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wonder-worker · 7 months

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Queen Margaret (of Anjou) had written to the Common Council in November when the news of the Duke of York's coup was proclaimed. The letter from the queen was published in modernised English by M.A.E. Wood in 1846, and she dated it to February 1461 because of its opening sentence: ‘And whereas the late Duke of N [York]...." However the rest of the letter, and that of the prince, is in the present tense and clearly indicates that the Duke of York is still alive. The reference to the ‘late duke’ is not to his demise but to the attainder of 1459 when he was stripped of his titles as well as of his lands. If the queen’s letter dates to November 1460, and not February 1461, it make perfect sense. Margaret declared the Duke of York had ‘upon an untrue pretense, feigned a title to my lord’s crown’ and in so doing had broken his oath of fealty. She thanked the Londoners for their loyalty in rejecting his claim. She knew of the rumours, that we and my lords sayd sone and owrs shuld newly drawe toward yow with an vnsome [uncounted] powere of strangars, disposed to robbe and to dispoyle yow of yowr goods and havours, we will that ye knowe for certeyne that . . . . [y]e, nor none of yow, shalbe robbed, dispoyled nor wronged by any parson that at that tyme we or owr sayd sone shalbe accompanied with She entrusted the king's person to the care of the citizens ‘so that thrwghe malice of his sayde enemye he be no more trowbled vexed ne jeoparded.’ In other words the queen was well informed in November 1460 of the propaganda in London concerning the threat posed by a Lancastrian military challenge to the illegal Yorkist proceedings. Margaret assured the Common Council that no harm would come to the citizenry or to their property. Because the letter was initially misdated, it has been assumed that the queen wrote it after she realised the harm her marauding troops were doing to her cause, and to lull London into a false sense of security. This is not the case, and it is a typical example of historians accepting without question Margaret’s character as depicted in Yorkist propaganda. Margaret’s letter was a true statement of her intentions but it made no impact at the time and has made none since. How many people heard of it? The Yorkist council under the Earl of Warwick, in collusion with the Common Council of the city, was in an ideal position to suppress any wide dissemination of the letter, or of its content.

... When Margaret joined the Lancastrian lords it is unlikely that she had Scottish troops with her. It is possible that Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, sent men from Wales but there was no compelling reason why he should, he needed all the forces at his disposal to face Edward Earl of March, now Duke of York following his father’s death at Wakefield, who, in fact, defeated Pembroke at Mortimer’s Cross on 2 February just as the Lancastrian army was marching south. The oft repeated statement that the Lancastrian army was composed of a motley array of Scots, Welsh, other foreigners (French by implication, for it had not been forgotten that René of Anjou, Queen Margaret’s father, had served with the French forces in Nomandy when the English were expelled from the duchy, nor that King Charles VII was her uncle) as well as northern men is based on a single chronicle, the Brief Notes written mainly in Latin in the monastery of Ely, and ending in 1470. It is a compilation of gossip and rumour, some of it wildly inaccurate, but including information not found in any other contemporary source, which accounts for the credence accorded to it. The Dukes of Somerset and Exeter and the Earl of Devon brought men from the south and west. The Earl of Northumberland was not solely reliant on his northern estates; as Lord Poynings he had extensive holdings in the south. The northerners were tenants and retainers of Northumberland, Clifford, Dacre, the Westmorland Nevilles, and Fitzhugh, and accustomed to the discipline of border defence. The continuator of Gregory’s Chronicle, probably our best witness, is emphatic that the second battle of St Albans was won by the ‘howseholde men and feyd men.” Camp followers and auxiliaries of undesirables there undoubtedly were, as there are on the fringes of any army, but the motley rabble the queen is supposed to have loosed on peaceful England owes more to the imagination of Yorkist propagandists than to the actual composition of the Lancastrian army.

... Two differing accounts of the Lancastrian march on London are generally accepted. One is that a large army, moving down the Great North Road, was made up of such disparate and unruly elements that the queen and her commanders were powerless to control it.” Alternatively, Queen Margaret did not wish to curb her army, but encouraged it to ravage all lands south of the Trent, either from sheet spite or because it was the only way she could pay her troops.” Many epithets have been applied to the queen, few of them complimentary, but no one has as yet called her stupid. It would have been an act of crass stupidity wilfully to encourage her forces to loot the very land she was trying to restore to an acceptance of Lancastrian rule, with her son as heir to the throne. On reaching St Albans, so the story goes, the Lancastrian army suddenly became a disciplined force which, by a series of complicated manoeuvres, including a night march and a flank attack, won the second battle of St Albans, even though the Yorkists were commanded by the redoubtable Earl of Warwick. The explanation offered is that the rabble element, loaded down with plunder, had descended before the battle and only the household men remained. Then the rabble reappeared, and London was threatened. To avert a sack of the city the queen decided to withdraw the army, either on her own initiative or urged by the peace-loving King Henry; as it departed it pillaged the Abbey of St Albans, with the king and queen in residence, and retired north, plundering as it went. Nevertheless, it was sufficiently intact a month later to meet and nearly defeat the Yorkist forces at Towton, the bloodiest and hardest fought battle of the civil war thus far. The ‘facts’ as stated make little sense, because they are seen through the distorting glass of Yorkist propaganda.

The ravages allegedly committed by the Lancastrian army are extensively documented in the chronicles, written after the event and under a Yorkist king. They are strong on rhetoric but short on detail. The two accounts most often quoted are by the Croyland Chronicle and Abbott Whethamstede. There is no doubting the note of genuine hysterical fear in both. The inhabitants of the abbey of Crowland were thoroughly frightened by what they believed would happen as the Lancastrians swept south. ‘What do you suppose must have been our fears . . . [w]hen every day rumours of this sad nature were reaching our ears.’ Especially alarming was the threat to church property. The northern men ‘irreverently rushed, in their unbridled and frantic rage into churches . . . [a]nd most nefariously plundered them.’ If anyone resisted ‘they cruelly slaughtered them in the very churches or churchyards.’ People sought shelter for themselves and their goods in the abbey,“ but there is not a single report of refugees seeking succour in the wake of the passage of the army after their homes had been burned and their possessions stolen. The Lancastrians were looting, according to the Crowland Chronicle, on a front thirty miles wide ‘like so many locusts.“ Why, then, did they come within six miles but bypass Crowland? The account as a whole makes it obvious that it was written considerably later than the events it so graphically describes.

The claim that Stamford was subject to a sack from which it did not recover is based on the Tudor antiquary John Leland. His attribution of the damage is speculation; by the time he wrote stories of Lancastrian ravages were well established, but outside living memory. His statement was embellished by the romantic historian Francis Peck in the early eighteenth century. Peck gives a spirited account of Wakefield and the Lancastrian march, influenced by Tudor as well as Yorkist historiography. … As late as 12 February when Warwick moved his troops to St Albans it is claimed that he did not know the whereabouts of the Lancastrians, an odd lack of military intelligence about an army that was supposed to be leaving havoc in its wake. The Lancastrians apparently swerved to the west after passing Royston which has puzzled military historians because they accept that it came down the Great North Road, but on the evidence we have it is impossible to affirm this. If it came from York via Grantham, Leicester, Market Harborough, Northampton and Stony Stratford to Dunstable, where the first engagement took place, there was no necessity to make an inexplicable swerve westwards because its line of march brought it to Dunstable and then to St Albans. The Lancastrians defeated Warwick’s army on 17 February 1461 and Warwick fled the field. In an echo of Wakefield there is a suggestion of treachery. An English Chronicle tells the story of one Thomas Lovelace, a captain of Kent in the Yorkist ranks, who also appears in Waurin. Lovelace, it is claimed, was captured at Wakefield and promised Queen Margaret that he would join Warwick and then betray and desert him, in return for his freedom.

Lt. Colonel Bume, in a rare spirit of chivalry, credits Margaret with the tactical plan that won the victory, although only because it was so unorthodox that it must have been devised by a woman. But there is no evidence that Margaret had any military flair, let alone experience. A more likely candidate is the veteran captain Andrew Trolloppe who served with Warwick when the latter was Captain of Calais, but he refused to fight under the Yorkist banner against his king at Ludford in 1459 when Warwick brought over a contingent of Calais men to defy King Henry in the field. It was Trolloppe’s ‘desertion’ at Ludford, it is claimed, that forced the Yorkists to flee. The most objective and detailed account of the battle of St Albans is by the unknown continuator of Gregory’s Chronicle. The chronicle ends in 1469 and by that time it was safe to criticise Warwick, who was then out of favour. The continuator was a London citizen who may have fought in the Yorkist ranks. He had an interest in military matters and recorded the gathering of the Lancastrian army at Hull, before Wakefield, and the detail that the troops wore the Prince of Wales’ colours and ostrich feathers on their livery together with the insignia of their lords. He had heard the rumours of a large ill-disciplined army, but because he saw only the household men he concluded that the northerners ran away before the battle. Abbot Whethamstede wrote a longer though far less circumstantial account, in which he carefully made no mention of the Earl of Warwick. … Margaret of Anjou had won the battle but she proceeded to lose the war. London lay open to her and she made a fatal political blunder in retreating from St Albans instead of taking possession of the capital.' Although mistaken, her reasons for doing so were cogent. The focus of contemporary accounts is the threat to London from the Lancastrian army. This is repeated in all the standard histories, and even those who credit Margaret with deliberately turning away from London do so for the wrong reasons.

... The uncertainties and delays, as well as the hostility of some citizens, served to reinforce Margaret’s belief that entry to London could be dangerous. It was not what London had to fear from her but what she had to fear from London that made her hesitate. Had she made a show of riding in state into the city with her husband and son in a colourful procession she might have accomplished a Lancastrian restoration, but Margaret had never courted popularity with the Londoners, as Warwick had, and she had kept the court away from the capital for several years in the late 1450s, a move that was naturally resented. Warwick’s propaganda had tarnished her image, associating her irrevocably with the dreaded northern men. There was also the danger that if Warwick and Edward of March reached London with a substantial force she could be trapped inside a hostile city, and she cannot have doubted that once she and Prince Edward were taken prisoner the Lancastrian dynasty would come to an end. Understandably, at the critical moment, Margaret lost her nerve. ... Queen Margaret did not march south in 1461 in order to take possession of London, but to recover the person of the king. She underestimated the importance of the capital to her cause." Although she had attempted to establish the court away from London, the Yorkist lords did not oppose her for taking the government out of the capital, but for excluding them from participation in it. Nevertheless London became the natural and lucrative base for the Yorkists, of which they took full advantage. The author of the Annales was in no doubt that it was Margaret’s failure to enter London that ensured the doom of the Lancastrian dynasty. A view shared, of course, by the continuator of Gregory’s Chronicle, a devoted Londoner:

He that had Londyn for sake Wolde no more to hem take The king, queen and prince had been in residence at the Abbey of St Albans since the Lancastrian victory. Abbot Whethamstede, at his most obscure, conveys a strong impression that St Albans was devastated because the Lancastrian leaders, including Queen Margaret, encouraged plundering south of the Trent in lieu of wages. There must have been some pillaging by an army which had been kept in a state of uncertainty for a week, but whether it was as widespread or as devastating as the good abbot, and later chroniclers, assert is by no means certain. Whethamstede is so admirably obtuse that his rhetoric confuses both the chronology and the facts. So convoluted and uncircumstantial is his account that the eighteenth century historian of the abbey, the Reverend Peter Newcome, was trapped into saying: ‘These followers of the Earl of March were looked on as monsters in barbarity.’ He is echoed by Antonia Gransden who has ‘the conflict between the southemers of Henry’s army and the nonherners of Edward’s. The abbey was not pillaged, but Whethamstede blackened Queen Margaret’s reputation by a vague accusation that she appropriated one of the abbey’s valuable possessions before leaving for the north. This is quite likely, not in a spirit of plunder or avarice, but as a contribution to the Lancastrian war effort, just as she had extorted, or so he later claimed, a loan from the prior of Durham earlier in the year. The majority of the chroniclers content themselves with the laconic statement that the queen and her army withdrew to the north, they are more concerned to record in rapturous detail the reception of Edward IV by ‘his’ people. An English Chronicle, hostile to the last, reports that the Lancastrian army plundered its way north as remorselessly as it had on its journey south. One can only assume that it took a different route. The Lancastrian march ended where it began, in the city of York. Edward of March had himself proclaimed King Edward IV in the capital the queen had abandoned, and advanced north to win the battle of Towton on 29 March. The bid to unseat the government of the Yorkist lords had failed, and that failure brought a new dynasty into being. The Duke of York was dead, but his son was King of England whilst King Henry, Queen Margaret and Prince Edward sought shelter at the Scottish court. The Lancastrian march on London had vindicated its stated purpose, to recover the person of the king so that the crown would not continue to be a pawn in the hands of rebels and traitors, but ultimately it had failed because the Lancastrian leaders, including Queen Margaret, simply did not envisage that Edward of March would have the courage or the capacity to declare himself king. Edward IV had all the attributes that King Henry (and Queen Margaret) lacked: he was young, ruthless, charming, and the best general of his day; and in the end he out-thought as well as out-manoeuvred them.

It cannot be argued that no damage was done by the Lancastrian army. It was mid-winter, when supplies of any kind would have been short, so pillaging, petty theft, and unpaid foraging were inevitable. It kept the field for over a month and, and, as it stayed longest at Dunstable and in the environs of St Albans, both towns suffered from its presence. But the army did not indulge in systematic devastation of the countryside, either on its own account or at the behest of the queen. Nor did it contain contingents of England’s enemies, the Scots and the French, as claimed by Yorkist propaganda. Other armies were on the march that winter: a large Yorkist force moved from London to Towton and back again. There are no records of damage done by it, but equally, it cannot be claimed that there was none.

