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lovetwist · 1 month

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Veil of Deception (II)

SYNOPSIS: Forced into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, you must now consummate the union. A night of unsparing obscenity. His grip on you is deadly, perhaps worsening when you seek to escape him.

WARNINGS (R18+): dub-con, first time, biting, marking, sexual content, breeding, mentions of choking, power play, violence, weapons, cannibalism

Word count: 2.6k

PART 1

The night seemed excruciatingly long, your body overwhelmed by the sensations ruptured by your husband: pain, pleasure, pure agony.

Feyd-Rautha was transfixed on the way your hair sprawled out on the bedsheets, creating a halo around your body. You had found it to be a strange request when you were informed to keep your hair long for the wedding. Now you knew exactly who had made the order each time your husband pulled, scrunched, and ran his calloused hands through your locks.

“Please – ah – slower!” you gasped underneath him.

What a mistake to beg or plead. His pace seemed to only quicken with every whimper you released. It had been hours, he was entirely relentless in his pursuit of unraveling you. Every time you felt as though you’d die, he’d slow and make you wet once more.

You hated the way you would arch for him, your physical body betraying your moral dignity. You hated how he would smirk every time, calling you ‘pet’. Most profoundly, you hated the mirror above his bed exposing the shamefulness of every position he took you in and the wanton expression you wore during them.

Feyd-Rautha was a skilled lover, but he was greedy in chasing his own release – which seemed to never end.

Your mother couldn’t prepare you for this, the Bene Gesserit had very little information on the na-Baron’s likes and weaknesses aside from rumors. He had killed the previous Sister sent to seduce him and broken the neck of another Sister who attempted to plant a trigger word in his mind.

Perhaps it would be a miracle if you survived your wedding night.

It was almost animalistic the way he pounded into you with limitless stamina. His seed was still dripping down your legs as he flipped you over like a hound. Your cheeks flushed at this positioning, he was treating you like a beast in heat.

“Cry for me, pet,” he’d sneer every time tears stung your eyes.

“I-I’m not your pet,” you’d pant trying to adjust to his speed. Your defiance and spirit would only set him off further into lunacy.

You’d never forget the raptorial look in his eyes when you first bled. He had prepared you well with his fingers and tongue, but his extraordinary size still pierced your hymen painfully. Feyd-Rautha arrogantly reveled in the fact that he was the first man to claim your maidenhood – and subsequently subjected you to every single one of his primal desires.

His bites on your body ached initially, followed by thorough licks of every reddened wound with his hot tongue. During the brief intermissions, he traced the bruises marked on your hips and thighs smugly. Your husband was a paradox, torment and pleasure wrapped into one.

The experiences he gave you differed wildly from anything you had read upon the marital bed. Though you were disappointed in the lack of romance, you did enjoy his physicality. His allure was striking with chiseled facial features, piercing eyes, and a toned body.

You didn’t fail to notice the flex of his muscles with every thrust into you or how his voice would drop several octaves when he was close to release.

His hands were rough, but his fingers were beautiful – the masterful way they would tease your breasts and sadistically wrap around your throat. You’d shiver when he licked your ears and nipped at your swollen lips.

Feyd-Rautha didn’t kiss you often, but when he did it could only be described as an unearthly procession of dominance. He was aggressive and vicious in the way he forced his tongue down your throat, exploring every inch of your mouth while his large hand locked your face in place. You couldn’t deny that your body was in complete submission of his depravity.

He smirked each time you moaned and mewled into his kiss, flattering his ego. The way he overpowered you so easily made your head spin.

“No more…” you groaned as you gripped the sheets beneath you, already wet with sweat and cum.

He’d sneer and scoff as he denied you, further burrowing himself into your hair and savoring your scent. You couldn’t oppose this predatory creature on top of you, not when he held your entire being in the palm of his hand.

“You belong to me, we stop when I say so,” he growled every time you tried to turn away. He held your wrists down with both arms, caging you beneath him like prey.

The last thing you remember from your wedding night were the rays of sunlight pouring through the curtains when you finally lost consciousness.

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

The morning light filtered through gaps in the velvet curtains, casting a gentle glow over the chamber. You stirred, slowly emerging from the depths of sleep, your body still tingling from the intensity of the night before. Memories flooded back, mingling with sensations of arousal and embarrassment.

The bed was cold. Instead of your husband, you found a silver tray placed next to the nightstand with delectable plates of food.

‘Eat.’ was elegantly scripted on an adjacent card. You rolled your eyes at his overbearing personality but couldn’t deny the pangs of hunger.

After breakfast, you decided to take a bath. As you placed both feet on the ground to walk, your legs wobbled terribly. Sitting back down on the bed with a long sigh, you decided to wait for servants to eventually come fetch you.

Hours passed and no one came. When the sun rose high enough to be early noon, the doors burst open.

Your husband strode in, his presence commanding the entire room. His eyes, still burning with yesterday’s fire, swept over you. He took in your disheveled appearance with a hint of amusement.

"Good, you’re alive," he remarked, his voice laced with self-satisfaction.

"Apologies for the disappointment, but I don’t die so easily,” you retorted, unable to keep the edge out of your voice.

He ignored your comment, crossing the room in long strides until he stood before you, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Without a word, he reached out, his fingers trailing along the marks on your chest in a gesture that was both possessive and intimate.

"You fainted,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I hope you’ve regained your strength.”

"Don’t touch me,” you shot back, unable to suppress the surge of defiance.

He grabbed your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You are my possession. Mine to use, mine to break if necessary,” he reminded you, his voice a low growl. "And you will open your legs for me. If not, then I’ll have to use your pretty little mouth."

You bristled at his words, but beneath the anger, there was a flicker of something else— fear, perhaps, or maybe something more primal, a recognition of the power he held over you and a heat forming in your lower core.

For a moment, you were tempted to push him away, to fight or defy him once more. Not all battles were won in a day, you thought to yourself.

Thus you didn’t protest when he ripped the sheet exposing your naked form, and you stubbornly ignored the fact that you came three times underneath him that afternoon.

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

On the fourth day of your marriage, you become suspicious of why you never see servants. Every day you awake, and everything is remarkably already prepared.

“Why do I not have any servants to attend me,” you questioned.

“You do. Only, no one is allowed to enter my chambers without prior permission,” he replied flatly.

“Well then, I’d like to leave for my own chambers.” You weren’t confident if you even had chambers, but you guessed they must be storing your clothes and belongings somewhere.

“You will leave when I no longer require you here,” his voice boomed. “Aren’t you enjoying our honeymoon, pet?” he mocked.

“Do not call me pet, Feyd-Rautha. I am your wife, not an animal you can cage and entertain on a whim.”

“Right,” he drawled. “If you had been an animal, I would’ve already broken you a thousand times over,” his eyes glinted with interest. “Especially one that doesn’t know when to shut its barking, wife.”

As Feyd-Rautha's words hung heavy in the air, a tense silence enveloped the room. You could feel the weight of his brutal nature pressing down on you, suffocating any resistance that simmered to rise within you. With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders, refusing to cower before him.

"I demand to know why I'm being kept prisoner in this room," you declared, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and determination.

Feyd-Rautha's eyes narrowed, his gaze darkening with anger. "Prisoner?" he scoffed.

"You are performing your marital duties, na-Baroness. Do not sour my mood. Lest you’ve forgotten the purpose of this union, I need to fuck you until your womb swells with my seed,” he gritted his teeth, “It’s been pleasurable so far, hasn’t it? You moan like a whore under me each night."

Speechless, your mouth gaped at his profanity.

"It would be a mistake to disobey me."

A surge of frustration bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over. "And if I refuse?" you challenged, daring to meet his gaze head-on.

His lips curled into a cruel smirk, a glint of malice dancing in his eyes. "Then you will suffer the consequences – which you would not be able to bear, little one" he replied, his voice dripping with menace. “Do you want me to show you?”

Before you could respond, he clapped his hands twice. The doors to the chamber burst open, entering a group of armed guards standing at attention. Feyd-Rautha's expression turned into a dark leer.

"Escort my wife to her personal chambers," he commanded, his tone deceptively calm. "And make sure she doesn’t go anywhere without a guard. From now on, she is not to enter nor stay in my rooms."

As the Harkonnens moved to seize you, you realized with a sinking feeling that you were truly trapped in this gilded cage, at the mercy of a man whose cruelty you had yet to understand.

