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#enemies to lovers
phaserplane64 · 2 days ago
Dialogue prompts for Villain slowly losing their motivation and Hero noticing:
“Do you really believe this is a noble cause?” “I don’t know, okay? Shut up and fight me.”
“Why do you keep fighting me? We both know you’re not a bad person, I know your heart isn’t in the fight anymore.”
“I’m so tired of fighting, and I know you are too. Please, let’s end this war.”
“I’ve worked so hard, I can’t just stop now. I’ve dedicated my life to defeating you.”
“Why aren’t you trying to kill me?” “After four years, the desire for revenge starts to fade away I guess.”
“You’re awfully quiet.” “Yeah, I know. I don’t feel like acting all smug today, so let’s just get this fight over with.”
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manic-nova · a day ago
Returning The Favor: Tartaglia x Fem Reader
Summary: You go on a mission with Childe to return the favor on your long list of I-owe-you’s indebted to him. When things begin to go south, he has alternatives in mind.
Characters Featured: Tartaglia, Fem Reader
Potential TWs: NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, themes of blackmail, blood, knives, death threats, nonconsensual touching and holding (not in an overtly sexual context).
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*Pls, he’s so sexy 🥵🥵
You had become rather infamous in Liyue as of recent. The foreigner who took any job (for the right price). You were endowed with talents by the gods that made you an expert at stealth and hunting. They would get you wrapped up in many lucrative and taboo jobs. For this reason, you had many friends in high places, and lots of enemies everywhere else. However, there was one particular organization that continued to get in the way of your work: the Fatui. The wishes of the Tsaritsa seemed to contradict the requests of your clients more and more these days. You had questioned if crossing an Archon was really a great choice in retrospect, but you were also not about to pass up 3 million mora. That money was as good as yours.
At dusk, in the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor, you sat atop a rooftop draped in black with keen eyes, watching the people come and go from Northland Bank. The target was set to arrive within the hour, all there was left to do was wait to strike. The man showed up in a grey suit and a fedora that covered his face, but you knew it was him. He was wearing the pure gold watch encrusted with Noctolucus Jade you were told to keep an eye out for. Rookie mistake to leave something like that so visible if you were attempting to hide your identity. You pulled the string on the bow you had been clutching and carefully aimed at the target. One shot. One kill. That’s how you had always done it, and you didn’t miss. You watched closely for the moment of a clear shot, being sure not to catch a civilian in the crossfire, and went the viewpoint finally opened up-
“I thought I told you to stop trying to kill my associates.”
Childe, also known as Tartaglia of the Fatui Harbingers, was here in perfect time to foil your plans… once again.
You let out a deep sigh of disappointment, Childe’s blades were already right at your neck, and the target was gone. You dropped your bow and threw your hands up reluctantly in surrender.
“Oh, how I wonder how many times we’ll do this little routine until you finally learn your lesson,” The harbinger teased with hints in his voice of impatience has he firmly grabbed you by the chin and forced your eyes to meet his.
“Each and every time we do this I consider dropping all of my other jobs simply so I can collect the bounty that’s over your head, Childe.” You replied in annoyance.
“Aww, you think you can kill me when you can’t even sneak past me,” he cooed, removing the blade from your neck and his grip on your face. “How cute.”
“Alright, Childe. What do you want?”
“What I want is for you to stop trying to murder my clients, but I suppose such foolish hopes are a lost cause,” he explained. “You know, the second you get caught is the second I may very well have to kill you.”
“And yet, here I am,” you asserted. “Can’t get rid of me that easily. Of course, you could always rat me out to your Fatui colleagues, then I’d probably be toast.”
“Oh, darling, why would I do that? You keep me on my toes.”
“Right, right…” he murmured. “Back to business. Once again, I will conveniently forget to report this incident to the Tsaritsa, and in exchange…”
“I owe you one…” you declared in utter defeat.
The conversation had always ended with a vague assertion of an IOU. It must’ve been the 6th or 7th time Childe spared your life, and each time he’d say he’d cash in that favor next time just to put it off again. You had your doubts that Childe would ever take you up at this point, and yet you also feared that he was letting the debt collect on purpose. That thought always left you with a tinge of paranoia when you and the harbinger parted ways, and you expected to leave tonight under the same circumstances.
“Actually, I think I’ll use those favors, if you don’t mind.” He let of a slight chuckle followed by a warm, closed-eyed smile.
“Oh?” You answered him skeptically. “Well, what exactly is it you need?”
Tartaglia’s eyes quickly darted around the area suspiciously. This lasted for many seconds before he turned back to you and began to brief you about an assignment of his.
“He works for a ship manufacturing company that borrowed a large amount of lumber from Shneznaya many months ago, and the Tsaritsa is desperately awaiting reimbursement, as well as the interest owed. I’m supposed to be at Wangshu Inn in a couple hours to collect.”
“And where exactly do I fit in here?” You asked.
“Well… he owes a considerable amount of mora to which there is no room for negotiation, and I suspect he might get a little aggressive when he realizes that we are no longer kindly asking for the amount owed. If he attempts to attack me, I cannot defend myself, not because I am not capable, but because it would look very bad for I, a Fatui Harbinger, to attack a visionless, well known business man. I, and the rest of the members of the Fatui, are on thin ice with the people of Liyue as it stands.”
“Ahh yes. How could anyone forget about you summoning an ancient god that nearly destroyed the whole harbor? What a model citizen you are,” you jabbed at him.
“I told you, I had my reasons,” Childe insisted, whining in defense.
You rolled your eyes in utter impatience. “Yes, you have indeed explained to me how you tried to draw out Rex Lapis, because you thought he faked his death, even though he was in fact actually dead.”
“But he’s- ugh, nevermind,” he conceded. “The point is, I need you specifically because you’re not a member of the Fatui. If he lashes out and you attack him, people will believe it was just an assassination attempt and the Fatui had nothing to do with it.”
“Ya, but the only way they’d be able to confirm that is if I got caught. You’re not betting on me being captured, are you?”
“Now why would I do that? Admittedly, it would be preferable if you were at least seen, but the likelihood of you being caught… remind me again who the only person to ever catch you in the act has been.”
You let out a deep and reluctant sigh. “You, Childe.”
“That’s right,” he asserted proudly. “Certainly no Millelith guard at the Wangshu Inn could even dream of having skills like mine, so you have nothing to worry about.”
“Is that right?” You asked, glaring at him skeptically.
He smiled. “Of course it is! Besides, if we get there early, I’ll treat you to dinner. Free food!”
You continued to glare at the brightly smiling boy. “Anything I want?”
“Anything at all,” he insisted.
Your body tensed and your eyes felt like they’d rolled all the way into the back of your head. Spending your whole night on a mission with Tartaglia was the last thing you wanted to do, but if this was all it took for you to finally be free from the clutches of the debt you owed him, then truly it would be worth it in your book. “Fine,” you said reluctantly, “let’s hurry up and head out!”
“Yes ma’am!” He answered back enthusiastically.
The two of you immediately left Liyue Harbor, passed the Golden House, and set your sights on Wangshu Inn. Childe didn’t even need the map. He knew the directions perfectly and even had some clever shortcuts. You two were making excellent time.
Up in the distance of the dirt path you had been following, you saw Wangshu Inn towering above the surrounding land.
“Well, looks like we’ve arrived. Time to devise our plan b,” Childe instructed. “Wangshu Inn is a place of high traffic but low security. For now, you’re fine, but when he arrived it’s imperative you stay out of sight.”
“Yes, I understand that, Childe, you don’t need to dumb it down for me.”
“Good, cause of this goes south it’ll be a whole lotta wasted time on your part.” He declared. “We should scout the meeting location for a vantage point that you can use, then we can flesh out a strategy over dinner.”
“Sounds, good to me.” You agreed reluctantly.
You and Childe ventured to the top of Wangshu Inn and you both took a detailed account of the area, looking for a point where you could see everything but no one could see you. You both agreed that the roof was the best and only option, closer than you would prefer, but beggars can’t be choosers, and with that settled you headed back to the ground floor for some food.
Childe pulled out a chair for you at a table far away from the others, then took a seat of his own soon after. The waitress walked over to the table, and smiled. “Hi there! Welcome to Wangshu Inn! How are you two enjoying yourselves tonight?” She asked with a suffocating perkiness.
Childe smiled back at the waitress, his eyes squinting and teeth wide. “We’re doing just fine, thank you,” he replied gentlemanly.
“Wonderful,” the waitress beamed. “So, what will the lovely couple be having for dinner this evening?”
You nearly spit out the Osmanthus Wine you had been sipping on out of pure shock. You instinctually went to correct her. “Oh, we’re not-“
“We’ll have today’s special,” Childe answered the lady, completely washing over your own words.
“We actually have two specials tonight. Which one were you wanting?”
“We’ll take both,” he replied, handing the waitress our menus before I could make any objections.
“Right away, sir.”
The waitress scurried off to tell the chef, and you turned to Childe much less than pleased.
“What’s wrong?” He asked completely nonchalantly. “Oh don’t tell me you’re upset because I let that waitress think we’re dating.”
“I would say I’m… upset exactly.”
“You seemed quite shocked at the notion. Why? Couldn’t see yourself with someone as handsome and successful as me?” He teased.
“Ha! Handsome? Debatable. Successful? Only at screwing things up,” you gave his shoulder a light punch.
“You don’t think I’m handsome?”
“I think you’re arrogance makes you quite unattractive,” you told him. Did you find him attractive? Of course. You weren’t blind, but you had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of knowing.
“Well, that’s quite unfortunate. I’ve always thought you were rather stunning myself,” he exclaimed.
You felt a tiny of redness come to your cheeks. The table fell silent and you tried to slow the accelerating pace of your heart before things got awkward.
“I- excuse me, I’m going to find a restroom before our food gets here,” you told him, and you quickly stood up from your seat.
“Oh, of course,” Childe answered back, his hand jerking away from his pocket. “Don’t take too long. We are on a schedule after all.”
“Ya, I got it,” you told him, rushing away from the table. You went back into the Inn and into the women’s restroom. You doused your face in a handful of water and tried to clear your thoughts. There was a mission at hand, and you didn’t have time for this foolishness, and yet, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t erase Tartaglia’s earnest smile from your mind as he called you stunning.
You couldn’t stand Tartaglia. He was arrogant and scheming and an awful tease. It drove you mad with anger, but you couldn’t deny the kind of butterflies that grew in your stomach every time you and Childe engaged in your usual back and forth banter. It was irritating and yet enthralling, like a song on repeat you couldn’t get out of your head. You prayed to the archon every time you wouldn’t see him again, and yet fate of your subconscious or some other unknown force brought you back every time, because he made you burn with rage and glow with desire at the same time. You couldn’t stand Tartaglia, because he set you on fire in so many different ways.
You mustered up the composure to leave the bathroom and head back to the table. As you left, there was a shady looking man approaching the check in counter. Something about him was giving you bad vibes, but you moved closer to investigate. As you approached, you felt a pair of aggressive hands pull you into the darkness under a staircase, covering your mouth and holding you tightly as to keep you from squirming. You tried to wriggle yourself free from their grasp, but they wouldn’t budge.
“Shh! Shh… if he sees either one of us here right now the mission is over, so try to stay calm,” the figure whispered into your ear.
He slowly removed his hand from your mouth and you too a deep and calming breath to get over the scare. “Childe?”
“Who else?”
His hands were still wrapped tightly around you, keeping both you and him within the small area of shadowing under the staircase. Childe was extremely quiet, a sign he was in deep focus, listening for when the client would leave. You, however, were having a hard time focusing on anything but the feeling of his hands on you and his body pressed against yours. It felt safe, like you could melt into him and stay there forever.
“Try to calm yourself. Slow your heartbeat. That’ll definitely- oh. You’re heart rate went down. That’s weird. You seemed really startled before.”
“Actually, I think my heart just straight up stopped.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
Childe’s hand reflexively moved back to your mouth. “Shh! You’re gonna get us caught.”
“Stop. Talking.”
Your head hung low in the embarrassment of your highly unprofessional mistake, and you reluctantly nodded your head in agreement, and Childe released his hand from your mouth once again. You gave up struggling and Childe seemed to engulf your whole body in his tall frame. Your mind went blank and all you could remember was the feeling of his skin, warmth radiating off it, and making your body temperature rise under the stuffy staircase.
Childe leaned his face closer toward yours, and the hand that held your face was now wrapped around your chest. "You doing okay, comrade?" he whispered gently.
His breath sent a cold chill down your spine. "I'm fine," you answered, staring blankly in front of you. You were dead still. The heat between your bodies felt like it would combust at any second, or maybe it was just your imagination. His hands wrapped in leather grasping your body for dear life, his ginger hair brushing against your skin, his broad chest pressing on your back... It felt like a dream, a hallucination even. It felt like you'd blink and he'd be gone.
A pair of loud footsteps trampling above you prompted Childe to pull you in even closer. The bulge of his pants was right up against your ass, and this time you grabbed Childe's hand and forcefully pressed it back against your mouth to suppress the moan attempting to escape your lips. He simultaneously buried his face into the back of your head and you felt the vibrations of his voice pass through you. The footsteps grew distant and then finally disappeared. Childe's hands released their grip on you and you went tumbling to the ground, and he immediately followed. You were both panting, a combination of the heat under the stairs passing through both your bodies, the nervousness and fear of being caught, and the rising tension between the two of you. Your eyes briefly met while you still tried to catch your breath then immediately darted away from each other.
Childe was the first to pull himself together. "I- uh- apologize for startling you. I saw the guy enter the building and I knew you two would cross paths if I didn't intervene, so naturally, I-"
"I get it," you responded, still averting your eyes from his gaze. "I'm sorry I almost got us caught."
"Oh, no worries," he assured you. "We're still in the clear for now, that's what matters."