-B.M Cron, "Margaret of Anjou and the Lancastrian March on London, 1461"

#*The best propaganda narratives always contain an element of truth but it's important to remember that it's never the WHOLE truth #margaret of anjou #15th century #english history #my post #(please ignore my rambling tags below lmao)#imo the bottom line is: they were fighting a war and war is a scourge that is inevitably complicated and messy and unfortunate #arguing that NOTHING happened (on either side but especially the Lancastrians considering they were cut off from London's supplies)#is not a sustainable claim. However: Yorkist propaganda was blatantly propaganda and I wish that it's recognized more than it currently is #also I had *no idea* that her letter seems to have been actually written in 1460! I wish that was discussed more #& I wish Cron's speculation that Margaret may have feared being trapped in a hostile city with an approaching army was discussed more too #tho I don't 100% agree with article's concluding paragraph. 'Edward IV did not ultimately save England from further civil war' he...did???#the Yorkist-Lancastrian civil war that began in the 1450s ended in 1471 and his 12-year reign after that was by and large peaceful #(tho Cron may he talking about the period in between 61-71? but the civil war was still ongoing; the Lancasters were still at large #and the opposing king and prince were still alive. Edward by himself can hardly be blamed for the civil war continuing lol)#but in any case after 1471 the war WAS believed to have ended for good and he WAS believed to have established a new dynasty #the conflict of 1483 was really not connected to the events of the 1450s-1471. it was an entirely new thing altogether #obviously he shouldn't be viewed as the grand undoubted rightful savior of England the way Yorkist propaganda sought to portray him #(and this goes for ALL other monarchs in English history and history in general) but I don't want to diminish his achievements either #However I definitely agree that the prevalent idea that the Lancasters wouldn't have been able to restore royal authority if they'd won #is very strange. its an alternate future that we can't possibly know the answer to so it's frustrating that people seem to assume the worst #I guess the reasons are probably 1) the Lancasters ultimately lost and it's the winners who write history #(the Ricardians are somehow the exception but they're evidently interested in romantic revisionism rather than actual history so 🤷🏻‍♀️)#and 2) their complicated former reign even before 1454. Ig put together I can see where the skepticism comes from tho I don't really agree #but then again the Yorkists themselves played a huge role in the chaos of the 1450s. if a faction like that was finally out of the way #(which they WOULD be if the Lancasters won in 1461) the Lancastrian dynasty would have been firmly restored and #Henry and Margaret would've probably had more space and time to restore royal authority without direct rival challenges #I'd argue that the Lancasters stood a significantly better chance at restoring & securing their dynasty if they won here rather than 1471 #also once again: the analyses written on Margaret's queenship; her role in the WotR; and the propaganda against her are all phenomenal #and far far superior than the analyses on any other historical woman of that time - so props to her absolutely fantastic historians

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dreamcast-official · 3 months

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honest to god. i think i understand my sister a lot better now.

#eli.txt #I WANT TO MAKE SURE THIS DOESNT READ AS NEGATIVE #NEITHER TO MY SISTER OR MY MOM OR ANY OF MY FAMILY #i just think its interesting. how i never really understood why my sister moved out as soon as she turned 18.#and now that im 18 im sitting here like. i need to get out. i need to get out.#both me nd my sister have wonderful relationships with my mom. when dad was alive my sister had a great relationship with him so neither #parent was the reason she chose to move out so soon #and. my mom isnt the reason i want to move out either. i love my mom and living with her is genuinely good for me i think #i just think i need to fucking leave and i dont know why? i just feel this sort of deep angst about it

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kennabeth · 6 months

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dustfinger: I love all of my children equally, brianna, farid, and [looks at smudged writing on hands] john

#tcor spoilers #HATE that there was no actual resolution this #i understand fully that it can be difficult when your partner's child (who is not also yours) looks like their other parent #feelings are hard to change! sure!#but: roxane is friends with her husband's affair partner. atp he has no right to show any hurt over her remarrying #and that includes taking it out on jehan #he doesnt say himself that theres any resentment (which is odd bc he loves telling us all his shitty thiughts usually; too stressed out #for self reflection right this second?)#but nyame talks about how obvious and infuriating it is #not to say jehan's making it up (i would never never never doubt my babiest boy) but it's bad enough that people outside the family see it #('outside the family' it's his uncle but outside the home ig)#where was i going with this #having a was-hoping-id-find-the-end-of-this-thought-when-i-came-to-it moment #oh right the lack of self reflection made me wonder if dustfinger knew he was acting like this at all #and i was PRAYING for nyame to chew him out over it #there were so many good spots for that conversation too #when df was practically dead for the third time and jehan stayed with him to make sure he didnt actually die #i expected 'i dreamed about you burning alive every night for ten years' levels of dustfinger being yelled at from jehan #and we literally?? didnt get a single chapter from either of their povs at that time?? what the actual fuck man #okay not to be like 'i could write this better' but a way more satisfying conclusion to everything that started #with nyame saying the two of them are so similar #would have been [jehan rightly makes dustfinger feel bad about continuing to be a terrible father] -> [jehan storms off to orpheus' to #'offer' dustfinger in exchange for the book but the adults dont know where he went] -> [nyame comes back and also yells at df #for letting his kid run off and drive home that he really is failing jehan and points out to him their similarities] ->#[df goes oh shit i also tried trading innocent people for a book] ->#[whatever. resolution]#do u see what i mean #his ~apology~ to meggie in book 2 is so good while being in character #and he cant apologize to his stepson? he barely fking knew meggie lmao #says kenna

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themoonking · 11 months

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honestly? peter quill and gamora were one of the only mcu couples that had actual chemistry and i will always be baffled as to why they decided to write them out. like... the vast majority of mcu romances are boring and bland and forgettable but these two weren’t and now they’re gone :-(

#like basically every main character has had A Love Interest but i can count on one hand the amount of like. memorable romances #and the others are tchalla + nakia and scott + hope #and you know one of those is gone also so really we only have one good mcu romance #and i never watched quantumania so maybe scotthope isn't slay anymore as well so thats zero good mcu romances #someone please tell me that scotthope is still slay i couldn't bear it if it were zero good romances #wanda + vision were cute for a little bit but then she literally gaslit him for multiple episodes of television so #not exactly rooting for them any longer. i do think vision can be a fun character but like he deserves better #peter parker + mj are fine ig but honestly? zendaya was the only one selling me on their relationship for like 99% of it #british boy step up #thor + jane were good in thor 1 and 2 but love and thunder sucked ass :-(#clint + laura is like... clint was already a nothing character and they only kinda salvaged him with the hawkeye show #doc strange + christine (?) had potential in the first movie but although i never watched multiverse of madness #i haven't heard anyone talking about them like at all so i have to assume she either wasn't in it or they did nothing with her so #mcu #i speak #mcu critical #and tony stark is the most insufferable man alive so any romance involving him immediately takes me out of the movie #i cannot suspend my disbelief that far im sorry

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blissfulstatic · 5 months

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over the garden wall hits every time how does it do it

#'i was never any good to him alive either' crushes my heart like an aluminum can #buenos dias short people

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satoruhour · 8 months

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geto reaction to you wearing only his shirt

OVERSIZED NEVER LOOKED THIS GOOD

a/n: lore. a lot of lore. i always cannot help but write backstories. ure gonna have to bear w/ me SORRY !!!! based off of this drawing that i wanted to write sum about but then i thought why not combine it w/ this prompt. i went a little insane on this mb / tagging @papersirens @crysugu @getousex @hyomagiri @slttygeto, who else r geto fuckers

wc: 2.9k

warnings: roommate!geto, soft dom!geto, mutual pining, reader steals one of geto’s shirts, geto is also a little bit of a pervert, mentions of panty sniffing but geto doesn’t do it, m! and f! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, oral / cunnilingus, slight nipple play, spitting (on ur pussy), finger sucking, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

geto was a sweet roommate.

he’s always topping up on supplies when you needed things, pushing away your hand whenever you wanted to pay. where he got all his money, you weren’t even sure. geto cleaned the house, he cooked dinner, hell, it was like you two were married at this point. even gojo had asked if he would get together with someone who wasn’t you (and of course, in classic gojo way, he was skilled in asking it in a roundabout way), geto’s firm and abrupt “no” was enough to make gojo grin from ear to ear.

even he wasn’t sure when it all started — you were always friends with the three of them, gojo and shoko and himself, participating in their antics and getting in trouble in high school. there was hardly any dull times between the four, looking at you through the lens of a friend. but when those lens started to turn blurry and black, seeing you in a new light of tighter outfits and a sweet smile that looked like it contained something hidden, suguru genuinely hoped it would all go away.

it’s not like he thought he was unattractive, but you wouldn’t go for a guy like him, someone hidden behind gojo’s bright personality or shoko’s satirical, cool demeanour. he was oh so oblivious, however, turning an unintentional blind eye when you’re hanging with gojo for the day but only because you wanted to know what birthday present would be best for him, or having a movie night with shoko only to disregard cher horowitz on the television just to ask if geto would like your new nails and hair.

the two of you were so dense when either of you were hanging with them, going on for so long even after taking a gap year for shoko’s overseas med school attachment. they assumed the two of you would’ve done something then, but it was stagnant, dry, that gojo almost wants to take matters into his own hands; so when you’re begging geto if you could room with him, since he lived near the university you were all attending together,

“suguru, pleasee— i wouldn’t wanna travel for hours on end just for like a two hour lecture.”

shoko smiles, gojo laughs, slinging an arm around you, “help your poor friend out, suguru.”

gojo torments him to no end. he doesn’t regret it one bit when your arms are thrown around his neck in a bear hug in thanks, feeling himself get hard just from the way your breasts press against his chest.

“yeah,” it’s said breathily, softly, “it’s no problem.”

suguru thanked god you hadn’t wanted to move in that very same day, cause all that could be heard throughout the small apartment was him pumping his cock to a polaroid picture of you, calling out your name softly as he came all over the photo of your bright smile. he didn’t need the fan that night, the guilt was enough to burn him alive. and after, he acted like nothing happened, except the many, many times he’d think of taking you on every surface of the house, suffering silently for an entire year as the two of you fell into routine day by day.

today might change, however, when geto hangs the last piece of clothing, something that was hardly a difficult task, but it proved to be the hardest thing to date when he’d spot the bras and underwear lying at the bottom of the basket each time he prepared to do laundry. geto wills himself to wash, hang it, and get out but he cannot tear his eyes away from the unmistakable dark spot at the centre of your panties before it’s thrown in, taunting him to just pick it up to breathe in your scent, to do something to defile it, to let his desires take over. but he wasn’t gojo, no, he’d wait all the time in the world for the right time, even if it was at the expense of a throbbing cock and flushed cheeks.

“(y/n), ’m going to the store, you want…” his voice trails off when the drawer before him shows only one clean shirt left, sighing when his favourite shirt has gone missing, again. he knows it simply by the missing tag on the top, cut off terribly by your hands on a drunk movie night. he was thankful you missed his skin by an inch, but he cherishes that shirt and night dearly. geto simply brushes off the mishap, grabbing a sweatshirt instead.

there’s a rap on your door that quells all movement from your side, fabric clutched tightly between your fingers that it hurt just a little.

“(y/n)? love? you okay?”

“y— yeah, i’m fine sugu. what did you say earlier?”

“i’m going to the store. it’s grocery day so i’ll be there for a while — need to stock the fridge up for the week. you want anything?”

geto wishes so desperately to see your face now, asking if you could go and holding a reusable bag by your side, but strangely you don’t even make a move to open the door.

“no it’s fine, and okay! i’m— uh, busy with something,” you look towards the door and back to the article of clothing in your hand, “so i’m sorry i can’t help today.”

geto’s disappointment is brief, but he recovers as soon as he hears your apology, in that sweet, honeyed voice you love to use on him, as oblivious as you were of its effect.

“’s fine, see you later!” there’s a weird and panicky bout of feeling geto gets, but he’s satisfied with the hum you sound through the door. and once the door clicks behind him, you’re unlocking your own door softly, ensuring your surroundings are safe.

geto wasn’t the only one. between your fingers were his favourite shirt, straight from the dirty laundry of last week’s load; it’s been a reoccuring thing these few weeks after realising you maybe want geto to fuck you silly. you’re sneaking around undetected with it, holding it to your nose, breathing in his natural musk. it was the one shirt you liked on him — always put on when with you — it’s like your secret little joke from that night. and it was so sinful, the way your breath hitches from just his scent, the way your panties pool with arousal.

what would it be like to actually wear it?

the thought crosses your mind and leaves just as fast, heart pounding in your chest when you realise you’ve never tried that before.

peeling off your top, you slip it on carefully, swallowing from how much larger he is than you. the sleeves extend past your elbows by a little, so much cloth on you that you’re a little lightheaded by the possibility of being geto’s, belonging to geto.