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

Deep within you, a flicker of rebellion still burned bright, a willful resolve to reclaim your freedom and dignity, no matter the cost.

Your room, surprisingly luxurious, boasted a large balcony that offered an overhead view of the training grounds. It seemed purposeful, chosen to serve as a stark reminder of the life you had been thrust into: perpetual violence.

You weren’t alone in your room; servants flitted about, attending to your needs with a silent efficiency that bordered on eerie. They all looked the same, simple white garbs and shaven heads. Attendants moved like shadows, their presence barely felt and never acknowledged. It was as if they were part of the furniture, existing solely to serve.

As na-Baroness, you only had a few measly duties assigned to you: organize balls and events of state. This was laughable as events on Giedi Prime occurred only a few times per year, mostly none with consequence or importance.

There were two ways you could see your husband: on the training grounds or when he came to fuck you.

Feyd-Rautha was a formidable warrior with carefully honed skills and keen senses. However, he often flaunted his prowess to the point of showmanship. Having nothing else to do, you watched his sparring sessions sometimes.

Under the black sun of Giedi Prime, it all seemed like a colorless nightmare that you’d hallucinated. Blood, violence, and the never-ending screams haunted you even as you closed the balcony doors. This was no nightmare, it was reality.

Your husband was a disciplined man who adhered to a tight routine; training early each morning, proceeded by visits your room.

After your confrontation, he hardened towards you. There would be no conversation, Feyd-Rautha had the mind to only satisfy himself and left quickly afterwards. He always slept in his own his chambers.

His anger did not ever seem to dissipate, only replaced with lust temporarily.

The monotonous days left you feeling isolated and adrift in a sea of strangers. The only reprieve came in the form of letters you sent to your family. They’d ask you how you were faring and you’d carefully craft missives that painted a picture of marital contentment while concealing the ugly truth. Of course you couldn’t tell them, not when everything hinged upon the success of this union and the delivery of an heir.

On some lonely nights, as you lay by yourself in the large bed, you regretted asking to leave his side. After all, your golden cage hadn’t expanded and you still exercised no authority.

Four weeks later, you felt relieved that your blood came. True it was your purpose to bear a child, but there was a part of you that feared your husband would simply leave you alone for good once he confirmed a pregnancy.

That afternoon, you gently denied him access to your body. “My courses have come,” you explained, crawling off his lap.

He was shocked for a moment, but then slowly released his grasp on you. He left the room without a word.

Later in the evening, feeling brave or perhaps missing his touch – which you’d never outwardly admit – you decided to break one of the rules by visiting his chamber.

You thought of things to say to him.

I’d like to spend more time together as husband and wife.

I think it would help our marriage to get to know one another.

I want to explore the estate and Giedi Prime.

Your musings were interrupted by the synchrony of female voices and laughter coming out of your husband’s room.

In a momentary fit of shock and fury, you ignored the guards and pushed open the doors.

He was polishing his dagger leisurely with three naked Harkonnen women laying across his bed.

“How dare you enter my chambers without permission,” he hissed. You didn’t miss the way he angled the tip of the dagger towards you.

“Who are they?” you demanded, voice unable to conceal your disturbance and a hint of jealousy.

“My pets, they require special attention,” he replied coolly, at which the harpies giggled in unison.

You understood that they were pleasure slaves. It was common for noblemen to have concubines; you just hadn’t expected your husband would as well. Did he spend the night with them? Is that what he did after leaving your bedroom every day?

You stood frozen in place, humiliated at your naivete. You meant nothing to him, another whore but adorned with an empty title. A guard swiftly followed you inside the chamber, roughly grabbing your arm and beginning to drag you out.

“Na-Baroness, you do not have permission to be in here–”, the rest of his sentence could not be heard as Feyd-Rautha slit his throat and sliced his arm. The man fell where he stood.

“Perfect timing,” he growled. “My darling pets were getting hungry,” he squinted his eyes at the dead guard as though he was lowlier than filth.

None of the other guards dared to touch you after that display.

Monster. Traitor. Killer.

When the three women ran down to divvy up the bits of his body, you had to fight the urge to puke. You stare at their markings, soulless ebony eyes, and sharp black teeth as they devour the man’s limbs, you’ve never felt more disgust or fear in your life.

Harkonnen. Monster. Traitor. Killer.

Feyd-Rautha approaches you, expressionless and without any hint of remorse. “Go,” he commands. “Get out unless you want to become fodder for them as well.”

As you turned to walk away, tears fell like raindrops, marking the path of your departure with silent rage and hatred.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #dune fanfic #dune x reader #dune imagine #dune #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha imagine #feyd smut #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha fanfic #feyd fanfiction

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youremyonlyhope · 2 years

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#not asking for sympathy or well wishes or whatever. my grandmother died on friday.#she was sick for about 2 months. honestly to an extent it's kind of a relief that she's not suffering anymore.#i cried on friday. i haven't cried since. but i've had waves of having to remember she's gone that make me sad.#this is the grandma who taught me to crochet. and basically to cope i've thrown myself into sewing and crocheting and knitting.#i didn't really realize that's what i was doing to cope but now i'm realizing this is what i'm doing.#but literally after getting the text that she was gone i got an email that one of the shows i'm working on fell into chaos #from 2 people catching covid and one losing their voice and having to throw on a bunch of understudies.#but i was like i can't think of that i gotta go be with my family. i can maybe deal with that later.#so after we collected her stuff from the nursing home and sat at home for a few hours i went to that theater to get my mind off of things #and going there and dealing with chaos that wasn't my life made me feel a little better. getting to sew some repairs helped.#the director at one point turned to me and said 'what a day. from 2 understudies to 6.'#and i said 'yeah. i saw your email and i was like this is really the worst day of my life.' but she thought i was joking.#i was sort of joking but sort of not. seeing that email on top of leaving work early to run home was too much for my brain in that moment.#(i also have not told anyone in that show that it happened. they had no clue what my morning had been like.)#then apparently after i left the show before intermission someone ripped a costume. so saturday i went back to the theater #to sew a patch under the tear to fix it. and do a little more fixes.#then i hung out with my brother and his girlfriend and i crocheted while we watched survivor.#and today i finished up a knitting project i started a while ago (Ranger Cowl) and crocheted more stuff for another show.#and now i'm knitting a hat for my brother that i promised him last winter and put off for a while.#so yeah. yay crafts. yay crafting therapy.#(also don't worry. i didn't find out she was gone via text. my brother called me to say it was imminent. then a text 45min later confirmed.)#(and my family has encouraged me to keep working on my various shows through this since it does help me to have things to do)#(my mom had initially wanted me to stay at work friday morning because otherwise we'd just be sitting around feeling sad. but i left.)#(but my supervisor at work and costume head at the other show who do know told me to not come in tomorrow)

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worldlxvlys · 13 days

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speed

chris sturniolo x singer! reader

warnings: smuttt, fingering, oral (male receiving), no actual p in v

a/n: this is for @annamcdonalds67 ‘s writing challenge !! hope you enjoy <33

la da da da

da da da

the crowd went crazy after hearing only the first few chords of the unreleased song that i’d been teasing for weeks.

considering the fact that they’d never heard the full song, i found it funny how many people genuinely loved the song.

if i told you how much i think about her

you’d think i was in love

i looked out to the sea of people in front of me, growing slightly nervous at the thought of every single one of their attention being on me.

i had definitely performed before, but never in front of a crowd of people this large.

and if you knew how much i looked at her pictures

you would think we’re best friends

my nerves eased a little when i actually looked at the crowd. my eyes bounced from person to person, seeing bright smiles, tears of happiness, and people singing along.

deciding to pretend as though i wasn’t singing in front of an insane amount of people, i let myself enjoy the song.

as the words flew past my mouth and into the microphone, i thought about how excited chris was when i first played the song for him.

right before i got to the chorus, i looked over to the VIP section, immediately catching his gaze.

