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utterlyotterlyx · 2 months

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Skin and Bones

Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary - Cassian barely knew who you were let alone your affections toward him. Determined to not play the Lord of Bloodshed's puppy, you kept quiet, silently waiting for the Mother to give you your chance. But, one Starfall, everything changes.

Warnings - pining, fluff, alcohol use, swearing

Based of this ask

The teasing had become a common occurrence.

It wasn't often that you left the confinements of The Library, but when you did, for whatever reason that would be, you'd always find yourself in the same place as the Lord of Bloodshed, and his mere presence encapsulated your attention enough to shush to to complete silence.

Cassian was a god-like specimen, the curves of his taut, trained muscle contorting with each movement, his hair pulled back into a well-maintained bun with slices falling over his face that faded down the sides to that impeccable beard ; he was ruggedly handsome, rough-hewn with sun-kissed golden skin, and brown-green eyes that made you weak whenever they passed over you.

He had only spoken to you twice, once when he asked if you were alright after you had dropped a stack of books upon seeing him, little did he know that you weren't just some clumsy researcher, but that you were awestruck upon seeing that carved from the mountains complexion and those large membranous wings. The other time he had spoken to you was to ask for a book that Amren needed, a request you had quickly granted, your giddiness drifting like ash in the wind when he took the book from your grasp with a small thanks and looked right through you.

Other than those two instances, Cassian hadn't spoken to you, it was like you didn't even exist to him.

You weren't the most ongoing female, you didn't find joy in sauntering about the room and throwing yourself onto any male who deemed you worthy enough. You were reserved. You were quiet to all but the ones who truly knew you well enough to say that you were by far the most complex thing in all of Velaris.

And that was saying something.

"He's never going to notice you when you hole yourself up in the corner like that," Mari drawled, rolling her eyes at you as you had, yet again, found Cassian laughing thunderously across the room and set your sights on him, "Go and talk to him."

Your friends had consistently tried to convince you to talk to him, to try and give you the confidence you needed to walk right up to the Lord of Bloodshed and tell him exactly how you felt.

"How long are you going to look at him until you just do it?" Rita's was teething with thumping music and swirling talk, it was the night of Starfall, and the entire of Velaris had moved from their own private celebrations to dance and drink the night away at the city's favourite bar.

Not taking your eyes off of him as he stood between his brothers, laughing like a giddy child with his white canines shining in the glittering light, you told Sia, "As long as I need to."

Sia scoffed, pushing her moon white hair back over her shoulder and allowing her silver gaze to tear into you, "Not good enough, Y/N."

Humming in agreement, Mari leaned over the white marble table and grasped you chin in her delicate fingers, "You look insane tonight. Don't waste it by sitting in that corner. Even the High Lady doesn't outshine you in that dress," Mari's dark pools of onyx and blue winked, her voice was as soft as summer rain.

"I'm not going to be a puppy that chases him around-"

"It'll happen when it happens and all of that crap," Sia waved her hand, reciting your weekly words, "And looking at him like that every time is doing what exactly?" Heat crept up your cheeks and you scowled, "Come on, we're dancing," Sia sank her drink, the delightfully tropical concoction that was once in her glass dissipating, "I'm not asking."

Mari was right. You did look incredible.

Red fabric doused in diamonds clung to every curve and shimmered in the faelight with every movement you took, an off-the-shoulder neckline which highlighted the hollowness of your collarbones, a high slit that reached your right thigh, matching lace gloves that kissed your elbows. Absolute perfection.

With a sigh, you slid your covered hand into Sia's who wasted no time in hauling you up and dragging you through a sea of intoxicated bodies to the centre of the dancefloor, just in case you changed your mind. Caging in the little mouse with no means of escape.

They were lucky to have been able to convince you to treat yourself for once, to buy a new dress and put makeup on, to give yourself something to look forward to. Sia and Mari knew how lonely The Library could be, though of course knew that you didn't mind one bit, you loved what you did, it had enabled you to travel the world and find things no male ever could. It was always about perspective, you had told them.

Sia placed her hands on your waist, making you sway to the beat of the music with her, your bodies moving like a ripple down the Sidra. Light fell over you, drifting through the crowd who were becoming lost in the thumping melodies, falling victim to the alcohol in their systems. It was Starfall, how couldn't they?

Your friend reached behind you, pulling the pin from your delicately wound updo, allowing your hair to flow down your spine and smiling as you ran your fingers through it, twirling around and feeling every hit of bass reverberate through your body.

Too busy losing yourself in the moment, you didn't feel a certain gaze floating over your figure, drinking in your large smile and giggles as you danced, drinking in the curve of your breasts and hips, "Who are you looking at?" Mor appeared next to him, swaying slightly from the amount of alcohol she had drank, crouching beneath his chin like it would help her focus on who had stolen his attention. "Oh, please tell me you're looking at Y/N."

"Y/N?" Cassian asked, puzzled, he tilted his head to the side, looking at your closer, the pretty eyes and soft features, the pure joy as you jumped to the music with your friend.

"Y/N? Prythian's most accomplished researcher?" Mor barked incredulously, in disbelief that anyone could have the gall to not know who the female was, "She's the most impressive person I've ever met."

"More impressive than me?" Cassian smirked at the golden-haired blonde, it was suggestive, it was teasing, it earnt him a sharp jab to the arm, "Ow," he rubbed over the clothed patch of skin, enjoying the feel of the silk black shirt he had decided to adorn that night.

"Way more impressive than you, Lord of Bloodshed," Mor finished the last of her drink and leaned into him, "I'm surprised you haven't noticed her before, she's always helping Azriel and Amren out with whatever they need."

That's it. Y/N.

Cassian knew who you were. The ditzy researcher that worked within the library in the River House, the one who had gotten that book for him one time, the one who had dropped a stack of tomes on her toes and repressed the squeal until she'd gone red in the face.

But surely that female wasn't you. You looked- you looked so radiant, practically glowing like a star in a sea of darkness, completely different to the grey-blue tunic pants you wore alongside a thick black woven jumper that drowned you.

"That's Y/N?" Cassian asked, shocked, narrowing his eyes on you when Mor nodded, "But, I've barely even noticed her, she's so quiet."

Azriel laughed then, loudly too, one that rumbled through his chest as he clasped Cassian's shoulder, "Y/N is not quiet," he told his brother, looking to you fondly, "She's the loudest thing ever actually, funny too."

"I've never heard her. I've barely noticed her existence."

Mor reached a finger out and flicked the pendent dangling from his neck, "Because she's not loud when you're around, silly."

A beat passed and Azriel let out a small, knowing, "Oh," like a lightbulb had flashed on in his brain, the penny dropping in his mind, and a shit-eating grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

"What?" Cassian asked, his gaze flickering between Azriel and Mor who were silently communicating with their eyes.

Mor smiled, "I think you should go and talk to her, say hi, happy starfall and all of that stuff," Mor gave him little option, pushing him from their ledge and onto the dancefloor.

Cassian rolled his shoulders and turned to Mor and Azriel with a scowl, they had taken a step closer to one another, whispering between themselves.

She was right though, he should be polite and wish you a happy starfall. Adjusting the open collar of his silk shirt, he moved through the crowd that parted like the Sidra before him until he saw a straight line guiding him to you.

Your friend saw him coming and dipped her head to him before taking a step back, smirking to herself at your complete unawareness of the situation as you twirled back to where you thought she was, only to meet a wall of rock hard muscle and wings that cast a shadow over you.

Dark amber, smoke, and cloves stung their way down your nose and into your lungs, it was the deepest breath you had ever taken. Those brown-green eyes that stalked your dreams were now peering down on you with splendid wonder, his entire figure curled around you, and you felt your heart beating a mile a minute.

"Hi," his voice was low and rough, his breath smelt like aged whisky, and his entire body heat made you feel like your skin was on fire, "Y/N, right?"

It took you a moment to respond, "Yeah," you replied, gravity shifting around you and the music dimming into a hum in your ears.

Cassian grinned, "I'm Cassian."

"I know who you are," the movement of your lips had him entranced, like they were moving in slow motion, he watched them peel from one another, he watched the movement of your tongue with every sweet syllable that moved through them.

It wasn't often that Cassian found himself speechless, it wasn't often that he stood before such an accomplished female and knew little to nothing about her, "Mor mentioned that you're a researcher, that you help Amren and Azriel sometimes. How come I know nothing about you?"

His eyes were hypnotising, "You've never looked long enough."

Cassian smiled, eyes glistening with approval as he took a step forward, laying a hand on you waist and sending an electrifying current over every inch of your skin, "Maybe I should."

You hummed, "Maybe it's time you did," you were doing everything you could to keep your soul from trembling, to keep your voice calm and stoic, to throw that confident façade up like a shield.

His finger, as rough and calloused as you had dreamed it would be, took a strand of hair and pushed it over your shoulder, his fingers grazing your collarbone on their retreat. "Dance with me?"

You spent the remainder of the night in his arms, dancing with him to the music, allowing his large hands to roam your body and ask questions about you that no one had ever bothered to.

It happened to be the most magical Starfall that either of you had ever celebrated.

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libbyfandom · 4 months

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Let’s take a look inside Modern!Reader’s Camera Roll! Featuring Mizu and BES Characters

Your and Mizu’s legs tangled together as you cuddle. A movie is playing on the tv in the background.

A blurry picture of Mizu and Taigen in the middle of their weekly smack down. You don’t even remember what caused this one. In the corner you see Akemi leaning in and making a peace sign.

A screenshot of a designer purse you sent to Mizu while swapping ideas for Akemi's birthday gift.

Ringo in the kitchen, proudly beaming as he holds up his newest batch of cookies. There’s flour on his chin and apron.

Video of you zooming in on Mizu sitting on a roof with no visible sign of how she got up there. “How the actual fuck did you do that?” Your monotone “done with my girlfriend’s shenanigans” voice is heard behind the phone. “I climbed.”

Mizu and her adoptive father at a baseball game, wearing matching jerseys, sunglasses, and serious expressions. It’s quite cute.

A mirror selfie from your bed, wearing Mizu’s oversized sweatshirt and leggings.

Nude you sent Mizu while she was at work.

Nude you sent Mizu while she was at the gym.

A video of your locked front door, someone furiously banging on the other side. “I KNOW HOW TO PICK LOCKS, YOU BRAT.”

Akemi helping you wrap Ringo’s birthday presents.

Mizu and Taigen drunkenly hugging each other at a bar, Mizu’s head tucked under Taigen’s chin. (Blackmail material)

Sunset orange sky.

Sunset orange sky with a slender hand in frame flipping the bird.

Mizu and the boys during a very intense round of Mario Kart. Everyone’s leaning toward the tv, gazes focused. Mizu’s squatting on her seat at the couch.

Your hand holding Mizu’s wrist wearing the pretty silver charm bracelet you got her. Charms: Waves. Katana. Two interlocking hearts. Her birth flower. Moon.

A saved video Taigen sent of everyone but Taigen trying to crawl under a gap in a fence. You are clearly struggling, and Taigen starts to half heartedly pretend to kick at your head. The video lurches sideways violently and cuts off, like someone shoved him.

Screenshot of notes app grocery list.

A video of Mizu laying on you, fast asleep as your hand is in her hair and your thumb gently massages the place behind her ear. The only noise you can hear in the video is the white noise of the mic and her soft breathing.

Group Selfie you took of everyone playing Monopoly, half an hour before Ringo wins in a landslide. The first signs of frustrations are starting to show in several players' faces.

Ringo, looking at the camera with the saddest puppy dog eyes as a hand from out of frame holds up a hand written sign that says “Capitalist” at chest level.

A selfie of you and Akemi out at lunch together. Akemi is halfway through sipping her drink and is making a funny face.

A video of Mizu with her long hair down, swinging it around in a circle as she headbangs to a heavy metal song you still can’t make out the lyrics too.

A video of your lap, thighs squeezed together and shaking as a slender arm from out of frame makes a slow rolling motion from where their hand is hidden under the blanket between your legs.

A video of who you think might be Taigen getting chased by who you think is a screeching Akemi from far away on campus. You keep trying to zoom in but can’t tell. Every student in frame of the video is frozen and twisted around to stare at the scene.

Mizu’s hands filled with all the seashells she collected at the beach.

A little crab on the beach.

The gang eating food at a food truck at 1 am.

Your hand holding a bag of sour gummy candy Mizu really liked so you can remember to buy more later.

A close up of Mizu’s opened mouth, tongue hanging out, showing her new ball piercing, tongue coated and dripping with your cum. She was really impatient for it to heal so she can use it.

Picture of a squirrel on campus!

Mizu sitting on the floor holding Akemi’s new calico kitten up to her face and nuzzling it.

Saved mirror selfie Mizu sent from the gym, squatting in front of the mirror with her hair up while wearing her self cut cropped shirt and biker shorts.

A confused Taigen reaching up to grab the cheap, paper "Drama Queen" crown you just put on his head.

Akemi cutely posing with her hands under her chin with her newly dyed burgundy hair.

An old photo album showing little Mizu with her adopted dad. He double checked Mizu wasn't around when he showed you. The four slightly grainy photos in the shot are slightly different versions of one moment of Mizu being carried on a younger Eiji's hip. She looks unsure at something behind the camera, her little face pinched with that signature little pout she does. Younger Eiji has a slight smile on his face. ("I never liked having my picture taken myself. But I knew she'd need these to remember the versions of who she used to be, and that there are people that want to remember them too.")

Mizu. Sitting at the kitchen table. Just how she is in this moment.

#mizu x reader #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu #blueeyesamurai #mizu blue eye samurai #modern mizu

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oepionie · 1 year

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BELOVED BAT-WIFE. lilia vanrouge

Characters: Lilia Vanrouge x Fem! Reader, Platonic! Sebek x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Lilia's wife makes an impromptu visit at NRC. Sebek is dragged into this mess and has to help her sneak into the campus.

A/N:: This is the first fic I've written in years!

Tags: Fluff, Established relationship, Maybe a bit OOC?, Reader is not Yuu and is said to be a mage

Word Count: 800+|💌Masterlist | Batwife masterlist

"Lady Vanrouge! When you told me you planned to visit, this wasn't what I had in mind!" Sebek hissed, staring at you through the gate's frame. He responded to your SMS asking him to meet you at the school gates as soon as possible. Despite the fact that it was two in the morning, he ran to your position right away. How he arrived in under 10 minutes is remarkable.

"I did say it was a last-minute decision." Shaking your head, you pulled the hood to your robe up and slipped on a pair of leather gloves. Indeed, you did send Sebek a letter to inform him of your plans beforehand. Leaving out the fact that you planned to sneak in like some petty thief.

"Now hold this gate steady for me, ok?"

Sebek's eyes practically sprang out of his head when you started climbing the tall gate. He yelled at you to be careful as he grasped the gate with both hands, firmly grasping the metal bars. You easily climbed to the top and laughed as you tossed yourself to the opposite side. Shrieking, Sebek ran to catch you, nearly toppling over from the force.

"Nice catch, my boy!" You grinned, patting his shoulder and setting yourself down. Sebek heaved, kneeling over and pressing a palm over his chest to calm his racing heart from the stunt you just pulled.

"You-Lady Vanrouge-!" Sebek started. "You're a mage! Why would you do that!"

"Teleporting or flying would definitely be easier…but that's boring~" You drawled, a cheeky grin on your face.

"Now, which way is that mirror again? It's been ages since I last set foot on this campus-literally!"

You linked both your arms together and began to pull the boy towards the academy, ignoring any and all of his complaints.

"I really think we shouldn't be doing this." Sebek muttered, begrudgingly pushing the doors to the mirror chamber open. You both slid inside, the door behind you closing with a snap.

It was already late at night, and the moon shone through the windows, its light reflecting off the mirrors. You took a step closer to Diasomnia's portal, tracing the engravings on its frame.

Had they changed parts of it? You noticed certain details that were not previously present.

"Well, too late to back off now. You're making me start to think you don't actually want me here." You pouted, shifting your gaze to Sebek's rigid body beside the doorway. He jumped and dashed over, his cheeks flushed pink.

"Of course I do, Lady Vanrouge! Your presence is always appreciated! I only wish you had chosen safer means to visit!" He yelled, his booming voice practically rattling the walls. Chuckling, you ran your fingers through his hair before patting his head.

"I jest. Now, let's not keep them waiting. Shall we?" You clasped Sebek's hand with your own and stepped into the mirror.

A blur of colours hit you for a moment before you found yourself whisked away to the dark brooding castle Diasomnia calls a dorm. Standing atop the cobblestone steps, you took a deep breath. The air was thick with smothering moisture, like a fog.

The dim light of a window in the distance drew your attention. Among the many windows in the castle, it was the only chamber that was lit up.

"O-Oh? Is someone still up at this late hour?" You wondered, still light-headed from the teleportation. Sebek placed a hand on your back to stabilise your wobbly form. "Ah yes. That's probably Master Lillia, he tends to hold gaming sessions at this hour."

