slightly, the weight of uncertainty gradually lifting. He appreciated Youngmi's candidness, a lifeline of clarity in a sea of conflicting emotions. "Thank you, Youngmi," he said, his voice touched with gratitude. "I just want what's best for Y/n, and it's reassuring to know Giyong's intentions are genuine."

Youngmi nodded, her eyes reflecting a shared concern for their friend. "We all do, Wonwoo."

A pang of empathy washed over Youngmi as she considered Y/n's journey, her eyes clouded with a mixture of sorrow and concern. "It breaks my heart to think of what Y/n might have been through, to end up here in this village," she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. "There must be something that pushed her to leave her previous life behind."

Wonwoo nodded, his own heart heavy with the weight of Y/n's untold story. "I've wondered about that too," he confessed, his gaze distant as he thought of the mysteries shrouding Y/n's past. "She carries a strength that's been forged through adversity, that much is clear."

Youngmi offered a gentle smile, her eyes softening with compassion. "Yes, she does. Yet she carries herself with such grace."

Silence settled between them, a shared understanding of the resilience that defined Y/n's spirit. In that moment, a renewed sense of respect and admiration for their friend blossomed, mingling with the determination to stand by her side, no matter what the future held.

As Y/n and Giyong entered the room, a subtle chill seemed to cling to the air, the weight of unspoken emotions lingering. Youngmi, ever perceptive, decided to break the tension with her effervescent spirit. She greeted them with a wide smile, injecting the room with her characteristic warmth and a light-hearted joke.

"Ah, here comes the dynamic duo, back from their secret mission!" she exclaimed playfully, her laughter dancing through the room.

Y/n's lips curled into a small smile, grateful for Youngmi's attempt to lighten the mood. Giyong, too, cracked a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. The atmosphere slowly began to thaw, replaced by a more comfortable ease.

They set to work organizing the books, arranging them according to the data Y/n had meticulously prepared days prior. Each book found its place on the shelves, a testament to their collective effort and attention to detail.

With the task completed, they gathered together, a sense of accomplishment settling over them. Cans of beer in hand, they raised a toast to their hard work and the promise of a successful soft opening.

The clinking of cans echoed in the room, a chorus of celebration and camaraderie. As they settled into their seats, the coldness that had lingered earlier was replaced by a shared sense of contentment and accomplishment.

As the evening wore on, the cheerful ambiance grew even warmer, fueled by the camaraderie and the liberating influence of the beer. Youngmi's laughter became more carefree, her words flowing with a certain unfiltered honesty.

"You know," she began, her words slightly slurred but her eyes bright, "all my friends are out there, happily married and posting pictures of their babies. And here I am, still single and living my best life!" She let out a peal of laughter, the sound filling the room.

Y/n, Wonwoo, and Giyong exchanged amused glances, touched by Youngmi's candidness. They listened intently, realizing that Youngmi was about to share something deeply personal.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," she continued, her voice lowering slightly. "People have been trying to push me into marriage for years. 'Settle down, find a nice man,' they say. But you know what I dream of?" Her eyes gleamed with a mix of determination and nostalgia. "Continuing my studies abroad, exploring the world, and writing about it!"

Her words hung in the air, a declaration of a dream deferred but not forgotten. There was a poignant sincerity in her voice, a testament to the strength of her convictions.

"And you three..." Youngmi turned to Y/n, Wonwoo, and Giyong, her gaze softening. "Meeting you, it's been a blessing. You've shown me that there's more to life than following the expected path. I'm grateful for each of you."

Her heartfelt confession settled over them, the room filled with a profound sense of connection. Y/n, Wonwoo, and Giyong exchanged smiles, touched by Youngmi's vulnerability and the depth of their friendship.

Giyong's gaze turned reflective, the warm light of the room casting shadows on his face as he spoke. "You know, there was a time when nobody believed I could make it. Even my own parents were skeptical when I chose to study medicine. They thought it was too ambitious, too difficult."

He paused, his eyes distant, as if revisiting those moments of doubt and determination. "But I was determined to prove them wrong. I worked tirelessly, pushing through every obstacle and doubt that came my way."

A quiet sense of pride tinged his voice, a testament to the resilience that had carried him through those challenging years. "And now, I can say that it's paid off. I'm doing what I love, and I can make a difference in people's lives."

Y/n, Wonwoo, and Youngmi listened in rapt attention, deeply moved by Giyong's story of perseverance. They could feel the weight of his journey, the sacrifices he had made to pursue his passion.

"You've achieved so much, Giyong," Wonwoo acknowledged, his voice filled with admiration. "Your dedication and hard work are truly inspiring."

Giyong smiled, a mix of gratitude and contentment lighting up his features. "Thank you, Wonwoo. It hasn't been easy, but every step of the way was worth it."

Giyong's words held a resonance that echoed in the room, a testament to the trials he had faced and overcome. "I've been fortunate in many ways," he continued, his voice steady. "I worked hard in my studies, and with time, I found my footing financially. My career has been a source of fulfillment and purpose."

There was a quiet pride in Giyong's demeanor, a sense of satisfaction in his accomplishments. Yet, a shadow of a deeper truth lingered in his eyes.

"But you know, even with all that, there's this unspoken pressure from society," he admitted, his gaze drifting to the window as if seeking answers in the night sky. "They see success and immediately think it's time to settle down, to get married. As if that's the only measure of a fulfilling life."

Y/n, Wonwoo, and Youngmi listened intently, their hearts heavy with the weight of societal expectations and the complexities that Giyong grappled with.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" Giyong mused, a hint of frustration in his voice. "To have your worth measured by whether or not you have a spouse. But I've always believed that there's more to life than that, more to define our happiness and fulfillment."

His words hung in the air, a call for a broader perspective on what it meant to lead a meaningful life. Y/n, Wonwoo, and Youngmi nodded in agreement, a shared understanding of the intricacies of societal norms and personal aspirations.

"Wonwoo, do you have anything to say?"

Wonwoo's voice carried a weight of vulnerability as he opened up about his own struggles. "You know, being in the public eye all the time... it's not as glamorous as it might seem," he confessed, his eyes fixed on a distant point. "There's almost no privacy. Every move is scrutinized, every word analyzed. And sometimes, baseless rumors just take on a life of their own."

He sighed, a mixture of resignation and frustration in his tone. "It's a constant contradiction to who I am. I love acting, I love the craft, but the celebrity part... it's not something I enjoy. It's like I have to give up so much just to do what I love."

Y/n, Giyong, and Youngmi listened with empathy, their hearts going out to Wonwoo. They could sense the weight of the expectations that rested on his shoulders, the toll it took on his sense of self.

"I just hope that someday, society can change," Wonwoo continued, his gaze turning back to them. "Stop pushing people into these boxes, these roles that they think we should fit into. There's so much more to a person than what meets the eye."

His words hung in the air, a plea for a world where individual passions and dreams could be pursued without the burden of societal expectations.

In the midst of the gentle hum of conversation, Youngmi's words tumbled out with a certain unfiltered honesty. "I'm really curious about you, Y/n. We've known each other for almost two weeks, but all I know is your name and your job," she babbled, the warmth of the alcohol giving her words a candid edge. Giyong, ever vigilant, attempted to intervene, but Y/n gave him a reassuring nod, signaling that it was alright.

A soft smile graced Y/n's lips, a glimmer of resilience shining through as she began to speak. Her voice held a steady cadence, each word carefully chosen to convey the weight of her experience. Wonwoo, his eyes locked onto hers, became a steady anchor of support, his gaze a pool of unwavering affirmation, absorbing every nuance of her story.

"I was diagnosed to have severe depression when i decided to run away from my life."

As she continued, Y/n's voice wove a tapestry of pain, courage, and the strength it took to overcome. The room seemed to hold its breath, honoring the depth of her vulnerability.

"I was divorced on my third anniversary. My husband... My ex, I loved him, but he cheated on me and wanted to separate," Y/n confessed, her voice carrying the weight of a painful memory. In her eyes, shadows of hurt flickered, a testament to the depth of her past pain. Though tears threatened to spill, she held them back, determined to share her truth.

"I was pregnant for 8 weeks," Y/n revealed, her voice tinged with both sorrow and strength. The weight of her words hung in the air, a somber melody weaving through the room. "I suffered a miscarriage on my way here."

As Y/n spoke, the room seemed to hold its breath, the gravity of her experience palpable. Each word was a testament to the pain she had endured, a fragment of her journey that she bravely shared. The vulnerability in her voice echoed through the room, drawing her friends closer in shared empathy.

Her revelation painted a vivid picture of desperation and heartache. "I rushed to the nearest clinic," she continued, her voice steady despite the emotions churning within her, "desperate to save my child, but it was already too late."

Her revelation hung in the air, the unspoken pain of her loss lingering like a bittersweet melody

"Now, my ex has been terrorizing me," Y/n continued, her voice strained but resolute. Her words hung in the air, a testament to the ongoing struggle she faced. "He believes I'm the one who exposed our relationship to the public, even though it was a secret. He's a popular actor, living his life under the relentless glare of the spotlight."

As Y/n spoke, the weight of her truth settled over the room. Her voice carried the burden of the harassment she endured, painting a vivid picture of the torment she faced. The atmosphere held a mixture of sympathy and anger, a shared determination to stand by her side.

Her voice caught, a lump forming in her throat as she released the emotions that had been bottled up for weeks. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, the unspoken pain of her reality laid bare. "Trust me," she choked out, her words a rallying cry, "being married, having fame, even a stable job... none of it guarantees a life free from obstacles. Life keeps shaping us."

The room fell into a hushed stillness, the weight of Y/n's revelation settling over them like a heavy shroud. Youngmi's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her heart aching for her friend. With a tender determination, she rose from her seat and approached Y/n, enveloping her in a warm, supportive embrace. It was a gesture of solidarity, a silent promise that she wasn't alone in this.

Giyong and Wonwoo exchanged solemn glances, a fire smoldering within them. Y/n's story had unearthed a deep well of empathy, but also a simmering anger towards the man who had caused her such pain. They shared a mutual understanding, a shared resolve to stand by Y/n's side and offer whatever support she needed.

In the midst of the heavy atmosphere, Y/n found comfort in Youngmi's arms. The embrace was a lifeline, a tangible reminder that she was surrounded by friends who cared deeply for her. Tears flowed freely now, a release of pent-up emotions that had been held in for too long.

As the night wore on, they remained together, their bonds strengthened by the shared vulnerability of the moment. They knew that from this point forward, they would face whatever challenges came their way as a united front, ready to protect and uplift one another.

As Wonwoo stirred from his slumber, he found the room oddly empty, a sense of quiet unease settling over him. The muffled sound of a car trunk closing outside drew his attention, and he hastened to investigate. There, he discovered Y/n, busily loading her belongings into the car. Confusion knitted his brows. What was happening?

"Hey, where are you going?" he asked, his voice laced with concern, stepping closer to her.

Y/n sighed, her movements deliberate yet tinged with a sense of urgency. "I have to go back," she replied, gently pushing Wonwoo aside as she secured the last of her belongings.

Wonwoo couldn't suppress his worry. "Is it because of what happened last night?" he ventured, his gaze searching hers. He couldn't help but marvel at her strength and grace, even in the face of such adversity.

Y/n halted, her hand coming up to rub her face, weariness etched in every line. "My husband, no, my ex... He threatened to reveal my identity if I didn't meet him for lunch today. He plans to create a scene at my office," she confessed, her voice finally breaking.

In an instant, Wonwoo enveloped her in a warm embrace, providing a comforting sanctuary amidst the turmoil. "Is that true?" he inquired, his voice gentle. Y/n's nod against his chest confirmed her heartbreaking reality.

As he held her, Wonwoo grappled with a decision. Should he leave for the soft opening? The internal debate was short-lived; his concern for Y/n's well-being took precedence. He knew she couldn't bear a six-hour drive in her current state.

"I'll drive you," Wonwoo declared, resolved to prioritize her over the event.

Y/n's brow furrowed in protest. "No! You can't miss the soft opening this afternoon. Giyong and Youngmi need you," she insisted.

Wonwoo shook his head, his tone unwavering. "They'll understand. But you need me right now. I don't think you should be driving in your condition," he reasoned, gently cradling her trembling hands, a tangible display of her vulnerability.

"I'll explain everything to everyone and wait for me, okay?" Wonwoo reassured, before turning to head back inside, determined to support Y/n through whatever challenges lay ahead.

Wonwoo stepped outside, his fresh clothes clinging to his tall frame as he gracefully slid into the driver's seat. He motioned for Y/n to fasten her seat belt, a gentle reminder of their safety before embarking on their journey.

As Y/n settled into her seat, a wave of guilt washed over her. She couldn't help but feel responsible for the recent events that had unfolded. "How's everybody reacting?" she asked, her voice laced with remorse. "I'm so sorry."

Wonwoo turned to face her, his eyes filled with understanding and compassion. With a reassuring smile, he replied, "No, it's fine. Everyone understands. They reached out to the local library for assistance, and they were more than happy to help." His words carried a sense of relief, a weight lifted off their shoulders.

Turning his head towards her, Wonwoo's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining. "Didn't I tell you that I'll always be on your side?" he asked softly, his touch providing comfort and reassurance. With a gentle motion, he rubbed her knuckles, a tender gesture that spoke volumes of his unwavering support.

As the miles passed beneath them, Y/n couldn't shake the unease settling in her chest. The warmth of Wonwoo's hand in hers, the reassuring rub of his thumb, it all felt too intimate, too knowing. He knew her, inside and out, and that vulnerability made her skin prickle with self-consciousness.

She stole a quick glance at him, finding his gaze fixed on the road ahead, a serene expression on his face. He seemed entirely at ease, oblivious to the storm churning within her

As the road stretched on, Y/n pondered how to convey her feelings without causing discomfort. She subtly shifted her hand, disentangling her fingers from Wonwoo's, letting her palm rest on her own thigh. It was a small, deliberate movement, a signal that she needed some space.

Wonwoo glanced at her, his brow furrowing in mild concern. Sensing her withdrawal, he eased off on the affectionate gestures, giving her the room she silently asked for.

The air in the car seemed to shift, a delicate balance of understanding settling between them. Y/n felt a weight lift off her chest, grateful for Wonwoo's sensitivity to her unspoken cues.

A lump formed in Y/n's throat, and she cleared it, willing herself to find the right words. "Wonwoo, I... I appreciate everything you've done for me. But you know so much about me, and I... I feel embarrassed, like you see all my flaws and insecurities."

The confession hung in the air, a fragile admission of her own discomfort. She couldn't bear the thought of him knowing every vulnerable part of her, laid bare for him to see.

Wonwoo met her gaze, his eyes soft with understanding. He nodded gently, his smile a beacon of reassurance. "Y/n, I want you to know that I would never want you to feel uncomfortable or exposed. I care about you deeply, and I respect your boundaries."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, moved by his considerate response. "Thank you, Wonwoo. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just... it's hard, you know? Being so open."

He nodded again, his gaze unwavering. "I understand, Y/n. Vulnerability can be a difficult thing to navigate, especially when you care about someone. Please know that I'm here for you, in whatever way you need me to be."

The drive to Seoul stretched on, the minutes feeling like hours in the confined space of the car. Wonwoo's gaze flickered towards Y/n's phone, which she cradled in her palm. He couldn't help but notice the persistent call from Jisoo's contact flashing on the screen. Y/n shot him an apologetic look before reluctantly answering.

She took a steadying breath, swiping to answer the call. "Hello," she greeted, her voice gentle yet firm. "I'm on my way from Changwon. Can you just wait?"

The voice on the other end crackled with impatience and agitation. Y/n's ex-husband seemed unwilling to grant her request, his demands echoing through the phone. Wonwoo, attuned to the conversation, could hear the frustration in Y/n's voice, though she remained composed.

"Don't you dare try to go to my office, you're crazy," she asserted, her tone unwavering. The words held a quiet strength, a boundary firmly set.