CHRIS’S POV

when i caught her gaze, there seemed to be a glint of something in her eyes, but i couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

although her face held a sweet smile, i could tell she was about to do something that would have me struggling to contain myself.

i’m starin’ at her like i wanna get hurt

and i remember every detail you have ever told me

so be careful, baby

she began to jump around on stage, her energy and happiness becoming contagious as everyone around her seemed to bask in it.

any nerves that she may have had at the beginning of the song easily washed away as she sang.

i’m so obsessed with your ex

yeah, i’m so obsessed with your ex

her hair bounced on her shoulders as she moved her head to the beat. she looked majestic, the stage lights giving her body a soft glow.

she’s got those lips, she’s got those hips

the life of every fucking party

it was almost as those she was singing about herself, her hands running up and down her body, my eyes following them.

the confidence she had was evident in her stage presence, making her seem all the more attractive.

she laid on the ground on her side, running her hands down her body while she danced seductively on the floor.

there was something so enticing about it, she made such a simple action look so alluring.

she made her way through the song, the adrenaline seeming to course through her as she bounced around on the stage.

she showed the love and passion that she had for music through a wide smile, her eyes shut as she soaked every moment in.

the further she got into her set, the hornier i got. i tried to stop myself, but my mind was consumed with the things i could do to her in her dressing room. i just needed ten minutes.

her tight skirt inched up her legs slightly with every jump, causing the curve of her ass cheek to peak out.

her low-cut top gave the perfect view her cleavage, the pendant of her gold necklace hanging just above where her tits met.

at this point, i was so hard that i was genuinely in pain. luckily for me, all eyes were on y/n, i didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing my raging hard-on.

“hi everyone!” i heard her speak into the mic, making my head whip up to her direction.

“i hope you guys are enjoying the show so far!” she was met with a roar of applause in response, causing her to let out a light chuckle.

“we’re going to take a brief, ten minute intermission, so go to the bar and grab a drink or snack, and we’ll be back soon!” she spoke, giving a light wave before walking off of the stage.

looks like i got my ten minutes.

“going to the bathroom!” i yelled out to nick and matt, bringing a hand down to cover my crotch as i sped walked to the backstage area.

i flashed the security guard my backstage pass before rushing to y/n’s dressing room.

i knocked on the door loudly, waiting to hear her answer before opening the door.

“oh, chris!” she spoke as i closed and locked the door behind me.

she rushed over to me, a bright smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

“i’m so fucking proud of you, baby. you’re so good out there” i spoke into her neck, pressing slow kisses to her neck.

she tilted her head to the side, letting out a small sigh as her fingers slid up to my hair to pull on the brown strands.

“such a good girl for me” i sighed into her neck, “you deserve all of the love” i spoke against her skin.

i moved my head to her chest, leaving kisses to the exposed skin.

her hand quickly found my crotch, beginning to palm me through my pants. “want some help with that?” she asked me.

“i- yes, please” i spoke, my breathing picking up as she sunk onto her knees in front of me.

she pulled my pants and boxers down with one tug, wrapping her hands around my thighs as she licked up the small bit of pre-cum that leaked out of my tip.

she swirled her tongue around it before taking me into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks.

“fuck” i moaned, my hand finding its way to the back of her head.

i attempted to control myself, refraining from moving my hips.

she momentarily pulled her mouth off of me to say, “c’mon baby, fuck my mouth” before moving to take me fully into her mouth again.

i did as she said, beginning to buck my hips into her mouth, holding her head steady.

she glanced up at me through her lashes, eyes filling with unshed tears as i pushed myself in and out of her warm mouth.

i stared down at her tits, watching as they bounced harshly from the force of my hips against her body.

when she caught my gaze, she pulled the straps to her top down to expose her boobs to me.

“oh my god, yes. feels so good” i groaned out when her nose hit my pubic bone, her head shaking side to side.

there was a sudden knock on the door behind me, catching me by surprise as she continued to suck me off.

“5 minutes until you’re on!” a voice said, leaving as quickly as it came.

i watched as her hand disappeared under her skirt, causing her to begin to moan around me.

i could hear the wet sounds of her fingers inside of her pussy, my head flying back at the thoughts running through my head.

i twitched inside of her mouth, causing her to pull away from me. her mouth remained connected to me by a long string of spit while she began to twist her hand around my length.

“ come on chris, you gonna cum for me? all over my tits?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at me.

i was only able to nod my head as my eyes rolled back, thick ropes of my cum flying onto her chest.

she stood up onto her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she grinned at me.

without another word, i turned us around so that her back was facing the door.

i hooked a hand under one of her knees, lifting it up with one hand, the other finding its way under her dress.

“let me return the favor” i spoke as i moved her panties to the side and pushed two fingers into her entrance.

“fuck, chris” she squeaked as her mouth hung open, her head falling back into the door.

her tight walls squeezed around my fingers, clamping down onto them.

there was a pounding on the door behind her, making her let out a yelp in surprise.

i covered her mouth with my hand, while she moaned into it, gripping my forearm harshly.

“2 minutes !” the voice yelled through the door.

she pushed her hips down to meet my movements, desperately chasing her orgasm.

i circled my thumb around her clit, enjoying the way she shuddered under my touch.

her head fell forward onto my shoulder, while her fingers threaded through my hair. she tugged on it harshly, eliciting a deep groan from me.

“you close baby?” i asked as she began to clench around my fingers again.

“yes, please let me cum. i’m so close, chris” she moaned out as her face scrunched up in pleasure.

“let go, princess. make a mess on my fingers”

she looked so pretty like this, her messy makeup running down her blissed-out face.

her legs began to shake, hips jerking up involuntarily and her back arching off of the door.

she let out one last cry of my name before letting go, coating my fingers in her pleasure.

“here, let’s get you cleaned up” i spoke, wiping away the smudged makeup on her cheeks.

i helped her fix herself up, before doing the same for myself.

once we deemed ourselves presentable, i opened the door. i was met with a member of the stage crew, who seemed to be preparing to knock on the door.

he gave us a knowing look before speaking, “you two couldn’t have waited until after the show?”

the two of us glanced at each other, giving the man blank stares.

“you” he pointed to y/n, “need to go get your makeup touched up” he spoke, waving over her makeup artist.

“and you” he pointed to me, “need to go back to your seat. stay away from her until after the show, got it?” he asked as he placed his hands on my shoulders, turning me towards the direction i originally came from.

when i tuned back to look at y/n she was already getting whisked away by her makeup artist.

i made my way back to my seat, meeting my brothers’ gaze. “so, you enjoy your bathroom break?” nick asked, brows raised.

“yeah, it was fine” i spoke, keeping my eyes forward to avoid his gaze.

“really? cause you just came from the opposite direction of the bathroom” matt pointed out.

before i could say anything in response, the crowd broke into a round of loud applause.

i watched y/n walk on stage, lightly smirking at the way her legs lightly shook with each step.

“so subtlety just isn’t your thing, huh?” nick asked.

“never was going for subtlety, just speed”

collide (matt version)

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nicksmainbitch @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

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dcandyland · 1 year

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Eclipse come here give me a hug you need it big guy the other anons are putting you through hell and you don't deserve that your a great guy

#ask #anon #dca!candyland #eclipse fnaf #fnaf eclipse #ooc)#trashlate #i'll allow it #once #Family Reunion Arc #Plotless #In His Mind (intermission)

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jiminrings · 3 months

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fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane.

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it. “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place.

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor.

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to. You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder.

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation.

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears.

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.”

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her.

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know, try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts.

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas.

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with.

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it.

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

#HOW R WE FEELING TARGET AUDIENCE!!! :O #yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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a-hazbin-reader · 3 months

Note

A reader who loves singing? Does Alator let her sing his radio show?