With that, Childe pulled himself off the ground and offered you a hand to do the same. His eyes were also still avoiding your own, but you took his hand regardless, and he yanked you off the ground, slamming you right into his chest. You immediately pulled yourself away, and Childe's normally confident facade seemed to completely crumble before you.
"My sincerest apologies! I should've been more careful-"
"Ahh, no! Forget about it..." you quickly stopped the blushing and stuttering mess Childe had become that was only fueling your own nerves. You shook your head ferociously, trying to shake away your intrusive thoughts. “Alright, we don’t have time to mess around. We need to get out of sight before he has a chance to come back around.”
Childe took his hand to his forehead and let out a large sign. He seemed excessively stressed and a little angry as well. “You’re right,” he answered back. “I already reserved a room before I came here. We should hide there and take the remaining time we have to take into account the new factors and adjust our plan.” He had already grabbed onto your wrist and was pulling you with him.
“That sounds like- wait… did you seriously reserve us a room?” You asked suspiciously. “We’re you expecting something to happen?”
Childe stopped and looked back at you in the corner of his eyes. He let out a small chuckle that eventually grew into a devious laughter.
“I- what’s so funny?” You questioned, yanking your hand away and defensively pulling back from him. “Childe, you’re making a scene, so you may as well spit it out already!” You chastised hun, taking your now free hand and slapping it across his shoulder in reprimand.
He kept laughing, his eyes lighting up and his cheeks glowing with a rosy tint. “Do you not hear yourself??” He questioned back,
You glared at him, confused and offended. You couldn’t even figure out what he was trying to get you to say and it left you stumbling over your own tongue, mind spinning in a daze. “What am I missing here?”
The laughter finally began to die down and the Childe that was so thoroughly stressed a moment ago seemed elated, which made you slightly uneasy. “Honey, I got that room for myself,” he affirmed. “You came up with us all on your own.” He teasingly placed the hand that was holding yours on your cheek and stepped closer to you, your faces becoming mere inches apart. “Now tell me, were you expecting something to happen?”
Silence fell over both of you. You’re heart sank into your stomach and a feeling of stupidity and humiliation ran over you like a truck. “Let’s just… get to the room before we have a chance to run into that guy again.”
“If you’re so eager…”
“Ya, ya. It’s right over here.”
A few doors down from where you were standing, Childe inserted a key and opened the door, motioning for you to come inside. You reluctantly entered the room. If was elegant but lacking in character, pristine but lifeless. You took a seat at the chair in the corner, and Childe leaped and flounced onto the bed in the center like a… well, a child. He flipped himself over onto his back, resting his head onto his hands in a lazy position and crossing his legs over one another. He watched the ceiling fan above him meticulously, watching it go round and round again. You realized while he was staring into space you had been staring at him, and quickly redirected your sight to a painting above the bed that you didn’t particularly care for, but it was something to keep your mind occupied.
Childe sighed loudly. “He’s definitely up to something,” he spoke bluntly.
You perplexed. “What makes you think that?”
“A few small details,” he answered. “First off, I’d understand if he showed up a couple minutes early, even an hour, but, we’ve still got two hours until we meet so why is he already here?”
“I mean, ya, it’s a little weird, but there are plenty of logical explanations for it, that alone isn’t a reason for suspicion.”
“That is true, but… I’m also concerned about what was on him.”
“What do you mean? There wasn’t anything on him,” you further perplexed.
Childe stood back up from the bed and placed his hand on the back wall. “Exactly,” he said, his tone growing frustrated once again. “If he didn’t have anything on him, where the hell is the money? And if he wasn’t going to give the money, why the hell did he show up in the first place?!”
Childe drew his hand into a fist and forced it into the wall in front of him, sending a loud banging noise throughout the room. You got up from your chair and gently placed your hand on his shoulder. “Childe, I know this is stressful, but we need to pull together and take into account the new possibilities. Let’s just sit down and talk this out.”
He took a deep breath and let the anger wash away from his expression. He took your hand, removed it from his shoulder, and began to move towards the door. “I’m going out to do some reconnaissance. You should get some rest while I’m gone.”
You took his hand back and quickly stopped him in his tracks. “I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who was just saying we needed to stay out of sight, and now you’re going out?”
“I will stay out of sight,” he asserted.
“Well then I’m going with you-“
“No,” he interrupted. “If I get spotted I can talk my way out of it. If he sees you, it’s all over. Your reputation precedes you enough to ensure that.”
“I- Childe…”
“I’ll be back in an hour to relay the intel I’ve gathered to you, then we’ll commence the plan.”
You grew silent as you could see there was nothing you could say or do to get him to stay. His mind was set. There was something he felt he had to do, and you nor anyone else would stop him. You released his hand and watched as he left the room. You watched him fidget with the knob as he locked the door behind him, locking you inside. That was the least of your concerns. You were more worried about the risk Childe was making by traversing the area before the meetup time. Childe was indeed a smooth talker, but one slip up and the plan was in shambles, and the debt you owed him would only continue to grow.
You took a look at the bed and remembered his suggestion for you to get some rest. Your hand ran across the sheets he had lain across minutes ago. You could still feel the warmth of his body as you laid onto the bed and let the covers envelope you with his scent. He smelt like citrus and the ocean. Childe… his name and face ran through your mind like a record on repeat. You needed to stop thinking about him for two seconds, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to, and soon your mind became numb again, drunk of the memory of his touch. You took one of the spare pillows and buried your face into it, wishing you could expel these thoughts, but instead you became drowsy and drifted into sleep.
From Childe’s perspective…
Childe sat atop the roof of Wangshu Inn and watched as the stars made their grand appearances in the sky, one by one, trying to clear his head. What was always intended to be a straightforward mission has grown more and more complicated over the hours, and Childe couldn’t help but be struck with an ominous feeling. Something was bound to go terribly wrong. He could feel it. You and him had already narrowly avoided failure once tonight, he certainly had his doubts that you’d be able to pull that off again. Still, he was thankful you both skated by the first time around.
He could still feel it, the feeling of you in his arms, the way you sank into him so trustingly. He could remember the faint scent of silk flowers on your hair and the soft texture of your skin. Everything was so tense in that moment and yet his mind had never been more clear, that is until you began to become far too… distracting. It undoubtably took everything in him to maintain an assimilates of professionalism in that moment. Such things are normally not a concern for him, but on a mission, he knew it was best for both of you this way.
He began to wonder if he had pushed your own boundaries a little too hard at dinner, noting the way you hastened away from the table. Maybe his comment about finding you beautiful could’ve best been left for after the mission, but he simply couldn’t help himself. He’s a natural tease after all, and dinner at sunset was undeniably romantic. Besides, you were so cute flustered, and he found himself with the irresistible urge to flatter you further. It was quite unfortunate that your alone time got cut short. Maybe he could get you to stick around after the mission, and maybe then, just maybe, he could get you flustered all over again.
Childe couldn’t seem to make up his mind on whether or not his choice to bring you along with him on the mission was a wise choice or one that was ultimately turning out to be a hinderance. After all, he sat atop the Wangshu Inn where he should’ve been considering his plan for the mission and instead found himself trying to decipher the inter workings of your mind. There was a lot of things about you he couldn’t make his mind up about, like whether or not the rushing feeling he got around you was the result of a desire for battle and rivalry or the thrill that came with chasing hopelessly after a romantic interest. He knew it was one of those two reasons he continued to spare your life, but which of the two he couldn’t decide. Which ideal did the fixation of his heart arise from: love or war? Did he want to face you in glorious combat or find you peacefully in his arms?
This mission… was going to be a lot harder than he thought.
Back to your perspective…
When you woke up, Childe was sitting on the edge of the bed looking out the window when he noticed you started to move.
“Dream of anything worth noting?”
“Uhh… not really. I don’t think so,” you answered with a yawn.
“Oh really? Is that why you’re straddling that pillow between your legs? You know, come to think of it, I think that’s the one I was using earlier…”
Your eyes immediately shot down to between your legs, and sure enough, there was a pillow you had seemed to place right there in your sleep. Your face grew red, and you took the pillow and chunked it right at Childe’s face. “In your dreams, dumbass.”
He caught the pillow one handed. “Nope. In yours actually. Just know next time if you want me to stay with you all you gotta do is ask.”
“Are you forgetting that the goal at the end of this is for there not to be a next time?” You chewed him out. “I’m here to return the favor for you, that’s it. So let’s talk mission.”
He took a deep breath and stood up from the table, his smile fading into a blank and serious expression. “Upon further looking into the matter, I believe I have a more clear idea of how this ordeal will likely play out. I went and asked the front desk if they were holding any belongings of his for safekeeping since we didn’t see anything. I made sure to pay them hush money as well, but sure enough, nothing. I don’t think this guy brought the money at all, so either he’s holding it some place off sight, or…”
“Or this is about to get confrontational.”
“Exactly,” Childe acknowledged.
“So… what’s the plan now?”
“I have one adjustment,” he declared. “If he does in fact outright refuse to pay, I want you to send a warning shot, and we’ll see what lengths we’ll need to take from there.”
“Seriously?! I thought the whole point of bringing me along was for me to make my own moves without them being associated with you.”
“It was, but that’s not going to cut it anymore. He needs to know we’re willing to take the force necessary to get our way, but I’m still in no position to be making moves of my own out in the open, so your purpose for being here still stands. Besides, we don’t have time to think it over any longer. We need to get set up. It’s now or never.”
You took a deep breath and braced yourself for the hard part. Despite the minor distractions and changing details, you and Childe had devised a thorough plan, and you were now at the point of no return. This was the business in which you dedicated your life to, where one minor mistake could have fatal consequences.
You left the room alone and shut the door firmly behind you, making sure to be aware of your surroundings. The first step was to get away from that room and Childe. The second was to make your way to the rooftop without drawing suspicion, a simple enough task most of the way. Smile and wave at staff, go and “watch the stars from the best view”, slip into the shadows of the night and onto your vantage point, retrieve the bow you stashed their earlier when you were scouting the location. From here it was like deja vu, muscle memory. You were right back where you had started that night, bow in hand, waiting, watching, listening, a routine you had revisited hundreds of times before.
You heard a set of footsteps approach the meeting spot and peered over to find the man you saw earlier walking toward the balcony railing. He was, once again, suspiciously empty handed, but also surprisingly calm, which made you uneasy. Something about his self assured demeanor in the moment was telling you he was up to something. You started trying to analyze your larger surroundings, looking for potential tools or buddies he might’ve invited to take along, but despite your keen eyes and ears, everything else seemed completely normal to you.
About ten minutes later, a second set of footsteps indicated Childe’s presence. The plan was now fully in motion. There was no longer time to divide your attention looking for something that may not have been there. All you could do was watch and wait for Childe’s queue to take the shot.
“Hello there, kind sir. We meet again.” Childe addressed the man, a smile plastered on his face you knew all too well was grossly in genuine. “How we’re your travels? Am I to assume smooth sailing since you stand before me in one piece?”
“You’re as eloquent as ever with introductions. Certainly “Tartaglia” could not be more ill fitting alias for someone like you, kid.”
The man’s voice was comparatively more mature than the harbinger’s, but it held the same stylistic flair and boastfulness as Childe’s speech patterns. Right from the first sentence, he’s well spoken, like a seasoned business man, matching the energy of his associate to the tee without even skipping a beat. Often, you can tell a lot about a persons character by the way they speak.
“My voyage here was okay, I’d say, aside from when we got near the Inazuman border. No avoiding that though.”
“Well, I’m glad you could make it,” Tartaglia addresssed the man.
“I very much agree…” the man confirmed. “It seems we have quite a bit to discuss.”
Tartaglia let off a slight chuckle, flashing that signature smile of his. “Why, yes. Yes, we do,” Childe continued. “I’m sure it would be advantageous to both of us to get to the business at hand. So with that said, will you be wanting the official record of fees owed to the Tsaritsa?”
“Why, yes, that would be just convenient.” He told Childe agreeably.
“Well then…” Childe began to fumble with the folder that was stuffed in the back of his waistband, opening it up and pulling out a neat slip of paper which he handed to the man. “Her majesty, the Tsaritsa, has kindly taken the initiative of putting together a list itemizing the amount owed dating back to the first month in which you entered the contract. By all means, feel free to review everything and make sure our information is correct. We strive to be thorough with these kinds of things.”
The man took the paper from his hand and took a brief once over of it, unfazed as when he arrived. Childe was watching the man closely as he scanned over the document, but he seemed to be more attentive to him than the man was to the bill. After a brief moment, he looked back up from the paper and at Childe once again.
“So, are there any questions regarding the charges listed? Does everything look correct to you?” Childe asked.
The man smiled. “Why, yes. It seems just fine to me.”
The visible tension in Childe’s back and neck muscles seemed to loosen a bit. “Fantastic. Since we are in agreement about the amount owed, I must ask, how will you be paying?”
The business man’s slight smile began to grow into an eery wide grin. “I think I’ll pass on that part.”
A sense of incoming danger washed over your body and unease seemed to seep into your bones. This was an outcome you half expected, and yet the look on his face and tone of his voice were telling you something was extremely off here.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Childe responded, the tension rising back up his spine and his voice struggling to keep composure.
“I believe you heard me loud and clear, kid,” the man replied.
Childe took a deep and shaky breath before taking an assertive step forward toward the man. “Sir, I’m not sure what kind of impression you were put under before coming here, but let me be abundantly clear. Given the amount owed and the time in when it has been owed, this is no longer negotiable. The Fatui would hate to have to go to extreme measures.”
The man stood his ground before the harbinger and looked him dead in the eyes. “You’re so full of shit, Tartaglia,” he grimaced. “You know, I really thought more highly of you, but I just can’t believe you brought a friend along so that they could do the dirty work for you.”