Wonwoo's grip on the steering wheel tightened instinctively. He could feel the weight of the situation, the underlying tension in the car growing palpable.

The passing scenery outside seemed to blur, the city lights of Seoul a distant promise of respite. Wonwoo stole glances at Y/n, concern etched into his features. He wished he could shield her from the discomfort, but all he could do was keep his focus on the road, providing a steady anchor in the midst of the storm.

As the call finally came to an end, Y/n let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned to Wonwoo, a mixture of frustration and weariness in her eyes. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, Wonwoo."

He offered a reassuring smile, his voice gentle. "You don't need to apologize."

As they approached the Seoul University area, Wonwoo navigated the car through the familiar streets, glancing at Y/n for directions. She directed him with a calm confidence, her focus on their destination.

"So, we're heading to Seoul University, right?" Wonwoo asked, double-checking to ensure they were on the right track.

Y/n nodded, her gaze fixed ahead. "Yes, that's correct. It's just up ahead."

As they pulled up near the café, a gentle sense of anticipation hung in the air. Y/n turned to Wonwoo, her expression grateful. "Thank you for getting me here, Wonwoo. I really appreciate it."

He met her gaze with a reassuring smile. "Of course, Y/n. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

As Y/n prepared to step out of the car, Wonwoo hesitated for a moment. "Would you like me to come with you?" he offered, genuine concern in his voice.

Y/n considered the offer, touched by his willingness to support her. However, she ultimately declined with a kind smile. "Thank you, Wonwoo, but I think I'll be okay. I'll catch up with you soon."

With that, she exited the car, leaving Wonwoo to wait inside. He watched her disappear into the café, a mixture of admiration and concern welling within him.

As he sat alone in the car, lost in his thoughts, he saw a figure approaching. It was Hong Jisoo, a fellow actor under the same agency. Wonwoo's mind raced, connecting the dots between the information he had from his manager and the story Y/n had shared the previous night.

The gravity of the situation settled heavily on Wonwoo's shoulders. He couldn't help but feel a surge of anger towards Jisoo, not just for the chaos he had caused for their agency, but for the pain he had inflicted upon Y/n.

He knew that if Y/n chose to reveal the truth about their relationship, it could mean serious consequences for Jisoo. And in Wonwoo's eyes, he would fully deserve the backlash.

The minutes stretched on as Wonwoo sat alone in the car, the tension in the air palpable. His mind raced, thoughts swirling with a mix of concern for Y/n and a growing disdain for Hong Jisoo. The gravity of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, a weight he couldn't easily shake.

He couldn't help but replay the details he had gathered from his manager and the fragments of Y/n's story from the night before. It was a puzzle he was desperate to piece together, a mosaic of pain and betrayal that painted a devastating picture.

Wonwoo's empathy for Y/n ran deep. He couldn't fathom the pain she must have endured, the scars that lingered beneath the surface. In that moment, he felt an overwhelming urge to shield her from any further harm.

As he sat in the car, the cafe's windows reflecting the bustle of the university area, he couldn't shake the sense of injustice that gnawed at him. Hong Jisoo's actions were not only a betrayal of trust but a stain on their shared profession. The chaos he had caused for their agency was not easily forgiven.

Yet, Wonwoo also understood the delicate dance of fame and reputation. Exposing the truth could be a double-edged sword, a decision that required careful consideration. Y/n held the power to unveil the reality of their past, a truth that could potentially change everything.

As the minutes passed, he found himself hoping for Y/n's strength and resilience to guide her through the encounter. He knew she was more than capable of handling the situation, but the support he yearned to offer her was bound by the confines of the car.

Finally, the door of the cafe swung open, and Y/n emerged. Her posture held a quiet determination, and Wonwoo's heart swelled with admiration. She approached the car with a composed grace, slipping into the passenger seat beside him.

Their gazes met, and without a word, he could sense the weight of the encounter. He offered her a small, supportive smile, a silent assurance that he was there for her.

The ride back from Seoul University was filled with a quiet yet palpable sense of support. As they merged onto familiar streets, Wonwoo broke the silence, his voice warm and gentle. "Y/n, where would you like to go now?"

Y/n's gaze shifted to the passing scenery outside, contemplative. "Home, please. I just want to be there right now."

Wonwoo nodded, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the route to Y/n's residence. The drive was a comfortable one, the air between them carrying a sense of shared understanding.

As they arrived, Y/n turned to Wonwoo with a small, sincere smile. "Would you like to come inside, Wonwoo? It's been a while since I've been able to host anyone."

He met her gaze with a soft smile of his own. "I'd love to, Y/n. Thank you for the invitation."

The house greeted them with a familiar warmth, the familiar scent of home enveloping them. Y/n offered a brief apology for not being able to prepare anything, her genuine hospitality shining through.

"It's not a problem at all, Y/n," Wonwoo reassured her. "I'm just glad to be here with you."

They settled into a comfortable rhythm, the atmosphere relaxed and easy. As they sat in the living room, Y/n turned to Wonwoo, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and determination.

"The meeting earlier," Wonwoo began gently, "how did it go?"

Y/n took a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking. "It was complicated but we dealed to come with a legal agreement, really. We both agreed that if it ever comes out that I wasn't the one who revealed Jisoo's status, he'll stop bothering me."

Wonwoo nodded, understanding the weight of the situation. "That's a significant step, Y/n. I'm glad you were able to find some resolution."

Y/n's eyes met his, a spark of gratitude shining through. "Thank you, Wonwoo. Your support means more to me than I can express."

They sat in companionable silence, the weight of the day slowly lifting. As evening settled in, the air around them seemed to fill with a sense of hope and possibility. Y/n sat on the comfortable living room couch, her eyes fixed on Wonwoo, a mix of curiosity and warmth in her gaze. The atmosphere in the room was cozy, the soft light casting a gentle glow around them.

"Can I ask you something, Wonwoo?" she ventured, her voice soft but steady.

He turned towards her, his expression open and inviting. "Of course, Y/n. You can ask me anything."

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "I've been wondering... why have you been so kind and affectionate towards me lately? I mean, driving all the way from Changwon and being there for me. It means a lot, but I'm just trying to understand the reason behind it."

Wonwoo met her gaze with sincerity, his eyes warm and earnest. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking.

"It's been a while since I felt like I could truly enjoy my life and my time," he began, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. "Meeting you, Giyong, and Youngmi again... it's been a reminder of the good things life has to offer. And with you, Y/n, there's something more."

Y/n's gaze held his, her curiosity deepening. "Something more?"

Wonwoo nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yes. Being around you, there's a sense of protectiveness that awakens in me. I want to be there for you, to support you in any way I can."

He took a breath, his gaze steady on Y/n's. "I've come to realize that it's more than just friendship, Y/n. I have feelings for you, romantically."

Y/n's heart seemed to flutter in her chest, surprised yet warmed by his honesty. She met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.

"I understand if it's difficult for you, Y/n," he continued, his voice gentle. "I know it hasn't been long for you, and I'm willing to wait. You deserve to take your time and open your heart when you're ready. I believe you're worth fighting for."

His words hung in the air, a quiet declaration of his feelings and his unwavering support. Y/n felt a rush of emotion wash over her, touched by his sincerity and the depth of his care.

"Thank you, Wonwoo," she finally said, her voice filled with gratitude. "Your honesty means a lot to me, and I truly appreciate your patience and understanding."

As they sat in the comfortable living room, the weight of their conversation seemed to settle around them. It was a pivotal moment, a shared understanding of the feelings that had blossomed between them. Together, they faced the uncertainty of what lay ahead, their bond strengthened by their shared vulnerability. They were ready to navigate the path forward, hand in hand, knowing that their connection was worth every step.

The room was cast in a hushed, early morning light, painting everything in a gentle, golden hue. Wonwoo's breaths gradually steadied as the remnants of his vivid dream began to recede. He gazed around the room, the unfamiliar surroundings of his father's villa causing a wave of disorientation to wash over him. It was as if he had been temporarily transported to another world, only to be abruptly pulled back to reality.

As Wonwoo sat there in the quiet villa, the weight of his realization settled heavily on his shoulders. The vividness of the dream still clung to him, like an echo of a life he had briefly lived. The laughter, the shared moments, the warmth of their connections—all of it felt so achingly real, yet he knew it was nothing more than a fleeting illusion.

A sense of yearning mingled with a quiet ache of loss, as if he had glimpsed a reality that was just out of reach. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands, trying to grasp onto the fading threads of the dream. It was like trying to hold onto mist, slipping through his fingers, leaving him with a bittersweet ache.

The room around him seemed to close in, the walls of the villa pressing in on him. He longed to return to the moments he had experienced in that dream, to be with Giyong, Youngmi, and Y/n once more. But the cruel truth was that those moments were never real, just fragments of a slumbering mind.

His body felt weary and spent, the strain of the long drive from Seoul to his childhood hometown settling in his bones. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, attempting to shake off the lingering traces of the dream. Those moments with Giyong, Youngmi, and Y/n seemed to cling to him, the emotions and sensations feeling almost too tangible, too real.

As another thud resonated through the villa, Wonwoo's senses sharpened, his heart quickening with a surge of adrenaline. He moved with purpose, descending the stairs in swift strides. The urgency in his steps betrayed the underlying anxiety that still pulsed through him.

When he entered the kitchen, the sight of Y/n greeted him like a beacon of solace. She sat there, a picture of quiet comfort, munching on chips with a bucket of ice cream at her side. Her presence was a grounding force, a reassuring reminder that he was indeed back in reality.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, a hint of confusion softening the edges of her gaze. "Did I wake you up?"

Wonwoo's response was immediate and visceral. He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "No, it's not that. I had a dream... I thought you were just a dream."

Y/n's laughter was a melodic, comforting sound. She reached out, her hand gentle as she patted his head, a soothing gesture that seemed to anchor him. "Well, I'm very much real, Wonwoo."

A sigh of relief escaped him, and he found himself leaning into her touch, seeking the solace she offered. Her scent, familiar and warm, enveloped him, dispelling the lingering traces of the dream that still clung to his senses.

She eased back, concern etched in the soft lines of her features. "Are you okay, Wonwoo?"

He met her gaze with a grateful smile, the depth of his appreciation mirrored in his eyes. "I am now, thanks to you."

Y/n extended a gentle invitation, patting the seat beside her, her eyes warm with affection. "Come join me." She nodded towards her chips and ice cream, a snack combination that had become a cherished indulgence since they learned about the little one growing inside her.

Wonwoo's heart swelled with a delicate mixture of tenderness and wonder. He moved to her side, their bodies settling in close companionship. The simplicity of sharing a snack held a profound significance, a quiet acknowledgement of the new journey they were about to embark on together.

As they sat in the tranquil villa, a sense of calm settled around them like a comforting embrace. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them, wrapped in a cocoon of shared intimacy. The promise of a new chapter in their lives hung in the air, a palpable presence that filled the room.

Wonwoo's gaze lingered on Y/n, his heart overflowing with gratitude for this moment. The dream, though fleeting, had left an indelible mark on him, blurring the boundaries between reality and imagination. Yet, here and now, with Y/n beside him, everything felt undeniably real. It was a tangible affirmation of the love, hope, and the promise of a bright future that lay ahead.

Their fingers brushed lightly as they reached for the snacks, a subtle connection that spoke volumes. Each gesture, each shared glance, was a silent promise to face the uncertainties of the future hand in hand. They were ready, together, to navigate the uncharted waters of parenthood, knowing that their bond was the anchor that would guide them through.

In the quietude of the villa, time seemed to suspend, leaving them in a precious bubble of shared anticipation. Every heartbeat echoed with the promise of new beginnings, of a love that would grow and evolve with each passing day.

As the day unfolded around them, Wonwoo and Y/n sat there, cherishing the moment. Their hearts beat in sync, a harmonious rhythm that set the tone for the journey that awaited them. They were ready to face the world, armed with the strength of their love and the unwavering promise of a future filled with endless possibilities.

Celebrated Actor Jeon Wonwoo Announces Joyous Pregnancy News with Non-Celebrity Wife

Three Years After Tying the Knot, the Couple Embarks on a New Chapter

---

Date: September 23, 20xx

Seoul, South Korea – In a heartwarming revelation, renowned actor Jeon Wonwoo, known for his exceptional talent and versatile roles, has shared the delightful news of his wife's pregnancy. The celebrated couple, who exchanged vows three years ago in a private ceremony, are now eagerly anticipating the arrival of their bundle of joy.

Jeon Wonwoo, recognized for his outstanding contributions to the entertainment industry, has captivated audiences with his memorable performances in a range of films and television dramas. His marriage to a non-celebrity three years ago was met with warm wishes and heartfelt support from fans and colleagues alike.

The actor's announcement of his wife's pregnancy comes as a source of great joy for both the couple and their admirers. This new chapter in their lives is met with much anticipation and excitement.

Friends and colleagues from the entertainment industry have extended their warmest congratulations to the soon-to-be parents. The news has also been met with an outpouring of love and well-wishes from fans worldwide, showcasing the deep affection and support they hold for the esteemed actor.

Jeon Wonwoo, known for his humility and dedication to his craft, has always kept his personal life private, focusing instead on delivering compelling performances that have garnered critical acclaim. This announcement is a rare glimpse into the actor's cherished moments, allowing fans to share in his happiness.

As the actor and his wife embark on this new journey together, their fans eagerly await the arrival of their little one, sending heartfelt wishes for health, happiness, and endless blessings.

The couple's journey into parenthood promises to be filled with love, support, and cherished memories. With the world watching, Jeon Wonwoo and his wife step into this exciting new chapter, ready to embrace the adventures of parenthood with open hearts.

The End.

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thisismeracing · 1 year

Note

#9 with Lewis!

coming right up! ✍🏾🫶🏾

From the Quick Prompt List: 9. “Can you come pick me up?”

word count: 0.5k

pairing: reader (she/her pronouns) x lewis hamilton

warnings: mentions of alcohol, club and a bit of tooth-rotting fluff.

It was past midnight, Yn's friends were somewhere in the middle of the club drinking and dancing, and she was way too tired and tipsy to bother leaving the bar. Her body was achy after working all day and she only agreed to come because it has been forever since they went out together, but right now, Yn was starting to regret not going home.

She watched as the lights flicked again, the neon hurting her eyes and making her dizziness worse. Her phone buzzed with a random notification that lit up her screen and she stared at the picture of her boyfriend and his dog, her favorite picture of them, her lock screen.

Yn didn't think too much before getting up and dialing his number from heart while walking to the back entrance where the sound of the loud music was muffled.

"Hi, Lew, can you come pick me up?" she mumbled pressing the device closer to her ear. It wasn't common for Yn to ask him favors, although Lewis would hardly consider it a favor, but the fact was: Yn did not like to ask Lewis things, she did not like to "be a bother" and it doesn't matter how many times he would tell her that she was not bothering and that he would gladly do anything for her, she still would take forever before giving in. That's why he was confused when she asked him to pick her up, because she was out with friends in a club located 40min from his house.

"Yeah, babe, I'm on my way, but is everything ok?" he asked, already grabbing his keys and wallet.

Yn nodded but then remembered he couldn't see her.

"I'm fine, just not really in the mood to party. I'm too tipsy and there's too much light and too much noise, I just wanna get home to you and Roscoe," she explains.

Lewis stops for a second once again, because that was another first. She was referring to his house as "home" and she wanted to get back to him and Roscoe. His heart pulsed faster.

"Do you want me to stay with you on the line? Are you sure you're safe?" he asked, getting inside his car and starting the engine.

"I am ok, but if you could stay on the line I would appreciate it."

"Anything for you, gorgeous," he answered and she smiled lazily. "I'm making it there in 20 ok?"

"But it's a 40min drive," she stated.

"I'm making it in twenty," he repeated, and sure enough in twenty minutes his park was outside the club. Yn found her friends on the dance floor and bid her goodbye before running to her boyfriend. Lewis was leaning against the car, arms crossed, eyes cast on the door as if waiting for her to show up, and when she did his face lit up in a small grin.