“oh god…” you sigh, feeling your pussy throb at the thought, and your hands are shy when they creep in between your thighs. they rub at your clit gently, imagining geto was doing the work instead. he’d be so gentle with his hands, cupping your thighs, spreading your legs.

you’re whining when your fingers find your way into your cunt, nose filled with the scent of geto and head filling with the repeated runnings of his tongue on you, his cock in you, his whole person devoted to you. it’s cute how you don’t know that’s already the case. your fingers are lacklustre as you pump them in and out while your other hand is busy with your clit and you look like a goddess: spread out on your bed in nothing but your roommate’s shirt, a soft, slow melody playing from your phone.

you’re so entranced by the sensations you don’t hear the front door opening and the rustle of the plastic bags (he forgot the reusable bags) containing your groceries, distracted by the phone call he’s having with gojo who teases him through the line. his best friend says stupid crap like she’s definitely into you, too. what her panties smell like? have you guys fucked yet?

the last two was enough for geto to whisper a soft satoru!, clearly displeased with the way he was asking about you, about you both that he only rolls his eyes, muttering an annoyed “i’m hanging up, you pervert. i’ll talk to you later—”

setting down the bags, he frowns again upon seeing the closed door, although not as closed you thought you left it.

“suguru— f-fuck, right there—” geto chokes on his saliva at the moans coming from behind the door, careful not to step on the wrong floorboard below him as he lines up with your room door — a terrifying feat rewarded by your needy whines begging for him. he can hear the wetness of his roommate’s cunt, and he wants to take a peak so bad; so he does just that and stiflies a groan at the sight.

your hair is splayed out all around you, pussy facing the entrance of the door just perfectly and his shirt draped over your body. it sends him into a frenzy, head reeling at seeing his shirt so oversized and so perfect over your body that he swears he cums a little at the display. your cute face scrunched up in pure pleasure, your toes curling around the bedsheets he changed for you.

oh, shit.

and geto panics when your head shoots up, eyes meeting his and your hands halting.

fuck, did i say that out loud?

you’re speechless although your reflexes cause you to close your legs immediately, scooting up the bed like you’ve just got cornered by a predator. it was similar — geto with his big, brooding self, moving slowly into the room with both hands up and a dazed look behind his eyes, you, exposed in the eyes of a hungry man who’s craved you for so many months. you like it.

“you’re— you’re wearing my shirt,” geto gulps, causing you to let out a nervous laugh.

“yea— yeah…”

geto thinks that maybe this is it. this was the moment he’s been holding back on for so long, and so he crosses that boundary into your space, stopping right at the footboard of the bed. you follow suit, going onto your hands and knees and crawling to him that he tilts his head back. everything you do drives him crazy.

suguru’s words is heavy, “you think you’re cute, hm? stealing my shirt and then moaning out my name and fingering your pussy like that…”

your breath shakes, ascending to your knees so you’d reach his height, but not quite. he tugs you closer to him.

“yeah.” it’s so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it, “been wanting you for a long time.”

your roommate hums, lips hovering over yours just by an inch. you’d probably pass out if not for your racing heart and pulsating core.

“yeah?”

you’re finished with words, resorting only to a shy nod before geto crashes his lips onto yours, wrapping the other arm around you as yours go around his neck. it’s messy, filled with drool, devouring you on the spot for teasing him for so long, mouths moving in sync with each other. there’s a soft moan that escapes your mouth when you feel him manhandle you with ease, picking you off the bed to set you down on your back gently.

“c’mon, let’s see the mess you made,” you mewl at the words but your legs are stubborn, still in disbelief at the way suguru treats you, but you let him pry your legs apart after some gentle praises. you stifle a smile when you see how geto exhales at how beautiful your pussy is, leaking from your hole while your puffy clit is begging to be touched.

“oh, she’s so fuckin’ pretty…” your roommate mumbles, intoxicated on your scent as he bends down, giving your cunt one last loving look before he looks to you with a small grin. it’s clear he cannot wait, but he pauses for the words he wants to hear.

“wan’ you to eat me out, sugu,” you’re mumbling and suguru thinks it’s so cute, only responding by giving you a peck on your inner thigh, a soft yeah? before he goes down on you.

geto’s tongue on you is slow and cautious, drawing languid circles around your clit as he plays with your thighs, moaning softly into your core.

“s’damn sweet,” you can feel the stretch of a smile before he resumes, drawing you in slowly with each lick, each suck. geto doesn’t let your arousal go to waste, using a finger to scoop up your juices before he rubs the area around your hole and then the first push into your pussy makes you let out a loud, wanton moan.

“oh— your fingers, sugu, they’re—” they’re so much thicker and longer, everything that you couldn’t feel before now feels too much and yet your cunt gives him his answer by clenching around his longer finger.

“better than yours?” he asks with a lopsided smile.

you huff in indignance — not your fault you had shorter fingers, “yeah.”

“i’ll make full use of ’em, baby,” geto gasps softly when he pushes his finger right to the hilt, obsessed with the way your hand closes around his wrist. “too much?”

you shake your head, “n-no, just— feels too good.”

your roommate laughs softly, “princess is just too sensitive.”

he’s tempted to chuckle again when he sees how the pet names affect you, but soon he’s adding a second finger and pushes in, moving at a slow speed. and then when he adds his mouth into the mix, you’re begging for him to hurry; his eyes flutter close, getting lost in everything that you dish out.

geto’s pace is routine like his life, but it’s not any less pleasurable as he curls his fingers upwards, stretching you out and hitting your spot repeatedly. he continually flicks his tongue and sucks and slurps, tasting your essence once and needing a second, third, fourth, umpteenth taste, bringing out the most delicious moans to fall from your lips. it’s like hearing aphrodite sing, and yet you cross her by miles both in beauty and voice. surely, he shouldn’t mention that out loud, but eros can’t possibly help the arrow puncturing his heart, and looking at his psyche now, he thinks you look absolutely flawless.

“f-feel so good, mmh— so deep, suguru—!” his eyes snap open to look at you with hooded lids, sending you a cheeky wink before he starts to suck on your bundle of nerves, keeping his mouth latched around it as his fingers speed up. the noises of your cunt sucking him in paired with your whines just sound so good, and the scent of his shirt is dizzying, pulling it higher and higher till it pools around your chest. you watch as geto pulls away for a second, gathering saliva in his throat before he spits on your pussy, and the action is so lewd your jaw drops and your hips start to hump against him.

“ya like that? filthy girl,” geto smiles, rubbing his thumb into your clit and there’s that distinctive build-up in your stomach, coiling and burning until lays his tongue flat onto your cunt, pressing it deep along with the fingers that curl up in your pussy.

“su—” you don’t even have time to tell him, cumming all over his fingers and soaking the sheets, flustered at the in-awe look geto has on his face at how the shirt had ridden up, at how your hands cup your tits and play with your nipples, at how your cunt gushes so sweetly for him. he continues to pump his fingers to let you ride out your orgasm, relishing in the whine you let out when he removes his fingers.

“patience, sweetheart,” geto moves up to reach you, fingers waiting inches away from your lips. you’re taking his fingers into your mouth, keeping eye contact as you wrap your tongue around them and sucking your cum off of him, swearing lowly when you grab his wrist and shove them deeper. “but then again, we’ve been dancing around each other for too long, now.”

you smile at his allusion to the many times that the what-ifs could’ve come true, and yet now you’re tangled up like this in his shirt.

once geto’s underwear comes off, you’re gaping at the cock that he pumps, clearly looking intimidating enough that geto has a hand to your knee and kisses it gently. “we’ll make it fit, alright?”

you nod a little timidly, taking his hand off and twining your fingers, “yeah, i trust you to take care of me.” you make a quick move to remove his shirt but he stops you, saying something embarrassing about wanting to see how cute and small you look in his shirt. you’re scoffing and pushing at him later, you’re just too tall.

he takes care of you perfectly fine — when geto fully sheathes himself in you, he can only focus on your gummy walls that wrap around him fully, his eyes are rolling to the back of his head and you’re grasping at his hands that grab your hips so hard. your roommate fucks you so well, your body limp and your pussy begging to milk him dry that it spills out so much — geto groans into your neck with reddened cheeks at that later.

you’re receiving a noise warning the very next day, alongside a QR code that takes you to a link for soundproof foam, and all you can do is laugh at each other. like routine, geto is already gathering the ingredients for an apology cake, beside him right in that little kitchen in another shirt of his that starts to smell more and more like you—

as his roommate and maybe now, something more.

part two ♡

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 months

Text

Ghost, Simon & You [SMUT]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Stomach Bulging, Possessive! Ghost, Kinda Evil! Ghost, Simon and Ghost are Separate People in the Same Body, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Backed up! Simon who uses you as his personal cum dump whenever he returns from deployment. You know you’re in for an absolute pounding when you hear him banging on your front door, only to see him standing there, tall and dark as a shadow, looking down at you with an almost manic gaze.

He hasn't even been home to change first, still clad in his balaclava, eye paint and the under-layers of his tactical attire. He pushes his way in, kicking the door shut behind him with his boot and pressing his lips to yours. It doesn’t matter that you can’t feel his skin, that he’s almost crushing your skull as he grips your cheeks and brings you as close as physically possible, that you can taste gunpowder, dust and death on his mask. That this isn’t Simon at all, but the unholy spirit that possesses him.

Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.

It also doesn’t matter that he literally tears your shirt from your body, a rumble reverberating through his chest when he sees you without underwear. You were expecting him. Good.

Simon – Ghost – is never gentle when it comes to the first round. He never strips all the way down, either, always leaving his mask on, too. He just yanks his pants down as far as necessary before pressing the hard, aching, weeping tip of his cock to your entrance, pushing in with neither care, nor restraint.

He sees the way you fist the sheets, face down against the mattress but your cries still managing to reach him. He just doesn’t care. Especially when your familiar warmth encompasses him, pulls him into the here and now.

It’s at this point that Ghost sees why Simon loves being around you so much, loves being with you. In you.

His member protrudes, a bump in your stomach evident like a tombstone. Whenever you try to press it, try to flatten your hand against it to get a feel for just how big it is, he takes your wrists in his hands and presses them against the mattress. The message is clear: you don’t interfere. I’ll cum when I say so, not by your hand.

Ghost doesn’t stop until you’re raw and red and leaking with either his or your juices, a ring of white forming at the base of his shaft where you can’t fit any more of his length inside you. You feel it, pulsating and battering and alive in your middle, feeling as if it’s nudging everything else out the way so it can lie uninhibited inside your warm cavern.

He’s hard and fast, rough yet thorough. He never leaves an inch of you unmarked, unbruised, by the time he’s done. Whether he’s aware or not, you always end up finishing first, your walls tightening and pulsating around Ghost’s cock as he continues to abuse your hole, hitting your most sensitive point over and over again, prolonging your orgasm and leaving you utterly spent yet satisfied.

When Ghost cums, it’s long, hard and hot. So, so hot – as if the all fire of his anger he’s had building up these last few months is now cradled within you, an unspeakable offspring. He never immediately pulls out. No, he waits, hands about your waist, no doubt bruises from where he’s gripped you, where he’s kept you so he can make sure you don’t crawl away.

His load is thick and there’s so much of it – you feel like you’re being filled past full.

If you’re capable and fertile, he often considers not giving you birth control after the fact, rather letting you stay dormant in bed and tying you up so you have no choice but to let his seed take. The idea never fails to send a shiver down his spine, making him hard all over again as the image of you, bedbound and incapacitated by his hand is enough to make him retreat to another room just so he doesn’t act on the fantasy.

The look on Simon’s face, he often wonders, when he finds you’re marked as Ghost’s, carrying a permanent reminder that he got to you first; when he realises that the creature he entrusts his dirty work to, his militant alter ego, has utterly ravaged and claimed you from the inside out.

The horror. The futility of apology. It’s enough to satiate Ghost for now. Enough, enough.

And with that, he pulls out, taking the blazing heat of his body with him. He leaves you on the bed, ass up, face down, with his cum dripping out of you. Leaves you for Simon to clean up, to deal with.

And to your side does Simon come rushing, for once Ghost removes his mask, so does he the haze he casts over his unwilling creator, letting him return to humanity. The vague pulsing of his member, the wetness coating it and the sheen of sweat clinging to Simon’s body is enough to let him know – remind him – what’s happened.

He comes to your aid, scooping you up in his arms and tending to you in every way he knows how - in every way that’s routine. He apologises, over and over, for letting Ghost do this you, for letting him have his way with you, for not being able to protect you–

You shush him. Look at him with kind eyes. You tell him you’re happy to do it, that you’d rather it be you than anyone else, that you wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t love Simon. Which you do. Monumentally. And Simon loves you, too. He just fears that Ghost may be growing to love you, too – in ways he shouldn’t.

He feels him now, watching you bathe, sweeping over the bruises on your wrists, your hips and waist, the pressure in the back of his head mounting as Ghost lusts for the control to do it all again.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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sexlapis · 6 months

Text

[◉°] … TOJI FUSHIGURO TAKES A LIE DETECTOR TEST… 9.6M VIEWS

꩜ actor!toji (& implied actor toji x actress/actor reader)

⤷ synopsis: toji thought this lie detector test was going to be a breeze. he was a little mistaken.

sfw, fluff, crack, ooc toji, toji & reader are secretly together, toji lying!

masterlists

actor!toji masterlist

⪩　　 ₊　 🍪 　　✧ 　　⁺

“i ain’t nervous,” toji claims, cracking his neck and smirking as the crew members attach the needed equipment to his body, “i ain’t no liar either. so i got nothing to worry about here.”

“i sure hope that’s true, mr.fushiguro.” the polygraph examiner replies slyly.

“are you ready, toji fushiguro?” the interviewer asks.

“yeah, i am,” toji claps, “hurry up and get started.”

“is your name toji fushiguro?”

“yes my name is toji fushiguro.” he looks to the polygraph examiner. “it is, right?”

the woman simply stares at him.