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being petty, Alastor eating people, Vox being bullied

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor loves having an wife who can sing, any talent of yours he celebrates but singing especially is his favorite

Alastor is the type of husband to brag to a room of strangers about how good his wife sings

Even the other overlords are SICK of hearing about you and your beautiful, heavenly, mesmerizing voice

Except maybe Zestial and Rosie, the two of them actually genuinely interested in hearing you sing

Alastor is absolutely embarrassing to take anywhere that there is a live band/music

Mocks any other singer on stage just to get a reaction out of people so he can get you up there instead

He loves your voice best 👌

"They're a fine singer, sure, I'm only saying that I've heard better~"

Not him throwing you on stage

Is your biggest fan, making sure everyone claps and cheers for you because he will eat them if they don't

You're going to be blushing the entire time on stage because he's going to be giving you the most sinful look while you sing

Even if he doesn't necessarily like the song you're singing, Alastor is content to just admire your vocal talent

He won't let anybody try to make deals or contracts with you over your voice, usually just giving people a terrifying grin as he pulls you close

Vox has asked you a few times to perform for his show, but Alastor is proud to say that his wife has better taste than that

He also exaggerates the story of how you turned him down, claiming you kicked Vox in the groin and shattered his screen

"Alastor! That's not how that happened-"

"No? Funny, that's how I remember it~"

And he usually does something funny to get back at Vox for even trying

In Alastor's opinion, there are only two ways to enjoy your voice

Either in person or on his radio show

Putting you on TV would only dull your natural sparkle and talent, take away how special it is to really listen to you

That's his opinion anyway

Will ask you to sing at the hotel instead, but really what he's asking is if you'll sing for him

Because if you perform at the hotel then he's not missing a single moment of it, each performance from you is a gift

Will have brief intermissions in his broadcast so that you can sing to all his listeners

Treats you as the Lilith figure for his show, believing that your singing does have some power to it but also just so he can rub his woman in Lucifer's face

"Seems as if her majesty wasn't the only one with a pretty voice~ Aren't we all so lucky to have Y/N~?"

Alastor, maybe don't piss off Lucifer by shit talking the mother of his child?

He'll play piano as long as you promise to sing, the two of you would have the BEST DUETS

If you sing him a love song, then he can't resist singing along with you and pulling you in for a dance

"You should serenade me more often, my dear~ I think I deserve such a treat from you every now and then~"

"You ate like six people today, I think you should think again."

Little nose boop for your husband

Not him biting your finger playfully as you go to pull it away

"You two are so fucking sweet it's making me sick, I'm outta here."

Sorry Angel

Sometimes he hums along with you if you're singing while you're working, content to harmonize with you

Lowkey gets jealous when other people sing with you but gets irritated if someone who can't sing tries to sing with you

He has gone so far as to threaten them for singing badly and ruining your song

"If you're going to open your mouth, it would do you well to mind the shit that comes out of it."

"Alastor!!"

If you ask him for it, Alastor will pull all the strings he can to get you a place just for you to sing

It'll be his shrine to your voice

No Mimzy, you can't borrow Y/N for your own business

Only people with refined tastes such as his own will be allowed in, Alastor makes sure it's the proper clientele

Oh and Husk will be the bartender

"You MOTHERFUCKER!"

Alastor likes taking your voice to it's limits, likes hearing all the different sounds you can make

And that includes in bed

Even if you sing a wrong note or mess up, he'll call it an artistic choice and praise you

He still cuts in on just about every song you sing because he can't help himself, music and Y/N? It's Alastor bait

Plus, the two of you get to show off together, compliment each other, and make everyone green with envy

Y'all are just too fucking cute

It's a dream come true for Alastor to have a wife who can sing

Oops! This became another Wife!Reader one...sorry... 🫡

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader

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clairdelunelove · 10 months

Text

call me

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (rescue drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, mentions of motorcyclist!ghost, protective!ghost

synopsis: the downtime after missions was rarely a time that ghost looked forward to. everyone's aware to leave him alone during this period. that is, until he gets a call from you asking for his help to rescue you from an awkward situation!

a.n. wOW! hi lovelies, it's been a while! I was inspired to write this because something similar happened to me at an anime convention! and yes it was with a mw 2019 jawbone ghost cosplayer hehe (¬‿¬) oh, here's my kofi! and pls enjoy! <3

obsessed with the idea that ghost would drop everything and come running to you if you called him.

the conclusion of an operation was, albeit, a bit bittersweet for ghost. sure, he benefited from the downtime of not being in an environment that constantly triggered his fight or flight response and a small break was necessary for his well-being to avoid pushing past his physical limitations. yet, those were the only beneficial factors he could conjure up. most operators took advantage of the intermission to catch up with friends at pubs or visit family for a couple days– a luxury he never allowed himself to have. thus, he spent the days of rest endlessly secluded. trapped within the barren walls of his flat. choosing to occupy his time thumbing through a nonfiction novel or finishing some exterior maintenance. he referred to his living space as a place to rest his chaos. to ease his hardships into a lasting slumber– that is, until he’d receive intel about a new operation. and his home was an enigma of great strength accompanied with struggle, providing a solitude that ghost was well acquainted with. he preferred it that way. no one reaches out to him during this time of isolation. which is why he doesn’t expect your name to flash on his phone’s screen and it’s even more astounding that he chooses to pick up the call.

ghost who leans low enough that his leg almost touches the smooth asphalt when he cruises down the road. the sleek, pitch-black motorcycle adapts easily when he wrenches the steel handlebars. after adjusting in his seat, his gloved hands rev to intensify the speed while his mind recalls the conversation he had with you. approximately two minutes ago. the way you quietly pleaded, “could you please come and get me?” and immediately, the lack of context backed with the sticky hoarseness in your voice awakened unease within him. “you hurt?” his instinctive question is followed with a gruff, “who do I need to talk to.” and the sheer seriousness of his threat forces a minor giggle to leave your lips. the sound encourages him to mull over possibilities. where were you? where could you be right now? think, damn it, think. he drags a heavy hand across his face while vaguely remembering the lighthearted conversation you had earlier in the week. a pair of squad members had politely asked about your weekend plans to which you shared that you planned to get some grocery shopping out of the way. a mundane answer that pulled a couple laughs. but now, the rather ordinary task seemed to evolve into a nightmare as he hears you suck in a wobbly breath. “you still in town, sweetheart?” ghost forces his voice steady despite the crazed way he’s tugging on his shoes and shoving away stray papers to retrieve his keys. you instantly respond that you are and he tries not to dwell on the chance that his presence might’ve helped calm your nervousness. compels himself to solve the blatant issue before figuring out why his decision-making is so sudden. why he’s swiftly weaving through traffic in hopes of finding you when he should be relaxing at his flat. but his voice rumbles out of your phone’s speaker when he instructs, “stay put. I’ll come get you.”

ghost who visibly tenses up when he spots you from the crowd of shoppers. most are occupied in their own business; choosing from a variety of commodities or paying for their groceries at the checkout line. but that’s not what he’s here for. treading through aisles, his appearance manages to raise curiosity from a couple onlookers before they tactfully glance away from the massive man. having one’s identity partially hidden away by layers of clothing while clutching onto a motorcycle helmet tends to facilitate that reaction from the average citizen. it works in his favor. his heavy-lidded eyes scan the room and before long he recognizes a tuft of your hair. he figured his first encounter with you would be under different circumstances, albeit more jovial and perhaps you’d grace him with one of those blinding smiles that you reserve solely for him. however, all he sees is vermillion flooding his vision. you’re backed into a secluded corner of the store by a sleazy man who’s testing his luck. unfortunately for the stranger, ghost was never a believer of good fortune. you venture to put more distance between you and the man but to no avail. he inches closer. “like I said earlier,” you strive to keep your tone of voice stable, “he’s on his way already. I don’t need a ride.” a courageous act but the guy is already responding. a shoddy decision, in ghost’s opinion, because upon hearing the stranger’s crude innuendo, ghost’s nails form crescents within his palms from how fiercely he’s balling his fists. sees you shrink from the words. and he’s a reaper with the sole mission to deliver punishment.

ghost who eases beside you and subtly reaches to touch your shoulder while murmuring, “I’ve got you.” his voice leaves his lips in a soothing drawl that has you inwardly crooning. safety is synonymous with him. always is. initially checks in with you before engaging in conversation with the stranger. you’re top priority. “simon?” his name is a relieved gasp from your plush lips. clearly you weren’t expecting him to step into the situation with hopes of diffusing it. he slowly tilts his head, “told ya I’d come.” mentions it like it’s a common occurrence that he spends his downtime shutting down harassment directed towards you. yet the first observation you make is that he’s dressed rather casually. clad in an ash-colored hoodie and denim jeans that always cause you to wonder whether he has them tailored because of how well they fit his physique. the homey outfit is a sight to behold considering you typically saw him in uniform; you ravished the domestic image. burnt it into your memory for safe keeping. apparently, so does ghost. “you look proper cozy today.” waving a gloved hand, he indicates your casual outfit and the sudden change of topic prompts a small grin to form on your face. which, ultimately, is his entire plan. dragging your eyes to a sudden motion, you watch as he rolls his sleeves up to reveal a swirl of veins and intricately tatted skin. he’s mystifying; everything about him is– which seemingly adds to his appeal and no matter how vigorously you fight against it, you can’t help but feel the inevitable pull. “don’t get any ideas, sweetheart.” of course the comment is meant to scold but the breathy rasp in his voice morphs it into pure sin. he shoots you an inquisitive glance when he regards your heated gaze and wordlessly chastises your behavior with a raise of his dark brows.