"You're absolutely the best, I am so sorry for-"

"You won't ever bother me, Yn. I would pick you up in hell if you asked me to, I love you," he whispers.

Yn smiles hugging him closer and tighter. She was already home although they were still 40min away from his house.

Hope you guys like it -insert here messsage about liking, reblogging, ranting on my inbox, letting me know your thoughts etc etc etc- byeee *mwah*

#lewis hamilton x reader #f1 imagines #blurbs #prompt party #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton #millie writes #requests #lewis hamilton one shot #lh44

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piratefalls · 7 months

Text

“You are", he says, "the absolute worst idea I've ever had.” - me @ ao3 after watching the movie and thinking "there's probably fic for this."

i like lists. i've lost sleep reading fic like it's gonna disappear the second i look away. i'm making my problem yours. i'm sure a lot of these won't be new to people since they pre-date the movie and it's far from comprehensive but. i'm late to this party. i also can't make gifs, so enjoy the basic canva header.

(baby) don't make me spell it out by extasiswings

One night near the end of first semester 1L finals, just a few weeks before the two-year anniversary of their first kiss, Alex finds himself looking up from his desk with its messy piles of color-coded notes and tabbed textbooks to see Henry asleep on the couch, clearly having dozed off waiting for him to come to bed, and unbidden he thinks, God, I’m going to marry this man. It startles him, the spike of adrenaline that floods through him waking him up and bringing the parts of his brain turning over concepts like proximate cause and strict liability to a standstill as he stares at Henry. I want to marry this man.

God Save the Blessed American President Mom by zipadeea

["June stopped by at lunch; she showed me a delightful channel called Hallmark, which repeats the same story every hour after they swap one round of white, straight, small-town conventionally beautiful actors for another. It was entertaining.” “June and I used to play a drinking game with those. Take a shot every time someone goes ice skating, sledding, or leaves the big city for their tiny hometown.” “Good lord, you must’ve been sloshed in the first ten minutes.”] -- On December 4, 2021, an attempt is made on President Ellen Claremont's life. Alex gets shot instead.

Familiar Gravity by cmere

“Yeah,” Alex breathes, and he pulls back to look Henry in the eyes. “I’ve been fantasizing about you fucking me in this chair for, like, weeks. Every time you sit down here with your stupid book.” Henry likes it when Alex speaks Spanish and Alex has a request.

Am I the Asshole? by everwitch

AITA for spending Valentine’s Day with my roommate instead of my boyfriend? It’s well past midnight on a Saturday and hardly the first time Alex has scrolled aimlessly on his phone instead of trying to sleep, but it’s definitely the first goddamn time Alex has discovered his roommate has made a lengthy post about last night’s curry debacle to r/AmItheAsshole — a post that’s apparently gone fucking viral. -- In which Alex and Henry are college roommates, and a few thousand strangers think they should fuck.

Everybody needs good neighbours by railmedaddy

To nora(9.37pm): So a funny thing happened My hot neighbour brought me the mcflurry i ordered and we fucked From nora (9.38pm): WHAT DETAILS NOW Which neighbour? Wait, you only have one hot neighbour. Alex, did you fuck a guy?!?!?! ALEX Or Alex meets a hot new neighbour. Shenanigans ensue.

A Picture on Your Corkboard by bleedingballroomfloor

It happens on a random morning in May when Alex, age fourteen, pads into the kitchen to greet his mother and steal a waffle from June's plate and sees a man sitting at their breakfast counter, reading a newspaper, a cup of coffee raised to his lips. Like he belongs. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. June doesn't seem to give the man a second thought. She merely flicks Alex on the forehead and takes back the waffle. Ellen isn't worrying, either. In fact, she's talking to him. Asking what his schedule is like. Making plans for dinner. Alex has never seen this man before in his life.

this is the worthwhile fight by dearhappy

It's not that Henry's scared of their future, he's never been more sure of anything in his life. The thing is they're still trying to figure out how that future is going to look. And he worries about how it'll affect Alex's career in politics.

Déjame Ver Cómo Es Que Floreces by 14carrotgold

Oscar gets in close and bluntly asks, “Earlier. In the bathroom. Did you do it?” Alex scoffs, “No. Don't be a perv. Why would you wanna know that anyway?” Oscar rolls his eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, chamaco. Did you propose?” Ah. - Henry is introduced to the extended Diaz side of the family at their matriarch's birthday. Shenanigans (and romance and feelings) ensue.

Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood by chamel

“I’m glad you both see it that way,” Dr. Chen says. Then she closes her notebook and folds her hands on top of it. “I think I’m starting to get a sense of where the issues lie. The good news is that you’re both here, and you’re both willing to work on this relationship. That’s promising. Not all of the couples I see are even at that point.” “Sorry, what?” Henry says, voicing Alex’s stuttering thoughts as well. (After one too many fights at work, Henry and Alex are assigned mandatory reconciliation therapy by their boss. Except the therapist thinks they're there for couples therapy... and surely, a bet on who will break first makes more sense than actually correcting her, right?)

Such a Burden, This Flame on My Chest by allmylovesatonce

Alex Claremont-Diaz is relocating back to Austin to join his dad's firehouse. His days as a firefighter in Washington D.C. ended badly, but no one knows that, or knows why. And he plans to keep that close to his chest. He has to shove it back down if he wants to seem like a normal person, if he wants to do the job, if he wants to get along with his new crew, and most of all, if he wants to get to know the hot British firefighter on the squad. No one can know what really happened.

thinking (about last night) by rhosyn_du

“I hope you know that I am literally never going to stop reminding you that you said that. I’m going to, like, take out an ad in the student paper. Maybe hire a skywriter or something. I am definitely telling Pez." "I hate you," Henry tells him. "Lies," Alex says, still laughing. "You know you love me." Henry lets out a heavy sigh. "Well," he says softly, "that's rather the problem, isn't it?" “What, you think we’d be better off if we still hated each other?” “I think," Henry says slowly, "I’d be better off if I could figure out how to stop being so stupidly in love with you.” It takes a few seconds for the words to really register, as distracted as Alex is by the heat of Henry’s breath and wondering how much it would cost to actually hire a skywriter. Once they do, it takes a full minute before Alex can move. Can breathe. Can think. Finally, he forces out a whispered, “What?” When that gets no response, he tries again. This time, his voice actually cooperates. “Wait, what?” The only response he gets is a soft snore and Alex realizes that Henry, the utter fucking asshole, has passed out on his shoulder.

you're the reason i let myself fall by perfect-porcelain (tedddylupin)

Alex doesn't quite know what to expect when he walks into a room with a glowing screen separating him from the person in the other pod. The entire experience makes him skeptical. How can you fall in love with someone you've never met? Or: Love is Blind AU

Sharper Head, Wilder Heart by Dawg1515

"This could work out,” Henry offers. “It could,” Alex replies. “That’s good, then. Someone’s going to have to walk me through the brilliance of Empire Strikes Back, after all.” “Sweetheart, if we’re legitimately dating now, I’m forcing you to watch every movie that has Harrison Ford in it.” “Duly noted.” Or: When the Queen decides it’s time for Henry to settle down with a woman, she arranges a courtship between him and Alex Claremont-Diaz, closeted political powerhouse. Alex secretly tells Henry he’s trans, and Henry tells Alex that he’s gay. To say they become an amazing couple would be an understatement—but nothing is ever that easy for a prince and a president’s son.

every version of you (i love) by coffeecatsme

“So,” the voice narrates as the man squishes the dog’s cheeks and laughs at himself. “There’s this guy that lives next to me with the cutest beagle in the world and this little guy climbs to the fence every day to drop his toys off at, like, 5:30 on the dot, I’m not kidding.” The camera shows the man boop the dog’s nose and press a little kiss to his forehead. There’s a ball in his hands that he hands to the dog, but it slips from his mouth all over again, making the man reach down to grab it. He glares at the dog, but even then he’s still smiling. “And this guy always walks by and picks up the stuff and it’s the cutest fucking thing ever you have no idea.” The camera zooms in farther into the man’s smile, genuine and wild, as he pushes his wild curls away from his face. His eyes flicker up when another figure walks into the frame, his blonde hair falling over his forehead in waves. The man’s smile, impossibly, widens. “Oh. I’m also pretty sure he has a crush on my neighbor.” Or, 5 times David greets Alex with something that belongs to Henry, and 1 time he greets Alex with something that belongs to both of them.

The Duke Who Loved Me by annesbonny, Inareskai, schmulte

This Author knows as well as anyone how much you, gentle readers, enjoy a scandal and a love story. And what could bring more delight that two young gentlemen who bring both of those wherever they go? Join the Duke of Mountchristen and the, untitled, Mr Claremont-Diaz as they attempt to find a Love Match amongst the gossip of the ton.

The Edge of Glory by politics_and_prose

Subject: CD-10 To: Alex Claremont-Diaz ([email protected]) From: Natasha Wallace ([email protected]) Alex - You know how you jokingly told me to let you know when Mayfield was vulnerable and/or not seeking re-election? Tash

lying in the low light by smc_27

The thing about having a one night stand with the guy your sister is close friends with and gatekept from you is that it becomes really fucking important that she never knows. Or, Alex and Henry have a one year stand. Or, Alex and Henry are in a relationship, only they’re the only ones who don’t know it.

what we might do (if we stop keeping a secret) by indomitablelove

'This isn't how I wanted to tell people. I thought we'd get the chance to do it right.' - Red, White and Royal Blue, Casey McQuiston, p.327 --- or, in another world, Alex and Henry get to do it right.

Who Could Love You The Same as I by MariaDmitrievnaLikesSundays

Inside was exactly what Alex had found himself dreaming about ever since that night at Kensington. The kind of dreams that he forced himself to forget once he woke up, but dreams all the same. A gold band, simple and smooth, with a single square diamond embedded on top. It was small, modest, exactly to Alex’s taste. ”Holy shit,” he said again. “Holy shit.” That was a ring. That was, unmistakably, an engagement ring. Hidden in his boyfriend’s coat. And he had just found it.

—— Or, Alex finds the engagement ring that Henry had hidden, and does exactly what you’d expect him to.

As the World Falls Down by 3bowtruckles

So while we all knew that the 2020 written in the book would be glorious fiction, we didn’t realize that reality would throw us something to take 2020 even further away from the book’s events. This story is where I attempt to merge our 2020 reality and the fiction of RWRB, using research (a LOT of research) to try to figure out what the trajectory of reality might have been. The story starts picking up the timeline after their late-February trip to Paris. After that, it's strictly AU, but I try to keep a lot of the intents of the events in the book (for instance, Alex's trip to confront Henry in Britain after the lake) while still making them fit the narrative I've created.

We'll Change the World Yet to our Dessire [sic] by cresswells

Alex and Henry are engaged and ready to share their announcement with the world, but after the media circus surrounding their forced outing Queen Mary wants them to do things properly this time. To Alex’s surprise, ‘properly’ apparently means taking a Royal Tour around Europe as an official couple. Ten days, five countries and lots of unnecessary wardrobe changes. What could possibly go wrong?

where clouds look like mountains by weather_stained

Four months after the election, while still learning to navigate the complexities of being in a public relationship, Alex finally has the chance to show Henry around Austin.

We'll Invite Something In by smc_27

Alex is grinning a little too hard. This is absolutely idiotic and pointless and fun. The cover of Hello UK with a photo of him pulled out and a photo of His Royal Highness Prince Henry Fox-Mountchristen whatever the hell the rest of his names are (Alex knows; he being a dick) with the admittedly stupid but flattering headline which reads: His Royal Highness: He’s just like us and crushes on Pres ACD.

Henry's Cold, Empty Tower by DracoWillHearAboutThis

“I want you,” Henry said, slowly but clearly, “to leave.” When Alex storms Kensington Palace, Henry sends him away. Then, their relationship gets leaked, and it's Henry's turn to fight for Alex.

behind the diamond-shaped glass by Celaestis

Five times Alex and Henry used tea and biscuits to communicate, and one time they don't need to.

The Byline by rosetintednerdglasses

Press Secretary Alex Claremont-Diaz serves at the pleasure of the President, and he does it excellently until a new White House correspondent darkens his press room: Henry Fox, The Guardian.

we've been here forever (here's the frozen proof) by r_holland

Objectively, I am aware that you – a stranger – cannot tell me my own sexuality any better than I can, however... Can you, please? Tell me? It’s 4am and I have been thinking about this for hours, and I can’t sleep. Warmest regards, ACD *** It’s four in the morning, and Alex Claremont-Diaz has managed to follow a research spiral straight down into a personal crisis. It isn’t the first time.

words on the tip of your tongue (but please don't say them) by viciouslyqueer

So close. He was so close to saying those words that have lived inside him for so long, and now it's gone, a moment that slipped right between his fingertips before he could grasp it. Now he’s floating in the middle of the lake alone, the ghost of Henry’s touch still lingering on his skin and an unknown, heartbreaking feeling in his chest. — Or: canon-divergence where Henry doesn't leave the lake house.

The Grand Tour by lucky (revolutionbarbie)

When Henry returned from an audience with Queen Mary looking stony faced and grim, Alex had immediately feared the worst. She had requested to see Henry – and Henry alone – the moment their plane had landed at Heathrow on a visit to Pez’s new shelter in London. Alex had suggested that they go to see her together just to spite the old hag, but Henry wanted to keep the peace. Since moving to Brooklyn, they had entered into an uncomfortable détente with Queen Mary and Henry was loathe to be the one to break it. “She wants us to go to Australia. It would be an unofficial Royal Tour, of sorts, with stops in several cities and a short visit to New Zealand. Three and a half weeks in total.” “She wants to send us on an all-expenses paid Australian getaway? Count me in.”

come and get me by rizcriz

The email arrives 8 days after Henry left the lake house. He contemplates deleting it without reading, but it sits in his Alex inbox, where there are over seventy emails favourited, and somehow it feels wrong and weirdly impersonal. As if leaving without a note were any different. He stares at the from line with an aching longing that seeps into his veins. It settles on his heart like a tangible thing; something warranted and cruel that casts shackles around the aorta and locks them tight so that he might never love again. -- or, alex sends an email instead of flying to KP.

Never Did Run Smooth by clottedcreamfudge

"You and me? Best friends. Stellar. Love that for us. But we could absolutely fake being in love. Dating. Whatever. I know literally everything about you—" (No you don't, Henry thinks firmly) "—and you know everything about me. We would absolutely fucking annihilate the other contestants.” "You're too drunk to apply," Henry points out, like he himself isn't about as wasted as it's possible for him to be without curling up and going immediately to sleep. "I doubt you could spell your own name right on the application. Or mine." Alex grins and pulls something up on his phone; it looks like it takes him a few tries. "Wanna fucking bet?" *** Or: Henry's life is a comedy of errors; a patchwork of oopsie-daisies; a quilt stitched together with hauntingly terrible mistakes. And at the centre of it all is his best friend, Alex Claremont-Diaz; director of said comedy, threading together his oopsie-daisies into a flower crown, rolling around in the quilt of his own making, and this analogy is going to shit because Henry's so in love with him he wants to die.

idk I'll do a part two if anyone wants.

#rwrb #firstprince #red white and royal blue #fic rec #fic rec list #i try not to do multiple authors on the same list so #just assume if they're here i read all their stuff plus their bookmarks lmao #for the record I have 100% read the book I just didn't think there'd be fic for it lmao #rwrb rec list

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roronoacherries · 1 year

Note

Hey!!!! I watched the movie fifty shades freed a few days ago and there was a scene where the protagonists were having sex on the kitchen table lol. could you do something like zoro and a female reader? thank you I'm really loving your blog and your fics, keep it up it's very very very very good!!!!

𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐤 | roronoa zoro

3.049 words

content: nsfw, sort of fluff sort of angst, afab reader, oral f. receiving, rough; trouble sleeping, bad dreams, and a midnight snack…

note: thank you for the request! sorry i took forever. i love kitchen sex and i could write about it a dozen times. this isn’t quite as good as the fifty shades scene — and it’s a lot more emotional (i got carried away? hope that’s okay) — but it’s not half bad. enjoy!!

each night, sanji locks the kitchen to keep a certain someone from eating everything in his sleep, but he’d gifted you (as well as nami and robin) with a key to enter if you ever desired to.

you’d never used it before — you were hardly the type to crave a midnight snack — but after tossing and turning in bed for the past hour, you quietly felt around the darkness of your room, searching for the key.

if anything, at least a trip to the kitchen would let zoro sleep in peace.

the swordsman laid sprawled across your bed, mouth slightly agape as light snores escaped him. you had struggled to remove yourself from his arms without waking him. he was usually a light sleeper but, strangely, he hadn’t stirred at all.

you weren’t too surprised; he’d come to bed exhausted after a late night workout, snuggling into you, not letting you say a word before muttering something about his room being too far and your bed being comfier. he was fast asleep in a matter of seconds — unlike you, whose thoughts wouldn’t allow her a moment of rest.

as you searched your nightstand for the key, zoro’s hand seemed to search for you beside him, but beyond that he gave no sign of waking up any time soon. the last thing you wanted was to wake him; so, as soon as you found the key, you stepped out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as you could.

you took your time making your way to the kitchen, letting your tired mind wander back to the image of zoro asleep at your side, the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his bare chest, the weight of his arm wrapped around you… it should have been enough to lull you to sleep but all you could do was think.

even with zoro at your side, all you could do was worry that you were drifting apart. it felt like the only time you spent with him anymore was on the nights he didn’t have watch duty, when he wandered into your room with some excuse to sleep beside you. it wasn’t like he needed a reason, but something told you zoro must have felt the same way you did. like something was changing between you.

he was with you a few nights a week at most — nowhere near as much as you’d like. sometimes he’d listen to you tell him about your day as you rested your head against his chest, but most nights were like tonight; he’d wrap his arms around you, pulling you close to him, before falling asleep. in the morning, he was always gone before you woke. you’d tried keeping him company in the crow’s nest, too, but you never managed to stay awake long. by morning, you’d find yourself in the comfort of your bed.

so when you were laying beside him, all you could think about was that it felt like you were always missing him. it pained you to look at him and notice that his hair had grown longer or that he had scars you didn’t recognize and didn’t have a clue where he’d gotten them.

it pained you to fall asleep beside him when you knew he wouldn’t be there in the morning.

the scent of delightfully sweet desserts pulled you from your melancholy as you entered the kitchen. you couldn’t be more grateful that sanji had spent the entire afternoon baking; chocolate wouldn’t solve your problems, but you could still try. at the very least, it was a perfect temporary fix. you took a seat on the counter beside the treats, swinging your legs as you questioned what to eat first.

“there you are. what’re you doing in here?” zoro spoke in a hoarse whisper, squinting from the door as his eyes adjusted to the kitchen lights.

“shit, sorry. did i wake you?” you said, half a brownie in your mouth. despite your guilt, you couldn’t help letting your eyes admire zoro’s bare torso as he made his way over to you. his pants hung painfully low on his hips.

the swordsman shook his head, averting his eyes as he replied. “had a bad dream.”

“what about?” you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him a little closer to you and zoro rested his hands on your hips.

“doesn’t matter.” there was something in the way his grip tightened around you that made you question his sincerity, but before you could say anything else, zoro reworded his earlier question. “why weren’t you in bed?”

it was you, then, who averted her eyes. “it…doesn’t matter,” you whispered, partially to tease him but mostly to keep him from worrying. “i couldn’t sleep.”

“and sweets were your solution?” zoro raised an eyebrow. you shrugged, taking a cupcake and putting some of its frosting on his nose. “i needed a walk. and besides, i didn’t want to risk waking you.”

“i wouldn’t have minded.”

“i know.” you leaned forward, slowly licking the chocolate frosting from his nose. you hadn’t meant for it to be a sensual act, but it made your body feel hot nonetheless. before you could move back, zoro pushed his lips against your own, enveloping you in a kiss that clouded all of your senses. you wrapped your arms around the swordsman, running your fingers through his hair as you pulled away — an act that felt different than you remembered.

his hair had gotten longer, you reminded yourself. of course that would make a difference, but had it really been so long since you’d last run your fingers through it that the act would feel foreign?

you tried to ignore the thought, pressing your lips to zoro’s once more for another, softer kiss. at least, he’ll never stop tasting like sake.

“i missed that.” the words left your lips before you recognized what they implied: you couldn’t remember the last time you and zoro had kissed like this. there were the half-asleep goodnight kisses and soft, short-lived kisses on the deck when either of you disembarked, but that was all. and somehow, you hadn’t realized it until then.

if the swordsman had heard your words, he showed no sign of it, his eyes fixed on your upper arm.

“what’s this?” he traced his thumb over a scar on your skin.

“oh. that’s nothing. i was helping sanji in the kitchen a couple weeks ago and he sort of, accidentally grazed my arm with a knife,” you explained, but zoro’s eyes still stared at the fading scar. “it sounds worse than it really was, i promise,” you added, placing your hand on his chin as you turned his eyes toward you.

as insignificant as the scar was, you could see the same unease in zoro’s eyes that you’d felt as you brushed your fingers through his hair.

“...weeks ago.” he repeated, shutting his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed. but you weren’t going to let him dwell on the thought. pressing your lips to his again, you slipped your tongue into his mouth and let your hands roam his body. you felt the curves of his arms, the familiar scar across his chest, the outline of his abs. his own hands moved slowly along the sides of your body, slipping under your shirt to meet the softness of your skin.

regardless of time, your bodies still knew one another; your hands still knew where to touch each other without need for thought. you still moved in perfect sync with one another. the subtlest touch from zoro’s fingers could still light a fire within you.

“zoro…” you pulled back — or at least, attempted to, your body aching to be pressed against his. “lock the door.”

you spoke between kisses, breathless as zoro pulled you closer, refusing to let you pull away. his movements were almost uncharacteristically relentless and possessive. though it wasn’t difficult to imagine why.

“what for?” zoro traced his lips slowly along your jaw, leaving kisses down your neck and along your collarbone; you could feel him smirking against your skin. the swordsman had never been one to fear getting caught in the act with you. on the contrary, there were times you were certain he aimed to make sure the whole ship knew what you were up to.

“roronoa zoro.” you forced yourself to pull away from his touch, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

“alright.”

a smile tugged at your lips as the swordsman walked to the door, without any rush — you couldn’t complain, loving to admire the curves of his bare back. roronoa zoro was a man sculpted by the very gods; there was not a doubt in your mind about it.

you reached for the cupcake beside you, not taking your eyes off the swordsman as you dragged your finger along its side, meeting zoro’s eyes as you brought it to your lips. slowly, you licked the frosting from your fingertip before gently sucking. “want some?” you asked innocently as zoro returned to stand between your legs.

he took the cake from your hand and set it aside, leaning into you, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed his lips just below your ear, the spot he knew always made your breath hitch. “i’m craving something else…”

if you’d felt a heat rushing through your body before, now you were burning up. zoro pushed up the fabric of your shirt, eyeing you with greed as he waited for you to take it off. the swordsman wasted no time in pressing his mouth to your breast as he pressed you back against the cold countertop. his hand traveled lower, ever grateful that you slept only in panties and an oversized shirt as he slipped aside the fabric of your undergarments, fingers slowly dragging along your intimacy.

with a devilish grin, zoro pulled back, giving his fingers a swift lick. “so good.” he said with a smirk, his low, gruff voice sending shivers through your body. “have a taste,” he brought his fingers to your lips, kneading your breast with one hand as you obediently sucked on his fingers.

“fuck. i can’t ever get enough of you.” his arms moved to wrap around your thighs, leaving you exposed for him to feast on you however he pleased. he started slow, pressing his tongue along your drenched labia, relishing in the taste of you — but you knew better than to get comfortable with this pace. the drunker he got off of you, the more remorseless he could be.

you felt him groan against you, the feeling momentarily making you forget how to breathe; you could feel him smirking against you before burying his face deeper against you, spelling a storm around your clit with his tongue.

you couldn’t help but gasp at the sensation, curling your toes and biting your lip as you fought to stifle your moans, knowing it would be in vain soon enough.

and you were right. nothing could quiet your sweet moans, the soft utterances of zoro’s name falling incessantly from your lips as he slipped two fingers into you. all proper thoughts left your mind as you indulged in the pleasure rushing through your body.

“f-fuck, zoro. amor—” one hand reached below, slipping your fingers through zoro’s hair as you massaged your breast with the other. “don’t stop. i’m c-close.”

a slew of incoherencies escaped your lips as a wave of pleasure went through your body, zoro’s fingers not ceasing their movements as he moved to press his lips against yours, his free hand bringing you forward, pressing your body up against his.

when he pulled away, you were beyond breathless, clasping your legs shut. you rested your hands on either side of his face, kissing him over and over again. “fuck. i love you. let me suck your cock, please.” you pleaded, licking your lips, wanting nothing more than to get on your knees and wrap your lips around him. you wanted to struggle to take him in, to feel his hand on your head guiding you, and most of all to have him fill your throat with his hot cum.

“sorry, babe,” you watched as he stepped out of his sweatpants, the sight of his hard cock making your mouth water. zoro didn’t waste time dragging it along your dripping cunt, evoking a soft moan from your lips, your pussy still beyond sensitive. he shut his eyes in pleasure as he pressed his cock against you, just against your entrance. you whimpered at the feeling. “i need something a little different.”

“fuck me,” you said slowly, leaning your body back against the counter. “please, zoro.”

the swordsman didn’t waste a second fulfilling your request. he stuffed you full, all at once before you could think twice about it. his pace was rough, only fueled by your loud whines. “z-zoro-” your back arched forward in bliss, your hands grasping for something to hold. in all of your mess, you’d completely forgotten about the sweets beside you until your arm knocked them off the side of the counter accidentally. but zoro’s merciless thrusts made it hard to think about anything other than his thick cock buried inside you.

“too much, zoro, i can’t,” you whimpered, feeling another orgasm building inside you. but zoro only quickened his pace, his hands gripping your hips, holding you firmly in place as a second wave of pleasure unraveled within you.

feeling your cum around his length, dripping out of you, zoro didn’t halt his thrusts. instead, the lewd sounds of bodies connecting and his skin against yours kept him going. your arms wrapped around him in agonizing pleasure, your nails digging into his back as you felt another coil building inside you. tears swelled in your eyes as you moaned zoro’s name over and over.

“hold on a little longer, sweet thing.” zoro pressed his lips to your forehead and you held your breath as you obediently fought back your release. you were notorious for being the only crew member who could tell roronoa zoro what to do, but in bed it was you who was weak to his commands.

as his pace became messier, movements slopier, his hands gripping your hips tighter, zoro shut his eyes before uttering an assertive, “cum.”

with that one word you let go, feeling his seed fill you with each continuous thrust as your own juices did. his thrusts slowed and your body clenched around him as he released every last drop into you.

“sanji’s going to kill us.” you whispered, breathing heavy. there was no way you’d be able to clean up this mess. you wouldn’t be able to walk to the door in this state.

zoro chuckled, kissing you slowly, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “i needed this.”

his words were quiet, vulnerable. his eyes avoided yours, focusing instead on your intertwined hands. “i know. so did i.”

“you wanna tell me why you really came down here?” zoro’s eyes shifted only slightly higher; they stilled on the scar on your arm.

“you wanna tell me about your bad dream?”

his eyes met yours then, with a playful glare. “i asked first.” you stared into them, looking for something, anything, that might give you an answer. something that might ease your fears.

what could you say to him? that you couldn’t stand sleeping in his arms anymore, that there was a glaring distance between you two that you couldn’t bear to ignore any longer? what could you say that wouldn’t ruin the night for you both.

you opened and shut your mouth several times, unable to find the right words, not quite aware of the tears forming in your eyes.

“shit. don’t cry,” zoro instinctively moved to hug you, pressing you close to him as he wiped the tears from your cheek, resting his chin on your head. “i’m sorry. you don’t have to say anything.”

he was quiet for a moment, but you could tell that, like you, he was looking for the right words to say. and for the courage to say them.

“i lost you.” you stayed still in his arms, holding your breath as he spoke, his voice only a whisper. “i dreamt that i’d lost you. that you’d left and it’d been because of me.

“when i woke up and you weren’t beside me, i…”

“i feel like i miss you all of the time,” zoro sighed; you couldn’t be more grateful that his sudden show of vulnerability had had him voice the words you couldn’t say.

you pulled back, slowly, looking up at the swordsman whose eyes were shut tight. you knew better than anyone that zoro hated to be vulnerable, that confessing his nightmares was worse to him than any wound. you knew that if he was telling you any of this, it was because he needed to.

“i’m right here.” you placed your hands on either side of his face, a gentle smile on your lips as his eyes opened to meet yours. “all yours, zoro. if i try to stand it’ll prove that.” zoro’s eyes gleamed with pride at those words. “and you’re not getting rid of me easily,” you whispered these words against his lips before kissing him softly.

“thought i was the one comforting you.” the swordsman raised a brow, but you could see the faintest of blushes flush his cheeks.

“i love you, roronoa zoro.”

the words took zoro by surprise, but he didn’t hesitate to return the sentiment, leaning in to kiss you again. “i love you, y/n.”

“ i’m tired of missing you. let’s take the day off tomorrow,” you said between kisses.

“and the day after,” zoro suggested, pulling away only to slip back into his sweatpants and toss you your shirt.

“and the rest of the week.” meeting your lips, he stood between your thighs again, lifting you with his hands on your ass. “zoro, wait. we can’t leave the kitchen like this.”

the swordsman rolled his eyes, though promising to get up and clean your mess before the cook could notice. “c’mon let’s go to bed.

“and if you’re still up for a midnight snack, i’ve got something you were begging to have a taste of earlier…”

─────────────────────────────

taglist: @zorobraun @maaarshieee @lyriczhou @tinkywinky27 @dimimyth @gaby-chwan @tk6uro @zoros-4th-sword @idiotlittleme

masterlist | taglist

#zoro smut #roronoa zoro smut #zoro x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader #୨⎯ sol’s requests ☼#୨⎯ sol escribe ☼

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aliceinnaughtyland · 1 year

Text

OFF LIMITS

Pairing: Niragi x Aguni’s sister! Reader

Warnings: unprotected sex (be smart!), possessive Niragi

Word count: 1.9 K

Summary: Niragi wants you so bad it hurts but he’s too scared of your brother to do anything about it. You have to take the matter into your own hands.

Author’s note: And I disappeared again. I promise you guys I love y’all, I just experience some writer block. Don’t hate me. Here’s a counter sex smut (my favourite) with Niragi to apologize! Remember that English isn’t my first language. Please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think.

Nota bene: We do NOT condone Niragi’s actions as we do NOT condone rape! We only love the Dori Sakurada’s interpretation of Niragi. This is fantasies only! You do NOT deserve this! If you are a victim of violence, please get help as soon as possible! You are not alone. Stay safe xx

Niragi was an asshole.

He was obnoxious and rude, and he treated everyone like he owned them.

But not with you! With you, he was nice and kind. He always tried to help you in any sort of way. Not that you needed help, obviously. But having a big armed guy on your side was hardly a luxury at the Beach.

Two reasons why he treated you well.

First of all, because he had the biggest crush on you. When he was around you, he couldn’t think of anything but getting into your pants. You were beautiful, and you were confident. You weren’t scared of him and to be totally honest, he found himself turned on anytime you opened your mouth to shut him up.

But there was another reason that made him be nice to you: You were Aguni’s sister!

You were off limits. Everybody knew that.

Actually, Aguni never said a thing about you. But no one was bold enough to try anything!