“..alright then…”

the interviews asks another question. “are you about to take a polygraph exam?”

“yes, yes and yes, now give me the real questions!”

TOJI FUSHIGURO TELLS THE TRUTH

YOUR CAREER

“we’re going to start with the category of your career.”

toji nods and looks to the examiner. “how ‘m i doing?”

“you’re very calm, nothing unusual yet.”

“hm.”

the interview begins to speak. “one of your most popular roles as an actor was when you played Frank Castle in the Netflix series, “The Punisher”. some would say this is when you became a heartthrob. do you think is this true?”

toji sighs and shakes his head. “nah-”

“LIE.” the polygraph examiner calls out.

toji raises his hand. “…because, i was already a heartthrob before alla that.” he smiles, looking proud of himself. his answer is met with silence.

“ok.” says the interviewer and goes onto the next question. “do you face a lot of pressure being a heartthrob?”

“nope.” toji answers easily. “i’m just that kinda guy. i ain’t gotta try too hard for much, especially not ‘being hot’.”

he looks at the examiner.

“he’s telling the truth.” she states. she almost seems disappointed by the fact.

“see?” toji says, folding his arms, “as i said, ‘got nothin’ to lie about.”

“in the punisher,” the interviewer starts, ignoring toji’s cocky replies, “do you wear a muscle suit to look bigger than you actually are?”

toji throws his back, cackles echoing around the small room. “fuck no!” he gestures to…his whole body, “‘it look like i need a muscle suit? ‘didn’t even know that shit was a thing… i’m big enough without any of that stuff.” he shrugs, looking into the camera. “i think we can all see that.”

the examiner nods curtly. “..he is telling the truth.”

“do you workout often?” asks the interviewer.

toji scoffs. “i thought i’d get good questions..but yeah, yeah i do workout.”

“would you consider yourself fit?”

“yep. ‘hundred percent.”

“would you consider yourself fitter than,” the interviewer slides a photo of the actor gojo satoru towards toji, “this man?”

“pfft-” toji chortles. “oh, ohh yeah. easily. he’s like..” he looks for the correct words, “a little boy. are we kidding?”

he looks to the examiner and then to the interviewer.

“he is being truthful..again.”

toji smirks at the camera, tapping the side of his nose with his finger. “toji never lies.”

POP CULTURE

“this year, you were named “The Most Sexiest Man Alive” by People Magazine. do you believe you’re sexier than this man, 2022’s sexiest man, nanami kento?” the interviewer slides another photo, this time of the actor nanami kento.

toji looks at the photo for a second, before scoffing a little. “oh yeah. definitely. ‘guy just has a permanent frown on his face. he ain’t ugly but he could smile a little, y’know?”

“what about this ‘guy’, 2021’s most sexiest man alive, ryomen sukuna?” the interviewer also slides a picture of him to toji.

toji strokes his chin. “heh..yeah..yeah i would say so..this guy..he ain’t ugly either but..theres this energy about him..”

“what energy would that be, toji fushiguro?”

“the energy of a fuckin’ mass murderer that’s what!” he laughs at his own joke, looking at the picture of this ‘ryomen sukuna’, who is glaring into his soul through the image. “yeahh, i’d say i’m more attractive than him. just.. just a little.” he holds two fingers close together emphasis. “jesus christ, that’s one scary looking fuck.”

the examiner inspects the polygraph and looks towards toji and the interviewer. “he has been telling the truth.”

“yeah.” toji nods, exhaling through his mouth and sliding the pictures away from himself. “‘course i am.”

LOVE LIFE

toji had been doing well so far, but the category of ‘love life’ would be his downfall.

“do you want to get married in the future?”

“yeah, yeah i do.”

the examiner nods.

“have you ever been in love?”

“..yes.” toji responds, thinking about his past for a second.

the examiner nods again.

“are you in love right now?”

toji pauses for the first time in the whole test. he takes a deep breath. “no. yeah, no. ‘m not.”

the examiner raises an eyebrow at the results. “questionable.”

“oh, c’mon.” toji groans, rolling his eyes.

“is there someone you’re in love with?”

“nope. nobody at all.” he interlinks his fingers, tapping them against each other. “..nobody at all..”

“questionable. again.” the examiner states, pointedly looking at toji.

toji sighs. “oh, brother…”

“did you happen to meet this person..on set?”

“no, ‘cause there is no person?” toji says firmly.

“again.” the examiner says. “questionable.”

“christ…”

the interviewer asks another question. “do you believe in love at first sight?”

toji huffs. “no, that’s just two people who wanna fuck.”

“i see. then,” the interviewer takes out three pictures, all of them being people who he has worked with on set, including you.

“are you in love with any of these people?”

toji gulps, hesitating for a split second, his eyes focused on your picture. “nope. not oneeee bit.”

“LIE.” the examiner shouts excitedly, happy to have finally caught toji out on lying. she rings the negative buzzer repeatedly. “lie!”

“‘you serious?” he asks incredulously, looking between the interviewer and the examiner. “listen, maybe it was just my heart murmur or somethin’ like that,” he looks to side, cheeks rosy and shifts in his seat a little, “i-i don’t-”

“those are the last of our questions.” the interviewer says to toji, smiling knowingly. “thank you for taking part in our lie detector test.”

toji grumbles.

౨ৎ

a/n: this was longer than i planned 🤥

#I’m so sorry i always forget the taglist i’m not used to one i’m so sorry😭#actor!toji #toji x reader #toji x gn!reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #toji fluff #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro fluff #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #fushiguro toji fluff #toji x gender neutral reader #toji x gender neutral!reader

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cozage · 8 months

Note

hii!! can i request for the event?? had this weird little scenario where a little kid goes up to reader, completely in love and confessing their love (even tho reader doesnt know who this little kid is) and the op men just look at what's happening with either a "😬" or "😠" reaction. any characters for this scenario would work but if you could put zoro as part of the 3 that would be great

Child Crushes Send me an event request!

Characters: fem reader x Zoro, Sanji, Shanks Total word count: 600

Zoro

“You are so beautiful!” A child screamed, slamming into you and wrapping his arms around your midrift tightly. “I love you!”

“Hey!” Zoro shouted, reaching for the kid. “Get off her!”

“Zoro!” you chided, shielding the kid from your boyfriend's wrath. “It’s okay!”

“You are the most amazing lady I’ve ever seen! Your smile is radiant, and you are kinder than anyone I’ve ever met!”

You laughed, slowly prying the kid off of you. You were about to bend down to talk to him, but Zoro beat you to it.

“Listen brat,” he hissed. “Go find another beautiful lady! This one is mine.”

The kid stuck his tongue at Zoro. “If you keep being so mean, she’ll leave you for a real man like me!”

“What did you-!”

“Zoro, stop!” you giggled, pulling him away. You looked back at the little boy, giving him a wink. “It was nice to meet you!”

“I’ll see you soon, lovely lady!”

You intertwined your arm with Zoro’s again, laughing at his outburst. “Wanna tell me what that was about?”

“He reminded me of that stupid cook,” Zoro groaned. “Besides, that kid needs to buzz off. You’re already taken.”

Sanji

“Excuse me miss,” a small voice came from behind you, and you turned around.

He was young. Probably around 6 or 7, with caramel brown hair and clear blue eyes.

“Hi there,” you said, breaking away from Sanji’s hold so you could squat down so you were at eye level with him.

“I just wanted to tell you are the most beautiful woman alive.” He held out a wildflower with small white petals. “Will you marry me?”

You giggled at his request. His bluntness reminded you of someone else you knew.

“I’m flattered. How about you come find me when you’re older?” you challenged.

He pushed the flower into your hands. “I will. I’ll never forget you! Until then, here’s something to remember me by!”

He took off, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. You laughed and stood up, your hand returning to Sanji’s.

“You have competition,” you teased.

Sanji hummed pleasantly, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. “He has good taste in women. Can’t argue with that.”

Shanks

You unfolded the note the little boy had given you and read the scribbles across the paper.

Please make my day and kiss me. You are so beautiful and kind. I love you.

Shanks peered over your shoulder, looking at the note, and burst out into laughter.

“Shanks!” you scolded under your breath. “Don’t laugh!”

“Look kid, only a real man gets to kiss this lady.” He planted a messy kiss on your cheek to prove his point.

The kid looked at you and him, and then ran off.

“Shanks!”

“He’ll be back, don’t worry.”

Shanks was right. A few hours later, the kid was standing at the end of the bar, peeking out and watching you from afar.

“You wanna impress her?” Shanks asked, creeping up behind the boy. “Give her a rose and ask her for a kiss. To her face. Like a man.”

“Will that work?” the boy whispered, glancing back at you nervously.

“That’s how I got her to kiss me,” he admitted. “Good news for you, I even have a spare rose.”

The little boy walked up to you, his knees visibly shaking as he gripped the rose in his hands.

“I got this for you,” he said softly. “Will you kiss me?”

Your eyes darted to Shanks, a smile dancing across your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, taking the flower from him and giving him a small peck on the cheek. “I’d be honored to kiss such a polite young man.”

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lisired · 25 days

Text

change your mind yet?

pairing: haechan x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut, enemies to lovers-esque, choking, spit kink, haechan’s lowkey a cocky piece of shit, he calls you a bitch Lol

summary: You’re going to kill him. You swear, You’re going to kill him. how did Liu Yangyang accidentally tell Lee Donghyuck—your greatest enemy—that you think he’s hot and that you’ve been in a dry spell recently? Now you have to avoid the inevitable confrontation, and worst of all, deal with the most stubborn person alive (who ironically thinks that you’re the most stubborn person alive).

word count: 4.6k

a/n: very much an oldie… not so sure about a goodie but i do love the ending. i had written this for a friend lol

You love him to bits, but Liu Yangyang is not your favorite friend right now.

Fairly, you one-hundred percent blame him for the predicament you’re currently in. You know he can be a blabbermouth at times and wouldn’t do it on purpose, but there’s no way you’d let him get away with quote-unquote accidentally telling your mortal enemy that you think he’s hot, and that you’ve been having trouble getting off.

It was yesterday evening that you were on FaceTime with your best friend, simply conversating as per usual. You were ranting comfortably to Yangyang about your troubles and how sexually frustrated you are, and he suggested you getting laid. That’s how the topic of Lee Donghyuck came. He was suggesting people, and when he asked you if you thought Donghyuck was hot, you replied yeah, but I wouldn’t touch his dick with laboratory safety gloves.

Fast-forward some hours later, he’s consentfully telling your mutual friend Renjun about your conversation, in hopes of playing matchmaker and finding someone for you to fuck. The problem? Donghyuck was around, and somehow overheard everything except the part about you saying that you’d never touch his egotistical dick.

So now you’re on campus, avoiding your egotistic mortal enemy like the plague.

Why do you dislike Donghyuck? The answer’s simple, he’s one of those guys. The ones that think they own the world, and that it revolves around them. The ones that think they can have any and every person they want, and treat people’s hearts like dirt. In short, you don’t think he’s a good person, no matter how hot he is.

When your final class rolls around, you think you might’ve successfully dodged him. You had another class with him today, but for some reason he was a no-show. Not that you care, his lack of presence was relieving. Then, you see him stroll into your Language Arts class, and the bright red cherry on top? He’s quick to snatch the seat directly next to yours. Oh, brother.

“Hey,” Donghyuck whispers. “Let’s talk.”

Your heart is racing, but you think you manage to conceal it. “In the middle of class?”

He shrugs, “Afterwards.”

You’re running out of here the second your professor dismisses you.

So, Donghyuck cornered you.

There’s no going anywhere as long as he has you like this, backed up against a wall, his hands on either side of you, and his gaze practically rooting you in place. You feel like you’re being stared down by Medusa, still as stone as you look into his eyes.

“So, let’s talk,” he grins, tilting his head. “A little birdie tells me you think I’m hot, you’re under a dry spell, and that you’ve been having trouble making yourself cum lately.”

“Did you hear the part where I said I wouldn’t touch your egotistical dick with laboratory safety gloves?”

“Then it’s a good thing that I don’t need my dick to have your thighs shaking, huh,” you’re blushing, actually blushing, cheeks aflame and your skin all hot. To make matters worse, Donghyuck’s hands move from beside you to sitting pretty on your waist, not moving lower or higher, cool texture of his rings pressing gently into your skin. The contact has you in an internal frenzy, but you chalk it up to you simply being touch-starved. “Don’t you see these lips, baby?”

Alas, you do see them. With his face as close as it is to yours, you can’t help but see them. They’re pretty and plush, kissable, and kind of do look like they could eat—no, no, no, no. You’ve been with your share of guys like Donghyuck, ones that like to talk about how good they are, yet are severely disappointing in reality. For you to even be considering sleeping with him just goes to show that you’ve struck rock bottom.

“D-don’t call me that,” you curse yourself for stammering, because he only finds it amusing.

“Why not? I think you like it, baby,” Donghyuck teases, “is that the problem? You like me, but you don’t want to like me? You don’t like that you know I could make you feel good?”

You loosen your gaze, unable to bare eye contact with him any longer, “Fuck you, Donghyuck.”

“Fuck me your fucking self,” he grabs your chin, making you look at him. If you can see anything in his eyes, it’s the unmistakable gleam of lust, so dark yet so tempting. “You want it, don’t you?”

God dammit, you do want it. But you refuse to have your name crossed out on his checklist, to be another notch in his belt. You know it would only boost his ego to have seduced the most stubborn person alive into fucking him, and you absolutely refuse to let that happen.