"Is that so?" You huffed, brows furrowing as you glared at the window. "...That damn bat."

Of course, this wasn't news to you. Silver frequently wrote to you about his father's long gaming sessions, which sometimes lasted days or even weeks. Just as you were about to march up to the castle, an arm wrapped around your chest, pulling you back.

"No need to look so mad, dear." A deep voice lulled.

Behind you two, Lillia appeared with an impish smile on his face. Sebek flinched before greeting Lilia vigorously while maintaining a stiff posture of attention.

"Good evening, Sebek! Would you go and get Silver and Malleus for me? This is going to be a lovely reunion." Lillia spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. He was perched upon a nearby tree, hanging off one of the branches.

"Yes Sir!" With that, Sebek was off, dashing towards the castle.

With a frown etched onto your face, you turned your gaze back to the fae who was still upside down. Lillia hummed, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. "Hello there, beastie."

"Still pulling the same old trick, I see." You grumbled, grabbing his arm to pull him down. Lillia smushed his cheek against your shoulder, peering up at you through his lashes.

"It's a classic of mine, isn't it?"

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fluff #diasomnia #silver vanrouge

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theabsoluteendoftheworld · 1 year

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The Silver Moon

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Google Maps

Facebook Page (Not active since 2014)

Argus Leader Article (History of the bar)

#south dakota #sioux falls #silver moon #the silver moon #silver moon bar #bar #dive bar #falls park #midwest gothic #midwest america #lounge #biker bar #argus leader

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year

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That’s it, Princess

Summary: You sneak out the Keep to rile up your husband. And his punishment is...not what you thought it would be.

Based off this ask:

A/N: So I think I was possessed when I wrote this cos I blacked out halfway through so. I also changed the request up a bit to suit what I wanted to write. Hope it lives up to expectations 😁

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, Minors DNI, pussy slapping, fingering, p in v sex, mean Aemond, suggestions of a safe word, orgasm denial, name calling, Aemond creampies reader cos he wants lots of little heirs

You huff.

The sun had barely kissed the horizon to give way to the evening before you threw your embroidery to the floor, more angered than anything else. Another night. Another night where Aemond would not return to your marital chambers.

There were several excuses he made, all centering around his duties. Whether it was training, helping his grandfather, being at his mother’s beck and call or spending days with Helanea, more often than not these past weeks Aemond found more comfort in only returning to your chambers in the dead of night when you were already asleep.

Not only were you frustrated, you were hurt. Did he not realise how he was treating his wife? Yes, it had barely been four moons since the wedding and the first two moons had been heavenly. More often than not you were slotted against one another, tangled in the sheets with the heady stench of coupling in the air. But a moon or so ago, he completely flipped. Unconscious or not.

At first, you smiled at his explanations like the pliant wife you should be to a Targaryen prince. But now you felt you’d given him enough chances.

You were alone at court. Being neither a Targaryen nor acquainted properly with his sister and mother, there was no female company to preoccupy you. Day after day, it felt like you were just mindlessly existing, sewing pattern after pattern to fill the uncomfortable void that Aemond’s lack of presence left behind.

At first you thought that marrying him, bearing his heirs and living at court would be every woman’s dream. But it was quickly turning into something akin to limbo. How were you supposed to bear his heirs if he was never even around to see you? The whisperings were starting to whirl around at the lack of pregnancy. All of the critiques pointed at you.

So that was it. Fuck it.

You would give him something to be angry about. Anything, any emotion would do at this point. Just something from him to acknowledge your mere existence.

There was a perpetual frown on your face as you pulled the heavy cloak over you. You’d opted to change into a dress that did not explicitly show your status, thereby ridding you completely of jewels, all bar the ring that tied you to Aemond. It was a part of you now, and the thought of taking it off had not even crossed your mind.

With a light push of your hip against the painting in the corner of the room, the passageway opened up and the darkness and draught crept in. There was no hesitation, you were so angry. You pulled the hood up against your hair, though once you were out in the capital there was no need for it, no silver hair to cover. You were not like them and it was evident in the way Aemond had been so nonchalant to cast you aside for more important matters.

The sweet relief of the air of Kings Landing swept through your hair and over your skin and you sighed, pulling the hood down so it rested around your shoulders. Kings Landing was always an enigma to you. How so many people who looked so different, sounded so different, could all co-exist in such small quarters, shoulder to shoulder with their companions. It seemed so squished together. Some liked it. Some didn’t.

But it was different and that was certainly enough of an adventure, you were beginning to go mad counting all the tiles on the floor.

The sounds of laughter, anger and drunkenness filled the narrow streets. It was a warm evening so the majority of people were at their local alehouses, either making friends or enemies, it didn’t matter. You smiled as some of the ladies inside one alehouse were dancing, hand in hand with cups of ale in the other. It was spilling all over the floor, but it did not seem like they cared.

With a visible uncertainty that told everyone around you that you did not know what you were doing, you pushed through to one particular alehouse, smiling at the bartender. He was burly and well built, his mouth tight in a thin line, showing no warmth.

“What can I get ya?” he asked in the accent you’ve come to know as one the commoners.

With an attempt to lighten the air, you give him a smile, albeit an anxious one and take a seat at the bar.

“Just an ale, please” you say, trying to take the nervousness out of your voice. He raises an eyebrow to you, but pours a cup anyway, sliding it across the wetted bar counter to land in your hands.

The bartender braces the counter with his large arms, “I’ve never seen ya around these parts”

It catches you off guard a little when he tries to engage.

“I’m just passing through” you smile, taking a sip and wincing slightly at the bitter taste it leaves behind in your mouth. It coats your mouth differently compared to the dornish wines you’re used to.

His gaze flits to the wedding ring on your hand, staring for a few seconds before you clasp your other hand over it.

“Well keep your wits about you” he says, turning away to serve someone else.

You’re not quite sure how to take what he’s just said on board. So you simply turn to watch the rest of the patrons, enjoying the way they stumble over one another, laughing without a care in the world. The music is absolutely blaring and the man on the drums almost makes the very floors vibrate as he plays, and the man who sings has such a feminine voice it’s beautiful. You smile and clap along to the beat of the music, taking a sip of the ale every now and then.

What a life these people lead.

And it dawns on you why you are here. Because your husband no longer seems interested in you. And the clouds descend on your heart, dulling the shine that came out briefly when you watched these commoners go about their lives.

“Why the sad face, darlin’?”

A man materialises beside you and you jump back at his closeness. He smells of ale, but then again, so does everyone else you supposed. He had a drunken smile and could not have been older than thirty. Trying to not be impolite, you give a wry smile.

“I am fine, sir”

He props his ale on the bar, offering you a large hand, “dance with me?” he slurs.

If it’s possible, you press yourself further against the bar, trying to make it clear with your body language that the answer is no.

“Oh, no thank you”

As men do, drunk or not, he ignores you and pulls you up to your feet by your arm with an unusually firm grip. At first, you think how untoward it is for a man of his station to put his hands so forcibly on you. But you remembered where you were and who these people thought you were and quickly pushed the initial discomfort aside. In an attempt to still be polite, you quietly refuse him,

“I am fine, sir, please” you say, but to your dismay, he carries on and pulls you close to him.

“Don’t be like that, have fun!”

As fun as it was to watch, now you’re just getting annoyed, so you push against his chest, “Get off me” you try and say it forcefully, but it’s quiet.

He starts dancing, pulling your body flush with his. And a flash of red anger envelops you, your hands flat against his chest. But before you can, the door to the alehouse bursts open. Everyone seems to look over in sync, eyes landing on the figure who envelops the doorway with his form. The silhouette is visible even in the low light, how it bounces off his silver hair around his shoulders. And if anyone had any doubt, his eyepatch is firmly in place over his left eye, proving to everyone that it was indeed Aemond Targaryen.

He pokes his cheek with his tongue in annoyance as his eye lands on you. Using the man’s temporary shock at seeing the Prince to your advantage, you push him away, facing your husband face on, your face pink with anger. Ever the silent man, he doesn’t say anything for a moment and secures his gaze on the other man, who seems like he’s about to shit himself.

Aemond takes a few steps before he is standing tall before the man, his own gaze is averted, wide-eyed as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Give me one good reason” Aemond draws his sword, “why I should not cut you down where you stand” he says it lowly and you simply watch, wondering how far he will go to protect his pride. His wife.

“My Prince…I-I” the man starts, shaking where he stands. Briefly you look over to the bartender, who raises his eyebrows at you, as if to say you’re in for it.

“Answer me” Aemond hisses, his good eye trained at him.

“Aemond please..” you reach forward for his arm but he shrugs you off. For a second it squeezes your heart, but you realise that he is so deep in rage, it almost seems like he hasn’t heard you.

“You dare touch my wife in such a way” he says lowly. The man’s eyes widen and his pupils shake, and for a moment he looks back at you.

“Don’t look at her” he warns, gripping the sword tightly, “Look at me”

You look over them both to see the man has a large wet patch in front of his trousers, having soiled himself in fear of his own death. Shaking your head, you try again.

“Aemond” you say louder this time. And it seems to work, you’re on his good side, so all he has to do is turn slightly to meet your gaze. With your hand around his forearm, you shake your head, “Don’t”

The man falls to his knees before the prince, pleading his case, “Thank you, my lady! Please, my Prince, I did not realise!” his words are hurried and slurred. Aemond almost grimaces at the display and ponders the situation for a moment. And you can see the muscle in his jaw twitch, until he hums and turns away. He grips the fabric at your back to force you in front of him, almost tripping you over as he pulls you out of the alehouse.

The walk back to the passageways that connect the rooms of the Red Keep is quiet but quick, but it feels like a lifetime. No sooner has he pushed you through the door that leads to your marital chambers than you are babbling frantically.

“Aemond, I’m sorry, I tried to push him away but-”

“Take off your dress” he says bluntly. And it’s so calm it catches you off guard. His eye is staring blankly at you while he takes off his cloak.

“Aemond, wh-”

“Did you not hear me? Take off your fucking dress” he repeats.

The ice in his words makes your heart stutter a little. You’ve only seen this side of Aemond a handful of times in your short marriage, at least intimately anyway and the tone of his voice and the way he orders you makes a warm sensation settle in your belly, tugging below your belly button. Your limbs begin to tremble, both with anticipation and a little fear, this you cannot lie to yourself about.

You just stand there, shocked at his words and frozen in place when he walks up to you, invading your space with his wide and tall form.

“A-aemond, what-”

His face is stern when he speaks.

“You want to act like a slut, you’ll be treated like a slut”

He turns you around, body flush against your back and all but rips the cloak off your shoulders. There are no pre-emptive kisses, no warm touches of adoration. You just look at him and see pure, unadulterated lust. A desire, not only to take you as he sees fit, but to put you in your place for what you’d done. His words should offend you, but they only serve to increase that need between your thighs, which you push together for some friction.

He moves to the dress, the one he’d ordered for you to remove and rips it down the seam at the back, the threads make a scraping sound as they’re pulled apart roughly. His assault on the fabric continues as he pushes it over your bare hips, your body reacting to the cold air that hits your already wet cunt.

“Pathetic” he spits as he grips your hair, tugging slightly on them at the crown. He pulls you up and you whine out as it hurts at first, but almost instantly contributes to the wetness between your legs, “Does my pathetic little wife want to be punished?” he asks lowly.

For a second, you wonder if it’s a strange question for him to ask, but then you realise he’s giving you an out if you need it. If you feel uncomfortable. And he stands still at your back, waiting for the answer.

Swallowing dryly, you breathe, “Yes…”

You swear you feel him tense up behind him, as if he’s thinking of all the ways he might punish you. And it is here that you’re aware of his length, hot and hard against your soft backside. The anticipation flutters in your stomach.

“Yes what”

Oh Gods, you think. Anxiety wracks your body.

“Yes, my prince”

“Good”

His flaming touch disappears from your bare skin for a moment, moving to the buttons of his tunic, undoing them with alarming calmness.

“Lay on the bed. Don’t make me ask twice”

Not one to poke an already angry dragon, you obey. Sitting in the middle of the bed, with your legs pushed together you look up to watch your husband. His eye never leaves you and it shocks you just how stoic he is right now with the clear bulge underneath his breeches. Most of the time, he would make love to you slowly, lovingly. Only on the off chance would he indulge in primal carnal desires, asking you to call him ‘my prince’ and denying you your peak when he’d deemed you too greedy.

He shrugged his tunic off his shoulders and disposed of his underneath, allowing his pale chest exposure to the slightly cold air of your chambers.

“Spread your legs for me”

You swallow dryly at his instruction, the lack of emotion in them and in his eye sends a bolt of humiliation straight to core, and you feel yourself get shamefully wet, as if you already had not been.

Leaning back on your elbows, taking a few breaths to calm your nerves, your ankles splay out, revealing what lies between those pretty thighs for your husband to shamefully observe. The shameful warmth in your belly makes you want to shut your eyes, to spare yourself the judgement of Aemond’s gaze, but you know just as well he will punish you for that too if you do.

He calmly undoes the laces to his breeches, almost sighing in relief when his cock, hard and desperate for attention, springs free of their confines. He uses his hand to give it one or two pumps, and it prods against his stomach with the force of how hard it is. His eye is focussed entirely on your cunt and cunt alone, standing there. And you feel yourself staring too much as his pretty cock, the tip pink and weeping now that he’s allowed himself to touch it briefly.

“Do you see that?” he asks, “Do you see what you do to me?” he says,

And you hope to all the Gods that it’s rhetorical, because you barely heard what he said, too busy imagining all the ways he would impale you.

Even though he’s naked and clearly desperate for any touch, he stalks over to the bed with shocking control. His hands wrap around your ankles and pull, dragging your legs over the bed and planting them on either side of his thighs. You yelp in surprise at the sudden action and the feeling of your legs touching his bare thighs is enough to send another gush of arousal through you.

You know just as well to be quiet until he speaks directly, and definitely not to touch yourself. That part is reserved for him.

“Remind me of our word, wife” he almost spits that word, as if all he saw before him was a petulant whore.

“Dracarys”

He merely nods, widening his legs so as to widen your own, giving himself a good view of your achingly wet cunt before him. Both of his hands move to grip your thighs, leaving red marks in their wake that now feel like they’re the most dangerous thing about him. He almost kneads the flesh in his calloused palms, watching the way your breath hitches when his fingers graze that delicate space between your legs and hips.

“You vex me to no end” he says and you feel the goosebumps on your arms at the tone of voice.

“I apologise, husband-”

“Oh I will have my apology” he muses, “When I want it”

A shudder envelops your body when his long, slender fingers run up the puffy folds of your cunt, slipping them between the lips there to brush against the wettened pearl hidden beneath. The sheer sound it makes is embarrassing enough, but the way he barely even touches that little bundle of nerves and the reaction you give, is the most embarrassing thing about it all.

Knowing not to touch him, your fists clench the bedsheets at your sides. Aemond chuckles,

“Is this how sensitive my little wife is?” he muses, his fingers collecting the wetness there that was a pure result of his unkind words to you. And when one finger prods at the slick hole of your entrance, you gasp. “Maybe I should punish you more often…if you are as wet as this before I’ve barely even touched you”

Two fingers circle the entrance, the pads of his fingers now entirely slick with your arousal, while his thumb rubs lazy circles at your clit. And you wonder for a moment, how exactly this is punishment. But it’s far too early to be thinking like that.

“I wonder what sounds my pretty little whore can make” he murmurs as he prods two fingers inside you only barely, making your eyes shut tight, but he doesn’t move them further than that.

“Open your eyes”

Pink at the cheeks with sheer humiliation, you do as he says without another word to see his other hand is stroking his cock at a languid pace. You almost whimper, it should be you touching him like that…not himself.

Rewarding you briefly, he tucks two of his fingers as deep as they will go inside your waiting heat, grinning widely at the sound it makes. All breath seems to be stolen from your lungs when his fingers expertly brush against that rough spot within you and it takes all your strength to merely keep your eyes open to look up at him. Gods he looks so happy with himself right now. Knowing all your spots.

But you never thought he’d use that information like this.

It was kind of…thrilling.

The combination of his words, the deep humiliation and his roughened nature, you feel your peak approaching embarrassingly fast. Your breath shudders in your chest and hands fist more of the bedsheets, needing somewhere to place this feeling. And Aemond seems more than willing right now to let you indulge in the euphoric feeling, your climax hurtling towards you at an alarming pace.

As soon as the thought enters your head, his fingers are gone and you jolt with a squeal when he delivers a firm smack straight to your cunt. Without meaning to, you whimper, both at the loss of his thick fingers tucked within you and also at the burning desire for him to do what he’d just done again.

Your brows furrow as you look up at him, his smirk now long gone, replaced with that same flat and stoic expression from earlier

“It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if I let you peak, now would it?”