You busted in the VIP room during a militant meeting and your confidence still impressed Niragi. Dangerous armed guys were talking, and you interrupted them with no care in the world. His eyes were scanning your body until they met yours, already staring at him with lifted brows. He’d been caught. Was he embarrassed? You giggled a bit.

“Aguni, I need to talk to you”

Your brother nodded as he left the room, following you into the corridor.

You were hungry! It was past midnight and you were so fucking hungry. But you were in your bed, comfy and warm and you didn’t want to move. You debated with yourself but soon, laziness lost the battle against hunger. You threw yourself out of bed and went to the kitchen, not even bothering changing. Your pyjamas consisted of only an extra-large shirt and short shorts, but you were in a bikini all day every day, so half of the people at the Beach already saw your butt. Why changed then?

You arrived at the kitchen and turned on the music to make yourself a snack. You were dancing to the beat as your cheese grilled when you heard someone behind you, walking to you. You didn’t take the time to think, grabbed a knife and turned around quickly.

On the other side of your knife was Niragi’s throat, with his hands up.

« You’re fast » he said calmly, smirking at you.

« Damn it Niragi, don’t do that! You scared the shit out of me! »

« Sorry » he chuckled.

The sound of the microwave ringing behind you interrupted the intense eye contact.

« Can I sit with you? » he asked, already climbing on top of the counter.

« Sure » you answered as you hoped beside him, food in your hands.

You made sure your thigh was brushing against his as you sat.

You wanted him.

And you knew he wanted you.

You remembered this moment. The moment you learned that Niragi wanted to “fuck you raw against a wall”. His words.

It was a hot summer night and you needed to refresh yourself. You and your friends decided to head to the pool. You were wearing your favourite bikini, not bothering to wear anything else. But as you were about to leave the building, you realized you forgot your hairbrush and turned around, telling your friends you will meet them at the pool.

“Yeah so I can give Aguni a reason to kill me, right?”

As you heard your brother’s name, you knew you had to stop and listen. What if someone wanted to do him wrong? You needed to know.

“I don’t know man” Takatora answered, clearly bothered.

“No, I’m telling you! I’m not usually smart but I’ll be on that one. I’ll just stop thinking about her and move on”

As you got closer, you clearly recognize Niragi’s voice.

“If you say so”

“What?”

“Bro you are talking about her 24/7. Every time she’s entering the fucking room. I get it, you like her. But you’re driving me fucking crazy”

You continued listening for a while as it was kinda fun, but when you heard them moving, you quickly turned around and join your friends.

« So no chicks to impress tonight, huh? » you asked him before taking a bite of your grilled cheese.

« No. I grew bored I guess » he shrugged, stealing your snack.

“Bored? About girls? Who are you and what did you do to Niragi?”

He sincerely laughed at that, but didn’t really answer you.

Niragi seemed confident, but you knew him too well. You noticed the little shake in his voice and the way he swallowed at your giggles.

You knew he wanted you. And you wanted him. Now. On this exact counter.

You shifted a little, feigning to get more comfortable when, really, you made sure to get closer to him. You moved your hair out of your shoulders, letting him see your neck and collarbone. You could feel the tension. The atmosphere was getting thick. He loudly inhaled through his nose, and you knew. Your plan was working.

And he knew you knew. You weren’t innocent, and he was well aware of that. Your little game wasn’t unnoticed, and that was exactly why it was working. He knew you wanted him. And it made him go crazy. The months of flirting together and staring at each other were getting to an end.

He knew it was a dangerous game. That’s why he stood up, leaving the counter. But you pursued him and grabbed his arm before he could walk away. He turned around again and you pulled him a little, wedging yourself between the counter and his body.

« I don’t want to hurt you »

« What if I want you to hurt me? »

A shaky breath left his mouth.

« Y/N don’t tease »

« Why not? »

« I can’t do that »

« But you want to? »

« Your brother would kill me »

« But I’ll make you feel alive »

You knew he was going to cave; it was a matter of minutes. You knew it was going to take one more sentence.

« Fuck me Niragi »

At that, his mouth was on yours. He captured your lips with a fervor you never felt before.

He grabbed your thighs and sat you on the counter again, so close to the edge that you could feel his entire body pressed against yours. His hands were everywhere on your body. His mouth left yours to navigate on your jaw and neck.

He wanted you for so long, and he was going to make the best of it. He was literally aching for you, his body hurting with desire.

He grabbed your waist under your shirt, tight, and you felt like you were his. He made sure of that. He was going to get hell by your brother. He wanted at least to make the best of it while it lasted.

If he wasn’t close before, he definitely was now. You could feel his clothed groin pressing against your pussy. You instinctively moved your hips, trying to get some friction. He quickly grabbed your hips, stopping your movements. He needed you to stay still or else he was sure he was going to explode.

“I shouldn’t be doing this”

“You’re hot when you’re scared”

« Your brother will kill me»

« Don’t think about him » you said as you guide his hand inside your underwear, your lips brushing against his, « think about me »

His fingers quickly found your clit. He didn’t waste any time. Not anymore. He could feel the wetness on you and he needed more. He couldn’t care less about Aguni right now. The guy had left his mind the moment he felt your hand pulling at his, guiding it inside of your shorts. You moaned in his ear and he knew he couldn’t live without this sound anymore.

His fingers circled your clit, his mouth on yours, kissing you like there was no tomorrow. Which actually might be true for him.

“You’re so fucking wet” he groaned, not giving a damn about who could hear him.

You only whimpered in answer, your hands gripping his shoulders so tight he knew you would be leaving marks.

You could feel his fingers slipping inside of you with ease, his thumb still on your clit. He was fast, hard, and touching every spots inside of you that made you see stars.

“You’re fucking mine now. There is no way anyone would touch you like I do ever again. I will kill anyone who get close to you”

You were about to climax, and he knew it. He could feel you clenching around his fingers. He suddenly slipped his fingers out of you, stopping all of the sudden, and all you could do was whine. You were gonna ask him why he’s stop when he explained it to you.

“If you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna cum around my cock princess. I want to feel it on my cock.”

You wanted to answer but couldn’t. Instead, you just looked at him with wide eyes, trying to make him cave and let you cum.

“Continue to pout like that and I’ll destroy you. You just have what you asked for princess, teasing me like you don’t know what you’re doing”

You felt him grabbed your shorts and lifted your hips to allow him to take them off.

Your hands were opening his shirt, exploring his chest as he was working on his belt and pants.

He quickly penetrated you, not letting you any time to adjust to his size, and you were unable to keep your eyes open.

But then again, for the second time of the night, everything stopped.

“You look at me in the eyes when I’m inside you. You close your eyes and I stop.”

With that, he kissed you, slower this time. You sighed when you felt him inside of you again. You could feel his hair falling against your face and his hot breath on you.

“I’ll probably get shot for it but this is so fucking worth it”

You wanted to respond, but the only thing your brain could do was make you moan.

His fingers found your clit again and in no time the stimulation was enough to make you clench around him, milking his own orgasm away.

Aguni was searching for you when he entered the kitchen and saw the two of you getting dressed.

Niragi’s eyes widen and he stepped backward, his hands up in defense. He was ready to apologize. Or ready to die. He opened his mouth to say something, anything that could get him out of trouble, and Aguni’s eyes left him to speak to you.

«Y/N I need to see you » he stated.

«Coming » you answered as your brother turned around and leave.

Aguni knew you could handle yourself. He actually never gave a fuck about your love and sexual life. You were an adult and he couldn’t care less.

He never threatened anyone who got too close to you. His reputation just did the thing.

« I like it when you get scared » you laughed, winking at him before following your brother, letting the tall guy speechless and alone in the middle of the room.

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland fanfiction #alice in borderland oneshot #alice in borderland imagine #alice in borderland smut #niragi #niragi imagine #niragi smut #niragi suguru smut #niragi suguru imagine #niragi suguru

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compacflt · 1 year

Text

Rumors from Pearl Harbor.

When Admiral Kazansky first comes to Pearl, he brings with him about half of his previous staff, all exceptionally-hardworking people hand-picked over years—advisors, flag aides, secretaries, ranks all over the board. But his new hires, upon getting acquainted with the old guard, are shocked to discover that his previous staff still hardly knows him at all.

“He keeps to himself, mostly,” Lieutenant Commander Hartford explains over a pint. “I made the mistake of asking him once what he did for fun. You know, like, hobbies and stuff. He blinked at me for a second, and then said, ‘I read.’ That’s it! I read! My advice to you newcomers would be, don’t ask him questions about his personal life, because it tends to be pretty boring.”

“It sounds to me like he’s a walking, talking Wikipedia page,” says Captain Calvert, who worked for the previous two Pacific Fleet Commanders and thinks she knows how to deal with them by now. “We owe it to ourselves to figure him out. It’ll make our lives easier, anyway. So, let’s put our heads together: what do we know about him?”

What they know are his habits, which they’ll come to learn intimately over the next few years, and which are admittedly pretty boring. Admiral Kazansky is one of the first to show up to work in the morning and one of the last to leave in the evening. He often answers e-mails past 2300 hours, but never later than midnight. Jokes never catch him off-guard; he rarely smiles, and when he does, it has an ulterior motive. When he’s not working, he’s scheming and making plans to go back home to San Diego, and his requests for leave are always granted, because he works like a pack mule from home anyway. He signs off every e-mail with “Sincerely,”…

“Is he sincere, though?” asks Chief Warrant Officer Kent halfway through Admiral Kazansky’s first year. (Admiral Kazansky is surely unaware that his staff now spends the second Friday of every month chit-chatting about him over drinks in downtown Honolulu.) “I can’t ever tell. And he lives in Hawaii. San Diego’s nice, I know, but what’s so different about the beaches there that he can’t get here?”

“I genuinely don’t think he’s human,” confesses Commander Stoddard. “People warned me about that when I came here, and I laughed it off, but… he keeps his desk biologically sterile. Not one fingerprint, but I’ve never seen anyone wipe it down. I’ve looked through his drawers. Don’t judge me, I got curious. Everything squared away, like he’s goddamn Einstein or something. Have any of you ever seen him in his civvies?” No one has. “God damn it, where does he shop for groceries? No one’s seen him at a grocery store? Does he even own a pair of jeans? Does he wear his uniform to bed, too?”

“He probably goes grocery shopping on the whole other side of the island to avoid all the enlisted kids,” laughs Captain Calvert. “Come to think of it…you know how he always eats lunch in the office? It’s always a salad. And always the same kind of salad. This guy survives on one cup of coffee and one spinach salad a day. Maybe he really isn’t human.”

They build out their wealth of knowledge and come to learn that Admiral Kazansky is defined by his extremes, by what he always does and what he never does. Admiral Kazansky gets his uniforms dry-cleaned every week, though he never spills anything on them. No one has ever seen Admiral Kazansky stumble over his words while giving a speech, or trip over a sidewalk curb, or push a “pull” door. He is always polite and never friendly. Sometimes he is cold, and sometimes he is cruel in his patience with you when you’ve fucked up, like a cat toying with a hemorrhaging mouse. But he never raises his voice. He is always immaculately put-together, well-groomed, constructed every day like a product on an assembly line. Nothing is ever out of place. Allegedly his umbrella once turned inside-out during a rainstorm; he disdainfully shook it once, as a hunter might pump a loaded shotgun, and it flipped itself right-side-in again. The laws of physics do not seem to apply to him. Nor do the natural embarrassments that come with being human. Admiral Kazansky is never flustered, never harried, and never falls apart.

“I found this old picture of him shaking hands with another pilot on the Internet,” says Chief Warrant Officer Kent in Admiral Kazansky’s second year. “Smiling like the Cheshire Cat. Never seen him smile like that in all my years working with him. And he had frosted tips, too. Like Guy Fieri on a diet and steroids. It was the eighties, sure, but it’s like he knew how to have fun, once upon a time. Wonder what happened to him.”

“I feel lonely for him sometimes,” says Commander Stoddard. “Strict guy like that, no family, no friends, no wife, nothing to live for but the Navy? He’s like a workhorse with blinders on. Nowhere to go but forward. That’s a lonely existence.”

“Not if you’re a robot,” says Lieutenant Commander Hartford. “I swear, sometimes he breathes and it makes me jump, ‘cause I forgot he was alive!” —What else doesn’t Admiral Kazansky do?

That’s when they realize that none of them, not the old guard nor the new, has ever, not once, ever seen or heard Admiral Kazansky sneeze.

And they all finally give up the game and quit arguing and agree that, no, he really isn’t human after all. He must be some cyborg from the future sent to whip the Pacific Fleet into shape, and you can’t ask for too much humanity from someone who’s doing a pretty damn good job of it.

The rumors start soon after that. Jokes that could get them all tossed out of the Navy, but probably won’t. Jokes that accidentally spread like wildfire.

Yes, Admiral Kazansky could be a cyborg, but he also could be a Mormon fundamentalist, or a Scientologist, or a really weird Catholic. Maybe he goes home to San Diego so often because in his spare time he’s really a mule ferrying cocaine across the Mexi-Cali border. That’s what he does for fun. He eats spinach salads because he’s a reincarnation of Popeye the Sailor Man, and he needs all the super-strength he can get to deal with the Navy’s modern-day bullshit.

“I don’t know if that story makes sense,” laughs Captain Calvert on the phone with her husband in Washington, “but it makes more sense than the real Admiral Kazansky does!”

So the rumors get spread around.

“I don’t know if you know this,” Maverick comments, watching Ice make their bed from the relative comfort of the bedroom doorway, “or if I should tell you this, because you might crack down on it, which would be a shame, ‘cause it’s funny. But every time you send a mass e-mail to the Pacific Fleet commissioned officer corps, you become the main topic of conversation between all of us officers for a solid day and a half.”

“Oh?” says Ice with a smile, struggling to fit the last corner of the fitted sheet to the mattress. He sighs, tugs on the strings of his old ratty-ass hooded sweatshirt, and looks at Maverick balefully through his glasses. “Help me out over here, would you? —What are people saying? All good things, I hope.”

“Not really,” Maverick says, stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase as he stares out the window into the San Diego sunshine. “Some pretty crazy shit, actually. Hard as hell for me to keep a straight face. I heard this one—you know, people are saying you eat nothing but salads?”

“Oh,” laughs Ice, hospital-cornering the free sheet. “Yeah, that one’s kind of true. I bring salads in to the office sometimes.”

“You hate salads.”

“I know, it’s torture! Move over.” He bumps Maverick out of the way to tuck in the last corner. “But, I figure, if a man torments himself with spinach-and-arugula salads three times a week, you ought to respect his commitment. It’s all an act. You get to a certain Defense Department paygrade, it all starts being storytelling and stagecraft.”

“Or trickery and deception, depending on how you look at it.”

“Sure. But you could say that about everything. —Besides, I’d rather the Navy discuss my salads than discuss… well, this.” He gestures to Maverick, then down to the bed. They start tugging the comforter over it together. “How much slack you got over there?”

“‘Bout a foot.”

Ice pulls his side down a couple more inches to match, then flips the top up. “Is that it? That’s all people are saying about me?”

Maverick grins and bends down to pick up a pillow. “They’re also saying that you’re the reincarnation of Popeye the Sailor Man. I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam, and all that. Think fast.”

Ice doesn’t think fast, and the pillow hits him square in the face, and he laughs again as he catches it in his arms. “Shit, that’s good,” he says; “I was just about to call Slider, think I’ll tell him that one. That’ll make him laugh. Popeye Iceman.” He tosses the pillow onto the made-up bed and pulls out his cell phone, but—then he frowns, grimaces, mutters “Ah, no,” and turns away to sneeze.