“No.”

Donghyuck raises his eyebrow, “No?”

“No,” you repeat.

You don’t know how you expected him to react, but he takes it coolly, dropping his hands and stepping away. Aw no, did you hurt his ego? The thought almost makes you laugh.

“Okay, but you know where to find me when you change your mind,” He smirks, and you hate how confident he sounds. Not if, but when. When you change your mind.

He strolls away, and you let him. You have bigger fish to fry, and you refuse to let some grade A fuckboy get in your head.

Unfortunately, you are not as in control of your thoughts as you’d like. This is bad, really fucking bad, you think. Last night, you actually successfully managed to cum on your own. That should be a good thing, but the reason you came is absolutely humiliating. An embarrassing, taking-it-with-me-to-the-grave secret.

You may or not may not have came to the thought of Donghyuck. How his fluffy hair would look clamped to his forehead, or how his forehead would look dripping with sweat. Imagining his fingers replacing your own, fingering you with his rings on, the coolness of them against your skin. But what really did it was probably the image of him between your thighs that was planted in your brain the second he offered himself to you. You thought of what good his lips could do, and how they’d look dripping all wet.

This is fucking terrible. You haven’t came in god knows how long, and the one time you do after forever, it’s because of the man you’ve sworn to hate until the day you die. Usually this is something you’d rant to your best friend about, but after what happened the last time you told him about your sexual frustrations, you decide you’re going to keep this one to yourself. If Donghyuck ever heard you came to the thought of him eating you out, he’d literally never in a million years ever let you live it down.

Today’s a new day, but you haven’t been able to shake off the shame, particularly because tonight’s Renjun’s party, and being one of his best friend’s, Donghyuck will undoubtedly be there. He’s posted it on his story and everything, not that you were checking. You overheard Yangyang talking about it. But either way, you don’t know if you’ll be able look him in the eye again.

“It’s a good thing you’re going out again,” Yangyang assures, walking next to you as you two stroll into the party, “maybe you’ll meet someone else to help you get out of your dry spell.”

He’s right. This is your chance to get laid, get over whatever that was with Donghyuck, and move on. You’re like, ninety-nine point nine percent convinced you’re only attracted to him out of sheer desperation. The measly zero point one percent comes from you being aware that you’ve thought he was attractive long before yesterday happened, but whatever. Forget it.

So you nod in agreement. Soon enough, you’ve settled with the party atmosphere. You’ve had a drink but you’re not drunk, and you’ve tried socializing but everyone seems so not your style, which is insane, because Donghyuck isn’t your style either. You don’t think. No, he’s not.

This is worse than you initially suspected. You can’t find anyone, and Donghyuck’s still running through your mind, being a complete and utter distraction and he’s not even here—

Speaking of the devil himself, “Hey.”

You spoke too soon.

“Ohmygod, if you’re here to try and seduce me again, I’m not interested,” you groan, hoping he gets the message and leaves you the fuck alone. At the same time you really don’t, but you definitely think you should.

Donghyuck raises his hands, “But I’m egotistical. I just came here to invite you to a game of truth of dare with the gang, lighten up a lil, won’t ya?”

You sigh. “Where?”

He leads you to the room where everyone is, and you make sure to scoot next to Ningning and Jennie, refusing to sit anywhere besides Donghyuck. All you hope now is that the bottle doesn’t land on you after him.

A couple of rounds fly by, and you’re still safe. You’re having fun, and the thought of him escapes your mind with ease. Even when the bottle does land on you, he doesn’t dare you to do anything crazy that you thought he would.

After Yangyang’s turn, the bottle lands on you. You’re not worried, because Yangyang’s your best friend, he wouldn’t dare you to do anything stupid.

Then he does exactly that.

“Seven minutes in heaven with Donghyuck!”

You’re going to kill him. You’re mentally plotting his murder right now. How you’re going to do it, when, and where you’ll hide his body. If he suspiciously winds up missing, you’re more than likely the reason why.

“Pucker up, buttercup,” Yangyang blows you a kiss.

You spit back, “Shut up, bubble guts.”

You hear him gasp in offense, but whatever he says is cut off by Donghyuck.

“Come on, babes. I can hear your lips calling my name,” he teases, and you groan, clutching your fist. You guess there’s no way out of this. Well, technically there is, but Renjun let Yangyang choose the punishment and he decided to make anyone who refused to do a dare eat a spoonful of sour cream. Mind you, sour cream by itself is disgusting, and this is probably why he and his stomach are frequently at war, so your safest option is getting in that room with Donghyuck for seven minutes. You don’t even have to kiss, you can just let everyone think you did.

So you follow him into the bathroom connected to Renjun’s room, and the second the door shuts, he has you backed into yet another wall. He grins, “Change your mind yet?”

You stand your ground. “No.”

“That’s fine, we can make out in the meantime and then see how you feel after seven minutes.” he replies nonchalantly.

Even though you’ve been thinking about it, you grimace. “Gross.”

“What? It’s not my dick, why do you act like you hate me anyways? Not that I’m really complaining, I like when things are hard.”

“Bet you do,” you grumble. “And if I’m acting, then I must be Viola Davis.”

“Eh, I’d give you Keanu Reeves.”

You glare. “On second thought, I’m almost willing to kiss you if it means you’ll keep quiet.”

“Well you’re in luck,” Donghyuck grins, “because that and giving head are the only ways to silence me.”

You cave in soon later, letting him pin you to the wall, your hands above your head as he kisses you hungrily. It kills you to learn that he’s a great kisser, because that means he’s actually good at something other than running his mouth and being the bane of your existence twenty-four seven. Though you don’t know how that’s possible, he’s gentle yet rough. Caring in his movement, though passionate in them too. The way he’s kissing you, you’d think he loved you.

In spite of your obvious attempts to try and touch him, to maybe run your fingers through his hair or hold his cheeks in your hands, Donghyuck doesn’t let you move. You can feel the teasing grin bloom from his lips, and conclude that it’s intentional.

Never in a million years did you think you’d be french kissing Lee Donghyuck of all people, yet here you are. You can’t say you don’t like it, though. That would be lying. While you’d never admit anything like it, the roughness in the way he kisses you has you throbbing.

Donghyuck’s lips are like a drug. You stop for a moment to inhale, and then you’re lips are latched back onto each other. Exhale again, then you take another drag, and the cycle repeats. You could do this for fucking ever.

Then, the timer chimes.

“Time’s up!” Chenle yells from outside the bathroom, and Donghyuck pulls always almost instantly, surprisingly readier than you are.

He looks hot as he pants, chest rising and falling then rising again. He smirks, “Change your mind?”

God fucking damn it. Time went by a little too fast for your liking. Your lips are swollen, but you want more of him, to feel him, to touch him, especially because he didn’t let you. You’re finally admitting to yourself that you want him, and you can’t ignore your cravings anymore.

“Donghyuck,” you whimper, not caring in this moment who hears you, “w-want you.”

He smirks. “I know, baby. You wanna prove to me how much?”

You nod. It’s pathetic, truly, but you need this at this point. So you let Donghyuck lead you out of the bathroom, and essentially the bedroom, ignoring the curious sounds coming from your friends. He leads you down the hall into a different, emptier room, closing and locking the door behind the two of you.

“On the bed,” he instructs.

You comply, the desperation that accompanies having not slept with someone in months and orgasming in weeks making you leap into action in an instant. Then there’s this raw part of you that has lusted after him before you fully came to terms with your desire, making you feel the way blood courses through your veins.

Donghyuck walks up and kisses you again, this time allowing both of your pairs of hands to roam freely as you strip one another almost bare. In an eager motion, you peel away his shirt and jeans, and he matches your yearn, leaving you naked. He pulls away from your lips to eye your body in awe.

“You’re a bitch,” he says, “but a beautiful one.”

“Really turned me on,” you deadpan.

He laughs yet pushes your back flat against the mattress, wasting no time in hovering above your body. The proximity has your heart racing a little quicker, a little faster than it was out of something like anticipation. Donghyuck dips his head but doesn’t kiss you like you anticipate him to, at least not on the lips. His lips scout your neck, soft and sweet against your flesh. He sucks at your skin, and your mouth gapes a little, sounding the most sweet gasp before he digs his teeth in suit. It makes you whimper aloud his name, which he clearly enjoys from the way he smiles.

Donghyuck repeats a course of similar actions as he mouth scoots lower, kissing and sucking and biting at your collarbone. Then he proceeds after some time, traveling lower and taking your breast into his mouth or his tongue swirling over your nipples. He trails kisses at your sternum, your stomach, all the while your breath getting caught up in your throat the more his mouth falls down your body. He’s so obviously teasing you, you know that much. He has a destination yet no rush to get there, taking his sweet, precious time as though he’s rich of it. And maybe he is, but your patience is running thin, and there’s only so much more of this you can take. “Hyuck,” you cry out of sheer desperation, “hurry up.”

“For someone who claimed not to want me up until ten minutes again, you really are desperate for me,” Donghyuck replies, drawing his mouth away, and hence all contact there was.

Refusing to simply take that, you retaliate, “For someone who claimed they could make me feel good, you’re doing a whole lot of nothing right now.”

“Keep running that sharp mouth and I’ll have to put it to better use,” Donghyuck answers. It isn’t like you’re against giving head, and it wouldn’t sound so bad if you weren’t so painfully deprived of the same satisfaction Donghyuck’s offered to give you. Sure, the speed—or lack of the—heightens the anticipation, but you need him to quit teasing or you’ll actually go insane.

“You keep acting like you hate me,” Donghyuck moves between your legs, and you aren’t prepared for what he does next. Something about the way he slowly smooths his single finger through your folds and draws it into his mouth for a taste is hot to you, thus making you wish he’d finally get on with it. “But your cunt is telling me that you love me. Love this.”

Well it isn’t like he’s wrong. You haven’t been this wet in ages, the dry spell you’ve been under being extreme and severe. Touching yourself has gone absolutely no where up until last night, when you somehow managed to cum harder than you have in a minute. You’re starting to think that having Donghyuck as your muse changes things.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh. You’d love this more if he stopped making you wait, but you don’t say that aloud, starting to suspect that the more you complain the longer he silently decides he’s going to test your patience. After what feels like an eternity of touching you everywhere but where you desperately need him to most, Donghyuck’s tongue draws a line between your thighs. Then another, and another. It progresses into more with no particular rush, despite the inevitable whines you can’t prevent from falling out. “Hyuck,” you cry again, wishing he’d stop playing games.

Donghyuck teases, “What’s the magic word?”

“Please,” you beg, “Please, please. I-I want, fuck no, I need this. Please, fuck—”

Your pleas are cut short the moment Donghyuck gives in, lapping at you with an unquenchable thirst and insatiable hunger. It’s so sudden that it gives you whiplash, and he has to grip your thighs to keep them spread a safe distance apart. He’s unstopping once he begins, tongue maneuvering as it pleases, roaming around freely though expertly. Had you known Donghyuck was as much bite as he was bark, you may have gave in to this much sooner than you did. Not only is he making you feel good, but he’s making you feel great. If you could taste heaven, it would be this.

Some moments pass, and the humiliating part is that it isn’t a lot of moments. Your thighs are trembling more with every lick, resulting in Donghyuck’s grip around your thighs to tighten out of consideration that you might successfully slip out of his grasp. You stomach turns, flips, and you’re vision is being clouded white, so close to an orgasm that it hurts. Donghyuck senses it, you know that he can, you can feel the arrogant smirk spreading across his lips once more. Just as you’re getting so close, as your orgasm is right there in arms reach, being dangled in front of you by a string, he snatches it away.

There’s yet another whine from you, but he answers your question before you even get the chance to ask, “Want you to cum when I fuck you, baby.”

Donghyuck removed his boxers, leaving them on the ground to be cared about later. His erection springs flat against his stomach in a way that makes you so suddenly inhale a breath, and you clench around absolutely nothing at all. You’re gawking at him as though you want to eat hm, and in a sense you do, but you can’t be blamed. It looks better than you could’ve ever imagined, decent length, decent girth. The real brag-worthy factor, however, is if he knows what to do with what god has blessed him with.

His dick nudges your slit. “Ready?”

Without wasting an eighth of second you give him the go-ahead, nodding your head at instance so fast it almost hurts your neck. He reacts equally as fast, prodding his dick between your folds and eventually your walls. It stretches you out perfectly, and the moment he’s in you Donghyuck’s moaning about how tight and wet you are. He takes a moment for himself before he starts to move, gliding in and out of you in an effortless motion.

So far, Donghyuck has lived up perfectly to your imagination and expectations, much better, even. You never would’ve thought he’d actually have the right to brag about how good he is in bed, but you see it now. He’s a god even, not that you’d ever tell him that to his face.

“So pretty, wish I could have gotten to you sooner. Always telling me that you hate me yet letting me fuck you like this. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve always wanted this,” Donghyuck says into your ear, and pecks your neck. “Are you always this needy? So desperate that you’ll let even me fuck you?”

“G-god, yes,” you don’t care about overpriding him anymore, just saying things because you aren’t in the right mind to care about anything other than his dick right now.

“Yeah?” He smirks. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

You’re almost too fucked out to speak, just moaning and whimpering in a way you never thought you would for him, “Feels good, so… so good. Love it.”