Your body jerked in shock at the mans statement. Did he really find you out, or was he just bluffing? Regardless, the nerves in your body continued to swell and stomach was began to feel like it was twisting into knots.
“Alright, missy, come on and show yourself!” The man called out to the open.
You stood frozen in place, unsure what move to make other than no movement at all. He knew, he knew all along, and somehow at some point you let him find out. You hadn’t messed up a mission this badly since your early days, and you weren’t prepared to make backup plans for these kinds of occurrences, but at the very least, you knew that if he was asking you to come out, he didn’t know where you were out there, only that you were out there, and that was your last and final advantage. Childe had little to say as well. All he could do was act oblivious to the accusations that this man was making and hope for the best, but he persisted onward. You saw a flash of light come from his pocket, reflecting the lanterns of the Wangshu Inn, and instinct knew exactly what the illusion object was.
“Fine, then. If you, Tartaglia, are the only one up here…” a swift motion of his hand had the shining object right up against Childe’s neck in a heartbeat, “then I guess I should have no problem taking you out of the picture!”
It was a finely sharpened switchblade which had already broken skin and was letting a small stream of blood from Childe’s neck. It was a bluff, certainly. Killing Childe would only make the forces of the Fatui go after him that much harder, but… Childe was defenseless to do anything about it himself in fear of drawing attention, and there he stood continuing to draw blood. He was in physical pain. Something was so incredibly wrong, and then you saw the red glow of the knife and the matching glow of the pocket in which it came. From there, you put two and two together. The visionless man in question had in fact managed to attain a vision, a pyro one, and he was using his new power to burn into the Harbinger’s skin.
The overconfident and self assured attitude that had been making you uneasy this whole time suddenly made much more sense. Visions gave people the power to become new people and have power over other people. This man knew that if he played his cards right he could walk free of the reins of the Fatui with this new power, and we were playing right into his hands.
The mans wrist made the slightest twitch, indicating that he was prepared to follow through with what he started, and you had seen enough. You stepped into the lantern light, aimed and armed, and the man quickly turned Childe to face you.
Childe’s discomfort continued to grow and become more apparent as you tried to aim a clear shot at the man, but he continued to move Childe around as a human shield, the constant squirming forcing the shallow wound on his skin to widen as they moved synchronously.
“This is between you and me now. I have nothing to do with him, now let him go,” you seethed, teeth clenched in an attempt to suppress your growing nerves.
The man scoffed, his grip on the harbinger unshaken. "Nothing to do with him? Don't make me laugh. You outed yourself as his co-conspirator the second you showed your face here-"
"You're wrong," you intervened, furious at his self-assuredness. "I received a tip that you would be meeting with a Fatui Harbinger to discuss business negotiations tonight and followed him here. He's no more than a bystander in my own business endeavor. I prefer not to let other people get caught in the crossfire of my business, therefore I suggest you to release him. Would you rather face me or the entire Fatu?"
A devious smile began to grow across his face, and soon maniacal laughter ensued. An uneasy feeling seemed to coat your entire body, it shaking under the pressure of his neurotic staring. With every small movement he made, like so much as a twitching of his brow, it became more and more obvious that something was so incredibly wrong here. But what was it?
"Oh, how low you must think of to think I'd be so foolish as to not consider that before hand," he pestered. "I could never be so naive, but you... you're my perfect alibi."
His wild eyes darted over to the Millileth guards who had been in the near distance, watching closely as the events unfolded, arms crossed and shoulders lazily relaxed, and things suddenly began to make a whole lot more since.
"You... you payed them off," you seethed, anger mixed with anxiety whirling inside of you.
His scaly grin stretched maniacally across his face. "Why of course," he boasted. "I used every penny I had saved up to pay the Tsaritsa before you Fatui assholes tried to rob me!"
"You bastard!" Childe exacerbated.
His only response to the harbinger was the subtle but effective twisting of the knife, forcing a subdued cry from his lips.
"Now... let me tell you how this is gonna end. Now, you could make the smart choice, drop your weapon, and let me leave and never have to lay eyes on a disgusting Fatui member again, or our lovely friends from the Millileth are gonna have to go to Northland Bank and tell the Fatui about how one of their prized diplomats was brutally murdered by an infamous bow wielding assassin from Liyue Harbor."
"You wouldn't dare-"
"Try me," he challenged. "Whether he dies by my hands or yours, if you try to shoot me that's exactly how this'll end. So now I ask you... would you rather deal with me or the Fatui?"
You winced. You and Childe both were being played like cards, manipulated like puppets, a Fatui Harbinger and a veteran assassin brought to their knees by a common business man. It was a cat and mouse game, except you and Childe had been on this chase thinking he was the mouse. It riddled you with shame, fear, rage...
Your hands were shaking. You hadn't had problems with shaky hands when your bow was in your clutches in many years. You gripped the weapon firmer to attempt to quell the vibration to no avail. Never on a mission had you been such a mess.
Childe looked up at you in pain, his high levels of shame matching your own. He let out an intense breath of frustration. "Take the shot," he said.
You felt your stomach drop as he stared you down with cold blue eyes, demanding and serious.
"Childe, if I-"
"Take the shot, y/n..."
"But if I hit you-"
"I said take the shot!" The harbinger thundered. "There's no time to hesitate on this, you have to take him out!"
"I- stop talking down on me!" You grumbled back, hesitantly pulling back in the string of your bow, desperately realigning your aim away from Childe's head over and over again. Shaking and heavy breathing seemed to nearly take over as you watched Childe open his wound further as he struggled to try and pull away far enough to give you an opening. His eyes darted around at your unsteady arrow. You braced yourself to take the shot, wishing you had the time to get on your knees and pray for the gods blessings. No god was coming to your aid now though, and so you mustered what composure you had left to steady your bow and align your aim. You pulled all the way back on the bow, a deep breath in as you prepared for the release, and as you finally began to let go, you watched the arrow glide past both of their heads. Close. Too close.
He loosened his grip in the shock for only a second, but it was enough. You came barreling across the balcony toward the man, Childe falling to the ground like a ragdoll as you gripped your one hand across the man's neck, the other with a spare arrow readily at his heart. He chuckled in your grasp with a disgusting smirk. You wanted to kill him there and now, for your pride and the pain he made you witness your traveling companion feel before your very eyes, but you looked him dead in the eyes and said: "If I ever see your face again, I'll make sure it'll be the last time anyone does."
He paid no mind to his position, offering a simple nod before you removed your hands from him and he began to leisurely walk away, watched carefully and soon followed by guards he had paid off.
You turned to Childe, eyes teary with fear and concern, but Childe had already gotten back off the ground, hunched over in a mixture of pain and exhaustion.
"Childe, you shouldn't-"
"Why didn't you take the shot?" He questioned, eyes facing the ground in shame.
You perplexed before him. "I... I could've killed you. What else could I have done?"
"Oh really," he speculated, his tone leaning on deviance. "I didn't think you valued my life all that much."
"Childe... we have our differences, but I-"
The harbinger finally lifted his head away from his chest, stampeding toward you in a heavy footed rampage, eyes lit up in a fierce stare. You began to stumble back, nearly tripping over your own two feet, but he caught you firmly in his hands, gripping your shoulders and pushing you up against the walls of the Wangshu Inn. "Are you an idiot?!" He screamed, "Why? What happened to wanting to get rid of me, huh?! Either you took the shot and landed him and you no longer have to worry about owing me, or you hit me and never have to deal with me again, so why?!"
"Childe, let go of me!" You squelched, struggling to break free. "What's wrong with you! Did you want me to kill you?!"
"I want to know why you spared me! There's gotta be a reason, and I won't let you go until you tell me. Why'd you do it? What's your motive?!"
"Why?!" You exacerbated, "Why?! Because, Childe, I came here so that I could finally leave you behind, but if you died by my hands... I would've never been able to forget you!" You answered, shoving him off you in a rush of adrenaline.
Childe stumbled away from you, the intensity in his eyes quickly dwindling. He looked so conflicted and ashamed, silence overcoming him. Disappointment was written all over him and you felt yourself shrivel under his gaze.
"I... I shouldn't have said that," you quickly backtracked, resisting the temptation to bury yourself in the wall in your embarrassment. "You know what? You should just forget I even said anything. It was stupid, and I wasn't thinking..."
His eyes seemed to grow tired as he walked back toward you. You felt fearful of what he might do, but continued to stutter defensively.
"Childe, seriously. I wouldn't put too much thought into it, I just... don't like playing dirty like that. Besides, I don't want to deal with the Tsaritsa or the other harbingers, so please just..."
"Shut up," he told you, his hand hanging over you as he leaned his body weight against the wall above you.
"I... please don't kill me."
"I said shut up," he repeated monotonously.
And silence fell over you instantly, nerves overcoming you as Childe's face seemed to hunch over yours. Your heartbeat began to accelerate as you felt his sturdy hands cup your face and bring your lips closer to his, and suddenly, you weren't afraid anymore.
It all happened so fast. As his lips pressed up against yours all fear seemed to disappear. You were safe. Nothing else mattered as your lips intertwined with his, as his passion seemed to flow into you with every perfectly timed movement, every fervorous exchange of devotion.
"Don't forget me," he pleaded in between kisses. "You can't get rid of me that easily."
"I'm okay with that," You told him back sincerely.
He pulled away from you, his neck wound on full display in front of you as it finally began to stop dripping blood.
"Childe, we should clean up your wound," You told him, heavily concerned.
"It's fine," he said, covering the wound with his hand almost shyly.
"It's not," you protested, pulling out a handkerchief you had been holding onto in one of your belt pockets. "We failed the mission. This is the least I can do. I still owe you, you know." You took the handkerchief and began to dab away the blood around the wound, paying little focus to Childe's wandering hand on your hip.
"I... I can think of other ways that you can pay me," the harbinger spoke, his voice weighted in heavy, nervous breaths.
You eyes met his once again, the redness of his cheeks and the slight sparkle in his eye extremely noticeable. You dropped the handkerchief to the ground, your hands immediately moving to your face to hide the heat that was glowing on your skin. "I- are you- how could you just-" You struggled to form proper sentences, the butterflies in your stomach flourishing as you noticed the sensual figure eights his thumb was drawing out on your lower back.
He let out a slight chuckle at your nervous habits. "You've been holding all that back all day, haven't you?" He teased.
"Childe!" You whined, having little composure left to deny him.
"Oh come on," he said, "The way you rushed off at dinner the second I gave you a compliment... how you kept zoning out when we were hiding under the stairs. Was I not supposed to notice those things?" Childe removed his hand from your waist, and began walking himself over to the balcony railing. You couldn't help but float close behind him as he did. "If I'm being honest... it wasn't really hard for me to notice such things, because I'm always looking for them when I'm around you. It's every time I find you in my arms, whether I'm chasing you down on Fatui business or keeping you hostage underneath a staircase, in whatever bizarre context get us there... it just feels-"
"It feels right," you answered, a sort of calm arising from the mutual understanding.
He smiled, eyes glistening under the stars. "Ya," the harbinger confirmed. "But you... you've always been so hard to read. I just had to figure out how to get you to show your true colors to me. Turns out all I had to do was get you alone, and your body told me everything I needed to know."
"My body?" You questioned. "Oh, give me a break. What exactly is it that you think my body told you?"
Childe's gentle smile seemed to morph itself into an insidious smirk. Walked himself back around you, sending chills throughout your nerves as he pressed his whole body against your back, his hands worming their way down your abdomen and wrapping around you like a snake. He brought his lips down to your ear and whispered softly but self-assuredly, "It tells me that you wanna fuck me so bad it's been driving you crazy."
Your mind felt like it was one wrong movement away from short-circuiting as Childe continued to work his hands further down your body.
"You know, you can be super annoying when you get all cocky like this," you scoffed at the boy.
He chuckled lightly. "Oh? Am I getting on your nerves now?" He asked. "Well, I supposed you can look at it this way. If you let me have just one night to do what I want with you, I'll forget about all those favors you owe me afterwards, and you won't ever have to see me again. However... if you decide you wanna see me again after all, I won't stop you. That I can promise you. So either way, from your end, it's a win win," he declared.
"You'd really accept never getting to see me again just like that?" You asked him skeptically.
"Oh, I'm not worried about that," he told you.
"And why is that?"
You felt Childe's hands begin to fidget with the mechanism of your belt. "Because," he said. "I'm gonna make you feel so good tonight, princess, you'll be begging to see me again. How does that sound?"
End of Part One
A/N: Part two is already in the works. I've simply decided to split it up into two parts because the main story line was already longer than usual, and the spicy bits... well, a lot happens. I will be sure to tag it in this post as soon as it is up, but for now, this is just part one of "Returning The Favor" to be followed by part two, which is currently titled "Six Rounds of Karma". If that doesn't make it obvious why these need to be two separate parts, I don't know what will. I appreciate all of those who read this all the way to the end, and I thank you for your patience as I work on the second part.
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darkroyalcoresblog · 21 hours ago
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Doesn't matter how many times i watch this film, somehow this couple makes my standars for love even higher.
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fizzydrink698 · 15 hours ago
consort ii | minho
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pairing: lee minho/female reader
word-count: 6.4k
genre: historical au, arranged marriage, enemies-to-lovers
warnings: swearing, period-typical sex misinformation, thigh-riding (it is a minho fic, after all), unprotected sex, two stubborn assholes with feelings
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He trailed off - moved wordless, for perhaps the first time in your presence, and you were stunned.
There was a power to this, you realised with no small sense of delight. A power over him, should you seek to master it.
You rolled your hips again, and Minho’s head dropped, pressing his face into your neck.
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“It’s up to you,” Minho said. “If you trust me enough now.”