#these are not real OCs obv #none of my OCs ever are #just names saying things #if a tree (ice) falls in a forest (sneezes in his office) and no one’s around to hear #does it really make a sound?#cyclone hears these rumors and immediately starts slamming salads and dry cleaning his uniforms #what he doesn’t understand is that sometimes overachieving is driven by having something you desperately want to keep hidden #im very interested in an interpretation of TG86 ice that #has constructed a mythos/character around himself #(best of the best & scary frosted tips for example)#to hide the truth of who he actually is.#Popeye iceman #top gun #top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #top gun fanfiction #it’s the way he lives. ice-cold; no mistakes.#popeye’s ‘I am what I am and that’s all that I am’ would be good advice for my ice to take #of course around mav tho…

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riftfic · 8 months

Text

14. Human

Who will save you now?

Warnings: strong language, referenced suicide, violence

Featured Characters: Sans, Chara/Frisk (Reader), Flowey/Asriel, Wingdings Gaster, Asgore Dreemurr

Note: If you haven't read the previous chapters recently (maybe even if you have outside the past few days), I recommend giving it another read. It's definitely not a requirement, but I added some extra details throughout the story and a few more scenes, most notably in Chapters 3 & 9, that should help the ending feel even more satisfying.

Several years later . . . here's the next chapter.

< Load | RESET | Continue >

From a single strip at the Underground’s heart, Waterfall tunneled away into a boneyard mess of caves. In one direction, the passage to Hotland sprawled in mushroom-light mazes and a boulder choke disguising Tem Village. In the other, a quiet bubble harbored a simple mouse, neck deep in plans to retrieve a wedge of crystallized cheese. Between them, from a silver door that had only been there sometimes, Sans stepped out into a flood of bioluminescence.

Though a door latched shut behind him, dark, damp stone replaced the surface he reclined against now. Its cold, unyielding texture met his fingertips, a reminder that there would be no second visit.

He clutched the spindly metal bars of that unnaturally gray birdcage. He tucked his chin over the iron rung at its peak, hardly dousing the light of the small monster soul trapped inside.

The task set before him was unconscionable. Even if he managed to survive . . .

“i can’t do that,” he had resisted. “i can’t kill Frisk!”

“They shouldn’t even be alive,” said Wingdings.

The words took Sans by surprise. He set his heels despite the encroaching void and a minute hand nearing his final stroke of midnight.

“oh, but ya want me to take this soul all the way back to asriel, huh?” he said. “make sure he survives? double standard, if y’ask me.”

"I didn't say it was fair,” Wingdings hardly breathed. His eyes gained urgency. “The human . . . might survive, if they're determined enough. But after you pull the lever . . .”

At that, Sans’ anger siphoned away, leaving behind a fear much broader than the fate of one human child. Their mistake had set so many events into motion. Lives had been built and destroyed, paths forged and buried. The machine could rewrite the course of everything as easily as it could leave the butterfly effect intact. They could remain here in the present or be sucked back to the day it all began. With a phenomenon this unpredictable, just about anything could happen . . . but whatever world they left behind, at least it might survive.

“if i do use their soul to run the machine,” Sans said more calmly, “what’ll happen to asriel, then? to me? to the underground? heck, what’ll happen to you?”

It was clear to Sans by the frown on Wingdings’ face that his brother had already considered this question. Despite his ingenuity, the once royal scientist only shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I do know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

In the present, Sans beat his fist against the rock behind him. Why did it have to be so fucking twisted? Why his Frisk? And why did he have to be the one to do it? Maybe it didn’t have to work out like this. Maybe there was more time than Dings thought. Maybe he could find another way.

His phone buzzed rhythmically at his waist. He pulled it from his coat pocket and looked at the screen. The image of Papyrus illuminated those shadowy cavern walls below several missed call notifications. Sans took a deep, shaking breath, then another, and answered.

“pup . . .”

“SANS!” Papyrus shouted. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU FOR HOURS!”

“oh.”

“I’M NEARLY TO NEW HOME. A FRIEND HAS INFORMED ME THAT THE HUMAN IS IN TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE DANGER! IS THAT TRUE?!”

Sans nearly broke down then and there. Though seeing Wingdings again had restored many of the deeper cracks in his soul, it still felt fragile, even more when considering the path ahead of him.

“more than true,” he whispered.

A patch of silence followed. Sans dropped his cheek to rest on birdcage bars.

“tell me it’s gonna be all right,” he murmured into the receiver.

“Sans . . . where are you?” Papyrus asked, more gently than was typical.

“just tell me, please.”

“It’s . . .” Papyrus sighed. “It is going to be all right. Now, WHERE ARE YOU?”

Hearing the words in his brother’s voice quelled Sans’ fear, enough to return strength to his limbs. He lingered on the phone a moment longer, as if the connection truly placed him at Papyrus’ side.

“meet you there,” he said.

You followed in Asgore’s shadow, watching the folds of his cape sway and collide like cattails in the wind. His silhouette consumed yours. He could hold all of you in one hand, let alone the tiny red soul he sought to claim.

Past the end of that long hallway mirror of the Ruins, the barrier undulated with powerful magic. Its waves of golden white licked the crackled stone as if in search of escapees. It contoured Asgore’s silhouette in a crisp white line as he turned to face you.

That all-too-familiar smile prickled the fur along his muzzle. Looking up into his apologetic eyes, you remembered his hands on your shoulders, his all-encompassing embrace that threatened to lose you in his fur. The macaroni pictures, the crayon drawings, the sweaters . . . the buttercup pie. You shuddered.

“Human,” said the king of all monsters. His powerful voice trembled, and the earth trembled with it. “It was nice meeting you. . . . Goodbye.”

He held his trident firmly in both hands and lowered his head . . . but a stoplight glow kept his chin from falling too far. There you stood, hands outstretched, red soul hovering above your palms.

“I’m the last one,” you said.

Asgore stared at the heart-shaped spirit as if entranced. Its warmth illuminated your fingers with ruby firelight. It was in the crimson glint of your eyes, however, that he became lost, captured in the clutch of a ghost from years long gone.

“Do I . . . know you?” he asked, bewildered both by the situation and the question itself.

“Please, take it,” you said. Tears fell down your face. “It’s no good for anything else.”

Asgore’s eyes widened with recognition. “Chara . . . ?”

Intense heat flared in the hallway behind you. Before Asgore could say anything more, a brilliant ball of flame had launched him into the cavern wall. Flecks of gray stone spat out among a field of clouds.

You swung to face the spellcaster. Toriel stood framed in the doorway, her face scrunched in a scowl like a snarling lion. One smoking arm remained outstretched, clenched in a fist.

“What a miserable creature,” she growled, “torturing such a poor, innocent youth.”

You hadn’t known what path the timeline had taken or whether your friends would convene . . . yet Toriel had arrived, exactly the same as before. Though you may have jokingly called her “mom,” the name now rang through your head with the purity of a windchime in the breeze.

Undyne, Alphys, and Papyrus appeared after her, along with a swath of others you had met along the way. You wanted to tell them to turn back, that you did not deserve them, that if they had known the demon you truly were, they never would have wanted to be your friend.

Your color drained. As they approached, a web of vines crawled after them along the dark ceiling and cavern floors.

You ran to Asgore, who sat slumped amid rubble and a brand new hallway door in the shape of his back. He grumbled in discomfort. A layer of dust coated his royal robes and golden mane, which he shook like a dog. You slid to your knees beside him.

“Hurry, please!” you blubbered to the stunned monster king. You proffered your soul as if it were on fire. “There isn’t a lot of time . . . !”

Toriel snatched you back by the shoulders.

“What has come over you, my child?” she demanded. “Do you not know what he means to do with it?”

“Mom, I . . .”

“Frisk.” Her eyes had begun scanning the room in fright. “Where is Sans?”

The path to the barrier gave Sans more difficulty than expected. The last time he had attempted these roads with fewer than two shortcuts, he had been a century younger and taking his time, mushroom hunting with young Papyrus. His limbs lagged behind his will. His breath rattled in his chest. Though his fingers slipped against that birdcage no one remembered, he refused to release its colorless patina bars. Everything depended on this.

He took what natural shortcuts he could—river ferries and elevators—but even then, the trip cost more time than he had bargained. At long last, he had reached the innards of Asgore’s home in the capital. He ran, huffing and puffing, down the golden tiles of the Last Hallway.

Even as he sped past, his heart ached to remember your meeting here. The flare of sunlight on your head, the even brighter smile on your face, the secret passwords on your tongue. . . . The memory of that pure soul compared to the corrupted one he had read beside the rift overwhelmed him, and he paused. He touched a hand to the white pillar that once occluded him.

Who were you now? Frisk? Chara? Both? If Chara truly were your forgotten name, if everything he knew about the tragedy of Asgore’s children had happened to you, such terrible memories weighed down on your tiny shoulders. It did not surprise him, then, that your violence had escalated to remember those horrors. Ferocious thorns had been hiding in the soft petal corona of your soul, and neither of you had known it.

Clinging tightly to the forgotten prison in his hands, he buried his sentiments and tore through vine-swathed hallways into a dark passage. He skidded to a halt just past the silvery stone archway to the barrier, where his bones clattered with shock.

The cavern pulsed in radiant waves like the steady spin of a lighthouse beacon. Twisting, thorny roots filled the cavern like a briar patch, and their position changed with every flash of light. Among the vicious mess of chloroplast, monster figures had been tangled, their souls nearly devoured.

The dimming pinpoints of Sans’ eyes could not peel away from your small form, crumpled on the floor before a yellow flower. Your red soul snapped among his vines, barely shimmering in a ruby remnant before splitting apart into nothing.

Sans could not stifle the horror that clawed its way out his mouth. He nearly dropped the cage.

Flowey turned to grin at him. “Trash day already?” he asked, spinning his head in a full circle.

Sans shook. No. This couldn’t have happened. You couldn’t have fallen to that little heathen daisy so quickly. You couldn’t have lost your determination. If only he hadn’t lingered in the hallway. If only he had kept running . . . !

You blinked at the human soul still hovering in your outstretched hands. It glowed red, though not as brightly as it once did. Still alive. Still yours to give. Not torn to bits by a nihilistic plant.

Only moments ago, you had fallen to a flower, the same flower weaving his way into this chamber of darkness and light. Toriel’s hands rested heavily on your shoulders. Papyrus chattered away, as Asgore pleaded with Toriel to give him a second chance. While they were distracted, Flowey dug his way out of the earth, grinning deviously, ready to spring all over again.

Confusion waltzed with your mind, spinning you gently. You had experienced this rush backward a thousand times before. Just a short step in reverse to let you continue after falling or if you disliked the outcome . . . but you did not have the determination to do it now. You had intended to die. You had meant for one of two creatures to take your power and be done with it.

It hadn’t been you.

The world shifted. Time rushed away like the tide, back into the ocean depths. Darkness bled away into golden sunlit tiles and stained glass windows. Birds chirped among a distant rustle of leaves. The air danced with prisms for a fleeting moment before the world reappeared as it had only moments before.

Sans realized suddenly that he stood in the Last Hallway all over again. A glittering pocket of magic danced like a handheld star beside him, where he had touched the pillar and remembered you. It had not been there before.

Air filled his ribcage in jagged gasps. His soul burned as it usually did when you reset time, though somewhat gentler. His hands shook around the bars of that monochrome birdcage with fear, confusion, and exhilaration.

He had just turned back time. He could feel it. And if that were the case . . .

He ran. He sprinted faster than ever to reach you, but you lay still on the floor again. Though uncertain how, and though it hurt him, he turned back the clock a second time. Then a third. Then a fourth. Every time, the flower tore apart your soul like a horror movie on repeat, until finally, Sans arrived one split second earlier. Your soul spun a circle above you as if hanging from a string, and a ring of white pellets had only begun readying itself to deliver the killing blow.

Before Sans knew what he was doing, he was charging Flowey through a rough shortcut, foot extended to drop-kick the weed down into his roots. That cursed dandelion’s shriek had never sounded so satisfying. Sans’ dragon skulls had already manifested over his shoulders, jaws aflame—but when they blasted blue-hot magic out their mouths, Flowey had already disappeared into the earth.

A whip of green struck the ground where Sans had stood. He skipped out of the way in the nick of time, then again, and again, and again. He punched his free hand to the ground, and a wave of long, white magic bones crashed down through the air like meteorites. They speared into the cave floor with enough force to run cracks through the ceiling. Clouds of rock sprinkled down onto his shoulders. Flowey’s grip on his friends and family slackened just an inch.

Flowey surfaced again, undamaged beyond a few frayed petals.

Sans panted, his adrenaline quickly plunging. His bones began aching again, though his raging soul burned brightly through its seams. Sweat slipped down his skull into the neck of his shirt. He didn’t know if he could withstand this much longer. He did not know if his soul could survive another time jump.

“Ha,” chirped the little flower. “Looking pretty rough, there, old pal." His eyes glinted red within the skull-like hollows of his face. "Poor, flimsy little monster souls. Why bother trying? Even Chara was no match for me, and they were a million times stronger than you’ll ever be!”

Sans knew he was right. He did not have the full resilience of a purebred human. Even you had to try several times before making it past this bitter herb. Who in their right mind would bet on him: half blind, right arm nearly useless, only one HP? Just like every moment in his life, he would find a way to fuck this up. Just like every other time before, he would be useless to help.

His hope dwindled down, as did the fire in his soul. He could not find the strength to evade the string of bullets shooting toward him, but they were serendipitously blocked by a fence of small white bones.

“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM, SANS!” said Papyrus through clenched teeth. “YOU. CAN. WIN!”

“We are here to help you,” said Toriel. “No matter what happens.”

“Statistically it’s impossible,” said Alphys, “b-but you’ve beaten the odds before! I know you can do it!”

“Fuck you, Sans,” said Undyne.

Everyone looked at her. She shrugged.

“Sans,” said Asgore. “Listen to me.”

Sans clung to the bars of the birdcage more tightly, eyes glued to the smirking flower afar.

“You are not just your father’s son,” said the king of the Underground. “You have more than magic running through your veins. Remember that . . . and stay determined!”

Sans’ white pupils snapped to Asgore’s blue and brown at once. The statement had struck him somewhere deep beyond the monster white shell of his soul, and still more words passed between them unspoken. Sans then dragged his gaze across all his friends, who looked back with steadfast confidence, even Undyne.

Flowey coiled down on himself, pretending to be scared. “Urgh, no!” he whimpered. “Unbelievable! This can’t be happening! I can’t possibly withstand all of you . . . you . . . !” His face contorted into his evilest grin. “Idiots.”

His vines snapped taut around every monster, and yet another thorny coil snatched Sans from the ground as well. Through ropes of green and brown, Sans watched your red soul go down the flower’s throat, sealed behind hungry white fangs within a golden crown. Then, everything became lost in a flash of white.

Clang.

Sans moaned. Between that blitz of light and now, he had dropped to his hands and knees. His palms felt scorched—and dreadfully empty. Ahead of him, the last withering wisp of gray silver bars dissipated into the air as if made of smoke. Seeing it clawed the magic away from his bones with every mounting breath. His eyes became hollow.

The cage was gone—really, truly gone. Not even a step backward in time could bring it back, and with it, Asriel’s soul. Sans felt the world bottom out. Had he really failed, after everything?

A voice cackled overhead. “Finally,” it said. “I was so tired of being a flower.”

Sans looked upward and blanched. Aside from a few drawings you had scribbled out as a child, he had never witnessed this ungodly creature of countless souls. Sans had only been consumed by him, a coal block among many to fuel his hate. Now, Asriel Dreemurr hovered overhead in all his glory, raging with deathly power in a kaleidoscope of energy. No wonder you had nightmares.

Past the wreckage of their earlier fight, your body still lay heaped on the floor among stone and dead vines, seemingly asleep. As Sans crawled close, tears threatened to form.

He bit them back. No. He needed to hope. He needed to dream. He needed to be determined that he could call you out from the darkness, just as you had done for him a hundred times. It was his turn, now. Everyone would make it to the other side . . . including Asriel.

“Huh?” Asriel grunted as he caught wind of Sans below. “What are you still doing here? I ate your soul, you dirty lawn bag!”