Oh.

So that was his plan.

A flash of fear runs across your face, but most of it is the frustration of not knowing exactly how he intends to toy with you further.

He raises his fingers to your mouth, prodding at your lips, chuckling darkly at the confused expression you wear on your face, “Go on, clean up the mess you made”

You suck on the two digits he offers you, not only tasting the essence of your own heat, but covering them with your spit, hoping that your effort right now in obeying him will prove beneficial to you later. If he was feeling generous, that is.

In this moment, with that cruel, dark look in his eye, you honestly were not sure.

“Good…” his tone is almost soft here, appreciating the way your tongue glides over his fingers.

For a moment it makes you feel safe.

Aemond pulls his fingers from your mouth, reaching up with his other hand to pull his eyepatch off. You had been married long enough for you to have seen it before, but even now, it still renders you speechless every time you see it. The way it glimmers against the flames of the hearth, sitting comfortably in his empty eye socket. You often thought it beautiful, even before being wed to him.

But now, as he discards it to the floor and looks down at you, it almost takes on a gaze of its own. And it only strengthens that anticipation deep within your gut.

The fingers, now wet with your spit, run over your slick folds again, now sensitive from the denied release.

“So wet still…” he whispers, “...I did not know I had such a needy whore for a wife”

You moan out loud at how mean he’s being right now, coupled with the intense burning touch.

“Aemond…please…” you breathe. You wouldn’t have realised your slip up until he gives another wet smack to your pussy once again. Another jolt of pleasure runs through you, making your thighs tremble with desire and he seems pleased when you make a surprised sound.

He reaches down and runs his thick shaft against your slit, collecting the wetness that has pooled there since his torture on your body. Your chest is wracked with heavy breaths, wishing that he’d just break and fuck you already. But if Aemond was anything, he was patient. He was more than happy to wait if it meant you were a whining, moaning mess beneath him. The fat head of his cock barely sinks beneath your swollen lips, kissing against your clit as he brushes it up which only serves to make your body jolt once again.

“Hm…” goes the deep rumble in his chest, “...I don’t think that’s what I told you to call me…”

“Please…I’m sorry, my prince…” you’re just begging at this point, the previous resolve you did have is now dwindling quickly.

“See? It’s not hard is it?”

He uses his cock to torture your core further, dipping the head of it between your lips to prod against your readied entrance, ready and willing to accept his length. But he pulls it away once again, only to repeat the motions, chuckling at the effect it has on you.

“What do you want, wife?”

Your face is pink and desperate, and you so badly want to tell him to just fuck you senseless right now. Play along, just play along…you think. Surely he can’t hold back forever.

“I want you inside me…” you manage between ragged breaths as he keeps dipping his cock against your hole.

“Beg for it”

You let out a frustrated whine when his thumb simply rests on your clit, not moving an inch.

“Come on, beg for it” he grins widely. He looks so pleased with himself you want to make a comment on it, but your body just wants him so deep inside you you can’t think straight.

“Please…my prince…please fuck me…” you can feel the frustration hot on your cheeks, bubbling up into tears glazing your eyes.

It’s too much. So much so that you think if he doesn’t thrust deep inside and move his thumb against your clit, you might just die.

“Such foul language, princess”

He gives his shaft a few more strokes, letting the bright red tip, aching to be buried inside your wet, waiting cunt, breach your entrance just slightly.

You can feel the relief, it’s so close, all he has to do is push forward…

“Eyes on me now” he instructs lowly.

Your mouth falls open, and a sigh of relief empties your lungs when he slowly sheathes himself within you. He is eerily calm and collected, a stark contrast to how you are holding back at this very moment. The sheer sound of your arousal enveloping him seems to make him smile, until he is fully seated to the hilt, the tip kissing your cervix.

You do as you are told, eyes on him the entire time, eyes glassy in relief at the feeling of just being completely full of him. He’s always been one for seeing his wife is satisfied, and so seeing the look on your face, his eyes glimmer in pride.

To your surprise, he starts a pace, albeit slow, but a pace nonetheless. Only quiet breathy sounds are heard from your mouth, and you think (stupidly) that you are safe. You start to indulge in the feeling of his erection continuously sinking into you, rocking your hips slightly against him to increase the pace somewhat.

And you are embarrassingly close. The ache of the previous denied release never fully went away, and it creeps up from the depths to fizzle at the surface once more, just aching for speed, for roughness, for anything but this torture. You feel every vein, every stroke, every angle of his hips, and it only makes you want more.

And then he stops and jolts you back when he presses his thumb forcefully against your clit, but not enough to truly hurt.

“Say the words” he orders, his tone flat and unforgiving.

Surely the Aemond you know is caring, loving even, is still there…right?

“Say the words, and I might let you peak tonight”

You swallow, stilling your hips as much as it pains you. The force of holding back makes your thighs tremble, evident in the low light of the room.

“…my prince?...”

His large, calloused hand wraps around your neck, shocking you in the most arousing way possible. His cock is inside you to the hilt and this should definitely not be turning you on as much as it is, and yet you feel another gush of your essence coat your thighs, betraying how you really feel. His fingers curl around it so effortlessly, and he only squeezes a little. He is so calculated in his movements, it’s almost frightening.

“Don’t give me ‘my prince’” he mocks, ��I want your apology. Now”

Without even thinking, the pain of him not moving and stilling his hips too great, tears prick at your eyes as you babble an apology,

“I am sorry, husband, I truly am! I was foolish to go out on my own. Forgive me”

His fingers curl around your neck just that tiny bit more and he has that wolfish grin on his face once more, clearly enjoying the way he is able to bring you to this pathetic little mess of a wife he must see you as now.

“Yes, it was foolish” he says, so nonchalantly, as if he isn’t fully inside you right at this moment, “I thought my wife was an intelligent woman. And yet here she is mewling and crying with her husband’s cock inside of her, begging to be forgiven”

You swallow around his hand in nervousness, seeing the way his iris is blown so wide with lust he almost does not look human at all. Perhaps they were right. When they say Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Because here, using you for his own cruel means, it is both gorgeous and terrifying, as Gods should be.

Tears prick at your eyes and you worry that if you blink they will fall. All you can focus on is his hand around your neck, every vein in his cock pulsing with desire deep inside you, and your walls squeezing him to try and ease him back into fucking you.

In a quiet breathy voice, you mewl, “husband…please…”

He chuckles when he sees how you are holding your pretty tears back, “Why are you crying, hm? Do I need to punish you again?” he smirks, “I could just stay like this…”

“No, no…please…”

“Then tell me what you want, wife” he sneers,

You finally allow yourself to blink and the tears stream down your cheeks.

“I want you…to fuck me…husband…” you say between breaths.

His tongue pokes at his cheek, as if he’d been waiting all day to hear that.

Aemond pushes your body back further onto the bed, his own knees coming to rest on it, and you whimper, his cock shoved only briefly further into you, kissing your cervix. It provides a little relief.

And your husband smiles widely as he takes your hips in both hands and brings them to rest against his waist. And he’s not moved yet, but purely the change of angle makes the head of his cock kiss against that rough patch within.

Smirking, he starts at a slow pace once more, and you cry at the relief of it. It’s slow, not at all the quick, brutal pace you need, but it’s something.

He all but laughs at your blissed out expression, taking in the glassy, glazed over look in your eyes.

“Who am I to deny my little wife?” he says.

And every nerve is your body is on fire when his thumbs dig into your hips and he finally just fucks you, in the way he knows you always like to be fucked. Your body goes slack as his hips snap against yours and the only sound in the room is the erotic slap of your bodies against each other. Every now and then Aemond curses under his breath at the force of which your walls clamp down on him.

All the teasing he’d done had done little to quell that impending release that you so desperately needed, and you could feel it form painfully in your stomach, wound up so tight and fit to burst.

“Gods…Aemond…” you breathe.

He presses one of his palms on your stomach, to feel the presence of himself there within you. Your body reacts on its own, bucking up into him as it pushes that sweet spot against his cock. He leans over, still keeping up that brutal pace and you can feel his hair against your chest, his breath on your neck.

His teeth graze over the delicate skin where he once has his entire hand choking you, “Fuck…your cunt feels amazing…” he whispers against you, “...I know you are close…”

A whimper teases its way out of your throat. Fuck, he can read your body like a book. Knows it far too well.

Knowing he is right, he presses harder against your stomach, squeezing you around his cock inside you as he pistons mercilessly into your cunt, the lewd sound of your arousal only aiding your peak. And it’s the mere whisper of a touch of his thumb across your throbbing clit that drives you over the edge.

“Fuck…” you breathe as your body grows rigid, hands still fisted hard within the sheets. Your muscles tremble and your cunt clenches around him, to which he lets out an uncharacteristically loud moan straight into your ear.

And you expect him to follow suit, but he simply keeps fucking you through it, intent to prolong this little death.

“Aem..nd…I can’t..” you beg.

Your first orgasm is barely gone before your stomach winds painfully again and he chuckles again, deeply and low against your body. In a rather sweet gesture, he leaves open-mouthed kisses against your neck and jaw, a stark contrast to the sweet torture he is performing against your sex.

“You can…give me another and I will fuck my seed into you…”

Your eyes screw shut. And there’s not enough words to describe the utter destruction your body feels it is going under, and you feel yourself fall apart more and more with each erotic slap of his balls against you.

“I’ve got you princess…that’s it…let go…”

Finally, your hands fly up from the sheets to clamour at his skin, needing to touch him all over. It’s a mess. His mouth fights against yours, biting at your swollen lower lip to draw the faintest bit of blood. All the while his cock is impaling your cunt at breakneck speed, chasing his release while yours just builds and builds…

Your fingers dig into his arms painfully as your second climax rolls over you. It’s loud and immense and you swear for a moment you are lost to the world, the only thing grounding you being the sound of Aemond’s low grunts as he chases his own release.

He gives several rough, deep thrusts, making sure to shove his seed as deep inside you as it will go before he finally stills above you, rested on his forearms either side of your head.

After what feels like a lifetime, feeling his cock continue to twitch within you, you crack open your eyes. You’ll never tire of seeing him like this. Fucked out with his hair damp against his temples, the muscles of his body contracting as he breathes heavily.

Idly, your fingers draw circles on his back. And it’s so soft and gentle that he shudders a little, picking himself up to look down at you. There he is. The husband you know and love.

You brush the back of your fingers against his face, the marred side. And his sapphire eye glints back at you.

“I am sorry, wife” he says suddenly.

Your movements cease, looking at him questioningly. But you do not question it.

“I have neglected you these past weeks” he confesses, as if being able to read you so well, “it has been unconsciously done…but it is no excuse.

I am sorry”

You’re a bit…stunned? If anything.

Aemond had always been proud. Proud of his heritage. Proud of his abilities. His talents.

He had never been one to admit his faults.

So for a moment his words hang in the air, until you find your voice again.

“Aemond…” you say, reaching up to his face. He sighs into your touch, “...I believe we have both been foolish. I am sorry also, for the anxiety I must have caused you”

He shakes his head softly.

“I only wished to get a reaction from you” you say, “But I am truly sorry for worrying you”

He huffs at that, looking down briefly to where you are still joined, “Perhaps you should do that more often” he jokes, and you swat his shoulder playfully.

His kiss is tender and he leans down, “shall we make up for lost time, Princess?” he asks.

You cock your head playfully as his hands glide over your torso to slide over your breast, squeezing gently.

“I’ll have you full of my heirs by daybreak” he growls.

You giggle at that, bringing him in for another kiss, “I look forward to it, my prince”

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nobodyfamousposts · 8 months

Text

Here's a Thought About Harry Potter...

Okay, so you have bigoted Wizarding children who look down on muggles and muggleborns and put big emphasis on wizarding lineage and whatnot. Big example in canon was Draco and his open use of the derogatory word "Mudblood".

So let's ignore the blatant favoritism where he and others are free to bully and be overtly cruel with no punishment or consequence.

Let's also pretend the teachers actually do their jobs and issue appropriate punishment.

What would happen if one of said teachers decides that the best way to curb Draco's blatant discrimination would be to have him learn about muggles?

So Draco ends up transferred to Muggle Studies.

Draco: This is a waste of time! Name one thing muggles have accomplished that Wizards haven't. Go ahead. I'll wait— Teacher: They've been to the moon. Draco: Wait—what? Teacher: Six times. Draco: WHAT?!

Where he is forced to...(shudder) learn about how muggles live!

Oh nooooooooo.

So he learns about muggle inventions.

Muggle Student1: So there's this square device called a "cell phone" that's compact enough that we can carry around in our pockets. We can also use it to send messages within seconds, chat with people across the world, play games, and look at pictures of cats. Draco: Don't think you can fool me! Like I would fall for something so insane! Muggle Student2: (Sarcastically) Oh no, he caught us.

Muggle contraptions.

Draco: What do you mean they don't use quills? How do they write? Teacher: With pens. Draco: Where do they get the ink from? Teacher: It's IN the pen. Draco: (Stares) …how?

Muggle hobbies.

Malfoy: What is "internet"? Muggleborn Student1: ….oh you sweet summer child. Muggleborn Student2: Don't tell him. I don't think his brain could handle it.

He also ends up falling into the muggleborn black market.

Which comes with the revelation that there IS, in fact, a muggleborn black market at Hogwarts. Because I'm hard pressed to believe that kids in the modern era would just abandon their modern comforts completely.

Muggleborn Student1: Hey, just because electronics don't work at Hogwarts doesn't mean we have to leave everything behind. Muggleborn Black Market Dealer: I have a new stock of Cadbury chocolates, KitKat bars, and Fruit Pastilles. Muggleborn Student1: YES! Draco: (Scoff) There's nothing here I would want. Muggleborn Black Market Dealer: I have one set of "Slytherin" gel pens in black, silver, and bright green. One set of glitter gel pens. And a spiral notebook with a holographic cover. Draco: (Slams money on the counter) GIMME!

And Draco ends up learning a lot.

After all, a Slytherin is supposed to be cunning and ambitious.

It would be remiss of him to not take advantage of such opportunity as it presents itself.

#harry potter au #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco goes to muggle studies #draco learns #muggleborn headcanon #muggleborn black market

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ellecdc · 2 months

Text

The Drink Snob (part 4)

mafia au!Remus Lupin x fem!reader - 3k

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4

You stood on the sidewalk staring dumbly at the sign that hung above the door of the restaurant - La Luna – with a list of references under your arm.

You’d thought long and hard about showing up today, and you weren’t sure which part of you was the part that won. Was it the part of you who saw things through? The part of you who had a lovely conversation with a motherly sounding woman on the phone and had promised her you’d be here? Was it the part of you who sort of wanted to see The Man™ again? Or was it the part of you who didn’t like being told what to do?

You supposed it didn’t much matter now which part of you won, seeing as it found you here.

Now you just had to make it inside the restaurant...which should be easy...seeing as you had two functioning legs...so why the hell aren’t they moving?

Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe you shouldn’t have come. Who voluntarily works for a criminal? Or at least for a criminal’s mother. He’s proven to you that he’s nothing but trouble.

What if it was the good kind of trouble? The kind that led to fun banter and teasing remarks. The kind that made life more exciting and adventurous. The kind that made him really fun in bed.

Stop it.

He wasn’t the good kind of trouble. He was a criminal. Just because he stopped one guy from drugging you doesn’t mean he’s any better than him. Just because he spent hours with you at a bar listening to you lament about your life. Just because he took the opportunity to warn you about his mother’s restaurant. Just because he seemed to give a damn about you...

No, that was wishful thinking.

You shouldn’t be here.

Your option to leave was taken from you, however, when a man exciting the restaurant paused to hold the door open for you.

Fuck it.

You thanked the man and squared your shoulders as you entered the restaurant.

It was fairly quiet inside, which you supposed made sense seeing as it didn’t open until 4pm. There were some serving staff behind the bar readying glassware and silverware for the evening, and a few men moving a large piece of furniture covered with a moving blanket to the corner of the restaurant.

“No fucking way. You came!” A voice called. You turned to see the same curly haired man from the restaurant the night that The Man™ saved you from Tan. He was smiling widely at you as if the two of you were old friends that hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Uhm...me?” you asked dumbly. Kill me now.

The man just laughed as he approached you and gave you a bone crushing hug. “Yeah you! You’re The Girl.”

“The girl?” You muttered as you stepped away from the overly affectionate man.

“James, step away from the girl; she doesn’t even know you.” A shorter man with black hair and silver eyes said as he smiled politely at you. “Sorry about him. He’s mostly harmless, just an idiot.”

The man...James...beamed at you as if his friend hadn’t just insulted him.

“I’m James, this is my boyfriend Regulus.” James introduced finally.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You said as you gave him your name in turn.

“Oh, we know.” Another man said as he entered the dining area. He looked startlingly similar to Regulus, though his hair was quite a bit longer and he was littered with tattoos and silver jewelry. He was also accompanied by The Man™.