ghost who absolutely resents whenever someone interrupts you. the act itself is rude beyond doubt but it’s especially ignorant when it concerns you. and the tacky stranger had the audacity to do it in front of ghost. from beneath his mask, he clenches his jaw when the other man decides to open his mouth to continue conversing with you. again. ghost shifts, positioning himself between the two of you, and spits out the words, “you’re doing me ‘ead in. do one, will ya?” his tone is level, devoid of any expletives in his question yet his manchester accent is gravelly enough for his words to border a threat. the manifestation of trouble. he pushes up his sleeves for good measure. truth be told, ghost would’ve simply told the other man to ‘piss off.’ perhaps give him the finger. but you were around and he favored appearing posh.

ghost who basks in the gratifying burn of watching the stranger scurry away from just his words. runs like a scruffy dog getting caught going through a trash bin and he bites back a snicker. but who wouldn’t run from ghost? dressed as the embodiment of shadows and danger. probably his physique too, if he was being honest. towering at six feet and some more. he states, “don’t think the bloke was fond of me.” can’t refrain from the mockery that lines his words. perhaps the possessiveness was corrupting him more than he imagined. he glances at you, paying special regard to the way the corners of your lips curl at his remark, “suppose you’re right. I appreciate you coming, by the way.” isn’t quite sure why you’re thanking him. he’d rush to you whenever you needed him. but he dismisses it with a throaty, “not a problem.” and it dawns on him that the two of you are alone. away from the prying eyes of the task force members. surrounded by the normalcy of civilian life. and the motorcycle gear that he’s adorned with seems obvious that there’s more to him than he lets on. like the fact that he rushed here without a second doubt. there’s a glimmer in your eyes and he’s aware that your mind is racing with possibilities. “I wonder,” there’s a playfulness in your tone as you shift closer to him, “what was lieutenant riley up to before coming to my rescue?”

ghost who exhibits the duality of man when he’s with you. his voice gets caught in his throat and he promptly answers, “nothin'.” because you’re placing a gentle hand on his forearm. vanquishes him to a robot that can only utter a single word from a single touch. this wasn’t what he was like before; the esteemed protector with a jealous streak. no, he’s reduced to a pining jumble of tenderness for you. even through the layers of clothing he recognizes your warmth and yearns for it. you gaze up at him through your lashes, a telltale sign that his lack of plans served as an invitation to propose more. he knows that look. “you’re quite a secretive man, simon,” you teasingly narrow your eyes, “has anyone ever told you that?” your fingertips trace the swirls of ink on his arm and he desperately tries to fight against the way his eyes drop into a half-lidded stare. your touch always reduces him to a puddle of adoration. “no,” he breathes out and hopes to convey his ardor in irony, “never.” knows you’re grinning at his automatic responses and heat bubbles within him.

ghost who allows your caress to dip down to his wrist which, conveniently, was the hand that held onto his motorcycle helmet. watches as you draw delicate patterns on the helmet’s shell. recognizes that you’re working up courage. for what, he's not sure. maybe you’ll ask him how long he’s been a motorcyclist. that’s typically the first question that’s settled. but nothing could prepare him for your honeyed voice that asks, “can I ride?” and how you use him as leverage to push up on your tiptoes and pleadingly whisper, “please?” he's pretty certain that you mean getting a ride on his motorcycle. yet, with the way your lips are practically pressing against his neck and how the heat of your breath forces him to stifle a groan of satisfaction, all logic flies out the window. pure, unadulterated hunger for you seizes ghost in an unexplainable grasp. he needs you. wishes he could whisk you away to someplace else. perhaps to his place. gosh, he appreciated the downtime after a mission. “bloody vixen,” he murmurs lowly while slipping the helmet into your hands, “it’s all yours, sweetheart.” on his motorcycle it typically takes 10 minutes flat to get to his place or 7 minutes if he turns a blind eye to the speed limit– which is an act he’s willingly committed before.

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon riley #call of duty x reader #call of duty #simon riley imagine #cod x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley drabble #ghost x you #ghost cod

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heartchoi · 1 year

Text

gamer bf!beomgyu who lets you cockwarm him while he plays his games. he's laser focused on the screen, watching his character run around collecting items and killing players from the opponent team. you shift slightly on his lap, making beomgyu release a loud hiss.

"stay still." he grits, holding his mouse tightly. you apologize quickly, grabbing your phone to distract yourself from the heat resting comfortably inside you. and it works, a little. you watch tiktoks absentmindedly for a while, but the neediness you pushed to the back of your mind occasionally surfaced, globs of slick dripping out of you and sliding down beomgyu's length and dripping on his chair. you pray beomgyu is too engrossed in his game to notice the way your walls tightened occasionally, and how the space in between his legs on the gaming chair became wet.

unfortunately for you, beomgyu does notice.

"you're dripping." he murmurs in your ear, eyes still trained on the screen. he does a triple kill, his fingers quickly moving on the keyboard. the round finishes just then, a short intermission appearing on the screen. beomgyu lets the hand on his keyboard move to hold your jaw softly, leaning it upwards so he can softly press kisses behind your ear. you squeeze his dick, sighing. the moment doesnt last long when his character appears on the screen again, this time in a different map.

the boy places his hand back on the keyboard, lips leaving your skin. "'m sorry, honey. i'll help you properly after this round."

you gulp when beomgyu bounces his leg, the tip of his dick softly prodding at your sweet spot.

"don't get my chair dirty when you cum." he casually comments, smirking.

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu smut #beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu hard thoughts #🍒.beomgyu

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utterlyotterlyx · 1 month

Text

Another Love - Intermission

Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary - Based on the thirteen month gap in Another Love - Alternate Ending, where you become an emissary to the Night Court to avoid Azriel, only to find the one you'd been waiting for your entire life.

Warnings - sadness, angst, fluff, smutty smut smut,

Another Love - Another Love - Alternate Ending

You were sure that you'd take any opportunity to spend as little time in Velaris as possible after what you had found out about Azriel.

After what he had knowingly and willingly done.

No one had fought you when you had asked for a different position in Rhys' and Feyre's court, to your surprise, they had backed you all the way and didn't push back. They knew you'd make a perfect emissary, all of the High Lords knew of you, even if they hadn't officially met you, and were more than happy to welcome you into their homes and share their culture with you.

It helped you immensely to allow your mind delve into anything else other than the grief that came from his betrayal, that sickening betrayal that made you loathe the last 500 years of your life.

Feyre, Mor and Nesta had done all they could to get you out of your shell, they had tried taking you to the markets and out to dinner, but it always ended in the same altercation, with Azriel appearing from the shadows begging to speak to you and they knew you were doing you best to look unphased but they knew deep down that it was peeling your soul apart.

It was hard to see you confine yourself to your home, confining yourself within those four walls and refusing to leave unless it was absolutely necessary for you to do so. The risk of seeing him around the city was something you didn't want to live with.

Rhys had visited often, bringing you new things for your home that added more character to it, from vases and kitchen equipment, to entire rooms that he and Cassian had taken upon themselves to build in a day. If you weren't going to leave your home then the least they could do was make sure you loved the four walls in which you had made into your santcuary.

But you missed the sun on your skin, you missed the breeze in your hair, and so you asked Rhys, no, begged him to send you somewhere where you could breathe again. Where you could begin to mend your broken heart.

It took him a couple days but he had done it, he had contacted Helion and asked him to house you for a couple of weeks, to teach you their ways and to allow you to read as many books as your wonderous mind could consume. And you had left that day, to rarely ever return.

Helion took a liking to you almost immediately, enjoying your scent of sweet lavender that soaked the halls of his palace like art on the walls, lingering there in the forefront of his consciousness. The High Lord examined you to be a soft soul, one full of desire for a better world, but a sassy little thing too.

He wondered why no one had ever really met you, but you had always been left behind to care for Velaris, you were strong enough to hold the lines if anything were to happen, and you weren't overly fond of inserting yourself in the politics of the continent. Velaris used to be the haven that you never really wanted to leave the comfort of.