If you were in the right mind to have shame, you’d be embarrassed by the way your number-one enemy is making you moan, and not just because of the volume, but because it’s his name your moaning so pathetically. Choruses of “Hyuck” sounding from you in plethoras, calling his name with no actual reason. You’re breathing in little shallow, quick breaths, too, mouth agape as your whimpers tumble into the air. It helps that Donghyuck’s also surprisingly vocal, calling your name back. To say the least, the way he moans your name is hot and gets you off a little more, in spite of you not needing the help. He has it all on his own, fucking into you deep and hard.

Donghyuck gropes your body too, heightening your pleasure by fumbling with your breasts or rubbing your clit with one of his free hands. He doesn’t focus on one particular part of you, showering your figure with pleasure and attention that makes the sex a billion times better.

“Can I choke you?” He asks, and the question catches you a little off-guard, but once you shake off the surprise, you give him permission.

Donghyuck’s hands slither around your neck, and he presses into your jaw with just enough force to make you look at him, and silently communicate that he wants you to keep your eyes him and his actions. His fingers press onto the sides of your throat, and you’re not sure what is a bigger turn on, the fact that he knows how to properly do it or the action itself. You think it’s a bit of both, you enjoy the thrill as you look defeated by your inability breathing, and the dark look in his eyes tells you that he enjoys it too, staring straight into your soul, watching you fail to take a breath.

He doesn’t loosen his grip on your throat as he commands, “Open your mouth.”

You aren’t in the mind to question anything, simply following instructions. His mouth hovers above yours, lips parting to spit in your mouth. The action takes you by surprise yet again, but you swallow almost instinctively, never looking away from him as you do.

He backs away once satisfied, smiling. “So good for me, baby.”

That makes you clench around him, which also brings Donghyuck the satisfaction of a moan or two. He loves the way you clench around him when he says things to you, a telltale sign that you’re enjoying this more than he knows you’d probably like to admit. This whole thing between you and him, him and you is that you’re too stubborn to admit your desire. It prides him that he finally managed to make you confess it, to admit that you’re no different from anybody else. That he can still get under your skin, and does a fairly good job at that. Not only does it make him feel good about himself, but it makes him feel good right now. Your reactions, all your moans and your fucked out face, the whimpering and the begging, it all gets him off more.

That knot in your stomach is forming again, and he has you clenching around him regularly soon afterwards, and he can tell that this time, it’s not because of his words. It’s because you’re about to orgasm. “I’m close,” you announce, once again feeling all the flips and turns twisting about in your gut. It’s a good thing Donghyuck’s close too, being obvious from the way his thrusts aren’t as smooth as they initially were.

“Me, too. C’mon baby, give it to me,” he urges you on, and you let him drive you to the edge.

He makes you see white again, vision fogging the color and your voice a high-pitched moan of his name as you climax, grinding your hips into his as you intend to ride out your orgasm. In some high, trance-like state, you’re not sure when he cums, but you know that it wasn’t that much longer after you did, and then he slid out, flopping beside you on the mattress. You lie there in near-silence that consists of nothing but heavy breathing, wondering to yourself if this actually happened. You don’t regret it, not now anyways, and it was definitely a satisfying way to break your dry spell, but now you’re starting to question if it was a bad decision. He hasn’t even asked if—

“Are you okay?” Donghyuck asks, seemingly needing a moment to catch his breath before he could gather words.

His words cut through your thoughts, leaving you to accept that maybe he’s not that much of an asshole. It’s the bare minimum, so he’s still an asshole, but not that much of an asshole. “Yeah,” you nod. “I’m good.”

“Good,” he grins. “So, you wanna ditch this party and go get some Chinese food? I’m starving.”

“You want to go get food with me?” you say, sounding wholly and utterly surprised and unconvinced. This man spends every other day of his life bothering you, and now he wants to pick up some food with you?

“I mean, if you don’t want free Chinese food that I’m paying for with my money, then fine, suit yourself, I’ll just get it by my—”

“No!” You interject, sitting up immediately as you scan the room for your clothes. “I’m down. Kinda hungry, too.”

“Good,” Donghyuck says. “Chop, chop. We don’t have all night, they close in like less than an hour from now.”

Standing out of bed to put your clothes on, you consider to yourself that maybe you’ve assumed a lot about him without getting to know him. He’s definitely got an ego on him, that a blind man can tell, but he’s not really an asshole.

“Yo, I just realized something.”

“What?”

Donghyuck smiles bashfully, “I don’t have my wallet on me.”

Nevermind. He’s one-hundred percent definitely an asshole.

#lee haechan smut #haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct

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azrielbrainrot · 3 months

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You

Azriel x Reader

Description: Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst, Mourning, mention of suicide

Word Count: 3652

Notes: I don't even know where this came from. I was listening to sweet music by hozier and thought "what if I gave Azriel more trauma". The idea popped into my head and it basically wrote itself. I can't believe I have to say this but with this fandom I'm not risking it: this wasn't written to hate on Elain (or any other character) or incite anyone else to do so. Keep your stupid fights off my post, please and thank you. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2

Another family dinner at the river house meant another night of watching everyone around him happy and in love. Azriel didn't think of himself as egotistical, would never think the love his brothers are experiencing is undeserved either, but it reminds him of a time where he was the only one in the Inner Circle with a partner, of when his brothers were the ones confessing to him how jealous they were of how he had found someone that loved him so much, of a time he never thought would have an end. It reminds him of you.

He looks himself in the mirror as he buttons up the navy shirt, trying to ignore the vacant room behind him. If you were here with him you would have been making jokes about his insistence on keeping the blue theme going in his clothes even though he swears he doesn't think too much about what to wear or his appearance in general.

On a good day, you'd be helping him with the small buttons right now, with shadows swirling around your legs and looking up at him the way you knew would take his breath away every time. On an even better day, he'd have your back pressed against his chest, his fingers inside your familiar heat, the other hand wrapped around your throat so you could watch him play with your body, panting his name and clawing at his arm, pleading with him to keep going, to let you touch him. He'd be late for an entirely different reason, not for getting held up talking to his spies, and then getting lost in his memories.

Sensing his thoughts, his meddling shadows move to his desk, filtering into the drawer they knew held a small velvet box. The dark wisps carefully picked it up and set it on top of the dark wood. Leaving it there and moving back to their original places around the darkened room, letting him decide for himself if he wanted to open it or not.

It had been a while since the last time he touched it, busy as he was these days. There were times he would sit and look at it every day, sometimes without even daring to open it and look inside. But there were also times where even the sight of the navy velvet would suddenly suffocate him with the reminder of your sweet scent, one he would never be able to smell again. It would make him hide the box at the back of his drawer, the back of his mind.

Over the last few years, his reactions to it had gotten milder, an unwilling acceptance of the fact that he would never see you again allowed him to reminisce on the happy memories you had together, even the sad ones, every little fight you had seemed so inconsequential now, he'd give anything to be able to have any moment with you back, to hear you say his name one more time.

He walks to the desk, only hesitating for a beat before grabbing and opening the box. His heart throbs as he stares at the ring sitting inside, thumbing at the empty space left behind by it on his finger instinctively. He had never liked rings, didn't like anything that brought attention to his hands or rubbed against the rough skin but the moment you slid the silver ring into his finger it felt right, he had never wanted to take it off. Azriel would wear a ring on each finger if it showed the world he was yours.

He wore the ring for an entire decade after you died, even after all hope that you could still be alive had left him, he couldn't bring himself to let go of it, to let go of you. His mother had been the one to tell him he needed to stop wearing it, that holding onto it, onto the past would only bring him more heartache. He could still hear her begging him with tears in her eyes, not bearing to see her son in such a state, but he had only actually taken it off when Rhys was taken by Amarantha.

He had thrown the ring into the Sidra that night. He's not sure if it had been anger, frustration or simply hopelessness that drove him to it in that moment. He was tired of not being able to protect anyone, tired of losing his people, the people he never thought he would even find when he was just a boy sitting in a dark humid cell. It must have been that boy's pain, still inside him, that drove him to act like that. If it hadn't been for his shadows immediately flying after it he would have lost it, wouldn't have this reminder of a happy time sitting in front of him right now, it had helped him ground himself more than once during the years following that night. His shadows had saved him from himself once again.

He closes the box gently, rubbing at the smooth texture of the velvet, trying not to let himself get lost in your memory and the bitterness that followed at the injustice of it all. Your marriage had only lasted a little over a decade, he's had to live with your ghost for much longer than that now. Still, he knows he won't forget that time no matter how many more years he lives, and, even if it's another five centuries, he knows he'll still wish he had had the chance to spend them all with you.

Some of the pain has dulled, most days at least, but the guilt still eats at him. He should have known something was going to happen, should have reached you sooner, should have told someone to go with you, should have gone himself, should have been the one to die in your place. The millions of possibilities will likely invade his brain until his last breath, after which he'll finally be able to see you again. That was another thought that had consumed him far too often in the beginning. If it wasn't for his mother, his brothers and Mor, if it weren't for the pain it would cause them, he would have taken Truth Teller to his neck just for the chance to see you one more time.

Azriel? His wings go rigid and he tightens his hold on the box at the sudden intrusion. He tries to push his thoughts as far back into his mind as he can before lowering his mental shields, almost letting out a sigh of relief at finding them in place, hoping his brother couldn't get a glimpse of his thoughts. He hands the box to his shadows so they can safely place it back inside his drawer. Are you still coming, brother?

Yes. He moves back to the mirror and finishes buttoning his shirt while trying to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible. However, the hesitation on the other side tells him Rhys sensed exactly what was holding him up in his room, he knows him better than anyone after all.

Hurry then. We're all waiting for you. Azriel closes his walls as soon as he feels his brother's absence in his mind. He knows they miss you too. They had welcomed you with open arms and considered you part of the family after their marriage. Everyone in the Inner Circle took a big hit when you went missing. He will never forget Cassian's face when he arrived to see Azriel kneeling down in a pool of your blood, with no body to be found. His brother wore his heart on his sleeve and it had shattered that night. There were countless sleepless nights for everyone following that moment.

They all threw themselves at finding you in any way they could. There was enough blood on the floor to tell them you had died but none of them wanted to believe it. Azriel talked to every single one of his spies multiple times, ordering them to track every movement in their respective areas. Rhys sent letters to every ally he had and then joined Cassian and Mor in searching every corner of Prythian personally. Even Amren, ever the logical emotionless one, searched for you with every means she could, contacting friends the spymaster didn't even know existed. But, one by one, they all had to accept the truth, Azriel ending up being the most hesitant to.

He had long since killed the attackers, putting them through as much pain as possible for as long as he could keep them alive, making them regret ever touching you. But that didn't help with the gaping hole in his chest, nothing helped. They didn't know how to find your body either. Rhys looked through every corner of their minds and only found them leaving you behind, bleeding on the cold ground.

Rhys refused to show him the memory, no matter how much he begged him to let him see you one more time. Now he knows his brother was just trying to protect him, not wanting that to be Azriel's last memory of you, with the amount of blood left behind he knew you couldn't have been in good shape, but at the time he lashed out at his brother like he had never done before, probably would have killed him in blind rage if it hadn't been for Cassian trying to hold him back and if Rhys wasn't Rhys. Thinking back he should have thanked him instead, for holding onto such a painful memory and keeping it to himself so no one else had to suffer from it.

Even if he couldn't see you again, he still wishes that he had your body to bury at least. Azriel doesn't know how the Mother could be so cruel as to not only let you die so soon, so painfully without at least letting him find your body so he could put you to rest next to your parents' graves. It would also give him a place to talk to you, to feel as close to you as possible.

The pain almost came back in full when Rhysand first told him about Feyre. Jealousy had reared its ugly head at the fondness in his brother's gaze, the slight tint to his cheeks at just saying her name. He was happy for Rhys, especially after everything he'd been through, but that happiness couldn't hold a candle to the pain he felt. He remembers the night he confided in his brothers about the lovely female he had met, how she had told him she loved him, it had been much like that one.

To make matters worse, the first thing he remembered when Rhys told him about his mate was a stupid bet the two of you had made - you had been adamant that Cassian, as sweet as he is, would be the next to get married, Azriel had voted for Rhys, one of his many conquests were bound to work out one day. He won and yet he didn't feel victorious at all. He couldn't even tell you of your loss, see how pouty you get when it happens, ever the sore loser. Didn't even remember the prize but there was no way for you to give it to him now either way. What hurt the most was that he couldn't even tell you his brother had found his mate. These were the best news in over a century and he just wanted to share them with you, wanted to share everything with you.

He takes another look at the mirror with a small sigh, straightening his wings and making sure his face doesn't give anything away before calling to his shadows. He feels them wrap around him slowly, giving him some comfort before taking him directly to the river house.

“Almost thought you weren't coming.” He was still half covered in shadows when he heard Cassian's voice. Everyone was standing around talking to each other, waiting on him. The guilt was tugging at his heart strings again. Why would he ever feel like he needed more than a family that loved him? Who was he to think this wasn't enough for him? It was something he could only dream of when he was younger.

“He's here now. That's all that matters,” the smile Feyre gave him was warmer than usual and her hand lingered on his shoulder for a second too long. Azriel looks over to Rhys, finding him already looking at him, studying his face. He had told his mate of whatever he sensed in his mind then. He hoped neither of them brought it up at least, now or later. What good would admit he misses his dead wife do? No one can bring you back to him.

“Finally. I'm starving.” Cassian clapped his shoulder as he passed by him on the way to the already set table, sitting down immediately. Everyone followed in his footsteps, greeting Azriel and finding their seats. Seems he really had kept them waiting.