“grass not,” said Sans as he stood, dusting the dirt from his jacket with his left hand.

“Ugh.” Asriel pinched his muzzle exasperatedly. “So annoying. How many times have you died now? Thirty-five? Thirty-six?” He thrust a rocket’s flare at Sans with a wicked smile. “Thirty-seven?!”

Sans gathered your body into his arms and stepped into a last-minute shortcut, safely away from that raw magical surge. After hiding your figure inside an Asgore-shaped wall hole, he flitted through the blue light of a portal once again. He reappeared in the air, directly in Hyperdeath’s path, only inches from his head.

“bone apétit, fucker,” he said and threw a handful of small bones at Asriel’s face. Though they caused no significant damage, they certainly got his attention.

Sans landed on all fours and scrambled. Bullets, fireballs, shooting stars, and lightning strikes raged after him. They left craters in the ground and drove deeper cracks into the ceiling overhead. Stalactites fell and shattered. Sans dodged every one of them. His body thoughtlessly followed the part of him that knew how to survive but had no time to ask permission, so begged forgiveness instead.

As Asriel Dreemurr took a moment to lift his hands, Sans struggled to catch his breath. His hood smelled of smoldering keratin. Holes had been burned through his sleeves. His body felt slick and ashen against his jacket’s cotton interior. The bones he had tossed like a scoop of dog biscuits into Asriel’s face had been the last magic he could muster. Whatever great power the prince of the Underground gathered now, Sans doubted he could survive it.

The world darkened. Sans could no longer see Asriel or the barrier, not even his hands if he raised them. Everything had become silent except the paddle of his own breath.

A skull three times his size suddenly materialized from the shadow. In appearance, it reminded him of those he and his siblings had mastered, though its horns and features mirrored Asriel instead. It laughed in his face—a grim, bone-chilling sound like grating rocks—but Sans stood firm. Brilliant red rage and determination surfaced among the cracks of his soul. How dare Asriel steal from Papyrus? How dare he turn Sans’ own family magic against him?

Waves of light drew into the open bowels of its snakelike gullet. Debris ran past his ankles, recalling images of a lab in shambles, a brother consumed by a beast of timeless indifference. He braced himself, ready to dive into the darkness as he did then and save the ones that mattered most.

A flash of brightness burst over him once more. This time, it ripped the soul from inside him and shattered it into pieces.

His mind floated through an abyss, bursting with the fireworks of everything at stake. He thought of Papyrus, never seeing sunrise; Toriel, never knowing the love of a new family; Alphys, never seeing the true greatness inside herself; Undyne, never free to explore the world; Asgore, failing his people. He thought of you, swallowed in the belly of the very thing you had sought to save. He thought of the entire world, destroyed by the god of hyperdeath, eaten alive by a hungry rift in time. The pieces of his soul quivered in a glow of crimson, ready to disperse.

*But it refused.

The shards sewed back together. A burst of bright red coursed through him like a new flame that had waited a lifetime to be struck. He had to live. He needed to live. He wanted to live! The darkness faded away, and soon the pulsing light of the barrier greeted his eyes once again.

He gaped at his shaking hands, eye sockets wide with confusion and amazement and, more than anything, determination. His soul felt aflame with a ruby-red blaze that forged the bleeding cracks of every pain, every hardship, and every sorrow into an armor stronger than the thickest alloy.

Asriel’s final form hovered ahead of him. Giant wings had sprouted from his back, flaring with blues, reds, greens, and purples. His teeth bared in needle points to rival Undyne’s, seething with fury and frustration.

“YOU . . . GARBAGE BIN SKELETAL FREAK!” he screamed. “WHY? WHY CAN’T YOU DIE?!”

Sans realized very suddenly he couldn’t move. Asriel’s true power had run rampant through the air, cocooning him in a chrysalis of magic he could not escape. He struggled with no result. With no way to resist, Asriel’s attacks barreled into him again, and again, and again. Every time his brightly burning soul rebuilt itself, a little was lost along the way.

“I can feel it,” Asriel growled with relish. “Every time you die, your grip on this world slips away. Every time you die, your friends forget you a little more. Your life will end here, in a world where no one remembers you.”

Sans thought of Windings, lost in a hell of the same description. He recalled how determined his brother had been to hold that same world together in one piece, forgotten or not. Sans could not fail him again, not here, not now, not after how hard Dings had tried, not when all his hopes were so invested in his success. His brother’s words rang through Sans' head, the last he would speak before the ghost of a gray door had separated them.

“I want you to know,” Wingdings had said, “I believe in you more than I believe in anyone else.”

“heh, yer jus’ tuggin’ my tibia . . .”

“For Tesla’s sake, Sans,” Dings snipped. “Can you just, for a second, let me spoon-feed your imperceptibly minuscule single-cell petri dish of a trait you call your self-esteem?” He took a deep breath and steadied. “I know it might seem like you’re my only option,” he said, “but you’re the best option I could have ever hoped for. My big brother. The one who sticks it out through thick and thin. The one I could always rely on to come through for me. You can do this. You can save everyone. I know you can. So, please . . .

“. . . don’t give up.”

Sans closed his eyes and reached his heart out to Asriel’s amalgamation of souls. His friends and family were there somewhere. He could save them. They believed in him. Dings believed in him. His determination to save everyone bled through the confines of Asriel’s magic, and deep inside that monstrosity, something began to stir.

Darkness closed in and images of his friends materialized, though their faces could not be seen behind swimming, fragmented blurs of pitch. Toriel, Papyrus, Asgore, Alphys, and Undyne stood like statues in a ring around him. Under their breaths, they mumbled their deepest wounds aloud: loss, rejection, loneliness, guilt, and captivity.

Sans stared up at his little brother’s towering silhouette, shaken to see him so reduced.

“hey, puppy . . .” he began. He inched nearer. “‘member me?”

Papyrus did not acknowledge him beyond summoning a few bones, which promptly flew in his direction. They were nothing compared to what Asriel had been punting his way. Sans stood perfectly still to allow a large blue femur to pass harmlessly through his forehead, then teleported behind him. He wrapped his arms around his waist until his face lay cradled in the lower curve of his spine, as if it were fashioned to hold his head.

“is that any way to treat your big bro?” he asked quietly. He searched his head for his worst possible joke and turned to the remaining souls. “uh . . . w-whatcha all starin’ at?” He whipped out a finger gun as nonchalantly as possible. “never metacarpal of skeletons before?”

A long, silent moment passed. Then, Papyrus groaned. So did Undyne. Toriel giggled alongside Alphys with a snort. Asgore only sighed.

Sans beamed, then dodged what he saw as a well-deserved barrage of attacks from all five of his monster friends.

“hey, undies,” he said to Undyne past the quick flash of a blue spear. “i liked the tuna your piano. think you can teach me some scales?”

A similar response. Another wave of dangerous magic.

“knock, knock,” Sans said to Toriel. A hand of fire tried and failed to snatch him off the ground. He brushed off the heat. “i’ll take that as a ‘who’s there’. it’s yer local sentry, sans gaster!”

Toriel mumbled incoherently, but her last words sounded clear: “. . . Sans Gaster who?”

“yeesh,” Sans said, tugging at the neck of his shirt. “and i thought we were friends!”

Toriel laughed, then, revealing her face in a glorious burst of joy. Papyrus groaned more loudly than ever into existence.

“THAT’S ENOUGH BOONDOGGLING, SANS!” he shouted.

“i think you mean bone-doggling.”

“I DO NOT!” Papyrus stomped his foot.

With that, the rest of his friends returned to themselves, holding their stomachs or their heads in laughter. Sans wiped a joyful tear from his eye. By then, Papyrus had swept him off his feet into the tightest hug he could muster, which might have broken a rib were they more than specters. The remaining crew piled in: Toriel, Alphys, Asgore, even Undyne. In that one gesture, Sans’ soul swelled with hopes and dreams and burned brighter than ever.

“You’re d-d-doing great!”

“We’ve got your back, punk.”

“We believe in you.”

“heh . . . i’m rootin’ for me too, i guess,” Sans agreed bashfully.

“THAT’S THE SPIRIT,” Papyrus said, then lifted his eyes over Sans’ shoulder. “ONLY ONE MORE TO GO.”

As he said it, their images dissipated. Sans turned to follow Papyrus’ gaze. Another figure stepped from the shadow, eyes burning red through a shifting black cloud. A blood-red knife glinted in your hand. Your ruby soul quivered in the pit of your chest, a beacon through the dark.

“kiddo,” Sans breathed.

You shambled forward and blindly slashed for his neck. He side-stepped the sloppy cut. Your blade lodged into the unseen ground, so deeply it took a few tries to pry it out. Like a marionette, you lolled about to face him.

“It’s all my fault,” you murmured. “All my fault.”

“that ain’t true,” said Sans. He grimaced and ducked another swing. “you’re a good kid. you’ve always been a good kid.”

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled.

“why?” he asked. “you saved us. you saved me. you gave up your resets for it!”

Your razor-edged swipes and stabs began to falter. “My fault . . .”

“the only thing you’re at fault for is trying too bleedin’ hard.”

Though shaking, you continued to jab and swing your dagger with reckless abandon, and he continued to evade its path with infuriating precision. Whipping air and shuffling feet echoed through the dark as if you fought in an empty chapel.

“c’mon, bud!” Sans panted. Sweat had begun to gather on his forehead. “it’s me, sans!”

“Sans?” you replied in a fog. “Sans is dead. I killed him. It’s my fault.”

“i’m not dead. i’m right here.”

He came close, a breath away. Your knife grazed his cheekbone, revealing a stripe of red that trickled down into his shirt collar. As your arm passed his shoulder, he caught you around the chest and held on tight. He buried his face into your neck.

“i’m right here.”

At this, you froze. You held your knife shakily over his head, prepared to strike down into his back—but you didn’t. Though the black, jagged strokes of paint shifting about your head did not cease, the red of your eyes had dimmed.

“frisk. chara.”

He cradled your hiding face between his hands and looked into your eyes a long, long time. You could feel him reaching through your soul, judging you, reading you from cover to cover like an unlocked diary.

“it’s not your fault.”

As the words sank in, tears sprinkled down from that stormcloud between you, raining over your shoes and his. That dreadful, bloody knife clattered to the ground, and soon you followed. You sat seiza at his feet and clung to his coat, your face no longer shrouded. You sobbed into his t-shirt, broken, yet overjoyed to see him alive.

He hesitated, then slipped his fingers down into the deep brown thatches of your hair.

“You’re really here,” you said, looking up into his face.

Sans crouched down to your level and shrugged. “think so.”

“Am I dead?”

“uh.” He scratched the back of his skull and winced. “ya ain’t in yer body, that much is for sure. hopin’ you might join me on the way back, though . . . if you’d do me the honor.”

You hugged him again, even more tightly than before. Conflicted by memories old and new, shame hooked onto your soul with claws sharper than the dagger at his feet. His hand in your hair was all that kept you solid.

“I’m sorry.” Your tears fell faster as you considered the road leading you here. “I made you fall into the rift . . .”

“that one’s on me,” Sans said. “i knew what i might find down there.”

Your face sombered. “Did you find . . . him?”

Newfound brightness ignited his eyesockets. “he’s . . . alive,” he said quietly. He could scarcely believe the words. “trapped between time and space. it’s just like i thought.”

You were never more relieved to be proven wrong. Still, questions encircled your head like stars. Where was his brother, now? If Sans had gone to that place, how had he returned? How had he survived the rift, and Flowey no less? Was he the one turning back the clock? That should have been impossible.

As you extended a hand to smear the streak of red you had carved into his face, a terrifying thought occurred to you.

“Determination,” you breathed. “Sans, you didn’t—!”

“no,” he said.

“Monsters don’t bleed,” you said firmly in an attempt to call out his bullshit.

“not full-blooded monsters, no,” he agreed.

Several moments passed in which you digested these words, and what they implied.

His smile slowly fell into a grimace, a mix of regret and weary sadness. He sat down in the darkness across you. Here, the two of you were truly alone. He breathed in, breathed out.

“skeletons are kinda hard to come by,” he began hesitantly, “if ya hadn’t noticed. we’re only born under certain circumstances . . . with . . . certain parents.”

He lifted his head to the darkness above as if he might see the sky. A piece of him drifted away into nostalgia on Noctis wings. Bittersweet was the only word you could surface for his expression now.

“hardly look nothing like dad,” he began with a half-hearted shrug. “he was like . . . a dragon made of blue stars, a constellation in a nebula. huge, bigger than asgore. gast clan always was, compared to the dreems. i see him in my magic, though, sometimes. his face in my blasters, even if just the skull.”

You couldn’t find words. Surely he didn’t mean what you thought.

“don’ hardly look like mom, neither,” he said with a partial smile, “but we got her bones. we got her structure. i got some of her determination.”

“You’re half human.”

“i’m all me, thanks,” Sans snipped. Talking about it seemed to crawl over his bones like a spider bake sale.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, genuinely hurt.

He paused and picked at the healing cut on his cheek. He rubbed the red fluid pensively between his thumb and forefingers. “everyone down here knows what it means to be a skeleton,” he said quietly. “i thought you knew too, at first. we all did. a lot of folks thought it was why you shacked up with us instead of tori.”

Your shoulders relaxed.

“by the time i realized it . . . honestly, i didn’t know how to tell ya, kid. it's a sensitive subject.” He drew his coat around himself more tightly. “we’re the only ones left, y’know; me and puppy-dog. and dings. when the war started, humans went for families like ours first. papyrus was a bean, dings was just the right age for it to hit him later, and i . . . i remember everything, as always.”

Your guilt ascended all over again.

“we were just kids," he went on, "but nothin’ scared those purist humans more than a fuckin’ mule.”

“i’m sorry,” you said.

“don’t be,” he murmured. “not your fault.”

“But it is,” you insisted. Your tears began rising again. "I’m human. I’m responsible. After everything humans have done—after everything I’ve done—I don’t deserve any of you. I don’t deserve to be here. You shouldn’t have saved me . . .”

Sans gently wiped your face with his sleeve. “lemme finish, kid,” he said quietly. He heaved a long, drawn-out sigh, as if releasing a toxin trapped inside his ribcage. “i got a reason to hate humans, sure. they drove us down here. they blocked us in. hell, even monsters gave us a hard time for that half of us. papyrus was so bent on catching a human just to prove what side he was on. thought people might like him more.”

You felt sick.

“but,” Sans said, forcing you to meet his eyes, “my human parent sacrificed everything to save us. she stayed behind so we could get away. so many of us are alive because of her. you wanna tell me that was wrong? you wanna tell me she was responsible for everything that happened to us, just for being human?”

Your tears continued to fall.

“you can’t help where ya came from,” said Sans, “but you can choose where ya go. and boy have you gone to some good places.”

“Like the dump,” you quipped with a faint smile.

“heh, yeah,” he said. “like the dump.” He hung an arm over your shoulder. “so maybe you’ve made some big mistakes . . . but your heart was never in the wrong place. you want to make up for it. you want to be good. that’s what really matters, right?”

You sniffled and nodded. You had said the same to Alphys. Were you really beneath your own advice?

He gathered you into his arms again. After a long time kneeling there, faces in shoulders, he helped you back to your feet.

“gonna need you to step in from here on out,” said Sans. “the chances hyperdoofus listens to me are about a million to negative one.” He smirked. “think you can handle it?”

You took his hand and squeezed.

“Only if you stand there with me,” you said.

His heart swelled in his chest. “i can do that."

Holding onto one another tightly, you stepped out from the darkness into a rainbow of light.

Notes:

And thus we have arrived at my third and final head-cannon: skeletons are what happen when a monster loves a human. I think my nervousness about dropping that bomb contributed to the delay in a latent sense, haha. Sorry for that again.