Until Azriel.

Helion had intercepted the countless letters that had began to arrive once you had decided to extend your stay, the healthy glow of your skin and the serene specks in your eyes being enough to accept your wish. It was clear that the healing had begun, you had arrived in the Day Court a shell, an empty vessel of hurt and desperation; Helion had always thought that the sun had healing properties, though he was convinced of it when he saw how it had transformed you.

He had found a friend in you, an even more than that, a friend he didn't want to bed. Helion just liked being around you, you were intelligent and strong, your ideas of how the world should be inspired him. It wasn't often that someone like you was gifted existence, and he cursed Velaris for holding your mind hostage for all of that time.

Thesan had taken you in next after your short stop in Velaris, you had only gone to spend a couple of nights with your friends, with the Inner Circle bar Elain and Lucien. You weren't ready for that.

The Dawn Court had to be one of the most spectacular places you had ever seen, white marble pillars and a sky that always resembled the faint pink hue of Dawn's break. The air was fresh and crisp, and rolling hills ran for miles from the balcony of the quarters that Thesan had so kindly given you.

Thesan had been briefed by Rhys of your state, of your heartbreak and desire to see the world and make a difference in the other courts of Prythian. The High Lord of Dawn took pity on you, but saw a light in you that still lingered despite the awful treatment that you had been subjected to; he decided to hone it. Not many were invited to work with the Dawn Court healers, but Thesan had extended the gift to you and you had accepted immediately, with bright hopeful eyes and smile and warm as the ocean shores of summer.

He had watched you burst from your shell, he had watched you ask meaningful questions and study your days away on the ways of their talents, all whilst admiring that flickering flame dancing in your eyes. Thesan had also intercepted the letters from Azriel, by hint of Helion, you didn't need to read the words that would bring you more harm than good, perhaps you did have a right to see them, and perhaps one day he would give them to you, but not a moment before you were healed and happy and could read his words with a new purpose.

Thesan had spent many evenings with you on your balcony talking about the universe and how to better the lives of everyone, he had learnt about your passion for helping others, you had told him of the charities you had worked to hard to launch to reduce poverty and increase the levels of education across the Night Court. It was something you wanted to reach every corner of Prythian, you believed that everyone deserved a fair and honest chance to be the best version of themselves possible.

So, he had agreed to roll out your initiative across his court, to help his own people to better their lives through rich knowledge and you had hugged him tightly, and he realised then that you were special, that you were too pure to harm, and he couldn't understand why anyone would ever want to. He couldn't understand how anyone could ever harm you.

It had been one of the warmer days in Dawn, and you found yourself stood in your chambers with ladies flocking around you, tugging an ornate garment up your figure and muttering with approval. Thesan was taking you to the Autumn Court, Eris, the new High Lord, had invited Thesan to visit with his court to continue the celebrations of his victory after overthrowing his father. It just so happened that as an emissary on a visit to Dawn, you were considered a part of the court despite Thesan's insistence that you be on his arm.

You had told Thesan that his kindness was too much, that you surely didn't need such opulence, the room he had given you was adorned with floor to ceiling windows, with one stunning stained glass pane in the centre crevasse, the walls were white with pillars of gold, and breath-taking artwork had been etched into the ceiling in a variety of pinks and pale oranges, it felt like a holy temple of sorts.

The dress that you had been bestowed had to be the most perfect thing you had ever seen, sheer layers of pale pink and blue, it wrapped around your figure and accentuated every single curve of your body, especially your cleavage; the dress possessed a thin gold belt and matching embellishments on the bodice, finished with a gold halo that had been worked into the loose curls of your hair.

The Day Court tan still lingered on your skin, and the wonders of Dawn had softened your features, you would have been unrecognisable to your family if they had entered the room at that moment, and you were thrilled to know that fact, it meant that whatever you were doing was working.

Thesan had hummed with warm delight when you had stepped onto the stone platform to the back of his home, Dawn suited you for more than him it seemed, he stood in a matching pale blue tunic with golden threads woven into the fabric and offered an arm to you, squeezing your hand before he winnowed you to the hearth of the Forest House.

Music had drifted outside, a breeze of fleeting warmth and laughter soon followed. You had looked about the space and gasped at the beauty, the home was surrounded by lush forest life, of leaves in a million different hues and fireflies that hovered just above the surface of the lakes and ponds that wound around the gardens, their humming glow reflecting off of the mirror beneath them. Swans swam by you, craning their necks to keep their eyes on you for a moment longer, besotted by you.

It was strange to be stood in Autumn after all of the conflicted tales you had heard from your family of its inhabitants and leaders, but as you walked through the halls and toward the noise, you'd never disagreed with anything more in your entire life.

Eris was tired.

It had been weeks of non-stop celebration, and all he wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep. Each day had been full of meeting his new advisors, of performing the duties required of him, and each night had been another celebration, another visit from a differing court to acknowledge his title.

He sat slumped in his throne, two hounds sat to attention either side of him and his leg was thrown up of the ball of the arm, nearly slipping off more times than he could count on account of his weariness.

It was the last night of his celebrations, and he had saved the softest visit for last. Thesan never really cared for such things, he was wise and polite, and would engage in whatever conversation was needed of him, Eris was thankful that he had asked the lowest maintenance High Lord to visit last. It would mean an early night at least.

Thesan's arrival had been announced, he had glided through the dark oak doors with a woman on his arm and Eris had found his gaze floating to her with his mouth slightly agape.

The woman before him was the most serene thing he had ever seen, soft pools of colour that he couldn't quite name drifted up the widen aisle and met his own and he inhaled sharply. The dancing lanterns bent toward you and he found himself straightening his posture in his seat, his crown of golden leaves dipping to his brow. The dress she wore complimented her perfectly, layers of pale pink and blue clashing in a symphonic cascade, the gold halo on the back of her head making him truly think he had stepped into the realms of heaven. The sun pecked skin, the sultry calm eyes, her oh so kissable lips and the way she moved about with such elegance and grace.

Thesan wore her proudly on his arm, but not the pride of a lover who clearly had the most incredible creature in the room to call his own, but the pride of a friend, of a confidant.

Light curled around her, and every head turned to peer at the angel before their eyes, murmuring of her beauty and asking one another who she was and where she had came from.

The High Lord of Dawn stopped just before the dais and dipped into a bow, one that she mirrored with her own low curtsey before they both rose to their feet.

Golden light shrouded his vision and he felt every nerve and cell burn to touch her, invisible tendrils of shining thread extended from his chest and licked at her fingers, and he felt gravity shift from beneath him, as if every axis now led him to her like a compass pointing forever north. Eris was too infatuated to hear Thesan's congratulations, the muffled voice of the Lord only becoming clear when he had began to introduce her.

"This is Y/N, an emissary of the Night Court, she is currently residing in Dawn and I thought it be wise to bring her."

Eris knew who you were, he had heard many things of your power and grace, of your sass and determination, all from the lips of Cassian and Azriel who quipped to one another countless times in his presence how you wouldn't like a certain thing either of them did once the news would reach you.

You were the only one of them that had intrigued him enough to want to meet you, but he had never been given the opportunity to do so.

"Y/N," your name fell from his lips and it felt like the only right thing he could ever say, he hadn't taken his whisky amber eyes off of you, and you hadn't taken your eyes off of him either, more in astonishment than anything else, "Welcome, please make yourself at home," because it will be your home, he watched your chest rise and fall in equal breaths, too consumed with your scent of lavender and chamomile with notes of rich honey to notice his hounds approaching you.

Most beings were terrified of his hounds, of him, and all he did was watch you in surprise as you knelt down and placed your fingers between their ears, scratching that spot he knew they loved all too well with a grin pulling at your lips. The hounds rolled onto their backs and you patted their stomachs softly, giggling at their tongues as they flopped out the sides of their mouths.

"Thank you for your hospitality, your home is wonderful."

"I'm glad you think so," you looked up to meet his warm gaze and felt the bumps rise on your arms, but you didn't hide away from him, "You should see the gardens, they're truly a spectacle."

"I'd be honoured, High Lord."

"Eris," he told you curtly but not at all with aggression, "Call me Eris."

A hum sounded from your chest and you rose to your feet, "Right," you smoothed down the skirt of your dress, "Eris."