Conversation picked back up naturally and he let himself fall into the usual rhythm of these dinners, letting his body relax around his family, forgetting about his old life for the moment. He walked over to the already set table and took his seat next to Elain, as it usually was these days. The seating arrangements had moved around a bit over the last years to accommodate not only the new additions to their little circle but also the relationships in them. He used to always sit next to Cassian but now had given the seat up to his beautiful mate. It left him next to Elain most times since they were the only single fae at the table.

Elain gave him a soft smile as he sat down and he nodded at her with a smile of his own. They had been getting closer ever since she was turned to fae and started living in Velaris. Her quiet nature quickly drew him to her, feeling at ease almost immediately with the middle Archeron sister. But he had to have been blind not to see the way she looked at him, not to notice the enamored smile she gave him.

Sometimes he let himself wonder if things could work between them. She had a mate but it was clearer with each passing day that she didn't feel anything for the male tied to her. It was also obvious how well Azriel and Elain got along, fitting into each other's lives almost seamlessly. He didn't love her but couldn't say seeing himself fall for the lovely female was such a far-fetched idea. She was a beautiful and kind fae, loving her would probably be as easy as breathing.

When everyone had been made aware of the mating bonds, he had even considered if the Mother had made a mistake. His two brothers had ended up with two of the sisters after all. Now he can see he was just desperate for a bond like theirs. In truth, he wouldn't even know what he would have done if Elain had truly been his mate. Would he finally put you behind him? Would he have thrown the ring away again, for good this time? He knows he couldn't bring himself to even with the power of a mating bond. You were etched deep into his skin just like the bargain marks inked into his shoulders.

As the dinner moved on and they made their way to the sofas in the sitting room, his family was already more than lively. Mor had busted out one of Rhysand's old wine bottles, setting the mood for the rest of the night. Azriel had completely relaxed by then, letting himself enjoy their company, his shadows retreating almost completely around the room. Finally having some reprieve from the particularly insistent thoughts that were plaguing his mind today.

Cassian was telling a story he had heard a thousand times now but he still laughed along with everyone else. Listening to Cass tell the story so many times wouldn't make the fact that he had flown straight into a river any less funny. Azriel even remembered the following part, the one Cass doesn't include in the story which was after they pulled him out and he had gotten sick for a week, making him miss practice and lose every spar with him and Rhys for the next months.

Even old stories had a new life with new people around, it was the first time the sisters heard this one, judging by the slight tint to Nesta's cheeks as she laughed at her mate and how hard Feyre was clutching at Rhys' arm to ground herself. Even Elain was laughing hard enough that her body was shaking. Her laugh was soft and melodic, a lovely sound really, but it suddenly opened a familiar pit in his stomach. It reminded him of you. She wasn't quite as loud and her eyes didn't immediately water like yours but the way she raised her hand to her face was similar. And just like that the illusion of happiness he had created shattered.

She was nothing like you but he still found you in every thing she did, in everything anyone did. He couldn't go to half of the city's bakeries and shops without thinking of you and every moment you spent there. He had even changed rooms in every one of Rhysand's houses, not bearing to sleep in the same bed you had held him in. Everyone in the Inner Circle had learned to avoid certain topics, certain stories in fear they would remind him of you. Even your name was rarely mentioned unless he did so first or strictly necessary. Every thought of getting over you was nothing more than wishful thinking. It was like his entire soul was begging him to go to you, but you weren't anywhere in this world.

This had to be one of the worst parts of his routine lately, having to take extra care to school his features when spending time with his brothers and their mates. If his face showed any sign of how much he missed you, how much he wished he could hug you to him just like they can do with them, they would immediately look at him with pain in their eyes, pain for what he lost and will never get back.

It had taken too long to get used to how differently they treated him after what happened. He had to start a fight to get them to stop treating him like he could break at any second when it was the truth. They knew it as well as he did, but they also knew that they had to let Azriel mourn in his own way, that there was nothing they could do besides stay by his side.

You weren't mates - maybe the pain he feels would never compare to what his brothers would go through if their mates ever met the same fate as you - but that had never mattered to him. His soul sang for you the same way he sang for his shadows, you were written into his very being just like they were. And, most importantly, there wasn't a single fiber in his body that wanted to live without you.

Even a mate could never erase you from his memory, even if you had been alive. He doubts if a mating bond had snapped between you two at the time, you would have gotten any deeper into him than you already were. He can't imagine loving you, wanting you more than he already did was possible.

He felt his shadows move to him, almost sending them away thinking they were coming to comfort him again, hiding him from the world as usual. Their urgency gave them away, and by the way Rhysand's body tensed across from him he also had noticed something amiss.

“What happened?” The High Lord's voice cut through the atmosphere immediately, everyone looked to him for an explanation and got ready for any possibility. His entire body stood still when his shadows told him they felt someone winnowing into the townhouse.

“Someone's in the townhouse,” he stood up as he spoke, sending some of his shadows out to find out as much as they could and the rest around Velaris to check if there were any other disturbances.

“Who could get past the wards?” He felt a shield around them, Rhys had likely set it up around his house. Cassian's siphons were flickering red as they all prepared for what could come next. Velaris was more than well protected, especially after the attacks before the war, but the High Lord's homes were nearly impossible to get into uninvited, Azriel himself had helped make sure of it.

“I don't know,” he held onto Truth Teller as he waited for his shadows or his High Lord and Lady to find something. His shadows were being strangely lax about the whole situation, maybe this was someone who knew of a way to go around his gift, keep them distracted.

It took longer than usual to receive a response from them, making him and everyone around him more concerned by the second. By now everyone was donning a sword or weapon of some sort, only waiting on more information before splitting up to keep Velaris safe and find the intruders.

When his shadows finally appeared they wasted no time rushing to his ear, at last sensing his urgency in the matter. Their answer was one nothing could have prepared him for, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

His shadows came back carrying a once familiar tune. They came back singing your name.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fic #divider by saradika

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dustofthedailylife · 9 months

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It Must Be Love

-> Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Blade, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, Gepard, Welt x (gn!) Reader

Summary: When they realized they had feelings for you...

Tags: Fluff, SFW, mention of injuries (Blade), just them realizing they're completely smitten

A/N: My last fic before my Japan vacation! I got a lot more in my WIP stash that I'll get to after. Excited to get to that when I'm back, or maybe I can finish one or the other fic in the evening on my vacation when I'm in bed. We'll see. Stay amazing until then! <3

BLADE

When you joined the Stellaron Hunters he shot down your every attempt of trying to get to know him and stayed clear of you. He was curt and only ever spoke with you if it was necessary. In his opinion, there was no need for you two to be acquainted. And it would be for your own good anyway.

It wasn’t until you came back gravely injured from a mission and were passed out for days, that he wouldn’t leave your side.

He sat on the armchair in your room most of the time, and was either sleeping or meditating with his eyes closed. He occasionally switched your bandages and cleaned your wounds while insisting he’d be the only one to do it. After all, he involuntarily had quite the expertise with injuries himself.

And when the day you began to stir awake again finally came, and he heard the quiet plea for water come over your parched lips, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

He told himself over and over again that he didn’t care about anyone and wouldn’t dare to allow himself to care anymore. In fact, he may have even thought he wasn’t capable of it anymore. But feelings are often beyond one's control or rational explanation. And deep down he had always known that he cared deeply about you.

He had only steered clear of you because it had been evident to him, that if he allowed himself to care, there would be no going back. Alas, it now was too late for that as well. Yet it did not matter any longer. All he cared about was that you were still alive.

“Never get hurt like this again.” He scolded with a voice seemingly devoid of any emotion, as he lifted a bottle of water to your lips so you could drink.

But despite the underlying sharp tone in his voice, there was sincere concern in his eyes only a few people ever got to see. And he knew he was no longer able to hide it.

DAN HENG

Himeko brought you along one day and introduced you to the Astral Express Crew as their newest member, a bundle of energy much like March. And everyone seems ecstatic to welcome you aboard. Everyone but Dan Heng. He curtly introduced himself without shaking your outstretched hand, before vanishing back to his room again without another word.

It would be a lie if he said he didn’t find you attractive, but Alas, he couldn’t allow himself to get closer. One more person on the Express only meant there were more people he had to keep secrets from. Besides, you seemed just as lively and energetic as March was, and if he was sure of one thing it’s that one March was already enough. So that was even more reason to steer clear of you for his own peace of mind.

So in turn he tried keeping you at an arm's length. The only problem however was, that you apparently weren’t deterred by his cold demeanor and practically threw yourself at him at every chance you got.

You would often knock on his door to bring him some freshly brewed tea, rummage through the archive or call him quirky nicknames you came up with. He could only roll his eyes at them, but secretly he began to like them and caught himself smiling whenever he thought of them.

At first, he managed to remain distanced and only spoke to you when it was strictly necessary, but he soon began to warm up more and more. Until he would eventually find himself beginning to crave your presence every day.

And it was when he found himself looking at the empty chair you used to sit on almost every evening now, that he became aware of his feelings for you. The naggings and nicknames that used to bother him, now made his heart beat quicker and a tingly feeling made itself known in his stomach.

The simple image of your smile made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. The sound of your voice always managed to soothe his nerves. And your absence made him feel incomplete.

It was then he had to admit to himself that there was no longer any point in denying it. He had inevitably fallen for you.

JING YUAN

When there was more administrative work to do on the Luofu due to the recent happenings, Qingzu, who was assisting Jing Yuan with the additional workload, proposed to hire someone else to help as well. To be precise, help with caring for the general’s lion, since it was usually Qingzu’s task. But since she was preoccupied with other matters right now, there was a distinct lack of time.

And that’s when you were hired.

You were tasked to care for Mimi in Qingzu’s stead from hereon out and seemed to immediately get along with the animal quite well, too. It certainly put Jing Yuan’s mind at ease to know that his lion was adequately cared for.

One day, when Jing Yuan returned earlier than usual from his duties he found you peacefully asleep on the sofa, your head comfortably nestled in the fur of the equally asleep lion. But he didn’t dare to disturb your slumber and returned to his desk with a smile on his face since he too felt the weight of sleep oftentimes throughout the day.

Once you awoke you practically jumped up when you saw him sitting at his desk already, ushering a shy “Oh, General. I didn’t expect you to be back home at such a time already. Forgive me.”

He just let out a soft chuckle in reply, assuring you that there was no need to worry and that it actually put his mind at ease that you got along so well with Mimi.

After this, he made a conscious effort to come back home earlier more often. And every time, without fail, he would find you sleeping together with his lion in the afternoon sun. Your peaceful expression and the quiet purr of his lion truly was a sight for sore eyes

And if his lion loved you, what was he supposed to feel if not the same?

GEPARD

Gepard saw you for the first time when he stopped by his sister's workshop. He caught a quick glimpse of you before you vanished into the side room of the workshop again.

Of course, his sister immediately caught him staring. Because he stood there stunned and only stared holes into the door you vanished through.

If Serval was good at one thing, it was reading Gepard like a book. And she only needed one look at his face to know exactly what he was thinking. Of course, she took the opportunity to tease him about it with a big grin across her face, much to the embarrassment of Gepard who only cleared his throat and diverted the topic, unable to hide the red blooming across his cheeks.

He soon found out that you were a singer and songwriter and that you and Serval sometimes performed together in a local club. And he found himself venturing there on his off days to watch your show.

Serval introduced you to him and eventually, you began to become closer. Asking him if he would come to your next gig as well. And of course, he did. In fact, he did so often that he had all your songs memorized down to a T now and often found himself humming them absentmindedly throughout the day.

And suddenly, as one of his subordinates asked him which song he keeps humming all the time now, he became aware of the feelings he harbored for you.

The warm, prickly feeling within his chest. The way his heartbeat quickened, or the corners of his mouth turned upwards involuntarily whenever he saw you, talked to you, or thought of you.

It was undeniable. He had fallen in love in love with you.

WELT

Welt and you were just colleagues. At least that's what he was trying to convince himself of at first.

Research and worries about your mission often woke you up at night recently, so you often got up to brew a fresh pot of coffee. And Welt found you sitting in an armchair in the parlor car one night when he, too, got up in the middle of the night because his thoughts had kept him awake.

You offered him a cup of coffee as well before you sat back down. Each just sipped their coffee in silence. You gazed at the stars outside of the window of the Express while he tried to read some book to keep his mind off the thoughts that had kept him awake.

Yet, he found himself unable to concentrate on it and instead stole glances at you while rattling his brain about what he could talk about with you.

Eventually, you were the first one to break the silence. Initiating a conversation about the vastness of the universe and the thing that are yet beyond any human comprehension. Asking questions no man knew an answer to yet. And he was more than happy to indulge in the conversation.

You ended up talking until the morning hours that night without the conversation ever dying down. He enjoyed the talk you had so much, he found himself thinking about it for weeks after.

Long deep talks over a fresh pot of coffee in the middle of the night should soon become a habit for both of you.

And he came to crave them so much that he even started setting an alarm at night and went to check if you were there again as well. And most of the time you were.

One night, when he looked at you and saw the light of the stars reflect in your eyes once again, he too had to admit he was looking straight at a star himself.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about HSR or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #blade x reader #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #gepard x reader #welt x reader #hsr fluff #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #hsr drabbles #hsr imagines #🍁 dust writes #🍁彡 hsr

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feyascorner · 3 months

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Astarion hates his scars.

Cazador is long dead, he knows this. That cruel excuse for a man can no longer haunt him as he's done the past two centuries...but of course, he couldn't have gone away without leaving this hideous mark on Astarion's back, of which he can't even see himself.