The room was dimly-lit, illuminated only by the flames in the roaring fireplace. Shadows were cast long and dark, but you could still make out the expression on Minho’s face. Calm, composed, staring back at you with a perfectly neutral expression. If he had any desire of his own, you could not glean it from his face.
You could, however, make a very educated guess from the hard length straining against his breeches, pressing into your palm through the fabric.
You wondered if, even now, Minho thought he could still fool you with that perfect composure, that carefully calculated disinterest.
Or, perhaps, he just knew how badly you wanted to see that composure crumble by your own hand.
Gently, the motion still a little unsure, you squeezed him through his breeches, just to see his reaction.
Minho did not disappoint. His lips parted immediately, with one sharp intake of breath at the sensation. His eyes darkened, almost coal-black, as he continued to watch you.
“Alright,” you said, lifting your chin to meet his burning gaze head-on. “I trust you.”
There was a moment of silence following your words, as the two of you stayed locked in each other’s stare. It felt like you were wavering on a precipice, about to tumble down into the unknown.
And, suddenly, Minho’s lips were back on yours.
There was an urgency to him now, a raging fire in this kiss that had only smouldered in your first. To your mild confusion, there was now also a strange tang to his lips, and it took you a moment to realise that this new taste was you. Traces of you, still lingering on his mouth.
You barely had a moment to register this before he pulled away from your mouth entirely. Your eyes snapped open – when had they shut? – in panic, only to find him gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.
You were left dumbfounded, blinking at the sudden expanse of bare skin now on show – an unexpected feast for your eyes alone.
Minho had the lean body of a sportsman, a hunter, a dancer. There was very little bulk to him, and yet you found yourself following the lines of his muscle, fingers twitching to trace along where your eyes wandered.
“You can touch wherever you’d like,” Minho told you, his voice taking on just an edge of smugness. You realised how obvious your thoughts must have been, how clearly they must have been written on your face.
You swallowed, curiosity quashing any remnants of shame or shyness, and lifted your right hand to skim over the lines of his abdomen, fingers grazing each rise and dip of muscle. His skin was so warm, and yet you watched him shiver as your hand continued northwards, up to his chest.
Pages from your anatomical texts – loaned solely for the purpose of academics, and only to be used in lessons and never for private study – sprang to mind. Pectoralis major, you remembered, as your fingertips reached this swell of muscle. You shifted your hand just to the right – his left – and hovered just over where you knew his heart to be.
Slowly, you pressed your palm into him, eager for that tell-tale thrum of pulse.
It did not disappoint. You felt his heartbeat, felt how quickly it pounded – as if it were racing, you thought, as your eyes flickered upwards to meet his face.
“Amazing,” you murmured, and allowed yourself one small smirk. “It seems you do have a heart after all, Minho.”
“To my unending disappointment,” he sighed.
At another time, when your nerves were a little less frayed, when the atmosphere between you two wasn’t so…heavy, you would have laughed.
Instead, you dropped your hand, letting your fingers brush against the drawstrings of his breeches. Your bravado was beginning to fail you, because you hesitated, doing nothing more than simply taking the string between your fingers.
You realised…
You realised you wanted to kiss him again.
You used your left hand to push yourself up, not allowing yourself even a moment to second-guess your actions before you leaned in.
Yet again, this kiss felt different from the last. Minho was open to you, reciprocating, but that was how he stayed – matching your pace, never overtaking you.
It struck you then that this was the first kiss you had initiated, not Minho. How strange, that a difference that seemed so arbitrary on the surface could feel so critical.
It revitalised you, fuelled your courage once more, and you pulled on the drawstring. The knot gave away so easily, coming apart in one motion. You supposed it was much like the thin silks you were wearing, in a sense. Made not to be worn, but to be removed.
Tentative, you slid your hand into his breeches, all-too-knowing and yet utterly clueless as to what you’d find there.
The moment your hand made contact, you felt Minho’s breath escape him in one shaky exhale.
Bolstered by his reaction, you explored further, following his length upwards. There was a slickness to him, and a dampness to the inside of his breeches, and you recalled that disastrous meeting with your women’s physician.
His body was readying itself, as yours had. Preparing itself for the act ahead.
Your hand continued to wander, until it found the end of him – and another piece of information wandered to the forefront of your mind, something you were suddenly very curious to discover for yourself.
You wrapped your hand around this part of him, feeling his weight, and let your thumb slowly drag along the very tip of him – and Minho couldn’t stop the faintest moan from slipping out between his lips.
“That’s sensitive,” you grinned, confidence colouring your tone as finally you could display your own knowledge. “Isn’t it?”
Minho’s eyes just barely slid open, staring at you through hooded eyes. “…And how do you know that?”
“Believe it or not, the physician did actually prepare me a little for the wedding night,” you retorted. “Your pleasure was of the utmost importance, I was assured.”
Minho blinked, stilling slightly, and you found yourself faltering. Had you said something wrong?
“What?” you asked, grip loosening. “What is it?”
Minho didn’t respond with words, but instead with another kiss – the action almost a contradiction within itself, so urgent and yet almost…
Part of you wanted to melt into him, just a little. There was a sweetness to him, so utterly alien to the Minho you knew, and a part of you wanted to follow it, to savour it.
The other part of you – the smarter part – recognised this for what it was.
You bristled at the realisation, a sudden fury sparking deep within you.
You would not be pitied. How dare he even try.
You knew that you were at a disadvantage, that your inexperience put you so squarely in Minho’s hands, but you were a quick learner. You had always been a quick learner.
So, you chanced another squeeze again, and Minho grunted against your lips. His so-called sweetness was rapidly growing eclipsed by his lust, as evidenced by the jerk of his hips up into your palm.
Was this how he had felt? When you had been under him, pleading for his touch?
No wonder he’d been so smug.
Minho suddenly shifted, breaking the kiss, and he sat back on his heels – forcing your hand to withdraw from his breeches. You let it drift back to your side, the ghost of his pulse still thrumming against your fingertips.
“It’s your choice,” Minho mused, eyes fixed on you. To your annoyance, he still looked relatively put together – in sharp contrast to your own internal ruin. “You can leave your silks on, if you’d like. Or you can take them off.”
He ended his sentence there, but you could hear the final, unspoken part echoing loud and clear.
Take them off for me.
This felt like another test, of your bravery, of how willing you were to see this through until the end.
It was a test you were all too happy to pass.
Maintaining eye contact, you gripped the hems of your silks, sliding them up and over your body, leaving yourself bare before him. That eye contact is broken briefly when the silks come up to your face, and you wasted no time finishing the job, tossing the very last of your clothing to the floor, out of sight.
Minho drank in the sight of you, eyes roaming the length of you, from head to toe.
You thought such unabashed staring would make you self-conscious, but instead…you found yourself bolstered by it.
His lips parted, and you could see the compliments perched on the tip of his tongue. Grand words of awe, sickly-sweet in their attempts to flatter your ego, platitudes so nauseating they would send you crawling under the covers and ending this evening right here.
But instead, his eyes flickered to meet yours, and his lips curl into a wicked smile. “Good girl.”
His words – and the memories they conjured up of your exchange earlier in the night, of the words praise tumbling from his lips – had you glancing away, face growing hot yet again. “Stop that.”
“Because you don’t like it, or because you’re embarrassed about how much you like it?”
“Because you’re irritating.”
A hint of amusement played at the corners of Minho’s mouth. “I think you like that too.”
“I know I’d like you to shut your mouth and…and…” you trail off, unable to get the words out as your face grew even hotter. Once again, your bravado was fading, as you were faced with the reality of the situation.
But Minho picked up on your meaning easily enough and finished your sentence.
“And fuck you?” he said, one eyebrow arched. “Is that what you were going to say?”
You swallowed, and arranged your features into a scowl, even as you felt the core of you twitch at his words. “I wouldn’t have said anything that crass.”
“Then, what else?” Minho teased, his tone taking on a mocking edge. “Make love to you?”
This was hell. This was absolutely hell, you decided as your face burned in embarrassment, so distracted that you almost missed the way his voice quietened.
“Because I could do that too, if that’s what you’d like.”
You blinked, attention snapping back to him in confusion. “What?”
It came out harsher than you were perhaps intending, and Minho paused, expression unreadable.
“…Like I said. It’s your choice.”
Your choice. Your mind scrambled for a way to decipher his meaning. Surely, Minho of all people would cringe away from the idea of ‘making love’, especially with you.
So, was this…him asking one last time? Offering you an out, a chance to back down?
Because if that was the case, you knew your answer.
“I-I just want…like I said, I trust you to…”
Be gentle? Be kind? Make it feel good?
“I just trust you,” you finished, lamely.
He stared back at you, for one long moment.
And he nodded. “Good.”
When he leant in this time to kiss you, you met him halfway. It was slow, unrushed, just careful exploration of each other. Just like your very first kiss, you found yourself on your back, Minho kneeling over you – but this time, one knee was planted right between your legs – pressing up against you.
“Push down onto it,” Minho murmured into your skin, and you felt the muscles in his thighs flex slightly.
You paused, momentarily thrown. “…What? With my hands?”
You felt, rather than saw, Minho’s smirk as he pulled his head away to press a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “No.”
You swallowed, and very tentatively, you rolled your hips.
The feeling was instantaneous, the friction of fabric so very delicious as you rocked against his thigh. You let out a moan, quiet but utterly filthy.
“Keep going,” Minho encouraged, but you were already moving again, setting yourself an almost torturously slow pace as you balanced the desire to chase more of this sensation with the self-restraint to avoid rutting up against him like a wild animal. You still had some pride after all.
Pride that was rapidly disappearing, as Minho’s lips wandered down to your neck, mouthing and nipping and sucking at the skin there until you were gasping at the strange mix of pain and pleasure he was drawing out of you.
His thigh shifted, just slightly, angling down in such a way that increased the pressure against that sensitive bead at the apex of your legs, and another moan erupted from within you, this one so loud that your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to muffle it.
Minho, however, had other plans. He reached up, gripping your forearm, and gently but firmly pried your hand away. Before you could react, his head dipped to press the softest of kisses to the inside of your wrist, surprising you.
But when he pulled away, his expression was entirely wicked. “You’re making such a mess on me.”
You scowled at his teasing, even as your hips continued on, chasing after your own pleasure. “I–”
“Do you think you could come, from this?” Minho asked, almost challenging you. “Soak right through the fabric? Hmm?”
It didn’t take much to connect the dots that ‘come’ meant ‘climax’, and your breath caught.
You…you realised you could, if you really chased it. If you clamped down onto his thigh and rode it like a prized hunting mare.
But that wasn’t what you wanted, not right now.
“I…I just want you…” you trailed off, hoping that Minho would finish the sentence for you.
He refused, content to watch you struggle to voice your desires.
“I want you…inside me.”
Minho’s eyes, now so utterly black with lust, burned as he took in your words – and he grinned. “Gladly.”
He pulled away, bringing himself back up to kneeling, and your eyes immediately darted to the wet patch you had left on his thigh. A mess, indeed.
His breeches, now half-undone, seemed barely able to contain him – and you wondered if it ached. You wondered if he was desperate to touch it, to palm himself as you had done, and you wondered if he avoided doing so for your sake.
A miscalculation on his part, you realised, because you’d quite enjoy seeing that.
“With it being your first time,” Minho said, capturing your attention once more. His head was tilted, almost contemplative, and his words were carefully measured as he continued. “The best way would be from behind.”
“Behind?” you repeated, as something cold twisted in your gut. Unbidden memories of your women’s physician came swarming back, her disapproving words swirling around in your mind. “And I would be…on my knees?”
“Well, if you–”
Minho was very visibly shocked at your blunt refusal – your first all night. He froze, struggling to readjust. “There’s no…there’s no disrespect to this, it’s just the position that would cause you the least discomfort.”
“No. No, it’s beneath my dignity,” you parrot the physician’s words, before your own most private thoughts interject and spur your tongue on further. “And I–”
You cut yourself off.
Because how can you explain to Minho that, if this was an experience you would remember for the rest of your life, you wanted the memory to be of his face - not of the wall behind you, or the pillows under you?
You couldn’t tell him that.
“And I don’t want that,” you said instead, frowning. “I want you to take me on my back.”
Minho’s apprehensions quickly disappeared under the effect of your words. You could see the images playing out in his head, the images of what you were about to do, and his lips parted. “…Alright. If that’s what you’re more comfortable with.”
“It is,” you said. You sounded far more confident than you felt.
“Then, that’s what we’ll do,” Minho nodded, and before you could respond, he leant down to kiss you again.
You closed your eyes, trying to recapture that previous feeling of losing yourself in the act – but your mind was whirring now, nerves alight as you realised what was about to happen.
This was it.
Minho readjusts his position, moving to plant both of his knees between your legs. He broke away from your lips to look down at himself, hands moving to fully unlace his breeches.
You summoned enough courage to help, nervously raising one hand and hooking your thumb under the hem as you tried to aid him in easing the material down his legs. If Minho noticed the shaking of your hands, he didn’t respond with words, but there was a new look in his eyes when he glanced up at your face.
You shot him back the most impatient look you could muster, tugging at the fabric. Now was not the time for sympathy and gentle words. Despite your nerves, there was still an eagerness to your movements, a longing in the pit of your gut for Minho to resume his attentions.
And then, with one final tug, Minho’s breeches slid down far enough for his member to spring free, and your curiosity was piqued – your eyes immediately drawn downwards to take in the sight.
You had no frame of reference when it came to the size of him, but enough hushed whispers of the virility of His Highness and the careful warnings from your physician about the pain he could wreak within you had caused you to fear the worst. In some of your nightmares, it swelled to the size of a horse’s member, swinging heavy between Minho’s legs and threatening to split you in two.
There was a sense of relief, then, that no such monstrous appendage existed.
It was perhaps just longer than the length of your hand, if you had to guess. Reddish-pink, except for the head of him, which was dark red and so very visibly aching to be touched.