“Don’t be fucking weird.” The Man™ muttered to his companion.

“Sorry Moons, no can do.” He said salaciously as he waltzed his way over to you extending his hand. “The names Sirius, doll. So glad I finally get to meet you.” He said with a wink.

You choked on a laugh.

“Fucking hell. You’re unbelievable.” You said instead of hello.

“Thank you!” He beamed, puffing his chest not unlike a peacock.

“That wasn’t a compliment...”

James barked a laugh. “Oh Moony, can we keep her?” He said as he wiped a fake tear from under his eye.

“You’re name’s Moony?” You asked incredulously.

The Man’s murderous glare softened as he looked from James to you. “One of them.”

“The sods name is Remus, dollface. Don’t mind him, he’s emotionally constipated.” Sirius interjected.

“Sirius!” Remus chastised from across the room.

“What is goi-oh! You must be Y/N!” A lovely woman exclaimed as she made her way into the dining hall. “I was wondering what had my boys so rowdy.”

You flushed under the insinuation and extended your hand quickly.

“You must be Hope. It’s nice to meet you; I’m terribly sorry if you’ve been waiting on me.”

The woman waved you off and threw a sarcastic glance over her shoulder. “Oh, I’m not fussed. It’s hard to get almost anything done with this lot ‘round. Come, leave the boys to their folly.” She said as she ushered you down the hall.

“Those are your boys?” You asked as the two of you made your way to what looked to be Hope’s office.

“Yes! Well, technically just Remus. But they’re a package deal, those boys.” She said with the fondness only a mother could manage. It made your heart hurt.

“I suppose that’s an important quality...in his line of work.” You offered. You chose to attend the interview regardless, but it was important for you to understand exactly what was expected of you here.

Hope looked at you with a knowing glint in her eye as she sat at her desk, seeming to size you up. “Yes, I suppose so.”

She pulled out some papers and you placed your references in front of you.

“So, what kind of questions do you have for me?” She asked casually.

You felt your eyebrows furrow as you calculated her question; you’d never been asked that at the beginning of an interview before.

“Erm, I... well I guess I’d like to know a little more about what the job entails.”

Hope smiled widely at you – you could see now where Remus got his dimples from.

“Well, we were looking for someone who had a license to serve liquor, perhaps to help with serving and bussing tables. But really what I’m most excited about is your music.”

“My music?” You asked quietly.

“Oh yes.” Hope offered enthusiastically. “I’ve always wanted live music here, but we’ve never had anyone to do that! I must admit, I looked you up after I received your CV – you’re very talented.”

“Oh, god.” You murmured as you felt you face heat in embarrassment. “I’ve really only played with orchestra’s – I’m not sure that’s an example of any talent.”

“Hm, and modest too. Tell me, do you make it a habit of downplaying your worth?”

You felt like you’d been slapped.

“Because you shouldn’t. You ought to be proud; I sure am.” She carried on like she hadn’t just rocked your world. You cleared your throat and tried to fight against the tears clamoring their way to the surface.

“As for...this line of work.” Hope carried on, emphasizing your phrasing regarding Remus’ job. “This is indeed a restaurant. We deal with mostly restaurant matters. Some of our patrons may be...more colourful than average, and we may see the boys come and go from time-to-time, but there’s nothing you’d need to be concerned about.”

You nodded, a little stunned by the speed of this conversation, but feeling like you got the gist.

Restaurant. Shady business behind the scenes. Nothing for you to worry about.

Good enough.

“Look. You’ve worked at bars in some of the largest cities in North America – that tells me you work well under pressure and in a fast-paced environment. You’ve worked with orchestras across the continent as well, which tells me you work well in a team environment. You’re working towards your doctorate which tells me you’re dedicated and hard working. You’re an ideal candidate, Y/N.”

Remus was right – how does one say no to Hope Lupin?

“Do you work well in a team?” She asked plainly.

“Yes.”

“Do you work well under pressure?”

“Sure.”

“How’s your right hook?”

You laughed. “Not bad? I guess...I’ve not had to use it much if I’m being honest.”

Hope shrugged her shoulders. “We can work on that.”

You laughed again before taking a deep breath. “Okay. Alright, well...whatever you need then.”

Hope smiled. “You’ll play for us?”

You grimaced but shifted it to a smile. “There’s no saying no to you, is there?”

Hope beamed. “And you’re a quick learned. Excellent! Come with me.” She called as she stood and marched out of her office.

You followed her obediently back out to the dining hall where James, Remus, Sirius, and Regulus were still loitering – each having taken a seat at a different table. And that large piece of furniture they’d been moving in when you arrived? It was a piano.

It was a Concert A 192 Bechstein grand piano.

It was a brand-new Concert A 192 Bechstein grand piano.

You thought you were going to faint. These pianos were not cheap.

“Think this will work for you? I’m sure we could swap it for something else if needed.” Hope commented as she moved towards the piano.

“You got this...for me?” You murmured. Hope smiled at you but bit it back when she saw the emotion on your face.

“Well, we got it for the restaurant. If you need something else though, we can likely exchange it.”

She was interrupted by a scoff from Sirius. “I am not breaking my back dragging that thing back out of here again, mummykins.”

“You’ll damn well do whatever the hell I tell you too, bubs.” She shot back.

Sirius conceded immediately. “Absolutely. Whatever you want mum.”

“So, are you gonna play us something?” James interjected.

“Now?” You asked apprehensively.

“Well, someone’s gotta test it out.” He shrugged. “They tuned it at the store but said it might shift slightly during the move.”

You hummed in acknowledgement but made no move to sit at the piano. James sighed dramatically and stood from his seat.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

Regulus groaned and brought his hands up to his ears as his boyfriend sat at the piano with a flourish, cracking his knuckles, and began pressing keys at random.

Sirius bobbed his head in encouragement as if what James was currently producing could be considered music. Regulus banged his head against the table with his ears still covered, and Remus shook his head with a grimace.

“Okay, okay! Oh, you poor thing what has he done to you?” You cooed at the piano as you swatted James’ hands away.

“Uhm, I was playing it. Duh.” He muttered as he stood from the bench.

“That was a crime, is what it was. This piano is a work of art – it costs as much as a bungalow in America.” You said as you sat at the bench, staring at the keys in awe.

You’ve played some pretty spectacular instruments throughout your life; the New York Philharmonic certainly provided for their pianist, no holds barred. But those were instruments you had to give back once you finished playing with them. Granted, this belonged to the restaurant, but...it was here for you to play.

“What are you going to play us?” Remus asked quietly.

You turned your head to him, surprised out of your musings, to find him looking at you softly.

“Any requests?” You asked the room.

“James’ knowledge of music that one can play on a piano expands no further than heart and soul, dollface. Don’t ask us.” Sirius smirked as he dodged a swat that James sent his way with an indignant squawk.

“You’re the expert.” Hope encouraged you from the side of the room.

You took a deep breath and turned back to the piano. You felt horribly exposed; no orchestra to hide behind, all eyes on you. Make it count.

You opted for a piece you’ve played an unholy amount of times.

It was your mother’s favourite.

It wasn’t anything particularly difficult or challenging; it was not a technical piece in the slightest. But something about it spoke to you.

It felt like sitting in a sunroom on a rainy day and watching beads of raindrops race down the panes of glass. It felt like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds after days of overcast skies. It felt like a hug from your mom.

Turns out, it sounded even more beautiful on a Bechstein.

The last few notes echoed through the predominantly quiet restaurant as you stared down at the keys.

“What’s that called?” Remus asked quietly.

You looked over at him to find that same soft look on his face.

“It’s called Sorrisi.”

“What language is that?” James asked.

“Italian, I believe.”

“What does it mean?” Sirius interjected.

You smirked before responding. “I believe it translates to I smiled.”

Remus watched as you seemed to shake yourself out of some sort of reverie. The piece was simple, but it was deep. Remus swore he could see years of memories and feelings oozing out of your shoulders as your hands danced across the keys.

And he wasn’t the only one. He could tell his mum was crying – most people wouldn’t have likely noticed, thinking she was just farsighted - but he knew that she only ever removed her glasses from her face if she was tearing up.

And then you had to go and act all bashful like you hadn’t just moved the room to tears with a few simple notes. Like you had no idea how wonderful you were. How beautiful you were.

Remus was fucked.

Here's the song you played for (Remus) the boys and Hope 🥰

190 notes · View notes

loko4koko · 6 months

Text

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ Miya Atsumu x fem!Reader ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

>fanart_credit: GREEN_U_U_ (via_twitter)

MDNI 18+

>word_count: 7384

>contents: alcohol mentions (major plot point), implied drunk sex/hookup, kinda implied sex with a stranger, implied and explicit rough sex, drunk marriage proposal/wedding, atsumu being super rich for plot purposes, slight pda, slight dry humping/grinding, explicit p in v, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), atsumu talking filthy, atsumu ripping reader’s panties off, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), cervix/womb fucking (very brief), mating press, multiple positions, creampie, atsumu being the world’s best husband *~*

skull pounding. head aching. brain melting.

those are the only ways you could describe waking up right now. face contorting and stretching as you blink bleary eyes, you close them just as quickly with a pained moan when the light of day shining through the windows hits you. you know you fucked up, know you got far too wasted last night because you never feel this hungover- not unless you down an excessive amount of shots in a not nearly spaced out enough timeframe. you rub at your face with the hand not curled under your pillow and something feels…strange. there’s something cold, hard, metallic that almost scratches you and your brow furrows, forcing your eyes open despite the brightness to look at your palm.

“what the fuck..?” you whisper, voice still strained with exhaustion and you’re staring in confusion as you turn your hand around to look at the back side. okay, you were right on first glance, that’s a fucking ring sitting on your finger. a decent sized rock, princess cut set on a silver band, one that you have to doubt it’s realness for the simple fact that you’ve never seen it before and, if it were a true diamond, would cost an amount of money that you could only call exorbitant. you stare at the ring for a moment before realizing that the backdrop of your current view is..not where you’d expected to go to sleep last night (this morning? you aren’t quite sure to be honest.) the hotel room is far more opulent than the one you’d dropped your bags into. this room is at least double, maybe even 3 times as big with floor to ceiling windows and a view too high and holy shit, this is basically a penthouse. you are in someone’s room- no, someone’s suite with what is potentially a diamond ring on your finger and now you’re worrying that you got so goddamn drunk that you managed to break into someone’s insanely costly hotel and decorated yourself with their insanely costly jewelry. your eyes could rival a full moon as you realize that you’d been freaking out so much about the room and the ring that you didn’t even notice you weren’t alone.

“oh..my god,” you cry out to yourself quietly, eyes now focused solely on the muscular arm that’s draped over your middle. you notice, only then, that you are bare under the sheets and your heart is racing so fast you’re concerned about the possibility of a heart attack. oh yeah, you really, absolutely, assuredly fucked up last night.

the person that the arm is attached to groans, said limb wrapping tighter around you and dragging you back against an equally sinewy chest. you want to turn over, get a good look at just who it is you ended up going home with, whose bed you’re in, who you ended up ass-naked with, but you’re too scared. shallowly, you think you might have to run away forever if you ended up here with someone…not to your taste. you hope and pray that hammered you had good standards, even if she made extraordinarily poor decisions. you settle back in, staring straight ahead with fretful eyes as you try to think- try to use the few brain cells you haven’t killed to remember just what shook down last night. the last thing you fully remember is getting to the second club you arrived at, your best friend still in tow as you got to the bar, ordered tequila shooters and “blowjob” shots. you must’ve wrapped your lips around too many because you sure don’t remember leaving there, don’t remember meeting any guys you’d want to go home with. you try your best but you just..can’t. can’t picture it, can’t picture the face of the man behind you, wrapped around you like it’s where he belongs.

you sit there, stewing in the fact that your memory is well and truly fucked, for about 15 minutes before the mystery man groans again, but this time you know he’s awake, know he’s becoming aware of the situation when you hear an “oh, fuck” from behind you. you think it just might be time to bite the bullet so you start the turnover, bracing yourself for the impact that you might’ve gone home with some sweaty creep with a face only a mother could love. you meet his eyes with your own and you find that you’re…quite pleasantly surprised. it’s obvious that you’re both scanning each other, seeing just how bad your choices might’ve been and he hasn’t cringed or jumped away in disgust so maybe he has the same reaction that you do.

it takes you a moment to realize, but you do actually recognize him, however, not from last night. no, you recognize him from your television screen. the shock in your eyes has to be apparent as you come to realize that the man before you- the faux-blonde with eyes just as confused as yours- is the star setter of the Japan national team. a man you’d seen on television because he competed in the goddamn olympics.

Miya Atsumu.

you have no control over the way your mouth falls open and a dumbfounded “holy shit” escapes. admittedly, you knew your taste could be rather questionable at times but there’s a little bit of pride in you that you’d at least ended up in bed with a very accomplished and very hot athlete. your eyes travel down his face, starting from those thick eyebrows, down to those big, brown eyes, down the slope of his nose and to lips that you’re sure you kissed an immeasurable amount of times, if the lipstick that’s still smeared on them has anything to do with you. yeah, that’s definitely him.

“uh, don’t-don’t take this the wrong way but..d’ya remember anything from last night?” he questions you nervously, probably afraid of offending you and you’re a little bit glad to know you aren’t the only one having this thought right now. you frown, lip between your teeth as you shake your head. “no..i actually was gonna ask you the same thing. this,” you say, lifting your hand and showing him the ring on your finger, “is not mine. it wasn’t on my finger when i first went out, so we should probably check the news and see if we robbed a jewelry store or something.” he laughs softly, nodding in agreement before reaching to pull the lush blanket from his body. he has no shame about being nude, not that he should, not with a body like that. he’s taller than he seemed on the tv screens- broad, sculpted shoulders that taper down into a waist you wouldn’t mind digging your fingers into. he’s got his back to you and even his butt is nice, well toned from what you can assume is vigorous volleyball training. you’re caught gawking when he turns around to face you, still naked as the day he was born, clearing his throat with a wink in your direction and a little smirk playing at his lips.

“didn’t mean to interrupt, sweet thing. jus’ wanted to get yer name. ‘m atsumu, miya atsumu.” the burn in your cheeks feels like hellfire and you look away, stuttering as you tell him who you are. you try not to stare again, not that it seems he’d mind, but from the little glimpse you do catch, you can see why there’s a dull ache between your hips.

about 45 minutes and 2 baths in the (very lavish) ofuro later, you’re both decent enough to sit and try to combine your brainpower into remembering what happened over the previous 10 or so hours. you wish to god you could remember how the night went, at least the part when you’d ended up in bed with a man like atsumu, but you think you had a good time if the dark marks spread across your neck, chest, and thighs are any indication.

atsumu is kind, much kinder than you expected a pro athlete to be, if you’re truthful. he hands you a menu and tells you you can have anything you want from it, and you’re shocked when you realize just how expensive all of the items on it are. even a glass of the “organic, freshly hand-squeezed orange juice” costs more than what you’d spend on 2 whole cartons back home and you realize just how out of your element you are here.

“um, i’ll just have a latte and some fruit..” you say sheepishly, handing atsumu the menu back and he frowns, nudging the pamphlet back into your hands. “ah, sweet thing, ya gotta eat more than that. need’ta soak up all the alcohol, yeah? i think i remember champagne being brought out at some point. c’mon, whatever ya like, really.” he gives you a smile, doing a little “go on” motion with his large hands and you bite your lip, nodding as you look over the menu again. you end up deciding on the american breakfast, offering waffles and sausage and the fruit you’d originally asked for, along with the coffee you so desperately need. atsumu, however, with the appetite of an athlete goes for a full japanese spread and when you remember the price from the menu and your estimations of how much the room you’re in could’ve costed, you take a glance at the ring on your finger again. there’s a small part of you that’s starting to doubt your original thoughts of it being a fake stone, what with the obviously enormous amount of money atsumu must have at his disposal. no, there’s no way you two could’ve gotten that drunk..right?

atsumu pulls you from your thoughts as the room service breakfast arrives, the server placing the platters in front of you at the table you sit at. atsumu thanks her, gives her what looks to be a generous tip and she’s off again. you quietly dig into your breakfast as you delve back in to the little memory you have of the night, and the more you eat, the more bits and pieces come back to you. you remember the champagne that the blonde mentioned earlier and you vaguely see yourselves downing glass after glass of the bubbly substance, flashes of you and atsumu making out somewhere that wasn’t the club popping into your head, but it’s spotty again after that. you sip at the smooth latte in front of you, feeling like your brain is going to turn to goo and slide out of your ears if you keep trying to push for the memories, so you give it a rest for now.

soon after breakfast is finished and a few phone calls are made on atsumu’s end, you learn just how you met- thanks to someone you know as his national’s teammate, bokuto, who happened to be with him when this all started. you’d met at what is apparently the third club you’d hopped to, when he approached you at the bar and offered to buy you a drink in exchange for a dance. you can’t blame yourself for accepting the proposition, one of the rare times when a man who is actually good looking makes an advance towards you while you’re out partying. bokuto tells atsumu on speakerphone how he saw you two dancing for only a short while before the borderline public indecency of your raunchy kissing and grinding started, and the next time he’d turned back to look for his friend, you both were gone. you’re grateful for the lead, at least able to put together the beginning of the night you’d spent with the setter. you wonder just where the two of you’d gotten off to after that, though, and how it went from there to you waking up in his hotel room with a ring on your finger. you turn away from the incredible city view that the room offers to pace around for a bit, to see if it’ll activate your brain into giving you some more useful information. you’re walking along the trail that your clothes made when you’d first gotten up, from the door to the bed, when you notice a piece of paper lying on the ground. you pick it up, scanning it over quickly and you just might have to pick your jaw up off of the floor when you finish. there’s a blank look in your eyes as you walk over and hand it to atsumu, who scans it equally as fast and almost chokes on his orange juice.