Even if he can't see it, he feels it. He can still feel the knife dragging down his skin, carving it into the runes that it is today. He knows it's large enough to obscure the entirety of his back, and he hates it---he hates that even in death, Cazador has so much presence in his life.

"These blasted scars."

You blink as you pause, cleaning his back with a towel. The tub water is still hot enough to let off steam, and while you remain clothed, it sticks to your skin with how humid it is inside the bathroom. You yank the ends of your sleep up further to compensate, but he doesn't budge, continuing to stare at the soap bubbles atop the water.

"The runes?" you ask.

"What else?" he grumbles. "They ruin the way my back looks, does it not? Even with that bastard dead he finds ways to hinder my life."

You stare at the very scars he's speaking of, with a sort of softness that he found too good for him just a few months ago. You lift your hand again, and when he feels your fingertips tracing what he assumes to be the path of the wounds, he almost shudders.

"You pull it off," you smile.

"As much as I enjoy flattery, I don't enjoy lying either, my love."

"I mean it," you begin to massage into his back, and he sighs. "Even if Cazador was the one to put it there, it's yours, is it not?"

"It's on my back, but I never wanted it there."

"He's dead," you remind him, drooping your arms over his shoulders and leaning your chin onto the crook of his neck. "While you're here, more than alive. So who else would it belong to but yourself?"

He rolls his eyes playfully. "Fine then. So what if it belongs to me? It doesn't change how it looks."

"Well, I love everything about you---even the parts you hate."

He stops. Despite his gaze remaining on the water, his attention is on the way your hand dangles atop his shoulder, and he doesn't fight the urge to rub circles into it with his thumb. "As kind as your intentions are, my dear, nobody could like such hideous scars--"

"I do. They're a part of you, how could I not?"

Astarion gives you a long stare which you return with a smile of your own.

Finally, he laughs, if just a bit, as he squeezes your hand. "You've always had such strange taste."

"No wonder why I'm dating a vampire."

"But I'm glad you have questionable preferences," he shrugs. "If it were any other way, I might've not had you here."

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff

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miniimight · 6 months

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DISAPPEARING ACT . rindou often disappears for weeks at a time, showing up at home as if it's nothing. a brief exchange triggers a factory reset in him, but you're not as open to it as he expected you to be...

prompt used "better than me disappearing for good. / is it?"

with married!rindou + fem!reader

warnings cursing. a lot of cursing. angst? rindou is an idiot and possessive.

you never got to see your husband anymore. so much so that you considered the chance of it happening next to nothing. you knew what you were getting into being in an relationships with him; lots of meetings and flights to other cities all meant extended time away from home.

you would've been a little more forgiving had he chosen to tell you these things. but no. morning after morning, you wake up to him gone without a trace, without consideration for how you feel. was he alive? was he with someone else? did he not care enough to call or even send a text?

it was as if you lived alone, and a stranger crashed at your place every once in a while. and while you shared polite exchanges, no amount of small talk could overshadow how bleak your marriage was.

it was eleven days before he showed up again. you were, surprisingly, awake when he returned. he was perfectly groomed, albeit a little jaded, but still regarded you with the same coldness you endured since he started leaving. you missed the warmth of your younger days, where he would hold you close and reassure you that you were meant for each other for life.

you decided today was as good a day as any. heck, he even might be gone tomorrow and it would be like you didn't say anything.

"i'm tired of you disappearing for days and then coming back like it was nothing." you said plainly.

he slipped out of his shoes, looking down at you. rolling his eyes lightly but sighing heavily, he started to pull off his tie. "better than me disappearing for good."

a wry smile spread on your face. oh, if he only knew. "is it?"

those two words sent an arrow straight through his heart.

rindou was silent, pretending as if he didn't hear what you just said. but when you scoffed and walked away, he knew it was too real for him to overlook.

"you don't mean that." it was less of a question and more of a please, don't mean it.

you shrugged and went back to your phone, too benumbed to even look at him.

he stared at you, utterly confused as to how to tackle this. "y/n." he said firmly.

you slowly raised your head to meet his eyes, void of any care. "what?"

"i said, you don't mean that." he stood like a tree in the middle of the living area, palms growing sweaty. he loved you. he couldn't lose you, not when you both went through so much to get here.

"don't i?" you responded, placing your phone beside you. not like i see you anymore, anyway. what's the difference?

"stop fucking talking like that and answer me." he snarled. you rolled your eyes, rising to your feet.

"look, rin. who the fuck cares what i think or say? certainly not you." you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "just—just forget i said anything." you turned towards your bedroom. "goodnight."

wait. he lunged forward, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to face him, backing you against a wall. caging you with arms on either side of you, he stared into your soul, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of you.

you just stared back.

his heart clenched. yeah, he was away for weeks at a time. of course he didn't tell you. why would he? why would he burden you with that information?

"you really think me going away forever is better?" his voice was a whisper, but held the sharpness of a knife. "huh? you want me gone forever?"

you sighed. "i didn't say i wanted that. i just meant that, either way, it doesn't matter. going away forever, going away for weeks and weeks but only staying for a night..." your eyes met his, glossy but fierce. "it's the same to me. i don't care what the hell you do anymore, rindou. just let me go to bed."

he studied the person he truly loved for so long, wondering when it all went downhill.

you were impatient, ducking under his arms. "shit..." you cursed, rubbing the back of your neck as you walked away.

he watched you go. and he never saw you come back.

the next morning he woke up, expecting to see you in the kitchen or watching tv, but his house was empty.

"y/n?" he called out. no answer. he pulled up his phone. no texts, no calls. he bustled around the house, looking for some indication of where you went and he found nothing.

he called his brother, thinking that he was the next best person you would've gone to, but ran had no contact from you.

rindou sat on the couch, nothing to do but sit and wait. he looked around. everything was well-kept, pristine, and sanitized. it was like no one lived here at all. no one except a lonely spouse in an eternal cycle of wait for a husband that wouldn't even give them the time of day to say, i'm heading out.

i love you.

goodbye.

he leaned back, closing his eyes. he doesn't even say goodbye.

he hated himself for it.

hours passed and he didn't move from the couch. he knew you sat there for much longer, day after day, waiting for him. no wonder you were uncaring. coming home meant nothing if he would simply leave again.

then he heard the click of the door. he practically jumped off the couch, racing over to the entrance. he saw you with a couple groceries hooked on your forearms, struggling to keep the door open long enough for you to slip inside.

he rushed over. yanking the door open with such force, it slammed into the wall causing you to jump. rindou winced a little, steadying the door from swinging wildly.

you eyes met his and your face immediately scrunched with confusion. "what are you doing here?"

"well... it's my house..?" he said dumbly.

you pressed your lips into a line. "hm."

you expected me to be gone again, he thought bitterly. he cleared his throat. "let me help you with these," he alleviated the weight off your arms, bunching up a couple bags and carrying them all in one go. "you know, you could just order them for delivery."

you sidestepped him and walked to the kitchen. "why would i do that?"

"so you can have them brought to you from the comfort of your home." he responded lightly. following robotically, he was unsure where everything was supposed to be put away.

you laughed, catching him off-guard. on closer inspection, though, he knew that wasn't a genuine laugh. "rindou, do you think i want to stay in this place any more than i have to?"

you said it so casually, grabbing a bag from him and stocking the cabinets and fridges.

his stomach swirled with much more unease than he'd ever experienced on the job. it was the way you simply didn't care anymore, talking about the rift between you and him as if you were reciting the weather report.

fight me, he wanted to say. kick, yell at me, scream at me, do anything at all to show me you're upset. he knows he fucked up. you definitely know he fucked up. so why weren't you telling him that? why weren't you cursing him out for being a bad husband? your nonchalance came from a long time being cast aside, so much so that you expected it to happen; so much so that you gave up on him.

indifference was the final nail in the coffin of your marriage, and you were about to bang it shut.

he observed you, thinking about how many times you'd busy yourself with mundane errands to feel like you were living. how many times you'd come back to this flat, putting away shit you'd probably never touch. how many times you'd listen to the silence ringing off the walls.

he set the bags down and held your shoulders, turning you to face him. "i've taken the next few days off."

you smiled insincerely. "great."

rindou felt like a kid again, when he had work up enough courage to ask you out. "we... we could spend them together."

your eyes squinted. "why?"

he spluttered. "what do you mean, why?"

you swatted his hands off your shoulders. "god, i shouldn't have said anything," you mumbled. "rindou, this is just you feeling guilty because of what i said last night, okay?"

he frowned. "it's not."

your eyebrows raised as you rummaged through another grocery bag. "it is. don't pretend like you're gonna change. what did you think we were going to do—go out together? like old times, when we were happy and in love?"

his face burned. anyone else—if it were anyone else speaking so flippantly with him, he'd have them beat til they're unconscious. and past tense? when we were in love? his brain was doing backflips trying to find a way to salvage the situation. "yes."

you laughed that fake laugh again. it grated on his ears. "that's funny. i was just feeling a little vulnerable last night, is all. had a couple of drinks and maybe was feeling sentimental about the days when everything was simple."

rindou stepped closer to you, ripping the bag away from your hands and towering over you. "it is simple. we can—"

"we can't do anything." you curled your hands into fists, your voice trembling. "can you just..?" go away?

rindou's breath caught in his chest, fully anticipating another heartless laugh.

he hated it when you cried. he hated it when you were angry. he would do anything for your eternal happiness, he realized, and he'd been falling short of his promises for far too long.

rindou leaned onto the counter, bending at the waist. his hand rested on your waist and his eyes were laser focused on your expression, a confusing mix of frustration, sadness, and the will to remain emotionless.

"baby," he whispered.

"don't fucking call me baby." you hissed.

he pursed his lips, unwilling to compromise. "pretty baby. i don't wanna go on like this." his fingers brushed your cheek. "i don't want to you to be sad anymore."

"well, isn't that righteous." you rolled your eyes though your heart ached. it ached for him, for the boyfriend he was and the husband he promised to be.

he glared at you. "would you just listen?"

"no, rindou." you shoved him away from you, despite the overwhelming urge telling you to pull him in and hug him tight. "stop acting like i'm the one making things difficult. like you're being a fucking saint trying to bring us back together when the only reason we're like this is because of you." your voice became watery, growing in volume as you finally succumbed to all the hurt and pain inside you.

"i tried to be understanding." you sobbed. "i did. i tried. you have your work and i know that it's dangerous. but seriously—you promised you'd make time for me. you promised." you sniffed, rubbing tears off your cheeks, ranting without any goal in mind. "you don't even say goodbye."

he stood frozen, your emotions hitting him square in the face and leaving him dazed. it was like the only thing he could do was stand and watch.

"i didn't want to do this." you said tearfully. "i'm sorry i said anything, okay? i'm sorry. just—leave me alone."

his eyes narrowed. "never. i'm never leaving."

your glassy eyes shot up to meet his with a hard look of their own.

"i love you, y/n. and i'm never letting you go." he said firmly, stepping closer and closer to you. he was done beating around the bush; you should know that no matter how many times you push him away, he will never leave you. he'd make up for his mistakes; all you had to do was give him a chance.

you scoffed. "love? you love me?"

he caged you against the opposite counter with two arms on either side of you. "yeah. i do."

you stared up at him, tears staining your cheeks. "you're a liar."

"y/n." he growled—a warning.

"can't go back into the world having the poor little wife weighing on your conscious, is that it?" you snapped. "never stopped you before."

"y/n."

"no." you ducked under his arm, leaving the kitchen. you evaded his attempts to pull you back, running to the closet. grabbing a coat and your purse, you slipped on your shoes.

"where the fuck are you going?" rindou yelled after you. "this conversation isn't over."

"it is for me." you mumbled, throwing the front door open and ignoring the fire in the pit of your stomach. you got into your car and started it up. the garage opened at an agonizing pace, enough time for rindou to come bursting out the door. he stood at your window.

"y/n, you are not leaving. get out of the car."

"fuck off." you grit your teeth, your eyes raising to the rearview mirror to reverse. you screeched to a halt when you saw rindou's purple hair in the reflection. you gaped, rolling down your window and whipping your head to face him. "are you insane? move!"

he shook his head, standing in all his glory right behind the car. his arms were crossed and his weight rested on one hip; the picture of stubbornness. "you're gonna have to run me over."

you scoffed, laughing breathlessly at the absurd situation. "i'll call the police."

"you won't."

you grabbed your phone. "i will, don't try and stop me from leaving."

"you won't call the police, and you wanna know why?" rindou let his head fall to his shoulder. "you love me. i know you do."

you opened your mouth to retort.

"don't even try to deny it." he chuckled lowly. "you're just protecting yourself, baby. you're protecting yourself from the nightmare you call a husband, right?"

your eyes rounded, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

he walked to your side of the car, reaching through the opening to flick the window button. he slipped his hand out as it began to slowly slide back up.

"leave, then. just know i'm not going to stop my efforts to get you back." he smiled as he went back into the house.

the window closed completely.

you were brimming with annoyance, yet you couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache when you pulled out of the driveway, leaving your house—and rindou—behind.

this was so self-indulgent lol. i know they mean well, but when people apologize so quickly and with such intensity, i just get frustrated that i had to get to such a low point to see any remorse or change from them. and of course, i can't argue without crying my eyes out. anyway, do we want a part two?

#rindou haitani #rindou haitani x reader #rindou x reader #rindou imagines #rindou #haitani #tokyo revengers angst #rindou haitani angst #rindou angst #haitani brothers #haitani rindou #haitani rindou x reader #haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #bonten #bonten x reader #bonten rindou

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