You supposed you could imagine it inside of you – and when you did just that, your face warmed.
Glancing upwards, you caught Minho’s expression. He was still watching you carefully, observing your reaction to the most intimate part of him.
You blinked. Should you say something? What? There was nothing in particular you could say – no comment you could make with any kind of conviction. It was the first penis you had seen in the flesh, after all.
“Do I…are you expecting a compliment?” you asked, unsure.
Minho paused – before the corners of his mouth twitched, as if in amusement. “From you? Never.”
Reassured somewhat, you gave him a shrug – or at least, as much of a shrug as you could in your position – and reached down for it, curious to test its weight in your palm.
Minho inhaled sharply the moment your hand curled around it, and something in your gut tightened at the sound. That familiar, yet strange delight you felt at provoking reactions out of Minho returned – and you repeat your earlier movement of squeezing him a little firmer, and slowly dragging your thumb along the slit.
“So,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. “This goes inside me.”
Minho’s groan was muffled, barely escaping as he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. “…Yes.”
Now that he wasn’t looking, you felt a little bolder as you carefully eyed his expression. After a moment of hesitation, you asked the question hovering at the back of your mind. “Are you looking forward to it?”
Minho’s eyes slowly opened, and he stayed silent as he took in your words. And then, voice quiet, reluctant, as if he were confessing something deeply personal, he replied. “…Yes.”
His honesty took you aback, leaving you staring wordless even as his response ignited something within you.
Minho didn’t wait for a reply, quickly moving to instead focus on your breasts, mouth closing around one nipple. Your eyes fluttered shut, mind quickly going blank at the sensations now building within you.
You felt his hand slide back up your thigh, and he soon made it clear you weren’t the only quick learner. His fingers immediately got to work, remembering exactly what pressure you liked, what movements had you keening up into him.
You didn’t have to think. You just had to feel.
And when that feeling was the press of Minho against your opening, you didn’t hesitate to nod your head at his final, unspoken request.
The hand he used to cradle your hip as he entered you was gentle, curling around the soft flesh of your rear.
That did little to alleviate the sudden, sharp pain that radiated through your groin, every muscle in your body going taut as your body reacted immediately in panic.
Your hand flew up to his chest, a loud slap of skin against skin echoing through the room. “Wait!”
Immediately, Minho froze, his eyes wide at your reaction.
“It…” you broke off, desperate for the right words – any words – to describe what you were feeling.
“What is it?” Minho asked, and you were too caught up in your own thoughts to notice the concern in his voice, the kindness so completely uncharacteristic of him.
“ said this wouldn’t hurt,” you hissed, unable to keep the edge of betrayal out of your voice.
Minho stared down at you. You noted with surprise that your words had struck something within him. Guilt? Shame? The awkwardness of being caught in a lie?
Eventually, he spoke up, tone serious. “How badly?”
You swallowed, unable to stop yourself from shifting just slightly under him. The feeling of him inside and just...not moving felt even more alien to you than entering in the first place.
How could you explain what you were feeling? The strange sensation of...being opened to someone, the sting every fraction of an inch he slid deeper, the stretch of your innermost muscles.
But with him still, almost frozen within you, you found your body slowly accommodating to the sensation. There was still an ache, but you could feel your insides...relax just slightly, as if a panic within them was slowly subsiding.
As if they were starting to welcome the sensation of Minho pushing deeper inside you.
In embarrassment, you averted your gaze away from him. “Just...go slower.”
Minho was silent for a moment, still refusing to move, until eventually he did as you asked, slowing his pace, and you found yourself with enough time to adjust to him.
When you chanced a look back at his face, you found his eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched tightly - as if he were in just as much pain as you, going at such a glacial pace.
It was only when he finally slid in all the way to the hilt that he let out the quietest of groans, eyes still closed.
And the groan...
Your cheeks must have been on fire by this point, because you could feel the effect that the sound of his groan had on your body. It stoked at something deep in your gut, a desire to hear it again, to hear a noise even louder.
Minho’s eyes opened just a fraction, and for a brief moment you were hit with an irrational panic that he had somehow read your thoughts, but all he did was say. “I’m going to move now. Or do you need more time?”
The question - however good his intentions might have been - did nothing but strike at your contrary nature, your knee-jerk instinct to prove yourself capable, independent, the opposite of a liability.
“Move,” you replied, and you were delighted that it sounded more like a command than a plea.
He did just that - and while his movement did reignite some discomfort, it faded far sooner this time. You were growing used to him, the feeling of him at least. With every stroke, he felt less and less like an intrusion and more like...
More like you were being filled. Like you had been empty before him.
You wondered, dimly, how Minho was feeling at this moment. His jaw was no longer clenched - in fact, at one particular thrust, his lips parted at the sensation. His eyes had closed again, and you found yourself distracted by his long eyelashes, so dark and so delicate.
In fact, you were so distracted that you didn’t have time to look away when his eyes opened - and you found yourself trapped in his gaze.
Eye contact, you realised, was frighteningly intimate. More than anything else, it felt exposing, like you had no way to hide your real thoughts, your emotions.
And yet, you stayed like this, unable to look away.
Quite beyond your control, your hips jolted up into him, meeting his movements almost greedily - just as they had under his careful fingers.
The movement didn’t escape Minho, whose eyes glinted in the dim light of the candlelit room. Shifting to brace his weight on one arm, Minho moved the other to hook under the back of your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your leg. Carefully, he raised your leg - and immediately, you felt the difference, how deep he could reach within you. Your breath left you in one loud, sharp gasp - a little from the discomfort, but mostly from this new sensation.
Your head lolled back, eyes closing as Minho’s pace quickened again. You could hear the way his breathing was starting to grow ragged, the stuttering of his hips every other stroke. His grip around your thigh was growing tighter and tighter, and when you experimented with a roll of your hips, he groaned again.
“Y-yes,” he breathed. “”
He trailed off - moved wordless, for perhaps the first time in your presence, and you were stunned.
There was a power to this, you realised with no small sense of delight. A power over him, should you seek to master it.
You rolled your hips again, and Minho’s head dropped, pressing his face into your neck.
It was clear he was nearing his own climax - his breaths shortened, his movements faltered and stuttered as his control began to slip.
It was here that he finally moaned - the sound choked, low, right in your ear and filled with such shameless pleasure that it sent a delicious shiver down your body.
It sounded like victory.
You had assumed that when Minho’s climax happened, it would be…for lack of a better term, dramatic. You thought that you’d be able to feel him paint your insides, feel him stake his claim in you.
Instead, all you felt was warmth – and a new slickness that only made itself known when Minho’s thrusts changed, growing slower and deeper as opposed to the short, quick bursts that brought him to his peak.
Eventually, Minho came to a stop, breath shaky, head still tucked into the crook of your neck.
So that…
That was that.
The event you had been dreading for so long. The claiming of your innocence, your final step into adulthood.
And you were so completely unsure what to think of it, lying there in silence as Minho finally stirred.
He pulled his head away, and removed his hand from your leg as he braced himself up onto his forearms, then onto his hands.
You felt him withdraw from you completely, rolling away from you to lie on his back by your side, leaving you with such a strange feeling of emptiness.
And then, the first sensation of something leaking out of you.
Out of pure, morbid curiosity you looked down.
No great torrents of blood, staining the bedsheets as you had so greatly feared. There was perhaps the slightest tinge of pink to Minho’s seed, but otherwise…
It was enough to fill you with a certain trepidation. Quickly, you looked up at Minho, who still seemed to be catching his breath. “There’s…there’s no blood.”
Minho’s eyes flickered to yours, and you realised that was pride in his expression. “Good.”
You frowned, drawing yourself up to a seated position. There was already a soreness building between your legs, but you pushed that to the back of your mind. “No, it’s not.”
Panic was already beginning to bubble up inside of you – and it must have been visible on your face, because Minho’s expression changed. “What?”
“Untouched brides bleed,” you recited, the words ingrained in you from countless lessons. “They’re going to think I…that I…”
Your thoughts raced, overwhelming you. You had done everything right, preserved yourself just as they had told you to. What had gone wrong?
Perhaps it was those afternoons on horseback. You had been warned against it, been told horror stories of young maidens bleeding onto their saddle from riding too strenuously – but you had been so careful.
You only broke out of your thoughts when you felt Minho shift his weight, turning onto his side to face you completely. Your heart dropped at the frown on his face, the sharpness in his gaze.
Did he doubt you now? Did he suspect that you had lied about your inexperience? Your virginity? Was he about to accuse you? To cast you out?
You prepared yourself for a fight – for a screaming match of words to defend your innocence.
But instead, all Minho did was sigh.
“No more of this,” he muttered, and moved to push himself up from the bed.
His dismissive words had you bristling, but he ignored you as he reached for the pile of fresh linens by the bed. You watched him clean himself up as best he could, his movements increasingly lethargic, as if every second sapped more and more energy from him.
To your surprise, he grabbed his breeches from where they lay rumpled on the floor, and put them back on.
“Get some sleep,” Minho said, not looking at you, choosing instead to focus on his own hands as they clumsily worked to retie his drawstrings. Once finished, with barely another glance to you, he returned to the bed and slipped under the covers – clearly intent on following his own advice.
You stared at him, incredulous, as he closed his eyes.
He’s just…sleeping? After all that?
You hadn’t been expecting any scintillating discussion – or, God forbid, some grand declaration of love – but surely what had just transpired between the two of you warranted a conversation. Your new marriage warranted one, at the very least.
Minho’s silence didn’t fill you with sadness or pain or even confusion.
No, it was almost…frustration. Irritation.
The man was just so difficult to work out.
In fact, you were so filled with annoyance that you knew sleep was a long way off. No, you knew you’d be wrestling with your thoughts for another hour or so. Longer, if you had to lie there and look at Minho’s face.
Logically, you knew from your lessons what your next actions should be. Lying on your back, legs up in the air, allowing your hips to tilt up and keep as much of Minho within you as you could. An essential action for any new bride, to increase chances of conception.
But the idea of wrangling yourself into such a stupid position, with Minho right next to you – never mind the mortification of having to explain why you were doing so, should he awaken and notice – was not appealing.
So, instead, after some hesitation, you rolled to the edge of the bed and pushed yourself to your feet.
You winced at the cold of the floor under you, fighting a shiver as you reached down for the linens as Minho had done. You made quick work mopping the remnants of him from your legs, grimacing slightly. Everything was so…sticky.
Once you were clean, you dressed yourself in your silks again. There was a comfort in the way the material felt against your fevered skin, even as you felt goosebumps raise in your skin.
What now?
You glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the shelf of books in the far corner, before deciding against reading at this time. Instead, you crossed the room, seating yourself in front of the fire – which had since dulled from a roaring blaze to a steady glow as it continued to burn through its wood.
You drew your knees up to your chest, eyes fixed on the flickering flames as thoughts swirled in your mind.
Part of you felt that you should look back on the night and feel some sort of embarrassment. You had been so bold, so shameless – so intent on matching Minho stride for stride.
But you felt no such shame.
You didn’t know what you felt, honestly, but it wasn’t shame.
Tonight…hadn’t been what you expected. You knew that much to be true.
But beyond that? You were at a loss.
You stayed like that, staring into the fire in silence, until sleep overcame you almost without warning. Your eyes drooped to a close, breath slowing as you lowered yourself to rest on your side.
The bed was so far away.
Here, you were warm, and it was so easy to just…drift off.
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When you awoke the next morning, you were unbearably stiff from a night on the floor.
You let out a groan as you attempted to turn your neck, and another when pushing yourself up to a seated position seemed almost impossible.
As you shifted, however, you noticed something strange. You looked down to see a fur draped over your body – expensive-looking, thick and warm, and completely unfamiliar.
Minho’s, your sleep-addled brain conclude – before your senses kicked back in.
You jolted up, memories of the previous night rushing back.
Minho, your new husband. Minho, your lover.
Minho – who was already awake, you realised, and currently lounging in one of the nearby chairs, flicking through some document with such characteristic disdain.
Minho, who hadn’t spared you a single glance since you’d awoken.
You swallowed, unsure of what to say, in light of all that had happened between you. You settled for the safest option. “Good morning.”
Minho kept his eyes on the document in front of him. “It’s afternoon.”
You blinked, eyes immediately darting towards the window. The sun shining through was bright, and at such an angle that could only confirm his words.
Still, you felt yourself scowl at such a curt response. “My apologies. I’d assumed from your attitude that it was still too early to be sociable. But apparently not.”
“Yes, it’s astounding that even this late in the day, you manage to wear my patience so thin,” Minho drawled, flipping a page over. “You have a gift.”
There was a familiarity to this back-and-forth. Not exactly a comfort, but enough that you could slip back into your old dynamic with ease.
There was just one small thing nagging you. Your hands curled around the fur, as you eyed Minho carefully. “Did you…the fur…?”
Minho finally looked up from his papers, glancing over to you with a familiar look of boredom. “Hmm? I assume you took that with you last night.”
That made sense, you decided. Your memory of last night was a bit of a blur – it was very possible you’d forget something as trivial as grabbing a blanket.
You pulled it around yourself, somewhat cold now that the fire had gone out. In the light of day, you were made all too aware of how thin and impractical your silks were.
Especially when Minho was fully dressed, looking so typically splendid in a perfectly tailored shirt and waistcoat, and black breeches so tight, you assumed he was planning to go out riding later.
That thought pulled at something in your gut.
You wondered, idly, what would happen if you got up and wandered over to him. If you pushed those papers to one side and sat astride him in that chair, facing him, watching him. You wondered what kind of reactions you could draw out from him.
And then, you brought yourself back to reality – to propriety – and you banished these thoughts with a shake of your head. The events that had transpired between the two of you last night – whatever temporary, unspoken truce you had agreed upon – had vanished.