“700,000 yen at a jewelers?! what the hell did i…oh..” his brain fully registers the situation when you slide the ring off of your finger, placing it on the table in front of him. you can’t even begin to fathom how you’d gotten so drunk together that the man went and bought you a ring worth that much at 3:45 in the morning. you both stare at the guilty piece of jewelry for a moment before atsumu sighs, picking it up and analyzing it up close.

“there’s no way i picked this out. ya got good taste, i’ll tell ya that.” you huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “well, i went home with you, didn’t i?” atsumu cracks up at that, gently placing the ring back down on the table. “oh, yer quite the charmer, sweet thing. can see why i bought ya a 700,000 yen ring, if ya were flirtin’ with me like that last night.” there’s blood rushing to your cheeks and you smile, biting your lip as you look away from him for a moment to think before you speak again.

“atsumu, do you..do you think we..got married last night? i mean the ring..the champagne..it can’t be just a coincidence, can it?” the blonde man raises a thick brow, face twisted up like it wasn’t something he’d considered before now and it’s obvious he’s deep in his thoughts.

“guess it’s possible, right? what else can ya think? i still can’t remember all of it but champagne makes it sound like we were celebrating somethin’, and bokuto said he didn’t remember seein’ us with any at the club, so it must’ve happened sometime after the ring.” you sigh, completely and utterly stumped. you feel a pang of guilt that you’d gotten a guy like atsumu wrapped up in something as crazy as this with you, but you know there’s blame to be had on both sides. it’s annoyingly flattering, though, that he’d met you only hours before he seemingly proposed to you. you must’ve had some crazy good game if you’d gotten this gorgeous (and incredibly wealthy) man to seek you out, out of all the women at the club, and was so entranced by you even in his drunken state that he paid hundreds of thousands for a piece of jewelry for you. you had to give yourself some props for that.

a few hours pass before you end up with another piece of the puzzle, arguably the most important one of all. atsumu decided that if you had nothing better to do than rack your brains for memories, then you could at least enjoy the amenities of the high-class hotel you were staying in while you chat and get to know each other better. he takes you down to the in-house spa, to relax in the hot tub and maybe get a massage, where someone gives you a very substantiating piece of evidence, so to speak. you’re in line for check in to the spa when the worker sees you approaching, big smile on his face when the two of you finally reach his desk.

“ah, mr. miya! and the now mrs. miya! are you two here for your newlyweds package?” the man is practically beaming as he congratulates you and shakes atsumu’s hand, commending him on securing a woman as beautiful as yourself and it has you in shock, blushing and trying hard not to look like you never expected him to say that. atsumu is careful with his words, not wanting to burst the clearly excited man’s little bubble of joy.

“ah, uh- yeah, right, thanks! how-how’d ya know about that exactly?” the man laughs and you’re not sure how good of a sign that is.

“well, you came in here last night practically shouting it from the rooftops! said how happy you were to be married to the most gorgeous woman you’d ever seen in your life. said some other things, too, but i, uh- i won’t repeat those.” he sends a wink to the two of you and the feeling in your face is so hot you’re sure they could heat the rocks they use in the spa on you. atsumu handles it well, though, nodding and smiling right along like he always knew about this. he sets up the check-in quickly after that, leading you away towards the changing rooms. he sends you in to get changed with promises to convene about the new information when he meets you on the other side.

your hands are shaking as you change out of the shirt atsumu had given you, one you realize has his name on the back and that sure doesn’t make you feel any less like his wife now. you can’t believe it’s true, you’d actually gotten drunk and married a man. not just a man, actually, but the miya atsumu. you thought this type of thing only happened in the movies but clearly not because you’re living it right now, right this very minute. you finish undressing down to your underwear as you were woefully unprepared for this situation, so you have no swimsuit to wear. you wrap a towel around yourself and slip into your complimentary slippers before heading out of the changing room and into the hot tub area. you’re removing your towel and placing your belongings on an empty set of chairs and a table when there’s a whistle behind you and when you look up, your husband atsumu is there, drinking you in with his eyes, same way he drank in the multitude of drinks that got you into this situation. that is to say, in large gulps.

“well, would ya look at my pretty little wife! i gotta be the luckiest guy in here, huh?” you roll your eyes with a coy smile, playfully blowing him a kiss as he drops his own stuff beside yours. he approaches you, impressive stature towering over you as his warm hand cups your jaw, eyes trailing down from your lips to the marks strewn across your body, like a roadmap of his desire, before they come back up to meet your gaze. “that guy sure was right, think ya gotta be the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen. no wonder i had to get ya a ring as soon as possible.” you blink in surprise, sheepishly grinning at the man that stands before you.

“and you call me a charmer..go take a look in a mirror and we’ll see which one of us is the lucky one here, husband.” he laughs boisterously, thumb sweeping over your bottom lip and he pats your cheek. “ya give as good as ya get. like that about ya.” his words come out soft as cotton, and is it wrong that you want to kiss him right now? if this is how he’d be as a husband, you aren’t sure you even want to fix this situation. you like the way he looks at you, like he truly believes you’re the most beautiful person in the world and you kinda want him to look at you like that for years to come. god, you can’t believe yourself, falling in love in 5 minutes with a man you’d only met the night before. he just makes it so fucking easy.

you’re left standing there for a moment as he winks at you before slipping in to the hot tub, and it’s hard to explain to yourself how you feel, so you decide not to for the time being. you still have questions that need to be solved, now knowing how you met and that you are, in fact, married to atsumu, so you climb into the hot tub with him to relax your brain and see what else you can try to piece together. a moan leaves you as you sink in to the hot water, closing your eyes as you lean back against the tub and atsumu watches you, arms splayed out against the lip of the tub and a part of him wonders why you’re sitting so far away. you are his wife, after all, and that part of him thinks you should be pressed up against him so that the warmth he’s feeling isn’t just from the water. there’s a long while of relaxation, at least 20 minutes of steamy hot bliss before one of you breaks the silence again.

“so, husband, what’s the plan? should we find out where we got married next, or are we on to planning the honeymoon?” you don’t open your eyes when you speak so you can’t see the way atsumu looks at you, like he actually is ready to take you on a trip and consummate his marriage again. he almost doesn’t even care how the two of you’d gotten into this situation anymore, just happy that he’s in it with you. he can picture you, on the sidelines at his games, wearing his jersey and cheering him on and when he wins for you, he rushes over and kisses your breath away. he sees you in his kitchen when he comes home from a long trip and he drops his bags and his jaw at the sight of you, tiny t-shirt and tinier panties as you dance around, baking some confectionery that isn’t nearly as sweet as he thinks you are. he’d never given a lot of thought to marriage but now he is, now he wants it, but only if it’s with you, with your pretty face as the background of his phone, with your smile greeting him when he comes home, with your moans all gasping and breathy in his ear as his cock hits deep inside of your most sensitive parts every night.

“atsumu? you still there?” your voice shakes him out of his head and you’re eyeing him with a curious look, lip between your teeth and it’s truly taking everything in him not to drag you back up to his suite and have you crying his name as you leak all over his dick.

“ah, yeah, sweet thing, ‘m sorry, i was jus’ thinkin’.” his lips are upturned into a smirk and it has you sliding a few inches closer to him, sweet smile on your lips and oh, how he wants to rail that look right off of your face. “‘bout what? c’mon, you can tell me anything, i mean, we are married, right?” you chuckle. he thinks for a moment before he makes a decision, strong hands pulling you in to straddle his lap and you squeal in surprise, huffing out a laugh as you place your arms around his neck to stabilize yourself.

“jus’..thinkin how much of a shame it is that i can’t remember how good yer pussy was, how loud i made ya moan fer me last night, how sweet i bet ya tasted on my tongue.” atsumu wishes he could take a picture of the look on your face as you take in his filth, as you feel his cock stiffening under your ass. your wide eyes dart away from his and there’s a shy little “oh” that leaves you. you hadn’t expected something so..lewd- so downright vulgar- to leave his mouth but you can’t lie and say it’s not something you’ve thought about, too. for as much of your thoughts have been sweet- images of him holding you close while you watch films, sipping sake and feeding each other sweets on your anniversary, they’ve been indecent, as well. wondering what positions he’d put you into last night, wondering how pretty his brown eyes look when they stare at you from between your thighs, mouth too busy on your slippery cunt to make his teasing little quips. you let your eyes meet his again and you decide on boldness as your response, leaning in so close your lips almost brush his when you speak.

“wanna find out?”

atsumu couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried, pressing that quarter inch closer to surge your lips together, and it’s so obscene how he kisses you, so utterly salacious, all tongue in your mouth and teeth on the swell of your bottom lip. his hand comes up to hold your cheek and the other finds the curve of your ass under the water, groping and squeezing as much flesh as he can fit in his palm. he’s such a nasty man- large hand slowly guiding you back and forth on his lap, the grind of your pussy against him, against the length of his cock, only separated by thin layers of fabric. even through your underwear and his shorts you can feel the ridges and veins of his hard on, feel how long he is, how thick, and a moan gets swallowed up into the kiss, but neither of you are sure who it came from. the swap of spit goes on for a bit, teeth clinking in your shared hunger for one another before he separates you, thin string of someone’s saliva serving as a connection between you two, what you’d been up to in the hotel hot tub.

“ya gonna let me take ya upstairs, baby? need’ta make my wife’s hot little pussy cream all over me, need’ta feel ya.” there’s a haze in your eyes as you nod, real thoughts no longer occupying your brain, only atsumu now- atsumu’s cock, atsumu’s mouth, atsumu’s cum. you share one last sloppy kiss before you’re climbing off of his lap, stumbling your way out of the hot tub and hurrying to collect your things from the table. he’s not far behind you, slapping your ass as you bend over to grab your borrowed shirt and sandals. the two of you dry off quickly and wrap your towels tightly around yourselves, exchanging heated gazes as you bypass the changing rooms altogether and head straight for the elevators. you thank whatever god may be listening as you see you’re alone on the trip up to atsumu’s suite and he must’ve been too because he’s back on you the second the doors close. he’s got you pressed against the wall, your thigh hiked up to his hip and calloused fingers around your throat in a gentle squeeze, tongue in your mouth again and you’ve never been more grateful to be on a floor so high. you see now exactly how you ended up as his wife. how could you not be when he kisses you like you’re holding the last oxygen in the world, grinding his hips into yours like he needs the friction to keep warm? his mouth, hot and demanding in its claim on you, traces a line down from your lips to your throat, this time the opposite side of where he’d imprinted on you last night and it has breathy moans and gasps escaping you, fingers gripping those strong shoulders as he sucks and bites more marks into your flesh.

“f-fuck, ‘tsumu, want you so bad..” you sigh, hips moving in accord with his own, and you wonder if he can feel the dampness seeping through the thin layer of your panties. your neck is craned so far back you’re sure it’ll ache later, but you can’t be worried about that now, not when atsumu’s lips are at your ear, kissing the shell of it, tugging the lobe between his teeth.

“don’t worry, baby, yer gonna have me real soon. gonna fuck my sweet little wife so good, fuck, ‘m dyin’ to get my cock inside ya again.” and it’s not long before he’s making good on his promise. as soon as the elevator dings he’s lifting your other leg, long fingers digging into your thighs as he carries you down the halls to his suite, and god, he’s so strong- so secure in his hold on you, you just know he could do it with one hand if he wanted. he gets you in his room and kicks the door shut with his foot, dropping you onto the bed before dropping himself to his knees before you.

you’re perched up onto your elbows as you watch him and you gasp out a laugh when his impatience has him ripping your panties instead of pulling them off, kissing on your quivering inner thighs with promises to buy you new ones. he’ll buy you as many pairs as you want. hell, he’d buy you anything you want, he thinks, because the moment he gets a taste of your drooling cunt he knows he’ll never be satisfied with another flavor again. you’re sweeter on his tongue than he could’ve ever guessed and fuck, if you tasted this good last night he knows he made the right choice with his drunken proposal. your head falls back between your shoulders as he eats away- licking, slurping, sucking on your clit, on your pretty little pussy lips. the way you cry out for him has him never wanting to stop, wanting to stay glued between your legs forever as long as he gets to hear the way your moans get so whiny when his tongue flicks at your clit just right.

“ohmygod, ‘tsumu, just like that, right-right there, please,” you whimper, leaning your head back up to look at him and wow, is he pretty like this. his eyes are closed, lost in you- your taste, your smell, your essence. atsumu thinks there’s no better drug than this, than the way your slick little hole flutters on his tongue when he dips the muscle inside of you. your fingers are carding through his soft blonde locks, giving his roots a sharp tug when his teeth lightly catch your clit.

“oh! oh, f-fuck, i’m so close, gonna cum,” you whimper, legs shaking on their perch of his shoulders and you didn’t think he could suck on your clit harder but god, he does. your chest is heaving and your free hand scrambles for purchase in the expensive sheets and you’re there, falling over the edge, eyes squeezed shut and thighs clamping down around his head. he tongue-fucks you through it, thumb coming up to stimulate your sticky clit and it’s almost too much, too good. he’s moaning into you almost as loud as you’re moaning for him, savoring every little morsel of you that he can get like a man starved. when your eyes finally open again they fall on his face and he’s staring up at you, lips shiny and chin damp with your release and your skin feels so, so hot to be in.

“there she is,” atsumu grins boyishly, lips pressing against the crease of your thigh and hip, “fuck, ya taste so good. my pretty wife, so perfect and sweet.” he gently pulls your legs from his shoulders and rises from his knees, coming to lean over you on the bed. he kisses you slow, tongue forcing it’s way into your mouth to give you no choice but to taste yourself and you can’t help the whine that he swallows right up. he slides you further back on the bed, nimble hands slipping down to drop his shorts and oh, you can feel the hot mushroom head of his cock, damp and sticky with precum, nudge against your clit when he climbs between your thighs.

“ya ready for me, sweet thing? ‘m gonna fill ya up, need ya to take it all f’me,” he says against your lips and you nod desperately, knowing you’d take anything he was willing to give you. he presses one last gentle kiss to your lips before he’s leaning back, one hand on your waist and the other on the base of his cock, guiding his length to your dripping hole. he breaches you with the tip and fuck, does it feel good already, but then he’s sheathing inch after inch inside of you and your lips form a perfect ‘o’.

“my god,” he groans, “yer so fuckin’ tight. perfect little pussy on my perfect little wife. ya feel that? ya feel how deep i am?” your eyes are fluttering but you try hard to keep them open, meeting his own and you can’t even speak, just another nod in response because opening your mouth only has a gasping moan leaving you. he gives you a brief second to adjust, but really it’s for him too, your walls so warm and slick that he has to take a moment to breathe through it so he doesn’t blow his load immediately. but once that second is over, he’s dragging his cock back out of you, enough so that only the tip resides inside of you and when he fucks back into you, it punches your breath from your lungs. he starts a pace one could only call determined- determined to hit that spongy little spot inside of you, determined to have you creaming all over his cock, determined to make nothing but his name fall from your lips.

“ohhmyygodddd, ‘tsumu!! you’re s-so big, feel you s’deep ins-side me,” you cry, hands on his forearms as your nails dig deep into the flesh. atsumu doesn’t mind it, though- too wrapped up in how your hot cunt around him makes this wet, squishy sound when he slides in and out of you.

“yeah, baby? ‘m i fuckin’ ya good? ‘m i f-fuckin’ this sweet little pussy the way ya like?” his voice is heavy with lust and unconstrained need, hips smacksmacksmacking against yours with vigor. your answer to him comes out slurred, high-pitched and so fucked out already. “yesss, nngh, s-so good, so fucking good!”

his hands grip under your knees, pushing your thighs back against your chest in a mating press and fuck, if you thought he was deep before, you hadn’t seen anything yet. his cock is hitting places inside of you that you’d previously thought impossible, salty little drops forming in your lash line and when you blink your eyes open, you think you see heaven. it’s atsumu- blonde hairs sticking to his forehead, chest glistening with little droplets of sweat, face contorted in a blend of pleasure and concentration as he carves his cock through your insides. there’s no air in your lungs, no thoughts in your head, nothing in your eyes but want. he catches your gaze on him and a grin splits his lips and oh yeah, you’re so over. you have no choice but to be in love with him, with your husband.