"You reek of Summer," Eris had been leaning against the doorframe of Fir Manor, waiting for you to winnow onto his lawn, and you were on time, as always.

Flipping him off, Eris tilted his head back and roared with laughter as you sauntered around him and into the home that he had placed you in whenever you deigned him worthy enough to visit, whisps of sea salt and sand filled his lungs and he shuddered at the scent, it certainly complimented you well.

Three months had passed since he had first met you, and he had to conjure up every excuse possible to get you to return to Autumn and stay in his private residence. Eris was aware that you had no idea that you were his mate, but he didn't mind, the ignorance to the bond had allowed you to let him into your soul in ways that no one else could, not even Azriel.

Eris knew of what Azriel had done to you, you had confided in him one night after one of Azriel's letters had made it to you and he found you crying in your room. Eris had burnt the damn thing into ash and watched it float away in the Autumn breeze without even a pang of guilt.

Autumn had begun to feel more like home than Velaris had, you had chosen to return to Fir Manor over your own home in the City of Starlight more times than not. Eris had lost count of how many times he had found you wandering through the labyrinth of hedges with his hounds, with one of Helion's books from the Day Court library curled between your fingers.

For the first time in what felt like his entire life, Eris felt at home, he felt at peace, and even just knowing that you were somewhere in Autumn, whether that be the gardens of his home or somewhere in town, brought him untold serenity. It was no secret that Autumn people had been the worst looked after, Beron didn't care much for them and Eris had confided in you that he wanted to make a difference, that he wanted the perception of Autumn to be one of rich knowledge and peace. It was something that he knew you worked hard to bring to Dawn, and he wanted it in his court after hearing the stories of how you had the capability of transforming lives, not like he doubted it for one moment.

Eris had given you everything you had needed to advance the education of his people, from funds to time to gather the perfect materials to give to the teachers you had sourced. You had spent hours alone with each one, teaching them what you knew with the help of Helion's personal books which he had graciously allowed you to borrow, knowing of your desire to make the world a brighter place.

"How is Tarquin?" Eris had asked you once he had closed the door behind your entrance, entering the living room where had a fire roaring and tea awaiting you.

Sighing, you flopped down onto the sofa, the plush pillows of rich red velvet wrapping around you, you looked tired, it had been a chaotic couple of weeks for you, spending time with Helion and his inventors, checking in at the schools you had erected in Dawn, and doing your best to fix the damage dealt by the unfortunate happenings in Summer when Feyre and Rhys had last visited, all whilst dedicating your time to bettering Autumn with Eris by your side.

"He's fine," you waved him off, your eyes had drifted closed and Eris cocked his head at you, noting the tiredness laced in your skin and the tight shoes still on your feet. You hated summer fashion, the too loose clothing and tight pumps that made your feet blister.

Eris moved to you and perched on the edge of the dark oaken coffee table, taking your feet in his lap and removing your shoes to find throbbing red blisters screaming up at him, warmth spread to his fingertips as he worked his digits into your skin, soothing the anger than lay beneath and smirking at your soft moans, "You need to rest."

"Can't," you mumbled back to him, he knew his touch massaging into the balls of your feet were sending you to sleep, "Too much to do," your words were quiet and your eyelids had flitted open to gaze at him.

Eris had determined then that you were so tired that you didn't realise how dark the skies were beyond the windows, that you didn't hear the faint chirp of the crickets who sang to fill the void that was night, "Come on," he scooped you up into his arms and smiled when you didn't protest to his touch, you never had but every time you allowed him a little bit closer to you, it made his day.

The High Lord sat down and positioned you on his lap, your back was nestled into the cushions at the corner of the piece of furniture and his arm was draped around you, his hand working circles into your scalp and you sighed with content, nuzzling into his chest and focusing on the sound of his voice as he read to you, his voice and the soft crackling of the fire that cooed you into slumber.

It had become a thing, Eris reading you to sleep like a child, and then you would awake in your bed and feel that empty space beside you, you'd frown at it, but then you'd remember that Eris was the male who would read you to sleep and tuck you into bed after warming your sheets with his heavenly fire to make sure you were as comfortable as possible.

You could never admit it to him for fear of rejection, but Eris had slowly been putting you back together, piece by piece hour by hour, and you weren't sure if he even knew it, but you were eternally thankful to the male who put you before all else.

It had been months and months of heart to hearts, of you telling him of your deepest fears and you broken heart, and him telling you that he was scared that he would never be enough to pull his court out of his fathers tyrannical shadow. You had both cried to one another, and you had both put the other back together.

It hand been months of late night garden strolls and morning visits to the bakery he had introduced you to, he had allowed you into advisory meetings, you truly cared about his court and there was no one he trusted more than you.

You wouldn't be healed without him, you wouldn't be ready to really leave Azriel behind if it wasn't for Eris telling you how worthy you were of the life you so desperately desired.

You had to thank him, show him how grateful you were.

You knew that day had been particularly hard for him, you could feel it in your bones, you could feel his exhaustion soaring through the skies and settle in your body.

That afternoon had been spent slaving away in the kitchen, the same one he had always insisted that he cook in despite your attempts to convince him otherwise. The table was full of candles and a freshly cracked open bottle of red wine from his favourite section in the cellar, you had dressed in a deep brown dress that hung from your shoulders and swept along the floor, and had everything plated by the time he walked through the door, shushing the excitement of his hounds that jumped up against his midriff.

Eris was exhausted like you knew he was, he didn't really acknowledge what you had done, assuming that you had just ordered one of the chefs at the Forest House to drop off dinner for you both since he had made it clear that you shouldn't cook to which you had always quipped that you were actually quite the chef if he'd just trust you.

"This smells so good," his hand grazed against your hip as you moved to take the seat opposite him.

The room smelt divine, of honey and ripe jammy figs, of salted butter and fresh vegetables. It had him salivating. Without another word he dug into his meal, driving his fork into the mound of roasted vegetables and honey cured meats and passing it through his lips. Eris gasped, dropping the utensil that went clattering against the table cloth and you frowned at him as his eyes went wild, as the shade of whisky darkened into molten desire, "Did you make this?" Eris spoke through chews before swallowing harshly.

"Yes, you've had a long day. I knew you'd be tired and I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me. I just thought it would be nice," you had curled into yourself, feeling stupid for thinking that you would ever be appreciated, and Eris felt that embarrassment flow down the bond that you had unknowingly ignited.

"Y/N, no, I love it, it's so sweet of you. I just," he felt his soul roll in the delight of the accidental acceptance and he looked over at you, you were frowning in confusion at him.

Eris didn't want you to find out until you were ready, until the bond had snapped for you too, but you had unknowingly accepted it and he couldn't stop the lust from consuming him. His eyes roamed over you, over your perfectly lit face from the candlelight, over your collarbones and shoulders, over the mounds of your chest and the faint peak of your nipples that poked against the fabric.

"Eris? What's wrong?"

"I didn't want you to find out like this," you furrowed your brow deeper, folding your napkin in your lap as you waited for him to continue. Eris was struggling to form words, he was picturing your dress lying in shreds on the floor and your whimpers of extraordinary pleasure, he clenched his thighs together, trying to ignore his growth between his legs for long enough to give you the answer you needed, "We're mates, Y/N."

The penny had dropped and your gaze snapped to the table, to the plates of food, and then to him, "Mates? But I, I had no idea. Eris, gods, I'm so sorry," you had rose to your feet, not knowing where to go next or what to do as you realised that you had accepted the bond.

Then it all made sense, how you knew what he was feeling without truly feeling it, how his touch always soothed you and how his words brought peace to your screaming mind. Autumn had felt like home from the moment you had landed on that lawn all those months ago, and now you knew why, because it was your home.

Eris hadn't wanted to tell you, and when you thought of it, you couldn't remember a time he had spoken to you about a female, or heard a whisper about him bedding anyone. Eris was always at your side whenever you or he commanded it, he was always reluctant to leave you in the mornings, and you were the first stop every evening when you were in Autumn. It was you. Eris was waiting for you.

All of that realisation surged to the centre of your essence, and Eris could have sworn that you had began to glow before his eyes. Eris watched you as you closed your eyes and inhaled sharply as you hand snapped to your chest and closed over your heart.

Eris stood, he reached for you and took your elbows in his hands, his scent had always intoxicated you, but now it wove into the crevasses of your own, moulding with everything that you were and wanted to be.