You attempted to push yourself back up to your feet – and immediately winced at the new jolt of pain between your legs. The soreness had returned, with a vengeance.
You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth as you attempted to adjust to this new ache, and it was only when you opened them that you realised Minho’s attention had flickered back to you – watching you carefully.
On instinct, you pulled yourself up to your full height, ignoring the pain as you held your head high. You decided you’d rather die than have to confess to Minho that you were still aching from how…thoroughly he had attended to you last night.
“Do you have a robe I can wear?” you asked, voice perfectly level even as you pulled the furs around you even tighter. “It’s cold in here.”
Minho paused, before turning back to his documents, scanning through them with such nonchalance. “I’ll call for the servants.”
You nodded, only to blink in surprise when Minho got out of his seat, rising to his feet.
“They can escort you back to your chambers and dress you properly there,” Minho said, already turning and heading for the door. “I’ve got some matters to attend to.”
You stared after him, thrown by his words. He was leaving? “But–”
Minho paused at the door, head turning at your quiet interjection.
You shifted your weight, awkward as you attempted to piece together what you wanted to say. “…Wouldn’t it make more sense to bring my clothes up here?”
Because you’d be sharing his chambers – that was the silent implication. You would be sharing the same bedchambers, now that you were married. You would be sharing a bed, now that your new priority was to produce him an heir.
And yet, all Minho did was stare at you for a moment – and you were struck by the look in his eyes. It was…cold.
He turned away, leaving you to stare after him, and finally replied.
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taglist: @buntrsh @liz820 @sunnyville36 @sleepylixie @healinghyunjin @randombutyeah @aliceu @laikaya @the7thcrow @woofwoofbangbang @lynx-paw  @im-questioning-my-existence @mainexiii  @springdeity​ @koroleva--rezni​
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liliansun · a day ago
Trust me 18 ll No caption needed
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(written down below) 1.75 wc
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Jake walked beside you as you exited the gas station. Your turned to see what he was smiling at, staring down at his phone while texted Ryujin. You laughed a little, looking at the the people passing by. “What are you laughing at?” He asked, playfully shoving your shoulder. You turned back to him with a smile. “Oh nothing, but tell her I said hi.” Jake laughed at your comment, shaking his head as he typed away on his phone.
Your mind settled on the silence, hearing the click of Jake’s phone and hearing him shove it in his pocket. He took in a deep breath, looking up at the sky. You chewed on your bottom lip, deciding it was now or never. “We met when we were kids, I was 7 and he was 8.” Jake hummed, “Heeseung?” To which you nodded. “He was friends with the guy I had a crush on in class and when I wanted to tell my crush I liked him, Heeseung caught me.” The words fell out of your mouth like a waterfall, you weren’t even comprehending how much you were saying.
“Since that day, we used to be inseparable. We ate lunch together, spend breaks together, he would walk me home and we became so close with each other’s family.” Jake listened, he was giving you small nods to let you know he was still listening. “When we were about to enter high school, I realized I was falling for him. He was about to be in high school and I was going to have to spend a year without him. I thought that maybe I was sad because he’s my best friend, but really I was sad because there were older girls he could look at.”
You scoffed, shaking your head at the memories. “So what happened then?” He asked, brining you back to reality. Taking in a deep breath, you smiled softly. “When I got to high school, he had changed so much. He was so much more mature in school, he seemed older than he was and he was so popular amongst everyone.” As you approached your dorms, you walked to a bench near the hall you stayed in and Jake sat beside you.
“He didn’t stay in contact while you were a year behind him?” He asked. You nodded, “He would brush me off a lot, as painful as it was, I held onto hope.” Jake sighed, disappointed in the actions of Heeseung in his youth. “I kept trying to keep the contact, I would sit near him at lunch and only get a side glance. I would walk by him on our way home, I stayed after school and watched him practice. I did everything I could to try to stay in his life, but to him I was just a joke.”
Your heart was clenching, feeling the pain as if it happened just yesterday. Jake seems to notice your sadness, gently placing his hand on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry y/n, I wish I could’ve been there to knock some sense into him.” You felt tears starting to form in your eyes, staring down at your hands. “Eventually, I gave up. I made my own friends, found myself and began to move on. I thought it was going to be okay, he had his own friends and I met Yeji and Jungwon. They introduced me to Karina and Ryujin.”
Through glassy eyes, you turned to Jake with a soft smile. The memories of your friends brought a warmth to your aching heart. “They made all the pain go away, they healed my heart and brought back my smile. Loosing Heeseung was the hardest thing I had to do, not only did I love him, but he was my best friend.” Jake was sympathetic for you, he could feel your pain and see just how much of a hold Heeseung held on you. “We don’t have to continue y/n, I don’t want you to have to talk about all of this.” He said in a soft whisper, yet you continued on.
“It was my sophomore year, I watched as he played around with other girls in my year. I felt bad for them, they didn’t know he would lead them on before discarding of them. He ran through girls like the hoops he would shoot at his games. He was eye candy and he knew it, he used that.” You clenched your fists, feeling tears fall down your cheeks. “He used that on me, trying to sway me to fall for his charms, but I had moved on. I didn’t let him have the hold over me since he dropped me, but that wasn’t good enough for him.”
“He told all his friends about how I was so in love with him, he told them that he could have his way with me if he wanted and I would give into him because I was weak. He played it off as if I was obsessed with him and the rumor spread around the entire school. I was humiliated, people would whisper about me and point whenever I was in the hallway near him. He brought me down because I wasn’t falling for him anymore.” Your voice cracked just a little at the end.
The pain in your tone struck Jake, he felt so bad for the way you were treated and began to question his friendship with Heeseung. “He tried to apologize, like it was nothing. He didn’t see how bad it hurt me, he didn’t see the damage he had done.” “But I did.” A voice behind the bench had spoke out. Jake turned, his face showing how very obvious he was angry. Your heart shattered at the sound of Heeseung, you couldn’t turn to see him even though you wanted to so bad. “I did see how I messed up y/n, I’m so sorry and I wanted to fix it-“
“You don’t get to speak to her, asshole.” Jake stood up, staring directly at his friend. “She is the best thing that ever happened to you and you treated her like shit? Do you know how many guys she probably could’ve had yet she wanted you?” Heeseung was now fuming, walking towards the two of you. “Oh yea? Like who Jake, you? If you weren’t wrapped around her best friend, I’m sure you would’ve made a move.” His words were cutting through you, each one hurting more than the last. You stood up, angry at how he sees you, but sad at how he lets his emotions get the best of him.
“Tell her.”
You looked to Jake, confusion written all over your face. Blinking away your tears, you saw Heeseung stop in his tracks and turn white. “Tell me what?” You asked, hoping one of them would grab the question. Heeseung wouldn’t meet your eyes, his were stuck on Jake’s clenched jaw. “Go ahead, hyung. Tell her, unless you want her to hear it from me. Maybe Jungwon?” The boy in front of you was holding back, his knuckles turning white with how tightly he held his hands.
“Heeseung, tell me what?” Your voice desperate for an answer. You had hope it was nothing, hope that it would be something stupid and you guys could all laugh it off, but the tension told you otherwise. “Y/n, listen, it’s so stupid. You don’t have to kno-“
“A bet.” Jake said, making Heeseung’s stomach drop. His words bounced around in your mind, telling you this was going to end badly. “A bet? What bet? What’s he talking about hee?” You asked, tears streaming down your cheeks. It hurt him to watch you cry, knowing he was going to break your heart all over again. “Please y/n, I can’t loose you again.” He said, voice sounding strained. You stepped back with every step he took toward you. Jake stepping forward to keep him away, “Y/n, it was something stupid with Jay okay? He bet that I would fall in love with you at the end of the semester and-and I bet I wouldn’t.”
Silence, the whole world had went silent. Your eyes fell to the ground as your mind tried to comprehend what he was saying. Was he serious? Did he seriously bet his feelings on you, against you? You didn’t think you could ever feel pain like you were feeling now, yet it felt worse than before. “Y/n, listen to me. That’s not me though, I’ve changed. I don’t think I would’ve w-“
“I think you should go.” Jake spoke up, staring at Heeseung’s desperate face. He had tears falling down his cheeks and Jake couldn’t watch him crumble from his own mistakes. He didn’t deserve the pity. You were hearing white noise as you felt sick to your stomach. You had let him in, you let him come close to your fragile heart only for him to bet on it and break it. Your thoughts were broken when you felt Jake’s arms wrap around you. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” He said in a whisper. You were thankful Jake was there, not sure how you would’ve taken it or have known if he didn’t walk you home.
You held your somewhat together, silently sobbing as Jake walked you to your dorm. Heeseung watched you walk away, feeling his heart long for you. He knew he had lost you for good, he knew you were gone forever and he only had himself to blame. When your door opened, you heard the soft gasps of your friends. Yeji was asking Jake what happened as he gave a sympathetic look. Ryujin was pulling you in and Karina was comforting you with soft rubs on your back. As Jake bid his goodbye to the girls and yourself, you lifted your head.
They all looked at you, watching you fall to the ground. Sobbing as loud as you needed to, you let the pain wash over you. You were thankful for them, thankful they put on your favorite movie and brought out your favorite snacks. They let you cry in their arms, thankful you came back to them. There wasn’t anything they could say to take away your pain, so they let you feel all you needed to feel and do their best to ease your sorrows. They knew you’d have to heal again and they were by your side for the ride.
Start the year off with a bang, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. When y/n decided to sign up for a partner dance for her end of the year competition with her dance team, little did she know she’d be paired up with the one person she couldn’t stand most..Lee Heeseung.
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ainhoa-wind-draws · 4 hours ago
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When this ToT card was announced all I could think about was Chilumi, so I made an edit 🔪
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theresthesnitch · 2 days ago
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Ignite - Chapter 3
The party was a celebration. The last party of their 6th year, only days before the start of finals. That wasn't the reason for it, though. The reason was the large gold trophy that was now sitting in the middle of the common room following the quidditch finals that morning.
Lily should be studying. If she was smart, she'd leave the party and return to her books. Except she had been studying for weeks, and she was on the verge of finally mastering the featherlight Transfiguration principal to allow her to turn the bowling ball into a balloon for the test on Wednesday, and she needed a fucking break.
She had her Gryffindor pride on display, the red and gold colors adorning her figure. She sat through the game, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why anyone really enjoyed it. Even still, she cheered and booed with the rest of them. When the game ended in the early afternoon, she stayed in the stands while the rest of Gryffindor rushed the field, observing the revelry among her classmates with a bird’s eye view. At the center of that mass was James Potter, the Quidditch Captain that led Gryffindor to victory for the first time in some number of years that Lily never bothered to pay attention to (too many, as far as she could tell).
She followed the swell of the crowd back to Gryffindor Tower, the party forming as soon as they crossed the portrait hole. Someone put out a record player, charming it to rotate through the records and keep the party moving. Someone (read: some combination of the four 6th-year boys who were known to make such things happen) supplied butterbeer, firewhisky, and enough food from the kitchens to keep the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall empty that evening.
Lily stood at the edge of the gathering, nursing a butterbeer. She needed to relax, and should the opportunity present itself, she intended to find someone to relax with. It had been far too long since she had found herself under someone, and she desperately wanted it tonight. The only question was who.
“Alright, Evans?”
Continue reading on AO3.
Or start from the beginning.
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pietrotheavenger · a day ago
learn to love
chapter 12 - heartbreaker
summary: steve and y/n don’t get along. now, they have to.
pairings: au!steve rogers x fem!reader
warnings: DRUNK DRIVING, alcohol, depressive feelings/episode, general angst
a/n: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE never drink and drive. it’s never worth it.
series masterlist
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steve had a rough summer, to say the least. after wallowing in self pity for a few days, he fell into a routine. he did just enough to get by at work, then would release his tensions at the gym before going home and drinking whatever bottle of alcohol he had grabbed from the grocery store in a futile attempt to forget her. when he closed his eyes, all he saw was her. when he tossed and turned in bed at night, her smell lingered. he didn’t know where it wafted in from or if it was just a figment of his imagination, but he reveled in every moment of it. on the rare night that he was sober, he would take his motorcycle out for a ride through the city. the fresh air cleared his head.
almost three months after he had returned from the trip, he finally began to unpack his suitcase which had been thrown in the hallway closet. he began shoveling the clothing into a laundry hamper when he came across the shirt she had worn to sleep. he ran his fingertips over the faded graphic. he could taste their champagne laced kiss on his tongue. he closed his eyes and released a deep breath. he felt his cells tingling as he relived the moment; the feeling her waist under his hands, the smell of the blooming flowers and the aftermath of rain, the way the dim lighting caused her eyelashes to cast a shadow on her face.
“oh, y/n,” he whispered.
he had never gotten his heart broken, before. he had always been the heartbreaker. he had never felt pain akin to the one that he was experiencing. it was as though he had left a piece of him on the curb outside of her apartment with her and her belongings. why didn’t she want him? what was holding her back?
often enough, he wondered where he went wrong. the question bounced around his head when he would thumb through his camera roll, looking at pictures of her, when he would be on his commute to work, and when he was in the shower.
the scalding water thrummed against his back as he washed the shampoo out of his hair. the temperature was almost painful, but he didn’t notice. suddenly, he heard her laughter ringing around the house. he paused, making sure he was hearing correctly.