“mmh, what a pretty little thing, lookin’ a’me like that. bet ya look even prettier cummin’ on my cock, huh?” his thrusts slow but they don’t lose intensity, only growing harder in place of speed. the hands on your thighs leave to find your own hands, lacing your fingers together as he presses you deep into the mattress. his face comes down to yours, lips practically meshed as he fills your ears with more deliciously pornographic words.

“‘m not lettin ya go, baby. n-no, ‘m gonna keep ya as my lovely little wife, fuck ya like this every goddamn day. y’feel so good- fuck, so wet and tight for me. can’t let ya go, can’t let anyone else have ya. give ya anything, give ya the whole w-world long as ya keep givin’ me this slutty. little. pussy. oh, yer squeezin’ me, baby, y’like the sound of that, huh? gettin’ fucked nice ‘n deep ‘n full every day, bein’ my good girl, my wife?”

your lecherous moans and hiccups of his name in his ear have him driving his hips into you with more and more force, and you can’t even tell him how hard you’re about to cum. he knows though- knows when your back arches up, when your tits press against his chest, when your squelching little cunt grips him so tight he can barely move. he knows you’re cumming for him when a scream of his name tears from your throat and your fingernails leave crescents on the back of his hands. and atsumu is so giving, keeps on grinding his hips into you to get you through it, keeps spilling his erotic promises against your lips.

“oh, fuck- yeah, that’s it- that’s my good girl.. gonna make ya cum like this til ya can’t, til yer pretty voice is gone and ya can’t scream for me anymore.” there’s nothing but truth in his words, his athlete’s stamina keeping his thrusts into you just as ruthless as when he started. the folded-up position he’s got you in, in combination with an orgasm so powerful, has you seeing stars, the man on top of you practically fucking into your womb with his depth. you feel him on your neck, his pink tongue out to chase a rogue droplet of sweat and good god, is he so filthy. there’s no denying it for you, though, just how much you like it. there’s no denying it for him, either, with how your cushy walls clamp down around him as you moan so wantonly.

never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d be here, tears swimming in your eyes as you watch atsumu bring a leg up over his shoulder, pressing kisses to the soft skin of your calf while his hips continue their swivel. he fucks you like he can see inside of you- like he can see just where that delicate little point inside of you resides with a target on it, thick tip of his cock driving against it over and over and over again. you’ve cum around him 3 times now, or maybe it was 4. your brain was so fogged with lust that it was hard to keep track. but atsumu had patience, he had the strength to hold himself off from filling you up with his cum until you were crying for it, begging for it. but he felt so good inside of you that you didn’t want it to end yet- desperate to feel the same ache in your hips that you’d felt last night.

atsumu’s kiss was miles away from the way he fucked you, lips on yours so gently and lovingly that if you couldn’t see your other halves, you’d have no idea that he was fucking into your searing hot core so roughly- so brutally. he gave your kiss-swollen bottom lip a tug before he parted from you, hissing as he pulls his cock out of you. you watch him as you catch your breath, allowing yourself to be jostled around when he comes to lay on his side beside you, wrapping one of those strong arms around you to drag you up against his chest. he lifts your thigh and mutters in your ear an instruction for you to hold it up and his hand comes down, guiding his dick back inside of you and it has your head falling back against him, mewls leaving your lips and groans leaving his.

“never gonna get tired of this pussy, baby. y’get so wet for me, fuck- swear i could drown in it. ‘m gettin’ so close, gonna give ya all my cum, ‘n ya gotta take it, okay? gotta keep it all in this hot little pussy of yers. ya gonna do that? y’gonna be a good girl for me and keep it all in?” the demands he murmurs into your ear make your cunt clutch onto him all the more tighter, breathing harsh and ragged as you nod.

“yeah, baby, ‘m gonna keep it all in- ah! please, please, need it- need you to give it to me. want your cum so bad, ‘tsumu..i-i’m so close, don’t stop, please.” there’s a burn in your hamstring from the way your thigh is hiked up into the air but you don’t care, atsumu is gonna give you his cum and that’s all that matters to you. his slender, calloused fingers caress your body, moving from your waist, to the swell of your tits that bounce from the force of his thrusts, all the way down to your puffy little clit. he plays with you expertly and you cry out that he’s got you close, gonna make you cum again and he didn’t need you to tell him that, can feel your cunt spasming around his cock and fuck, he’s close, too.

“hold it f’me, pretty, just a second, f-fuck, wanna cum together, need’ta feel ya squeezin’ the cum outta my cock,” he sighs. it’s so hard, so hard to hold out but you do it and it’s worth it in the end. when those lips on your ear say “cum for me, angel” and his hips lose their rhythm, cock inside you twitching away as he spills rope after rope of milky white into you, it’s worth it. you throat is raw at this point, has been for some time, and yet a hoarse scream still makes it’s way out of you, cunt convulsing as you milk him for everything he’s got.

a few minutes pass, though someone could’ve told you it was an hour and you’d believe them, and the two of you still lie there, sticky and sweaty and so fucking gratified. atsumu keeps you close to him, keeps his lips pressed to your throat and you finally feel yourself coming back to reality.

“y’good, baby? ‘s it alright if i leave ya for a second? gonna get ya some water and get a bath ready, won’t take long, okay?” you still can’t speak, fighting an internal battle with yourself to even keep your eyes open so you just nod, and atsumu leaves a kiss on your shoulder before he eases his softened cock out of you with a whine on your part, sweetly shushing you as he climbs out of bed. you don’t even realize that you fell asleep until he comes back, and you realize with a start that you’re being lifted from the bed. you get your eyes back in focus to see atsumu looking down at you, ever-present smile on his face as he carries you off to the bathroom to clean you. the two of you sit in the tub, your back against a much sturdier chest, warmth of the water soothing your aching muscles and abused cunt.

atsumu is as good a husband as he is a lover, lifting a glass of water he’d already prepared to your lips and he’s gentle with his hands when he rubs you down with a soapy cloth. he whispers about how good you were for him- how he wasn’t lying or just saying it to say it, how he really wants to try to make this work with you. you have no objection to it, you figure if you’d want to marry anyone in the world, it might as well be a man so sweet- so kind and giving, so passionate about everything he touches, including you.

your bath is cold soon after the two of you are clean and he brings you back to bed, dries you off and helps to dress you in another one of his shirts that you swim in. he does something else, too. he sits beside you, cups your face with a strong hand and kisses you softly, before he reaches for your left hand, smiling serenely at you as he slides the ring you’d taken off earlier back onto your finger. you grin at his display, squeezing his hand in yours as you find his lips again, no lust or overwhelming desire in it, just the feeling of something like love blossoming between you two- the newlyweds, mr. and mrs. miya atsumu.

>authors_note: i have no idea how this ended up at 7k+ but husband!atsumu just does that to me 😅 hope y’all enjoy!! kinda have ideas for a part 2 so if you’re interested in that lmk!

>thank you for reading ♡

>masterlist.exe

>requests are now LIVE!

#miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x you #haikyu smut #haikyuu smut #atsumu x reader #hq atsumu #atsumu x you #hq x reader

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hwaightme · 2 months

Text

Feel alive

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🌑 pairing: strictland!seonghwa x gn!singer!reader 🌑 genre: fluff, angst, dystopian, sci-fi, noir, music, lovers to enemies to lovers 🌑 summary: after escaping the confines of prestige academy you find yourself singing at 'morpheus' - an underground bar and club for strictland outcasts. except this reality, too, crumbles before you. your fate is again in the hands of the same man, and you are forced to ask yourself: what does it mean to 'feel alive'? 🌑 wordcount: 9.5k total 🌑 warnings/tags: semi-edited, authoritarian regime (strictland/z/universe z), lore-inspired, guns/gunshots, implied attack on club, implied violence, crime, alcohol/drinking, implied organised criminal networks, discussions about death/murder/execution, nihilism/existentialism, 'bout as dark as the diary entries, long lost lovers, starcrossed, hope, blue bird, jazz, uprisings 🌑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🌑 a/n: noir hwa, ateez synthwave song quartet, and lore ponderings. hope you enjoyed <3 any notes, reblogs, comments, asks are always welcome! much love!

The lights dimmed, and it was as if the jazz bar never existed in the first place. The worn seats occupied by drunks who liked to pretend they had taste, sofas in the far corner reserved for big shots and well-established scum with pretty young accessories on either arm, the bar that sold everything under the rays of the dying sun and evil moon, it all disappeared with the dawn of the spotlight falling upon your alluring silhouette. A simple, yet elegant sleek black dress with a hint of shimmer that graced your curves seemed to shine in the glimmering illumination. The delicate silver accessories were stars in the hypnotising sky, the allure of an unreachable universe becoming overwhelming as your hands glided over the length of the microphone to find purchase on the stand. The music, starting from a low rumble, was an echo of the abyss surrounding you, manifested only at the softest inhale. After what could have been the drums and trumpet, or could have been the heavens announcing the beautiful singer’s presence finished their spontaneous introduction, Seonghwa had the pleasure of forgetting his purpose, at least for as long as the song lasted. He could drift into a sultry paradise, seduced by what had to be a siren’s call, and regard the customers of the Morpheus bar with something less than loathing.

As soon as he cleared the last of the russet coloured drink he had ordered in one gulp and set the glass down on the bar, shutting his eyes momentarily to focus on the warmth of the alcohol running down his throat, Seonghwa found the fingers of his right hand softly drumming out the song in accompaniment, each digit hitting one note, another, again and again. Back in the day, it had not been often that his visits to the bar occurred at the same time as the one and only Y/N’s performances, but when they did, he swore he could see the smog clear and tomorrow become a certainty. The music consumed him whole and even though he knew down to the second when the magic would be extinguished, a part of him still retained the hope that the spell would never be broken. Not when the only encore he could guarantee for himself was another torturous raid on an establishment such as this one, or another feverish witch hunt for those who had regained their ability to feel and to think freely. All in the name of a faceless leader who even Seonghwa himself had only met a handful of times despite being in a high ranking position of Guardian Inspector - above the standard white-clad machines, above the so-called officials clad in military uniform, he was in charge of ‘keeping civil hands clean’. At what cost? Perhaps his own emotions were the price.

The dark-haired man caught himself wondering how many people in this bar could enjoy themselves to the fullest. How many of these poor unfortunate souls that succumbed to the rush for easy money and easy love were true followers of hedonism, and were spending their days in an enviable bliss? Biting his lower lip, Seonghwa regarded his surroundings with a subtle scorn. He was well aware that he was to blame for it all too; The regime, to retain the ultimate, unwavering control over the citizens, even those who wholeheartedly believed they were well-hidden from the authoritarian judgement, was a supplier of one of the many pleasures after all - toying with people's weakness before the formidable seven sins only to lead them into full submission. The Strictland government, despite propagating ‘human emotion being a disease’ had anything anyone could ever desire, and Seonghwa was one of the many agents to guarantee long term partnerships, addiction to the illusion of a better life, and most importantly, stability and security for the people who had taken him in all that time ago when no one else would, and had given him a chance.

While he was the bringer of demise, the counter of profits drenched in crushing dread and the hand of twisted and subjective justice, at the same time, Seonghwa believed that it gave him all the more right to judge the society he was a part of. After all, he was not the one being fooled. Inevitably, his glimmering orbs settled back on the singer’s gently swaying form as they broke into the chorus, and nearly shuddered as your gaze, from languid, half-lidded but oh so appealing eyes, met his, only for a split second but it was as if hellfire itself embraced him and greeted him like an old lover. Each lyric - a personal address as you moved along at a sensual pace, the song smoother than the most expensive silk. He smirked to himself as he caught his ponderings accelerating uncontrollably, attempting to squash them under a sober, calculating fist. You were no fool either. An entertainer, measuring out each attack like a venomous serpent, not threatened, seeking fun in the reveal of vulnerability of your listeners - each one believed that you existed for them and them alone, and in the hypnotic state added bill after bill to their already hefty tips in the hopes that at least some would reach you, and you would give them that beautiful smile, maybe something more. Truly, a shame that the owner of Morpheus owed the regime a lot more than all the tips, so-called donations and what, compared to the rest of the money, was "honest" earnings all combined. The Captain of the Inspectors in charge of this little project had gotten a little too nice as of late, at least that was what Seonghwa had concluded, but it was not him who was going to pay for it, naturally.

Twisting his head, Seonghwa took note of the familiar faces that appeared at the entrance to Morpheus to join the rest of the Inspectors that were posing as regular customers, cleverly dispersed among the filth that reeked of dependence. Of course, dependence on what the regime was selling. There was no other way about it. Nodding the two men a curt hello, Seonghwa let his eyes trace back a swift path to the magnificent performance. He paid attention to how your dainty earrings glinted even in the lowered light, and how, with every subtle movement, he could see the gorgeous dress tighten just a little around your body. You were so out of place in this scene, an angel in the darkest pits of hell, a little bird struggling against the wiring of a cage, curling inwards, growing smaller until the last flutter of the wings. As he was caught up in admiring your beautiful style, grace, and listening to your sweet, warm tone, one of the two newcomers, a fellow brother in governmental salvation to Seonghwa, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and occupied the seat beside him.

“As flashy as ever, Woo. Might as well tattoo ‘trouble’ on your forehead,” he motioned towards his not so inconspicuous suit that made him look more like a mafioso rather than an average joe. Seonghwa had to admit, however, that the outfit looked too damn good on him, but this was going to be just one of those things he was to take to his grave. The man did not need his ego fed any more than what the ladies he finds as company for the less busy nights not hounded by the lower ranking Guardians provide.

“I’d carve a pretty smile on that face. Not even a hello?”

“Hi San,” Seonghwa deadpanned, looking past his friend who he noted had tied his hair into a low ponytail, and right at the other half of his duo. Wooyoung and San, two peas in a pod, and probably the last people one would ever wish to see if they were in trouble with any of the Inspectors.

“Aren’t you mean today… what, pretty star over there didn’t give you attention?” Wooyoung retorted with a smirk creeping onto his lips. With a raise of an eyebrow and a shake of the head, Seonghwa dismissed any thoughts of peace that he had been imagining, settling back to regular business.

Rolling his shoulders back, he let the scene come and envelop him. It was no coincidence that so many of the Inspectors had gathered, especially with Wooyoung and San now closing in the arrivals. It did not take a genius to guess that Captain had changed his terms, and this was no longer going to be an ordinary shakeout for money or customary information gathering from the owner of Morpheus. The owner had stalled for far too long, had strayed from ‘good practices’ of a loyal rat, and it was time to set an example for others. Disease was the human emotion, and this bar was a breeding ground for thought crime, was it not?. Lowly, lonely creatures who gathered here were all examples of where society had gone astray from the perfect vision Z had put forward, at least… most were. Those who had forgotten the meaning of feeling despite having regained the ability, those, to Seonghwa, were the true vermin. He regarded the few gathered who were most definitely not meant to be part of this story. A middle aged, haggard man with flushed cheeks and what had to be his fifth glass of the cheapest liquor on the menu. Some bigshot from another town who he recalled some of the Inspectors in charge of patrolling the area identifying this morning - no ties, no money, just a lot of ambition that was to amount to nothing. A few lowlives here and there who were faceless, in shades of grey. All not meant to be here, and yet by some stroke of fate, here they were to remain. Finally, he drifted back to the main act, still at the centre of the stage, the sole luminance among the tainted - those who had no hope in making Seonghwa feel anything but numbness. You were the only one working here. Earning your meagre pay - he had discreetly checked the bar’s balance books when the old man behind the counter was too distracted to care for a person of his kind strolling into his office that was concealed in a dark corridor. It was shameful how you were still in this far less than grand establishment, sharing your angelic vocals, despite obviously not having any compensation nor appreciation of your efforts. Perhaps the moments on stage were the only time when you felt alive; the thought would not leave Seonghwa. After much investigation playing pretend, he was confident in his conclusion: you had not changed.