Without a word, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his, moaning against them softly as his fingers found themselves wound within your hair. Eris let out a guttural groan and pushed you backward until the backs of your legs hit the table ledge.

"It was you, I knew from the moment I saw you," Eris rasped between kisses, lifting you onto the table with ease and crashing the candlesticks and plates to the floor, marring the centrepiece of fresh petals into a river on the surface of the tablecloth, "I couldn't even think about wanting anyone else, there's no one I want more than you, Y/N. Nothing I need more than you."

Eris' fingers dipped into the straps of your dress, hooking them around his digits and tugging the garment down your arms, he pressed his clothed chest to your front and kissed you deeply, cupping your face in his hands whilst you unbuttoned his cream shirt, running your hands down the taut muscle of his chest.

"I have spent every day of the last six months loving you, falling more in love with you each day. I cannot breathe when you are not near. I cannot think straight when you aren't by my side. I cannot live without you for another second. If it's not you then it's not anyone."

The words you had always longed to hear fell from his lips and you leaned into him life he was the support holding your life in its grasp. His red hair fell over his face onto your forehead and his amber orbs pierced the shield you had allowed him to shatter, you didn't ever need to protect yourself around him, he saw you for everything you were and never dared to judge you.

"I was broken when I found you, I was trying so hard to put myself back together on my own. But my pride didn't stand a chance when it met you, you broke down every wall and insecurity, you made me feel cherished and valued, you brought me back to life and healed my broken soul with every sentence you read to me and every touch. I never thought I was allowed to be happy until you, I thought that having you as my friend was better than not having you at all. Every tear I have shed you have wiped away, every admission you have allowed me to hear I have basked in the embers of your trust. I accept you, Eris, I'm yours."

A soft whimper fell from his lips and then he was on you again, clawing your dress from your body and not saying a word against you as you ripped open his shirt and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his leather pants. Eris grasped your thighs and lifted you into his arms, not once breaking your kiss as he laid you both on the ground before the fire.

"You're so perfect," he muttered against your lips, pulling away for a moment to run his hands down your body, over your breasts and hardened nipples, down your stomach and thighs, inscribing the details of your scars to the diary locked in his mind, "I'm not dreaming?"

Your unbound hair swayed against your back as you sat up, taking his face in your hands and running your fingers through his hair, "It's not a dream, Eris. I'm here and I want to be yours. Forever."

Eris lay you back onto the ground, his kiss ignited every single nerve in your body, your body and soul were screaming in yearning, screaming so loud that you were starting to feel the pain of the longing. He travelled downward, swirling his tongue around your peaked nipples and your back arched at the sensation of his lips nipping and sucking on your skin. Continuing on his path, his lips dragged down your stomach, paying special attention to your sides which he knew were extra sensitive.

Before you knew what was happening, his head was nestled between your thighs that he had pried open and purred at you to keep them wide like a good girl.

Then there was his tongue, his tongue that was warm and wet, his tongue that teased your clenching entrance before moving upward and flicking softly against your clit, he encased it in his mouth and moaned, the vibrations of him sending shockwaves flowing through your body. Arching your back against the wood and thrusting yourself deeper into his mouth, you hands fisted in his hair as his tongue worked you, his finger ghosted around your entrance and pushed inside of you and you gasped at the intrusion. Eris moaned again, sucking on that bundle of nerves that had you seeing stars as his fingers slid tantalisingly slowly in and out of you, curling upward with every insertion and caressing that rough spot deep within you.

You exploded, clenching your legs around his head and crying out when his tongue did little to relent the pace it had found on you, only slowing when your legs were shaking and body jolting through the aftermath of your orgasm.

Eris hovered over you and kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips, "Let me know which stars you prefer. The ones above you, or the ones I make you see," he pumped his cock in his hand and lined it up with you, not taking his eyes off of you as he pushed into your quivering walls, he pressed his lips to your forehead and withdrew himself from you to only fill you again moments later.

The growl that came from him was enough to send you into a frenzy, all of your sense had left you the moment he had laid you on the ground and crawled on top of you, all you wanted was him filling you up with his cum and fucking it back into you repeatedly until he surely put an heir in your belly. The thought was filthy, and you loved it.

"I love you," you whispered as Eris fucked you into oblivion, your hips were surely bruised beneath his iron grip as he slammed into you over and over again, the tip of his cock reaching places within you that you didn't even know existed.

The thrum of your fulfilled mating bond hummed around you, shrouding you in that golden ethereal shimmer. A thin layer of sweat coated you both but he didn't stop the rolling of his hips, he didn't stop kissing you or whispering to you how perfect you were, how much he had dreamt of the moment where you accepted him.

"I would have waited forever for you, you complete me, Y/N," he suckled on the skin of your neck, imprinting his love on your body, "You make me feel alive, my soul is yours. It's yours."

"Please Eris," his fingers clenched around your throat and his hips slammed into you faster, he didn't choke you, he only kissed you deep enough so that you forgot whose air you were breathing.

Eris' movements were growing sloppy, his grunts were breathless and you knew he was close as your walls clenched around him, "I'll do everything in my power to make sure life wraps around you as gently as possible, your time on this planet will be as peaceful as it can be. I will love you in this life and each one we meet in after. It's you, Y/N. It's you."

For the second time that night, you saw stars, bright all consuming starlight as your soul sang, and you definitely preferred the ones he made you see.

The sapphire on your finger glistened in the sunlight as you stood on the stone deck of the garden, smiling fondly at the memories that had stolen your attention away from the innocent laughter sounding a few metres away.

Arms wrapped around you, cradling your swelled stomach, orange and pine filled your senses and made you feel dizzy as your mate peppered kisses along your shoulder, "Do you know how much I love you?" Eris' voice was rough and deep, a purring tone laced within it as he smirked against your skin.

Relaxing into him, you hummed, "I think I might have forgotten, remind me?"

Eris chuckled against your skin and turned you to face him, being careful not to disturb the sleeping babe cradled in your stomach waiting to be welcomed into the world, "I love you in ways that you don't even realise, the way you love and care for others, the way you are attentive to every issue, the way you stayed composed through hardship, the way your soul lights up the world. The list of ways I love you is endless."

Eris had made good on his promise to take care of you, to light up your life and give you the world you deserved so much. He had made you his High Lady and you had changed the world, and he took no credit for that. That was all you.

Laughter made your head drift to the side, a love sick smile on your face as you watched Feyre and Rhys run about the garden chasing Nyx and your little red haired wonder, Aster, with Lucien in tow. Aster looked so much like him, the red hair and freckled skin, he had Eris' nose and cheeky smile, but his eyes, they belonged to you, pools of infantile joy that made you thank the Mother daily.

Nesta had cried when she had met Aster, they all had, she had cried when she had handed you Azriel's final letter. A letter that felt like a true apology, but more than that, he was telling you how happy he was for you, how he was so happy that you were finally living a life that deserved your light, that deserved every graceful touch of your soul. You knew he had cried on the parchment from the blotches wrinkled into the surface. Azriel was happy for you. Azriel finally understood that what you needed wasn't him, but someone who would see you for everything you were and treat you as an equal.

It’s two in the morning and I can’t sleep because every time I close my eyes I see versions of us that could have happened if you didn’t leave. This is the last time you will hear from me. I love you, y/n. I’m sorry.

You had cried for him that night, your final mourning whilst Eris pressed kisses into your hair and you held your gift of love in your arms.

Your heart was full and bursting, Eris' hand caressed your cheek and his other rubbed gentle circles into the surface of your rounded stomach, "How's my girl?" Eris' eyes were brimming with happiness, the happiness that neither of you thought you deserved.

"She's ready to meet you," you spoke softly, allowing his love to drown you, "I realised something, about us," he pulled his gaze upward, the sound of your son laughing filling your ears and bringing a serene smile to your face, "You are my everything, you are my whole life. The bond we have is all I need and knowing you love me fills me with a peace I've never known. It makes me want to melt into you and stay there forever. I'm so glad Azriel broke me, if he hadn't then I never would have found you, and we would have never had this," Aster giggled as Lucien swept him up in his arms, "I love you, and I know that wherever we go after this world, in whatever life we end up living, I will always find my way back to you. Always."

Authors Note

Oh my heart :((

The happily ever after I needed. Ngl I teared up lol.

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