The idea of skeleton monsters always puzzled me, because in most folklore and fantasy contexts they have a direct tie to humans. Undead, more specifically. But in the context of the Undertale universe, undead didn't sit right with me. Skeleton monsters that conveniently mimic human anatomy didn't either. Then I had this thought. It explained several things for me: the blood from Sans' cut in the no mercy run, the reason he's so powerful, that "fourth wall" breaking tendency he and Papyrus both share... I massaged things some for the narrative here, but yeah.

I had been building to this a little bit as a possible reveal, then considered sidestepping it, but then as I really hammered out my ending it became an essential fact. I added more scenes and details in earlier chapters to get a little more traction on it, hence why I recommended rereading. :) Either way, I hope you find it at least interesting.

Thank you again to everyone who held on until now. Only three chapters left!

Next Up! Chapter 15: Determination.

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precious-little-scoundrel · 3 months

Text

Dear John | Unsayable Things

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

I banged this out in an hour or two, past midnight, deep in my feels, half chatting with my baby @stylespresleyhearted who put in the initial request for this series and who is now owed a few choice lines herein. If you wanna stew in the pain of Friday’s episode- this is the angst fest for you. With a tiny bit of hope at the end. Tiny. But it’s there.

Summary: months after one drunken letter of horny (and gentlemanly) admiration was sent off by one John Egan to Miss Lana Tierney of Hollywood fame, a written rapport has formed between them, based on a refreshing freedom to be perfectly frank and even trivial in their letters -a tone set by his inarguably appaling initial correspondence. But until today, he’s never dared make use of the number she gave him to dial when he needs to say unspeakable things.

Warnings: angsty as hell? morose and possibly suicidal thought processes? it’s Egan after THAT phone call so, I imagine you can envision that it’s not exactly a stable mentality portrayed here-in.

Masterlist

Date: October 1943

The hotel lobby is as chilled as an ice box with those front doors constantly revolving, letting in gusts of autumn air that’s suddenly turned harsher than he recalled when he stepped out into the daylight this morning. His ride back to East Anglia won’t be here for another two hours and no amount of charm or haggling can get him the petrol to make the journey on his own. It’s a carpool sort of life now, every man, woman and child in Britain knows that but every minute he stays in the great metropolis feels like a betrayal to those boys who just got-

-he will get back in time.

He vowed it, he arranged it, now all there’s left to do is wait until it can be enacted. John was never good at waiting but now all the activities and pastimes he’d once relied upon to fill a slow hour seem intolerable. Imbibe any more booz and he’ll be unfit to fly, seeing the sites could get him more sights than he’d like, polite conversation makes him want to scream in the face of the next passer by that he’s lost something precious today -don’t they know? -and it would be just his luck today of all days to get answered by someone who did know, some parent with a dead child, pulverized to bits while he fucked his demons out.

So John keeps his mouth shut in a stern line and stares venomously ahead at the charming little Renoir hung in the lounge. No one has troubled him yet and by the spooked face of the desk clerk who offered him a menu, he dares to think he won’t be in future.

He is sick to death of it all, of the death itself and the brave faces and the lack of bravery he suddenly feels now and the necessity of it all. He hardly recognizes the hollowed out sinner he’s become with a head full of too many griefs to even formulate a prayer.

He was close to catatonic, eyeball deep in his self abhorrence, when he realized he was spinning round the little lacquered card she had enclosed three letters ago.

“If you ever need to say those unsayables, here’s a private line. Don’t call it if you don’t want me to answer, only you, my mama and my hair stylist have it. Xoxo, Jeanie.” 💋

The unsayable would be to call one of the most successful, desirable and busy women in the world only to admit John Egan has run outta words. But with the mounting desire to do something stupidly productive, and without the kind fist of a friend to dissuade him -he knew walking in front of busses wouldn’t get him any closer to Thorpe Abbots- a starlet’s withering rejection just might do the trick. Just might hurt enough to slice through the fog. His fingers were sweating as he spun the rotary, thumbnail tracing the underside of her extension.

God knows it would be unlikely to get through even the first connection, much less get overseas, much less find her at her home. What time of day was it back there anyway? And this entire conversation would get bugged to hell, he’d have to be careful and this was a terrible idea to start with and-

“Hello you,” the airiest voice he’s ever heard warbles over the static, teasing and warm, “I’ll admit it, that lilac did nothing for my color last night. You win, I’ve got the front page of the Whisper to confirm, please, don’t rub it in.”

John stares out of his little alcove in the lounge with watery eyes, mouthing a silent -what the fuck- to himself before recalling the obvious: only her mother, her hairstylist and him. With this line, Jeanie -or should he call her Lana on the phone?- didn’t expect a stranger. This was an anticipated call and he about hangs up in mortification at not being what she expected.

But then, the hollow idea of one and a half hours of waiting for the ride catches up and John recalls that he had in fact phoned in order to be humiliated and he was a rare sort of chump to take so poorly to a plan gone off to so dazzling a start.

“Can’t imagine a shade that wouldn’t suit you.” he finds himself saying smoothly, the flirtation on autopilot.

He can hear an audible gasp on the other end of the line and a breathy sputter and what might be sheets rustling, or perhaps it’s a dress or paper or-

“JOHNNY?” she all but squeals and he winces at the blare of the receiver in his ear, the flinching crinkle of his blue eyes not without some pleased merriment at her unabashed excitement. “This you? Finally you used it, you silly old thing! Oh gosh, oh gosh say something again, your voice is divine! Oh, I can’t believe I’m finally talking to you. I thought you were my mother! Oh say something! You’re there, aren’t you? Johnny?”

She sounds so pleased he finds his eyes smarting and suddenly this feels like the worst idea in the world. He needed her to be harsh, to fit with every other disillusionment that’s rained down on him this past month, instead he’s met with -care. His stomach roils and not even the mean suspicion that she’s putting on an act can make it calm. “Well, I’m finally somewhere I don’t have to share a line with the whole group.”

“Where’s that, Johnny?” She sounds as eager as if he’s got a lot of options.

“London.”

“Oh!” There’s a waiver to her voice, he’s not sure why, but either way she sounds unsure if she should be merry or sober. “Business or pleasure?” she inquires levelly and it’s got all the sultry teasing he’s read into her scrawled writing hundreds of times, John finds himself flushing despite the morose sentiment that comes up right behind it.

“That, well, uh, that uh“ he picks at the sleek paint on the phone base and questions whether he’s going to use precious time on the phone with the hottest dame on planet earth to throw a pity party, “-I think the intention was a rehabilitation for the nerves. Ironically the guy who suggested it is now toast.”

“Oh John.” she sounds wounded and he bites his lip in savage pleasure at hearing what he wishes he could feel. “Was it -was it someone close?”

“A couple hundred, more like.” he sulks, his jaw ticking so hard he might break a molar if he keeps on. “But yeah. Yeah today was-“ he tries to think of the censors and that makes him laugh at the thought of all their previous filthy correspondence making it through but some slip of the tongue about a dead friend could land them in the hot spot, his following laugh is snotty and he could gag at himself for it.

“Johnny, darling man, are you-“ she shifts course and he holds his breath, depending on her for something, he doesn’t even what, “-does this happen to have something to do with our duet’s harshest critic?”

He smiles at her cleverness, she’s not a complete airhead then. And she recalls Buck. Of course she does, she hasn’t stopped sending him kisses via Egan’s letters even though she didn’t recall meeting either, not even when John had sent back photographs of the both of them to jog it. The flow of correspondence hadn't stalled despite this strike out and neither had the morale boosting glamor shots of certain of her assets which John kept locked in the false bottom of his footlocker and one small one folded in in the hollowed heel of his boot.

_“keeping it handy for the emergency tug off?” Gale had scorned him but Egan liked having her with him._

“Yeah, Shirley Temple- he’s been uh, he’s been traded, ya see.” Egan manages the metaphor once more and winces at the truth it hides.

He hears Je-Lana?-Jeanie?- suck in a breath on the other end. “Gosh. John. Any sign of, of-“ she begins to stammer, “of chut-“

-chutes, she’s going to say. John coughs loudly into the reviver and her voice trails off in recognition of his warning. “This was a mistake.” he decides, “I just -you can see why- I just thought I’d like to hear a-a-a voice, a-“

“A friend!” she replies eagerly, “I’m here, I’m here don’t go, not yet, not unless you have to, Major. Are you waiting? You’ll be wanting to get back, no? Or will you be staying on? In London?”

“I’m not staying.”

“Of course.” she whispers, “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry.”

His grip on the receiver has turned white. “No,” he decides, “I’m the one who’s sorry. Bringing this up, never even talked to you before and I go and make it this the call. Pretty girl like you doesn’t need this.”

“I told you to call.” she reminds him gently, “And Johnny, I’m ever so happy to hear your voice, I’ve imagined it a million times rereading your letters and looking at your photographs. I can concede that my imagination failed.”

“You reread them?” he is amused.

“Yes. Don’t you reread mine?”

“Mhmm you bet.”

“Gosh your voice gives me shivers.” she whispers into the phone and he feels an odd rising of the hair on the back of his neck. “Are you having to beat the London women off with a baseball bat?”

“I just let ‘em swarm.” he admits and she makes a noise of intrigue, “I was with a widow last night.” He blurts. “Polish. We watched the bombs from my hotel room.”

“How relaxing.” Without missing a beat Jeanie’s soft tease comes through, “Did the one balance the other for the nerves?”

“I’m dehydrated and hungover.”

“And grieving.” she adds.

That’s an unsayable. “I just needed to talk to someone.” he decides.

“Did she not speak English?”

He’s gone this far, he might as well be honest. “She didn’t know Buck.”

“Mm.” She makes a mournful noise of assent.

“I-I’m tryin’ not to do something stupid Jeanie,” he hates how his voice shakes but to her, it sounds more like rage than fear, “and I thought if I could hear your voice I’d -id get some peace. And wait for my ride without bustin’ up the Carleton.”

“Yes, I forbid you to bust up the Carleton without me, Major.” she warns and his pulse leaps at the simple direction, it’s a joke of course but it lodges heavy and wanted in his chest. “Promise me, Johnny, one day we’ll cause a great scandal there, you and I?”

“Miss Tierney,” he bites at his lip, “it’s a kindness for me not to make promises. To girls -to anybody.” She’s got to know that, she’s just being nice. “Especially not to special little ladies with nice long futures ahead of them.”

“It’s Turner, actually, Miss Turner if you’re going to be so formal.” She corrects, not a single part of her name Hollywood hasn’t meddled with. “But you must know, it’s far too late for that John. I miss you like mad.”

“We haven’t even met.” he reasons.

“What, and you don’t miss me?”

He curses under his breath fondly and shrugs. “I adore you.”

There’s a beat of silence in which he thinks he may have blown it by being so gushing but in fact, Jeanie finds herself milking her throat to dislodge the lump of painful glee settling there.

“Then you do whatever you have to, Bucky Egan,” she commands him, imperious but fervent, “you punch and get punched and drink as much as you need and bed as many girls as it takes and go after Buck-“

“-hold up, how’d you kn-“

“-but you come home. It’s much too late to tell me not to get my hopes up. You’re all I dream about anymore. There’s got to be some future for us, there’s got to be, Johnny, I’m not asking you to promise I’m asking you to try. Do what you’re good at.”

The pause is long and heavy and Bucky thinks he hears her sniffling on the other end. Unmoored by the unprecedented honesty he’s receiving and the juxtaposition of being someone’s risky bet for happiness when just this morning he’d come to resign himself to letting go what could only ever be a passing night's comfort- “Hell of a business.” he finds himself repeating.

“But you’re the best at it.” she retorts, “So stay the best.”

Everything certain, everything he thought was a given got blown to hell with Gale’s plane today. “Used to tell him if everybody else went down it’d be just him and me. I believed that.” He mumbles into the phone, turning to tuck his neck into the device like it’s the soft crook of her neck, “Now to be the best- that’s just me, and charred Europe under me and no one else in sight. That’s what you’re asking? ‘Cause that’s how this ends.”

The sun is shining bright and brutal in California, a cheery morning to mock her cocktail hangover and now she thinks it’s to hurt him as well, everything is so far removed an ocean away. Such bleakness is hard to even fathom for her, but the man she’s come to know, to love even, on paper is hoarsely spilling his guts to her over the phone and she’s not sure what one says to such a prediction. Her agent hovers in the doorway, the angry swats of her hand not sufficient to deter him from fretting with the press conference approaching. “So what, this is a suicide note?” she winces as soon as she says it but honesty has always been their currency.

“No.” he replies at long last and her shoulders sag. “I thought- i just wanted to hear your voice once before I go up again, Jeanie.”

“And I’m glad you called.” she swears, “And now I’ll have a voice to go with all the wicked things you do in my dreams.”

“Oh fu- Jeanie that’s unfair.” He balks and she grins at the little victory.

“Alls fair in love and war, Major.” She reminds, “Now tell me, do you want to tell me about him? Buck-“

“No, fuck no!” he hisses, angry at himself, “I wanted to talk to you to forget. I wanted to hear your voice.” He repeats it like an idiot.

“Then tell me,” she soothes, unphased by his outburst, “what would you like to hear in my voice, Major? The latest score? Perhaps the front page of the Times? They brought it in with my toast. Or some dirty line from one of your letters? I’ve got them here under one of Salinger’s books. They’re safe from the fiancé there, he’s a complete ignoramus with a phobia for learning.”

Bucky chuckles at her unabashed derision for her hotel scion intended and grins at the idea of her sleeping so near to his scrawled professions of lo- obsession at the very least.

Love is another unsayable.

“Just -tell me about your day, sweetheart?“ he begs, hoarse with the need to teleport elsewhere for the remaining forty minutes of his wait.

“If you’re sure.” she sounds only mildly skeptical, “It’s been very loungey, rather frilly.”

“Perfect.” he sighs, closing his eyes.

“Well, it’s actually morning here so I haven’t been up to much,” she begins and he feels guilty for just dialing away, damn the timezones, “I’ve not even dressed.”

“What color are you wearing?” he begs before he even realizes it.

“White.”

Hey sucks his teeth and nods approvingly. “White what?”

“A silk top and- no! Go away Herbert, for the last time!” Some interruption seems to occur on her end as a man’s voice comes through in snatches and Jeanie’s raised one drifts through the hand she’s cupped over the receiver, “Herbert, for the love of God, I am talking to one of the men protecting our country, the reporters can wait!”

Jeanie’s snappy loyalty soothes some raw edge he’s felt since watching *her* leave this morning without more than a kiss. “Reporters, huh?” he sympathizes, fully ready to give her an out.

“You’d think they’d have enough to report, there’s a war on.” she seethes and he has to smile again, “Anway, where were we? Oh, my pajama shorts.”

“White.”

“Yes Johnny, white.”

“Send me a picture?”

“Awfully demanding for a man who hasn’t even promised me he’ll try to live and see them in person.”

John puffs out a laugh at being snared so easily. “Alright, I’ll try.”

“Promise?” Her voice sounds so small.

“I promise.” He’s dazed by the shift, how did he end up being the one begged by Miss Hollywood herself? Perhaps he’s still drunker than he thought.

“It’s all any of us can do, Johnny,” she says, “but we’ve gotta try. You got your pinky up?”

“What?”

“For your oath- pinky swear.”

“You're not even here.” he laughs.

“I’ve got mine crooked, come on Major, meet me halfway.”

And so John Egan finds himself sporting a watery, helpless grin as he lifts his finger into thin air and crooks it around her imaginary little digit. Her sigh sounds as if she can feel it a ocean away. Perhaps he’s gone fully looney in the way he thinks he can, too.

He doubts she’ll appreciate his choices in the next few weeks, maybe even doubt his intention to keep his oath, but what matters is he’s going to try. Even if it’s an angry, furious, blind sort of determination, it keeps him firmly out of the London bus lane until Hobbs and his transport arrive and then it’s goodbye Jean Turner, hello again Thorpe Abbots.

Taglist: (I’m sorry for tagging y’all twice in a single day, oops)

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

#mota fic #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan #archive #mine #Dear John

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