You were on the tattered poster plastered up outside - the one and only, shows every Friday night. Perceive and behold the spectacular ethereal being as you sang songs that spun threads out of a spectator’s very soul, blood trickling from the cracks in their shattered form turning to gold. You sang their… his pain, promised him his glory, soothed and comforted him. Seonghwa was well aware that you were the sole reason that he had shifted his visits to Morpheus to this particular day of the week and monitored the illegal location so closely, otherwise, your face would never grace his corrupt, bleak vision. You did not deserve to go with the rest. When breaking free, one was not supposed to fall into another trap, and yet, here you were. You were not meant to be here, littering the ground that you stood on as the last of the gunpowder would settle on your perfect skin, your long, alluring eyelashes. The onyx-haired man felt a shift within himself as he mused the outcome of the unspoken plans - by the way in which Wooyoung leaned back onto the counter, a grin dancing on his features and by the way San was acting particularly kindhearted to the lonely staff who was rushing about, struggling to keep up with the visitors’ habits, he knew that tonight, they were not planning on hearing any cries for mercy. They were here to complete a mission for a higher purpose. And that mission was far from the sweet music which he had loved his whole life, and finally found again.

“They’re not supposed to be here.” he mumbled, his voice obscured by yours, echoing across and elevating to a sensual culmination.

“Aren’t we all? We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. Think of them as a sculpture or something if it makes things easier,” Wooyoung took out a rolled up bill to put between his lips - a habit that he had formed after a few too many hits on the back of his head by San, an interesting approach to make a man quit smoking. He called it ‘smoking capitalism’, earning quite a few chuckles from the Inspectors, Seonghwa included.

“So say someone’s going to scope the ring to clean it up a bit, would you let them hit our favourite auntie?” he asked, referring to the friendly cleaner who was probably the only one in the entire city who did not bat an eye at the violent matches that Wooyoung managed under the wraps for the regime, instead cooing over the fighters he brokered for and giving the men an extra helping of her home-cooked delicacies. In many ways, she was a mother figure for the Guardian Inspectors, despite her being at risk, every day, of being taken to the Red Humans should one of them be in a ‘different kind of mood’ on an arbitrary morning.

“Definitely not. But this singer. Who are they to you?”

“A pawn.”

“A pawn?”

“Mhm. I can pawn them in for rewards.”

“Suppose they are pretty enough, if that’s what you’re thinking of…”

“Goodness, take the pimp out of the bordello but can’t take the bordello out of the pimp. That business was shut a while back for you, no?” with a groan, Seonghwa retaliated at Wooyoung’s rather out of pocket suggestions. Over the many years of serving Z in not so ethical ways, the man had tried on a few too many hats and seen a few too many hats to retain even a sliver of compassion towards anyone except those closest. It was understandable. Odd, but understandable.

“Kidding. But for real though, what’s the use?” Wooyoung bit down on the bill softly, gaze following San who had moved towards a couple of underlings that had gathered in a booth off to the side, towards the far corner of the bar. Clearly, he was checking if they had read the room.

“Say, isn’t it Captain’s niece’s birthday soon? We don’t exactly have a musical act to hand since…” Seonghwa trailed off, knowing that Wooyoung knew what incident he was referring to, involving an accusatory phrase, a short temper and a very professional shot from a sniper rifle from the boss’s office window into the temple of a figure that was storming away from one of the many Inspector accommodations. Another one to fertilise the soil with.

“Smart. I’ll give it to ya. If you sort the business out before showtime, pretty thing’s all yours.” Wooyoung responded, patting his side where, underneath his shirt, Seonghwa knew was a holstered pistol. Pushing himself away from the counter he stood up, adjusting his long, leather coat and glove. It was not that he had a particular preference, but ever since entering the new life upon being pardoned for feeling, a life where he had to say found a home, he could not help but wish to always look just that little bit more put together, even if only to appear loyal.

“Cheers. I’ll get them a nice candle-lit dinner to soften them up and then inform Cap’,” sounding purposefully sarcastic, Seonghwa mumbled under his nose, well aware that this was not a method that had ever been in use. One glower and curt phrase had always been enough - the rest was simply the heart’s doing masked by odd humour.

“Awh, look at you, how sweet and lovely. What a darling,” Wooyoung teased, sending Seonghwa a wink. The music was fading away, the last notes landing on his ears, marking every moment.

“One more word and you’ll be the main course.” with his index finger he poked the centre of his fellow Inspector’s chest in threat, maintaining a cold expression.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to be roasting out here tonight, so make it hot with pretty thing.”

“Filth,” the taller man spat, knowing that attempting to counter his friend was nearly impossible - out of all the people he knew only Captain could fully round him in, and even then Wooyoung had a smile on his face, much to Seonghwa’s confusion.

“It’s not me who is with the heart eyes.”

“I just saw an opportunity,” playing with the leather piece that buttoned up to protect his neck, he eyed you, waiting for you to finish. Unknown to you, you did not have much time left before your very life would be placed on a scale and thoughtlessly pushed to lose against the weight of usual Strictland business. Such was the violent, catastrophic illusion of order, such was the structure that had been Seonghwa’s twisted saving grace. He was going to be doing you a favour by taking you away, won’t he? Either way, you would be out of work, and he was helping you with a little job search from one of the highest payers - chivalrous and kind hearted, that was who he was. How else could the Inspectors form any partnerships and feast on forbidden fruit otherwise? Who was he kidding - a soul like you was not meant for a life like this. But he had to try. He needed time to think.

“Sure. Sure. An opportunity to grab the gorgeous star for yourself.”

“Oh shut up will you?” snapping, Seonghwa were desperately trying to cut the conversation short, seeing the window for him to make a beeline for the edge of the stage, towards which you promptly setting off after finishing your set, and receiving a dismal lack of applause - what else would he expect from the crowd gathered in Morpheus? Especially when the stench of iron and the final judgement was mere minutes away from materialising.

“You know that’s not my style.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be good. Hope you did not block my mustang,” throwing one last comment behind him, the solemn man was off, only barely catching Wooyoung’s half-hearted response.

“Have I ever…”

The mission was simple. Since he was dismissed from the less than pleasant task of wiping out the bar, considering that two more senior Inspectors had made their appearance and were clearly more in the know of what was brewing, Seonghwa had only a couple of minutes before all freedom would cease to exist. And then, no heaven could bestow mercy upon neither him, nor the beauty he had come here to save for no logical reason, instead relying on some hazy version of hope and nostalgia. He had parked his ink black ride around the block - out of sight for unwanted eyes, and perfectly positioned for getaways just like this. If you could catch the Inspector’s drift, that was. One could only pray that the dazzler on stage was just as dazzling when it came to reading between the lines. He had perhaps even less than the estimated time to explain himself before Wooyoung and San would call the owner over to get the real evening show started. Time was ticking along with the skyrocketing pace of his heart as he stopped you on your tracks with a slightly outstretched leg, only to move forward and cast a shadow over you.

It was difficult to remain level-headed when, even at such proximity, in the normally less than flattering lighting, you were nothing short of a deity. Something out of fairy tales, stories of royalty or angels in kingdoms far far away, those that were not supposed to exist. But here was one, staring right into his eyes with your beautiful expressive orbs, as deep as the history that Seonghwa had raced here to try and reignite. A universe in your irises, an all-consuming black hole in your pupils, beckoning Seonghwa, leading him into a stupor before he stuffed his hands into his pockets, bringing himself out of the momentary trance by force. Time was not on his side, and he knew that it would never be unless he kept on running.

“Lovely song, that was.”

“Indeed. ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ is one of my favourites. Did you enjoy the performance?” Your speaking voice was different, of course, but nonetheless struck that stunning familiar chord within Seonghwa, one that should never see the light of day if he were to remain how he had to be. It was terrifying, how he was ready to let go of his resurrected image as an Inspector for a chance to turn the past into the present.

You were polite. The features of your alluring face were hinting at a genuine interest, an appreciation of every movement, every breath you were taking. Though, in Seonghwa’s own line of work, particularly in the stage of undercover investigation, this was simply the usual. Show a smile, bat the eyelashes, make business, disappear. Genuine interest was an artform, but even if you were indeed expressing it in the way with which he was familiar, it felt so natural that he almost wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe this daydream who had come to change the colours of his occasional Fridays, his hunts for those straying from what Z had deemed ‘right’, leaving glimmers of memory to last him through the weeks when he had to be numb to life itself until he could come and see you again. It did not mean much to you, most likely. You were strangers in your respective new lives, and had Captain not made the decision to teach the owner of Morpheus a lethal lesson, you would have remained that way. Drifting together for a few hours, remaining distant, and drifting apart again. A forever flowing story that was to rekindle a starcrossed ‘once upon a time’ but never have that sought after resolution. A dream that reminded Seonghwa of why his unlikely survival was a blessing. As your eyes revealed a hopefulness, a plea for praise, Seonghwa gave you a soft smile.

“Of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you, you know.”

“O-oh?” Seonghwa could barely contain his surprise, the previously cool demeanour cracking into a raised eyebrow. Could you remember?

“Yes! You always sit at the bar, second stool from the left. And order… what is it… a brandy, right?”

He would be lying if he were to say he was not surprised by your suddenly chipper attitude. Almost like you were a kid who entered a candy shop for the first time to see all of your favourite treats, you excitedly revealed to Seonghwa your observations. While it was endearing to see, the shuffling behind him, along with the idea that he was not the only one intently observing left the Inspector with a sense of unease, nearly throwing him off from the initial goal that motivated him to brave talking to you in the first place.

“In…deed?”

The singer, who was previously an astounding yet distant figure captivating all who cared to look even once, rapidly transitioned into someone who he almost found endearing, the keeper of far too many qualities that cemented the rightness of his decision. You were not meant to be here, he repeated to himself. Mutters around the bar were getting louder, and as the rest of the musicians filed out of the main hall and crammed into a tiny room off to the side, in Seonghwa’s peripherals he noted San’s steady, seemingly innocent amble between the scuffed round tables and equally unpleasantly antique chairs.

“You are the only one who listens, so, how could I not notice? Actually, I wanted to talk to you properly, or at least say thank you but didn’t want to impose.”

As much as he wanted to sink into the warmth of your words and allow you to recognise him on your own accord, the rippling commotion that was finally rearing its ugly head spurred him on and struck his heart with an icy, calculating mace. He had a minute tops, knowing Wooyoung’s love for never counting down to zero before beginning.

“Well, let’s talk. Outside,” The black-clad man tried to walk off, aiming for the dark corridor at the end of which was the fire exit, but when you did not move, rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking I could buy you a drink-”

“Cute. Another time though,” seeing the tinge of disappointment in your gaze was new, and entirely unexpected, but gave Seonghwa plenty of leeway to sway you into following him, “since you watched me enough, I bet you can guess who I am. Or, what I do for work. Right?”

A steely glare, leaving nothing open to interpretation. For additional evidence, he demonstratively adjusted his coat, loosening the belt he had tied around his waist to reveal a leather holster, discreet, gun always within reach. Attentive to detail as ever, you took note of the inconspicuous design of the pistol before he let it disappear once again under the fabric - in this city, there were few who had access to any form of weaponry, the items being so highly regulated by the government that it was nearly impossible to purchase or get licensing. Your mind began to list off options; Seonghwa clearly was neither a standard Android Guardian due to the lack of mandatory uniform, nor a scruffy criminal whom you had gotten used to over the time that had passed, nor part of the police force, nor a Class 2 Prestige Academy student. It only left an answer that shook you to the core. Of course, it was not that you did not hold the assumption in your heart. As a matter of fact, you had previously assumed that you were used to greeting people from different walks of life, all gathered in the same place, at the same time for what you wanted to believe was a ‘good time’. That was what drove you to live the life that you were living. Exist in this space, despite your pay and your security almost always not being enough, but you would give even that up if that meant you could keep your freedom.

Seonghwa was effortlessly graceful, determined in every step and gesture, not a single movement wasted. In a sense, it was as if he had purposefully learned and memorised the most efficient adjustments of the body, letting himself metamorphose into a lithe, agile animal. It was terrific, and terrifying, how at any moment he could pounce, and you would never know when until it was too late. For this hint of a reason, you decided to follow the man’s unspoken command, only whispering an airy inquiry after the other musicians, which he coldly dismissed:

“You need a better band anyways.”

---

The gravity of the situation only began to settle in when the biting breeze outside of the stuffy bar hit you, seeking opportunity to tousle your locks. The strands that had managed to fall over your face were trembling, the only sign revealing your suppressed distress as the last of Morpheus's dusk-like illumination was shut from your vision with a confident slam. Your eyes widened as you watched the Inspector, or in other words, your personal grim reaper, flip a lock on the door - previously thought to be inaccessible to anyone except the owner, done so masterfully as though he were the one who had installed it in the first place. An exit, a saving grace for innocents inside, turned into a dead end - more symbolic than one would ever initially assume. He trailed up the length of his arm stopping for a moment at the material that covered his shoulder, listening to leather hit leather. Seonghwa could only find calculated resolve within himself. This was the usual for him, and that after weighing all the options, he had logically come to the conclusion that the demise of the people inside was indeed the most attractive option.

As you heard the first shot resound inside of Morpheus, you shuddered, but did not dare stop following the man in the trench coat as he strode on ahead, hands remaining in his pockets. To any onlooker it would seem that he was relaxed as ever, out for a late night walk in a neighbourhood he knew better than he knew himself. Breath in, breath out; you were trying to remind yourself of the simple act, focusing harder than you had ever done during your performances. Imagining your diaphragm stretching, letting the lungs take in as much air as possible and-

Another shot. Breath knocked from you, balance off kilter, you desperately wanted to run. Anywhere. Maybe you should have stayed, not picked up on the subtle offer of your life being spared. In that way you would not have to live with the guilt of not having said anything to your fellow bandmates, not having said thank you to the owner for… what was there to thank anyone for? Out of habit, you lifted a hand to brush over your ear, echoes of the time when you had first felt emotion rippling across your body, making you shiver. You were all fools misled by hope for a brighter tomorrow in a world that was permanently overcast. Where did this running lead you? Where did your wistful song guide you? Back into the arms of the apocalypse - broad-shouldered with hair the colour of ink, the last thing you would see before disappearing for good. At least you should thank your former so-called colleagues for the information about the common demise. Tears welled up in your eyes as you obeyed the lean man’s orders and practically toppled into the black vehicle parked by the Morpheus, a lonesome yelp masked by the gunfire and indecipherable orders.

You had no idea where he was taking you, and you did not dare ask. The man reminded you of all you had been trained to avoid in your new life, a threat, a weapon, a soldier. His gloved right hand remained resting beside the gearshift, while his left coldly gripped the steering wheel. Not a single one of his muscles appeared to be relaxed, and not a single movement had a semblance to anything natural. An automaton in the driver’s seat, you wanted to feel comforted by the idea that you were the only one truly human in the car, for the idea that someone as brutal as a Guardian Inspector could be conscious or decisive was too strong of an agony.

At the same time, in the moments where the Inspector turned his head to check the surroundings, you noted something familiar. He dashed past the blue, purple and aquamarine signs that lined the streets of the district you had learned to love, himself turning into a painting. Be it in the angles that formulated his stern face, or in the elegance that he was unable to conceal, the past crawled out of a long-forgotten cavern in your psyche and gnawed at your nerves, just out of reach of realisation. Perhaps in another time, you had known him. Perhaps in one of the banned art pieces, you had seen him. At the same time, this could not be the first Guardian Inspector you had encountered - they were all similar enough in demeanour, so what was another face? Equally as entitled, above the law. Above a runaway like you. You were vermin. The enemy. A traitor to the Academy, to Strictland, to Z himself. Or so you were told. The only thing that could be different about this Inspector, was that he could be your last.

A sharp stabbing sensation spread from your temples and what had to be through your skull, jabbing into bone and into the cerebellum. Nauseous, you shut your eyes and clutched your head in a futile attempt to seek some form of relief. The car roared, and a sudden stench of rubber and concrete penetrated through every crevice, choking your senses and making you taste the acrid pollution. One turn, another, your organs were being jolted back and forth as the monstrous engine urged on by none other than the embodiment of oblivion dragged the car across eternal misery of long-abandoned districts.

“Oh goodness…” a feeble whisper left your lips. You reached out to grab hold of the door handle, peering at the grooves to find at least something to focus on. His vision was swimming in your eyes, etchings of your surroundings morphing into repressed memories.

A boy marching beside you to class, head held at the angle commanded to all academy students. A young man, dressed in all white with black locks parted in the middle. A solemn stare, unreadable, though not fully blank as it should be. But at the same time, how could you, another student of Prestige, detect that something was not quite right? Since when could you feel? You lifted your head cautiously to try peeking at the Inspector again, but he was frozen. Only the abrupt tightening of his gloved hand around the steering wheel and a determined turn reminded you that he was not quite an automaton.

“I must be dreaming…” you blinked away a teary blur, and clenched onto your dress for the remainder of the journey, feverishly recounting whatever lyrics you could. Your little safe haven, your precious prayers to the arts - truth which you had discovered after abandoning everything you could have been.