“y/n?” he called out. he strained as he searched for her voice. he was craving her. he turned the water off, trying to hear better. “y/n?” no reply. he stepped out of the shower and quickly wrapped a towel around his hips. he threw open the bathroom door and stepped out into his apartment. “y/n?” he looked around and discovered that his tv was on. she was not there.
he sat down on the couch and switched the tv off with the remote. he put his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands for a moment. where did i go wrong? he thought.
that night, he drank more than he usually did. his foggy mind decided that he wanted to go out for a ride. he looked at himself in the mirror above his dresser. he didn’t know who was staring back at him. he had bulked up due to the hours at the gym. he shrugged on his leather jacket and a pair of shoes, tucked his helmet under his arm and went off to the parking garage.
the drive started off as smooth as it could be in his inebriated state. the roads were mostly empty, the faint sounds of traffic in the distance. the fresh air wasn’t clearing his thoughts. he felt like he was being suffocated. he switched gears and accelerated. then, he saw it out of the corner of his eye; a cat. it darted out in front of him. he slammed on the brakes and attempted to maneuver the motorcycle to skid to halt, but he lost control. it slid onto its side and out from under him. he rolled to absorb the impact and saw, just in time, the motorcycle hitting a pole.
he stood up, catching his breath and patting his stomach and his sides. he examined himself. there was not a scratch on him. he released a shaky breath and approached the motorcycle. on the other side of it, the cat sat. it meowed at steve.
he sat down on the curb and removed his helmet, scratching the back of his head. he couldn’t process what had just happened. he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone. the screen illuminated his face in a wash of blue light. he went to his recent calls, clicked on the contact on the top, and put his phone to his ear. he pressed his other hand against his thigh to keep it from shaking.
“hey, man. can you pick me up?”
sam came to steve’s rescue in his truck. they loaded the totaled motorcycle into his trunk and drove to sam’s place in silence. sam unlocked the front door and gestured for his friend to enter. “we’ll talk in the morning,” he told him.
he nodded while nudging his shoes off then headed for the couch. he draped his jacket over the arm and grabbed a throw pillow to clutch against his chest. he closed his eyes and when he fell asleep, he dreamt of y/n.
the following morning, sam woke steve up. the blond freshened up in the bathroom and returned to a cup of coffee. “what you did last night was unacceptable,” sam told him. “you could’ve gotten hurt or you could’ve died. what if there was a car? you could’ve killed somebody, steve.” the man stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the counter. “what’s going on with you?”
“i keep asking myself that,” steve answered. “i don’t know.”
“well, you have two options. go to rehab or i’ll file a police report. you can’t go on like this. you’ve been drinking heavily since you came back from bos-”
“i know,” steve cut him off. “you’re right, sam. it’s time for a change.”
and so steve took sam’s advice. he took a leave of absence from work and checked into rehab. he stayed there for two weeks and when he checked out, he felt more at peace with himself. his heart was still captivated by y/n, but his thoughts were no longer completely plagued by her. he would still lie awake at night thinking about her soft skin and the twinkle in her eyes right before she told a joke. most of the time, he was able to shake the thoughts off, turn onto his side, and fall fast asleep.
that is, until he saw her at sam’s house. the second he saw natasha enter his heart began racing. he didn’t see her but he could feel her heart calling out to his. he nervously greeted natasha and began fidgeting with a napkin. a minute later, she entered with sam, eyes trained on the ground. he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. she looked up, her eyes meeting his. the floodgates opened and all his feelings for her came rushing back.
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infinity tags:
@ssweet-empowerment ; @stardustandbucky ; @abuckyrogersworld ; @freightcarcap ; @c-a-v-a-l-r-y ; @coffeebooksandfandom ; @somethingmoreclever ; @2dreamcatcher8 ; @illegalportkey ; @fuckthatfeeling ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @tuliptx ; @wwhitewwolff ; @thisismysecrethappyplace ; @appreciating-chase-brody ; @maladaptive-ninja-returns ; @marvelrose ; @sophiealiice ; @galacticstxrdust ; @fitzsimmons-is-forever ; @dumblani ; @i-padfootblack-things ; @pinknerdpanda ; @marvelssluts ;
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@youunravelme ; @cailin-lefantasy ; @clockworkherondale ; @clean-and-claire ; @denzmallows ; @ibxxmc-blog ; @itsallyscorner ; @brujademente ; @dusuncelidusuncesiz ; @complete-trash-101 ; @radical-gecko ; @liebestraume-e : @cruelsummer-s ; @myoneandongly ;
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aziraphales-library · a day ago
is there any fanfic that explores a little bit the "enemies"-to-lovers and make it a bit more a proper enemy to lover? even if human au or whatever really
There was an ask like this previously answered here and here.
More like this:
Or Be Nice [E] by charlottemadison
Crowley and Aziraphale are neighbours. does not go at all well, until it does.
A human AU in which Aziraphale is a bookseller, Crowley is a drummer, and they are both petty disasters in the worst/best way.
A Machine for Living In [T] by pineapplesquid
All Crowley wants is to see the inside of the bookshop so that he can get this design for the building next door done so the clients will be happy and his bosses will stop yelling. What A.Z. Fell wants, apparently, is for Crowley and the project that’s he’s working on to disappear. Permanently.
One of these might be more attainable than the other.
it had to be you [M] by curtaincall
“What I’m saying,” said Aziraphale, looking fixedly ahead, “and please don’t take this as a personal insult in any way, is that an angel and a demon can’t be friends.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” said Aziraphale, firmly. “It’s against the order of things. You’re supposed to tempt. I’m supposed to thwart. We can’t go being friends.”
A canon-divergent AU inspired by When Harry Met Sally.
~Mod N
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Unholy Matrimony: a Sham in Four Acts
Prompt: “I’ve learnt to love you.”
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Summary: You (the older sister of Alfred and Aethelred) are unfortunately in York when the northmen attack. When they find out who you are, the Lothbroks decide that one of them must marry you to claim the land. Disclaimer: this is 2nd Person POV but your name is Aethelind (so a bit OC)
Cursive means either norse or thoughts (but that’s pretty simple if you take the context into account)
Act I: Mercy
The terrified messenger had come too late to warn you. He had stumbled into York mere hours before the pagans arrived, asking you to flee to the marshes. Of course, you didn’t know that then. You had been sent to York to learn more about your Faith. Your father, Aethelwulf, had been disgusted at the shallow friendship you had formed with Ivar.
 Ecbert and Judith had suggested to marry you to Ivar to finally make peace with the pagans, which had sent your father into a rage. Instead, he sent you away to York so that you would remain pure.
 If you weren’t so terrified, you’d laugh at the irony of it all. With Aethelred gone, there was no one to protect you, and with Alfred gone, there was no one for you to protect.
 Father Matthew had ordered all the gates closed and asked the bishop to hold a mass so that all Saxons could be on their way with the Lord’s blessings. You knelt at the front, next to a motherly nun when the doors burst open, and the heathens stormed inside.
 Screams filled the church as the slaughter begun and the nun pulled you away. You almost stumbled over a man that must’ve fainted at the sight of these demons, but as you saw the knife in his belt, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
 Instead, you took the meagre protection and prayed that the rumors around Aelle’s death were not true. The few guards that were still alive and fighting quickly diminished in numbers, but two of them left their group to protect you, and together with the nun, they ushered you behind the altar and into a dark room.
 One of them began pulling open a door in the floor when someone began pounding on the heavy wood separating you from the screams and the carnage outside.
 Finally, the door was pulled open, and you climbed inside. In the dark, the last thing you noticed was the wet liquid spattering your face.
 Light blinded you as the giant of a man carried you outside. You kicked in his grip, not willing to give up this easily. He only laughed in response and threw you into a corner of the church. You landed on your back and looked around for someone, or something to help you as your eyes fell on a woman next to you. Your stomach turned as you realized what was happening to her.
 You blindly grabbed for the knife as he began to ruck up your skirt. He growled as you slashed shallowly across his face and slapped you in response. You were selfish, and what you were about to do next could be worse than being raped, but you didn’t care.
 “You can’t do this, I’m the princess!” you yelled, but he only laughed. In the broken Norse Ivar had taught you, you tried to tell him again.
 “Grandfather… King.” You managed, as the door was open once again, and a man in a chariot rode in. He was wearing a helmet, but from the way he was sitting in his chariot, he could be Ivar. Ivar would protect you, right?
 “IVAR!” you screamed as loud as you could. The man on top of you stopped, staring at you confused and the figure on the chariot turned their head too. You took the man’s confusion and dashed towards Ivar.
 You barely made it five steps before the man pulled you back and you fell, but a few harsh words from Ivar made him pick you up and sit you against a pillar, a firm hand on your shoulder.
 He looked at you, surprised and intrigued. He looked older, surer of himself than the last time you’d seen him, but there was also something even more sinister about him.
 Then, he smiled brightly. “Princess Aethelind!” he exclaimed, much too optimistic. He leaned on the edge of the chariot and scrutinized you. You knew you had to look disheveled at least. “What brings you to York?” Ivar asked.
 You decided to go for an oversimplified half-truth. It had always seemed to work for grandfather, after all. “You.” You replied.
 “Me?” Ivar asked, raising his eyebrows. He looked like he wanted to ask you another question when two other men walked to the chariot. They both had the same startlingly blue eyes, and from their demeanor you guessed they were his brothers.
 The more serious one began talking to Ivar in quick, quiet Norse while the one with the boyish grin smirked at you. You stared back, trying to hide yourself under his gaze. A quick command from Ivar, and the giant hoisted you up and carried you away.
 You had sat in the dark, cold room for what had felt like an eternity when another Northman hoisted you from the floor and back into the church. When you were inside, he immediately pushed you down into a chair.
 The three brothers sat at the table, and you only caught a few words of their discussion.
 “Land… chess... Aethelwulf… game...”
 At the words ‘marriage’ and ‘Aethelind’, you lifted your head. They were talking about you. They were talking about binding you, to one of them probably. Suddenly, Ivar hoisted himself up and crawled towards you quickly. He put a calloused hand under your chin and turned your face from side to side.
 Unconsciously, you leaned into the touch. Everyone here had tried to touch you as little as possible and the last time you had hugged your little brother was two days after Ivar had left.
 Then, you shook yourself out of your trance and snapped away from him. The small smirk on his face told you that he had noticed, nonetheless.
 “Are you married?” he asked you in a heavy accent. You shook your head. His eyebrows knit together.
 “Then why are you here?” he interrogated.
 “My father sent me here to become more faithful. He said I’d spent to much time with you.” Ivar sniggered.
 “You Christians are funny.” You had to smile a little. He turned away and crawled back to his brothers.
 The younger one, who seemed to be called Hvitserk nodded in your direction and smirked again. The older one elbowed him. You watched them for a while, trying to decipher their words and what they were having such a heated argument about.
 You were dragged away and thrown back into the room with a ragged blanket that you grasped onto desperately. You shivered as you fell asleep, but your last thought was of your future. Were they going to kill you?
 No. you thought to yourself. But they might do something much worse.
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formulalex · a day ago
Omg that enemy to lover fic with Lance was superb *chefs kiss* lol! Can you do another one were you’re like Seb’s little sister and you and Lance don’t really get along and you two accidentally get locked in a room together and there’s cute teasing and bickering when you two accidentally touch hands and have a moment and kiss as it gets a little heated you get caught by Seb. I think that would be sooo goood
locked up / lance stroll
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(not my gif! credits to the owner)
warnings: just a little steamy, kissing, bickering... uh yeah
a/n: hi i'm finally getting through the requests!!!! this one didn't really turn out written how i'd hoped for it too but here it is haha hope you enjoy it :3 trying to get out of my writer's block merp thank you requesting this one!
No. No. No. This can’t be happening to you right now. You were supposed to be on your way back to the hotel, getting ready for dinner before your brother got back from the paddock. You initially didn’t even want to come watch the practice sessions today, but you found yourself bored at the start of the day and came out anyway. Wrong choice. You twist the doorknob in front of you, willing for it to magically click open. You groan as the door remains jammed shut.
“This is your fault.” The voice behind you says. You hadn’t meant to enter his room, but you swore you could hear the voice of the creepy guy who wouldn’t stop bothering you every time you were in the paddock from the end of the hallway so you forced yourself into the nearest room possible. It just happened to be Lance Stroll’s personal room. “How was I supposed to know you can’t keep a door fully functional?” You shoot back. Lance chuckles from where he is perched on the sofa. “Or maybe you actually wanted to get locked in a room with me. It was working perfectly fine until you slammed the door shut entering.” You shoot Lance a look. “I would not want to be stuck with you anywhere.”
You and Lance had never really gotten along. You wouldn’t go so far to say that you absolutely hated each other, but you both would definitely not choose to spend any time with each other if it wasn’t necessary. You agreed to try to be civil with him when Seb, your brother, asked you to be nice since he wanted you to get along with the new team he joined. For as long as you could remember, you were always there to support Seb at races when you could. You loved meeting the people he got to work with and learning more about the sport. It just so happened that the only person who rubbed you the wrong way was Lance and the air of cockiness that seemed to surround his every move.
So the universe probably thought it was being really funny when it decided to have you and Lance stuck in a room together. “Why are you even here?” “You’re literally in my room. I should be asking you that.” Lance deadpans. You feel your cheeks heating up, annoyed that he does have a point. You power on anyway. “No. I mean, aren’t you supposed to be doing driver stuff like analyzing data instead of just sitting here?” You pull your phone out as you say this, thinking about whether you want to bother your brother or not. You know Seb would make sure you were okay, but you also know how important his time with his team is and you don’t want to interrupt any of his sessions. “I don’t know how this concerns you, but I was actually just changing out of my race suit when you barged in.” You look at the direction Lance has pointed to and see a discarded race suit sitting in a pile on the floor. “And you don’t lock your door when you change?” “Clearly not because I’m always desperately wishing you come in and catch me changing.” You roll your eyes at Lance’s sarcasm. “I’m sure you do.” Silence envelopes the room and you stare at the floor for quite some time, once again weighing your options to just phone your brother. Lance is typing something on his phone. “You can sit down, you know. The floor is quite comfortable.” He jokingly offers after a while. You look at Lance, sitting comfortably on the large couch. “Glad to know I’m only worth sitting on the floor.” Lance rolls his eyes. “Do you want to sit beside me?” He offers, the expression on his face revealing he’s sure you would rather not. “I think I do.” You reply, just to challenge him. It’s always a game with Lance. You plop yourself on the opposite end of the couch, keeping as much distance as possible. “If you scoot over just a bit more, you’ll end up on the floor anyway.” “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you want me to sit closer to you.” You tease. Lance scoffs. “Where are you pulling this out of?” You move marginally closer to him. Lance shifts in his seat, unfamiliar with the new space (or lack, thereof) between you two.