Your hand moved on instinct to the side of your head, feeling for what once had been the hub of your consciousness. A chip that made you feel right at home, heartless, but with a purpose. Forty years of education, an eternity to serve something greater than you; clear goals, a mission for your generation and many that would come after you. Hand in hand, you were soldiers of a catastrophically closed-minded society; at the time, however, you could not be ‘happier’. Or rather, more numb. Because you did not know of negative nor positive, you could not experience either, and so remained in a stable equilibrium, just as the superpower of this forlorn land had instructed. Disease was the human emotion. You were ‘healthy’. Until that boy appeared in your life, and revealed himself to you.

Bright-eyed, hopeful, excited. So unlike anyone. And against better judgement, you let the inklings of curiosity drip over your heart, and the beginnings of affection take flight. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, a smile brighter than the sun, a soothing mellifluous voice, vowing to you that you could build another life together. A life much more beautiful than one constructed with deception and hollow propaganda. What could a little tap of a breaker do to you? Apparently, it could change your destiny.

As you massaged your temples, you locked gazes with the man in front of you, but met the boy from your past in the mirror. That same worry, knotted eyebrows, concern and care so evident you could touch it if your fingers grazed his cheek. You could not move, even when he turned back to the road, and continued to stare at the rear view mirror in the hopes of seeing your daydream again. You had to be wrong. This had to be you hallucinating. You must be just… afraid. Out of your mind. And so you were recalling one of the few times when you thought the world could do you no harm.

“Get out,” a command. As cold as steel. The engine was still roaring in your ears, despite the surroundings having gone dead silent.

A click. The doors unlocked. You could run if you wanted to. Though you were fully aware that the action would shorten your lifespan to a mere few seconds. You remained seated, gaze falling onto your lap, and listened to the painful succession of sounds that led the man to open your door, and roughly grab your upper arm.

“I said, get out,” you followed him like a rag doll, knowing that any attempts to resist would put you into even more danger. At the same time, even though the Inspector was obviously attempting to instil terror and a twisted respect for him, he could not face you. Consciously he made an effort to barely raise his lashes, thus keeping his scrutiny concealed. Reading through his hesitation was easy enough.

He could not keep his hand on you for a second longer after you stood up straight, darting away as though you were an open flame. The man cleared his throat and locked the car, before gesturing towards an abandoned building that loomed over the gravelly opening where you had completed your journey. Comically, it reminded you of Prestige, even though the latter was of much larger proportions and possessed a more unique shape. Perhaps it was the fact that this block, what used to be an apartment building, was crumbling, made you think of the academy’s inner workings. Rotting away. The cogs in the machine tearing each other apart.

This might be your end or your beginning, you were not sure which one. With an astounding loyalty, you let yourself be guided into the long-forgotten cement fortress, up exposed stairs with metal railings, past walls left bare, illuminated by an exposed moonlight, laying down a carpet of silver. It was oddly easy to think that life was beautiful when it was likely going to be taken away from you. The walk was silent, and the longer it lasted, the more at peace you felt. The odd step rang out and echoed like the gunshots you had heard, so surreal that you could barely believe it. It must have been a joke. Fireworks, or someone just being a little boisterous. Morpheus had seen so many colours of Z’s regime, it could not disappear now… oh who were you kidding. It was done for. You little version of an escape. Your space to feel.

As you made sneaky glances at the Inspector to your right, who not so ceremoniously had loosened his coat’s belt once more to have easy access to his gun, you could not help but think of the boy. You had followed his advice, made a run for it while he had been taken away by the Red Humans. Two youngsters who betrayed the regime. But who was truly free? The one who had been exterminated, or the one who had to live in fear, but at least felt the ruthless emotion?

The enigmatic man slowed down, and so did you. He made a turn, so did you, acting as his shadow. You were certain that you were probably breathing at the same rate. An empty hallway, lined with equally empty rooms and destroyed apartments. From a humble abode to rubble, you could see the horrific vistas of the district, and the drop to the cold ground below. No wall, no security, no certainty. It was only you and your fate in the form of a man who seemed to possess too much of a likeness to the keeper of your fragile adoration.

The Inspector walked in front and turned to face you. You froze, burning under his scrutiny. Eyes like scalding cold ice, assessing you, condemning you. Your best listener, now listening to your terrified heart. For what could be the last time, you felt alive. As the man reached into his pocket, you prepared for the worst, however, he only motioned with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you obeyed, finding yourself in a more secluded corner of the floor, one which had remotely retained the appearance of an actual room. Stuck in the same few seconds, there were no further commands from the Inspector, causing your mind to wander, and lips to move on their own accord:

“I should not be here.”

“Neither should I,” he deadpanned, though his choice of words was unsettling. Wasn’t he on a mission?

“I should be dead,” you persisted.

“I should have more blood on my hands.”

A pause. You were in shock, pointlessly clinging onto your own upper arms, stuck in a false embrace. Like prey that had been cornered, you were beyond the point of trusting survival instincts. You simply wanted for the interaction, or dare you say, interrogation, to be over, so you could be given away to the Red Humans, to whatever the afterlife had to offer, in peace. If you were to be melted, then so be it. If your departure were to be short and sweet, so be it. But a little question in your head still remained, a persistent worm which you decided to unleash given your hopeless circumstances:

“Then why-”

“It is pointless to ask when there is no answer,” the man answered coldly, not sparing you a glance as he picked at a filthy off-white tulle which covered a blown out window - now just a frame, with his gloved hand, glaring at the pitiful greyness outside the abandoned building before wiping the hand off with a handkerchief produced out of the pocket into which he had stuffed his hand.

A few steps separated you, but you knew better than to try and make a run for it – the man was armed, and you assumed that the gun you spotted was not the only weapon in his arsenal. He was menacing, unpredictable, and very dangerous. Alongside that, as much as you hated to admit, but the Inspectors were nothing short of extraordinary when it came to their expertise and training. Unlike Android Guardians, they were the leading forces, capable of high-risk decision making and unparalleled critical thinking. If you were to try to describe them, you always ended up thinking of chess. That was what they were playing whenever they were out in the field.

In fact, it was for this exact reason that you were concerned about this Inspector’s behaviour – it was out of line. Inefficient. Sub-optimal. You wondered if this was a new strategy or there was a higher plan; there were so many possibilities that your head could start spinning. You dug your fingers into rapidly cooling flesh, waking yourself up from the distressed rumination. What was the Inspector going to do to you? You had followed his demands so far, and weren’t putting up a fight - what more could he want?

He was unreadable. Gestures unpredictable, expression stoic, he regarded you with an air of superiority characteristic of people from his class. Serpent-like and calculating eyes, regal nose, facial structure reminiscent of a statue, plush perfectly shaped lips – all were a nod to his upbringing, you bet. He did not feel real. Reminiscent of automatons that the regime sometimes used in place of regular Guardians during high-volume riots, he was what one would call the ‘ideal specimen’. Down to the strand of wavy hair that fell on his face, he was a beautiful painting of your worst nightmare. Life had been unkind to you, you decided. It only showed you something prettier than the night lights when it was the last thing you would see.

The man stepped towards you, and your eyelids slammed shut automatically. You did not wish to see your death. The sound of leather against leather, the tied coat belt, the creaking of ancient rotten wood planks under lacquered ankle boots. He must be getting ready to end you. Were you too high profile to be lying with the other bodies in the club? Were you more dangerous in the Inspector’s view, being a singer, or as one could say a ‘spreader’ of inappropriate entertainment. Was this treason? Terrorism? You were not sure – the sentence changed more than the weather. But were you an enemy? With confidence, you had to answer with a Yes. Having escaped the regime, and according to those who had helped you regain some parts of your past self, having had a part in the uprising within Prestige Academy, you were the worst kind of citizen of Strictland. Disobedient, unchanging, and influential. You were waiting for the cocking of a pistol, for cool metal to hit your head, and for the world to go even darker as you collapsed on to the floorboards. The man had to be taking out his gun. He must have taken you away from the raid to be particularly ruthless. A sadist? Maybe. You had no time to judge.

You felt the fabric of your shimmering dress under your fingertips, and imagined you were preparing for a show of a lifetime. You counted your inhales and exhales like you would do before a performance, and conjured an audience in your mind. More rustling, another step. He, that boy, no, young man, was in the audience. Still in the Prestige Academy uniform, but the chip was long gone. He was giving you an encouraging smile eager to hear what you had achieved in your time away from the academy. Leather caressed your hand and you flinched, comforted only by how cautious the action was. Hand turned to raise your palm to the omniscient skies, your illusions combined with reality - what was Seonghwa to give to you?

Funny, how in critical moments, the mind could give you what you had longed to forget. Seonghwa. His name tasted sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. A fine wine, dizzying, addictive. A handsome, talented student who had the future ahead of him, only to throw it away for the taste of something more ‘real’ in his eyes. Something cold was being pressed into your palm, reminiscent of a large bullet or a device your fingers could remember before your mind. Your eyes shot open and were met with a dream and a nightmare. Finally, it hit you. Behind the Inspector’s facade, a mask crafted by years of experience and brutality, was the same boy, who, just like now, pressed a breaker into your palm.

“Wake up.”

Your gaze fell to the intricate metal handiwork, spotting the carving of an ‘A’ contained in a circle right at the base. The taste of anarchy, an uprising, revolution, a hope for something better flowing through a tragic story you two had written. At last, it had a resolution, and you were more than content with who was holding the lethal pen. You stared at the breaker. The very thing that brought you out of an eternal somnolence, submission to a regime. You had woken up then, and never could sleep.

“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer… the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…” you lifted your head once more, staring into Seonghwa’s softened eyes. He had matured, his features having become siren-like, dangerous, seductive. Befitting his character. You smiled sadly, “...or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing end them?” He remained quiet, as if he was the one waiting for you to decide your own destiny, “Shakespeare. Hamlet. Ever read it? Or do they not let you?”

“I-” he cleared his throat, concealing a pang of nervousness, “I am familiar with his work.”

“Mm, isn’t that a criminal offence?”

“What is?”

“Reading work exploring human emotion… sounds like treason to me.”

“Reading does not imply sympathising.”

“But you do.”

Again, a heavy pause. Seonghwa rocked from one foot to another one time, another - an old habit? Or an attempt to convince you that he was at least a fraction the same?

“I… I do not,” before you could scowl, he continued, “‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once’. I am more partial to this way of thinking.”

“Ah, the irony of it all.”

Your hand formed a fist around the device, and you kept on searching for fragments of the man you loved inside of the new Seonghwa before you. In flashes, you spotted glimmers of gold, feeble hints for something that could be concealed in the depths of his soul.

“So, are you going to make me a valiant person?”

“What?”

“Wasn’t that what you were supposed to be doing?” feeling a little more brave, you taunted him, wishing to see what his limit was. Whether he was lying to you just to set you at ease and make his job easier. So he could see one final sense of betrayal in your pupils.

“We are already dead, Y/N.”

---

Music. A universal language. The biggest risk for a community that someone wanted to silence. So you hummed one song after another, head leaning against Seonghwa’s shoulder as you sat on the concrete floor, in the corner of the room that was barely holding itself together. Bathed in silver light, you shared with him the luxury of reminiscing, mourned what had been lost only to have the feeling be replaced by a budding desire to wish upon anything at all.

Seonghwa might have lied to many of the Inspectors, and was in danger of facing a fate worse than extermination, but at least he did not lie to you. And because he did not lie to you, you were here; you were real. He could have the pleasure of having you beside him, wrapped up in his leather coat; your dress was not exactly ‘inhospitable conditions’ material, as pretty and befitting as it was. You were refusing to let go of the breaker as though it was the tether to a more sunny past, not that Seonghwa would ever dare pry it out of your hands. So long as you could keep singing for him forever. Even when music were to cease existing, and when the sky would fall down, he would still hear your voice. How many times had he visited Morpheus in secret, outside of his official inspections and scouting missions? How quickly had he transferred into a field role just for the chance to find you? How had he managed to remain alive even though his sentence had been supposedly set in stone, and he was still feeling? With each question, the answer grew blurrier and blurrier, until it no longer existed. Perhaps this was a manifestation of destiny. You were supposed to meet again after so much turmoil, so you did. Curious.

“What song do you like?” your voice, sleepy, serene, cut through his ruminations. Seonghwa looked down and to his side, meeting a gentle gaze.

“What song do you want to sing?”

“Mm, no that’s not an answer,” you snaked your hands around his arm and pulled him closer.

“But I like everything you sing. Because you sing it.”

“Sweet, but I’m at a loss.”

“Then let’s be quiet. Together. For as long as we can.”

“There’s not too long left, is there?”

Your question was rhetorical. Both you and Seonghwa were aware of it. Time in Strictland was not governed by the individual but by an unforgiving system. A person, or perhaps a symbol, holding the clock with an iron grip and making the hands fly faster and faster until a second was an impossible measure. Involuntarily, he sighed, causing wisps of steam to escape his lips and rise to the exposed armature of the floor above. With cooling temperatures came the cooling heart, and it was difficult to tell what it was that you loved. What was it that made you feel alive?

“You know, they gave me a choice,” Seonghwa began. There was no reason why he should be telling you about what had happened to him, but the sombre atmosphere seemed to bode well for a confession. You did not interrupt, choosing to remain passive, resigned, “either die for what I believe in, or admit I was wrong.”

“Funny how they gave you a choice,” the infamous ‘they’. The Guardians, the regime, the enemy. Now turned into a friend. Interesting how life changed.

“Definitely was not what I expected.”

“You sure they didn’t say ‘sike’ at any point and you just got lucky?”

“I don’t think they can miss,” a simple, but sharp fact. You bit your lower lip, “...anyways. You can probably guess what I chose to do. The only caveat is that I admitted I was wrong… for a different thing.”

“Do tell.”

“I was wrong for putting you in danger, Y/N.”

“Nothing we could do about that. We were two fools in love.”

Seonghwa detangled himself from you, only to grasp your free hand in his, place the other on your thigh and meet you face to face. Misty-eyed, his rationality was growing frantic, and you knew that at any moment he could snap, and only the clearing night knew what would happen then.

“But I was the one to jolt you out of a peaceful existence. I was selfish-” After years of doubting himself, sinking into a destructive illusion where he would march alongside others like a machine, he was breathing. Much to his regret, it was a sensation far too sweet and heavenly, worth every revolution and rebellion.

“I don’t regret it.”

“...What?”

“I would put this thing to my head time and time again if I had to,” you raised the breaker to eye level, attempting to get at least a smile or a chuckle out of Seonghwa. Much to your dismay, it did the opposite. You would be lying if you were to proclaim you were euphoric.

“I- I’m… Y/N I’m so sorry…” you shook your head and pulled him in, until his exhales and inhales were tickling your neck. Hunched over you like a black-clad shield, Seonghwa was unmoving. Eyes darting down, you spotted that he had taken the pistol out of the holster, and upon a second glance to where he had been sitting, you noted its lonely presence, tucked away with debris and gravel.

“You are alive. And clearly still care enough to remember me. That’s your apology. And your punishment,” in a soothing gesture, you ran your fingers through his hair, cautiously at first, then turning your ministrations continuous, measured out when Seonghwa sat back down on the concrete, only this time nuzzled into you.

“Sorry…” he forced out, choking up.

The moon counted down the time while lazily passing over the building. You were at a crossroads. In haste, Seonghwa had told you of the opportunity to serve the Guardian Inspectors, being a private entertainer of sorts, but he knew you would refuse. Fast. Becoming one’s own enemy was the one thing you would not follow Seonghwa into doing. And that is why he admired you. You were strong. You were truly alive. A bird soaring in the skies in spite of the risks of being hunted, being shot. Simply for the feeling of the wind under your wings, to be closer to the stars and to sing your song loud and clear, every note a celestial blessing.

“Blue bird…”

“Hm?”

“I think I have an idea… if you are willing to go into hiding, that is.”

“Planning uprisings are we?”

“Oh they’ve been long in the works, my love. It is part of my job to close my eyes when necessary, and when convenient.”

“Are you about to be wrong again?”

“Maybe. Or very, very right. Depends on how the song sounds to you.”

---

Walking down the corridors of the headquarters, hands behind his back and appearance pristine, Seonghwa was nothing short of a model Inspector. Low ranking employees cowered before him and bowed, while his immediate colleague Wooyoung smirked, attempting to hook any information out.

“So… where'd the pretty star go?”

Silently, Seonghwa handed him a slip recording the disposal of an ‘unnamed entity’.

“ Oh… well that’s harsh. What did they do, reject you?”

“Apparently once gone so far astray, one cannot be changed. I had to do what was best for the regime.”

“Such an example for others. Wow. Almost too good to be true, Park. Well, I’ll be reporting that the extermination and cleanup of Morpheus was successful.”

“You do that.”

While Wooyoung turned the corner, Seonghwa continued to walk straight down the metal corridor, eyes locked onto the very end. Morpheus was no longer, indeed. But your song was still ringing in his ears, and no doubt, there would be a time when it would resound over the many speakers planted all across Strictland.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Bluebirds singing a song

Nothing but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothing but blue skies from now on

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