“Are you getting nervous, Stroll?” You say, placing your hand between the both of you to steady yourself as you lean forward. Lance meets your eyes, holding your gaze. The atmosphere in the room has suddenly shifted, the awkwardness that Lance initially had disappearing as quickly as it came. He leans forward and says, “I think you are.” You’re about to say something back when suddenly you feel something touch your hand. You glance down and see that Lance’s hand had landed on top of yours as he was leaning forward. You look back up and raise an eyebrow at Lance. “Well, I think you are trying to make a move on me.” Lance does not move his hand from yours. “And if I am?” You smirk, amused by the situation. “And if you are, what?” Lance eyes move from yours down to your lips. “And if I am making a move on you, what does that mean to you?” His eyes meet yours again. “Well, what does it mean to you?” You tease. Somehow, the space separating the two of you has grown even smaller. “You just can’t answer properly, can you?” You nod in reply. “Sometimes, I wish you would just shut up.” Lance continues. “I didn’t even say anything.” You whisper now, the both of you way closer than you’d ever imagined possible. You can see how brown his eyes are, never really noticing before how pretty a shade they are. “But all of the other times, I know you do it on purpose to rile me up.” Lance’s hand is now drawing circles on yours. “It’s just so fun to do when it’s you.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. Actually-“ Your train of thought is cut off as Lance suddenly eliminates the space between you both. The first thing that enters your head is: oh my god we’re actually kissing. The next thing is: oh my god he’s actually really good at this.
You kiss him back after a while, your free hand now resting on his chest. Lance moves his hand from the one resting on top of yours to your waist, squeezing gently. You let out a small gasp at the contact and Lance takes that opportunity to deepen the kiss. You break away from the kiss, moving down to his neck and planting kisses. Lance pulls you on top of him, making you straddle him. “So that’s how to get you to shut up.” He says, his hands running up and down the sides of your body. He brings your face level back to his and kisses you again. You push yourself closer to his body, feeling his excitement by your inner thighs. He groans in the kiss. You start shifting your hips forward and back, the feeling of your center rubbing against him building pressure in the bottom of your stomach. Lance starts kissing your jaw. “You look so hot right now, trying to get yourself off on me.” The pleasure you’re feeling multiplies, his words almost pushing you to the edge. You continue rocking back and forth on him as he whispers into your ear. Lance’s hands are now under your blouse, feeling you up. “That’s it, go on. Let yourself go.” You can’t believe you’re actually dry humping him right now, the thought of it so dirty in your head but strangely turning you on even more. You can tell Lance is turned on too, his hips moving with yours to help guide you. You can feel it build up. It’s coming. It’s coming. It’s-
“What the fuck?”
If there was ever a way to kill an orgasm as quickly as possible, it would be this. You and Lance are both frozen in place. You’ve stopped grinding on him but his hands are still on the skin in your back. You’re both staring at each other wide-eyed. That could only be the voice of your brother. “I came here because Lance is texting me, begging to get you out of his room that you’re both locked in and you’re doing this? What the fuck?” You can’t bring yourself to meet Seb’s eyes but you get yourself off of Lance immediately. You plop yourself next to Lance. “It just happened?” You offer, finally gaining the courage to look at your brother. Seb shakes his head and mutters something under his breath. He looks at the both of you, clearly displeased. “Yeah, whatever is going on here, fix yourselves. You’re both old enough. The door is unlocked so… Yeah. I don’t know what to say. This is awkward. I don’t wanna walk into that again.” Seb scratches his head as he quickly walks out of the room, now confused at how to approach the situation.
You and Lance are alone in his room again. You both say nothing for a while until you glance at him and see he’s already looking at you. You can’t say anything, but you start laughing. He starts laughing too. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you texted my brother. Are you actually insane?” You hide your face in your hands. “Well, I figured he was going to make sure you were out quicker.” You groan, embarrassed already at the thought of facing your brother again. You get up, shaking your head. “Yeah. Remind me never to get locked in a room with you.” Lance simply chuckles. “Well, you know where to find me if ever you want to anyway.”
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agentofship · 2 days ago
Just Married (for a week), chapter 1
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It’s already the 22nd here so happy birthday @2minutes2midnight <3 You’re a ray of sunshine in this fandom and I hope you have a wonderful day <3 FitzSimmons, rated E, 3100 words (for now) Summary: Jemma's life hasn't been the best lately. Her love life is inexistant and, despite being a certified genius, she'd just lost her job. Again. But when everyone gets sick at her sister Daisy's wedding but her and Fitz, her new brother in law's awful best friend, she thinks that her luck might have just turned. Daisy insists that Jemma has to take advantage of her honeymoon so it doesn't go to waste. Only problem is, she also insists that Fitz should come along as well. Can she really appreciate a week in heavenly Seychelles with a man who despises her? Although...does he really despise her? And Fitz truly as bad as she thinks he is? A FitzSimmons Unhoneymooners AU  A big thank you to @libbyweasley for all her help <3 After checking that their entrée and main dish of chicken and vegetables had been nowhere near any fish or buffet food, Jemma left the kitchen confident that everything should be alright. She took out her phone from her purse and happily ticked one more thing off her list. There was nothing else on there except not tripping over her dress as she walked down the aisle with the other bridesmaids and awaited for Daisy. So she made her way back to the bridal suite, certain that, at the very least, Daisy would need her to take one last look at her hair, makeup and dress. She'd almost made it to the elevator when Fitz turned a corner and started walking her way. She wondered for a second if she could pretend to be so absorbed by her phone that she hadn't seen him, but then their eyes met and it was too late. She saw his eyes quickly move up and down the length of her body before looking back into her eyes. She thought she saw his throat bob before his lips pulled into that irritating side smirk that always made her want to rip it off his face. "Jemma," he said, as if the name itself was funny. "Fitz." "I was coming to make sure they--" "I checked already. I made sure they had snails for you at the buffet." "I don't-- ah ah, hilarious." Jemma gave him her most insincere smile. "Are you planning a comedy show as your maid of honor speech? Is that why you're dressed like that?" Jemma squinted her eyes at him but his eyes were trained too far to the south to notice. Whatever he had to say about the dress, he clearly appreciated what was in it. Or well, practically spilling out of it to be fair. She wanted to tell something about how he was dressed but, of course, he was annoyingly handsome today. His dark grey suit fitted him perfectly, complementing his lean frame and blue eyes while still showing off his solid shoulders. He'd even tamed his curls in a way that made her want to plunge her fingers in them. Continue reading on AO3
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user55772210 · 2 days ago
To bury an enemy is more upsetting than to bury a friend
Whether one loves an enemy or hates them, it makes no difference
An enemy is more constant than a friend, more consistent
To lose a friend is to lose a fight, but to lose an enemy is to lose a reason to fight
And that is the worst things to lose of all
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liliansun · a day ago
Trust me 17 ll You’re lying
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Start the year off with a bang, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. When y/n decided to sign up for a partner dance for her end of the year competition with her dance team, little did she know she’d be paired up with the one person she couldn’t stand most..Lee Heeseung.
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raspberryroo1312 · a day ago
trying to write a series is hard because all I want to do is write the climax of the third book of the trilogy because that's where all the angst is but NO I have to write ~exposition!~ and develop **character**!! 
why can’t my lesbians simply be in love with each other without the arduous process of ^^^relationship development^^^?? Can I not write an enemies to lovers story without the explanation of the enemy nor the lover? Can I not publish a book of one-shots that are basically fanfic for my OCs??? Can I do it???
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villaininator · 2 days ago
enemies to lovers where they're watching a horror movie and the villain is actually the one being scared.
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pietrotheavenger · 2 days ago
learn to love
chapter 11 - waiting game
summary: steve and y/n don’t get along. now, they have to.
pairings: au!steve rogers x fem!reader
warnings: alcohol, mentions of depressive feelings/episodes, disordered eating habits, weight loss, general angst
a/n: hi all! writers block has cleared for the moment and here is the chapter! unedited but is anyone surprised?
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y/n never ended up sending steve the venmo request. upon the arrival to her apartment, she kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto her bed. she sobbed into her pillow. she could not handle the pain of her consequences. there was nothing else in the world that she wanted more than steve. she had never yearned for anything so badly. she felt as if she had ripped out a piece of her soul and left it in his car.
an hour or so later, she collected herself and stepped out of her room to find herself home alone. she let out a sigh of relief, and returned to her room. she opened the window and unpacked her suitcase. she changed her sheet, put on a load of laundry, and took a quick shower before sitting down in front of the television with a glass of wine in hand. she has been through enough heartbreaks to know that the world would not stop for her. she did not realize that she had been shaking the whole time until she brought the wine glass to her lips. after taking a small sip, she placed it on the coffee table and wrung her hands out.
“no more crying,” she told herself as a tear slipped down her cheek.
things were not much better for steve. he drove straight to the gym. he parked, popped the trunk, and opened his suitcase to look for work-out appropriate gear. all of his clothes had been neatly folded by y/n. his heart skipped a beat and then broke a little more. he rummaged through until he found a pair of sweatshorts and a t-shirt. after changing, he went straight for the punching bag. he wrapped his hands and set it up with no effort and then began his assault. he let out his pain, frustration, and sadness with each jab. her words echoed in his head and he could not shake them off. he swung around and kicked his leg out, nailing the bag a little too hard and causing it to fall from the hook. he glared at it, chest heaving. he could feel the stares of the other people there. he put the punching bag away and unwrapped his hands. he was shaking.
steve called into work the next day, saying he had a headache. it was true. he spent the day in his room, a glass of scotch never too far away.
y/n forced herself to get ready for work. she felt like shit. she was exhausted psychically and emotionally and her mind, body, and heart all screamed at her to stop but she pushed through. when she emerged from her room in the morning, natasha was in the kitchen, her morning coffee in hand.
“you look like shit,” she commented, bringing the mug to her lips to blow on the steaming contents.
“traveling is exhausting,” y/n replied. she headed to the fridge and opened in, glancing inside to see if there was anything that would make her appetite return. there wasn’t.
“how was it?” the redhead asked.
“it went,” she paused, searching for the right words, “as expected. we argued a lot.” she sent out a little prayer to any god that was listening that her roommate wouldn’t press the matter. she would fall apart if she had to talk about it. she grabbed a can of cold brew from the door of the fridge and cracked it open. she hoped it wasn’t obvious that her hands were shaking.
“i guess my predictions were off,” natasha chuckled.
y/n exhaled a small sigh of relief and offered her a small smile. “you can say that,” she remarked.
she made it through the workday with only three breaks to the bathroom to cry and wipe her snot away with scratchy toilet paper. after she left, she went home where she threw ingredients from the pantry and fridge into a pan to make some semblance of a meal. she poured herself a glass of wine, picked at her dinner, then stepped into the shower. she retired to her room where she watched a random show. eventually, she was lulled into a dreamless sleep. she awoke the next morning to a text from an unknown number.
Hello. It’s Thor. Steve gave me your number :)
she deleted the text.
all of her days blurred into one. she did the same thing everyday, with the exception of a grocery run and trip to the liquor store once a week. natasha would invite her to go out and she would politely decline. soon enough, summer neared its end. it hung over her like a storm cloud.
she was laying in bed with a throw blanket on and watching a sitcom when there was a knock on her door. she paused the show. “come in,” she called.
natasha pushed open the door and leaned against the wall. her curtains were drawn, but a cool breeze caused them to flutter. she knew something had happened between her and steve, as they were both in the same state of melancholy but neither of them told anyone the events of the trip. she knew she would find out eventually. she was an expert at the waiting game. “you have two options,” she began. “come with me to sam’s labor day party,” she held up her index finger, “or let your social life die in this room with you.” her middle finger joined the other and she wiggled them in the air. “choose wisely.”
y/n sucked in a breath. “work has been so stressful. my social battery is completely drained.” same excuse as always.
“two options,” natasha repeated. “bye-bye friends or hello free alcohol and dinner.”
“i want to stay home.”
“okay then, say it,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “say, ‘i choose to let my social life die in this room with me.’”
“i-” y/n opened her mouth and then shut it. she stared at natasha for a moment before kicking off her blanket. “damn you’re good,” she grumbled.
“i know,” she grinned. “you have thirty minutes to get ready.” she turned around to leave and closed the door.
“hello free alcohol and dinner,” y/n mumbled to herself.
she rolled out of bed. she found a summery midi dress in the back of her closet and changed into it. it was a hand-me-down from a friend who didn’t want it and hadn’t zipped the last time she attempted to wear it, but now the zip easily glided up. her lifestyle change had caused her to lose weight. she did minimal makeup and brushed her hair, which was, for the most part, styled from when she last washed it. she stared at herself in the mirror and couldn’t seem to recognize herself. her face was thinner. she reached up to touch her cheek but was interrupted with another knock.
“ready to go?”
“i don’t know if this is a good idea,” she replied.
“okay, then say it. ‘bye-bye social life.’”
“no,” y/n responded. “i’m ready.”
the pair stopped at the liquor store for a moderately priced bottle of wine before they reached sam’s house. natasha pressed the doorbell and a moment later the door swung open to reveal the smiling man. “long time no see!” he pulled y/n in for a bear hug.
she had been lost in her mind for so long that she had forgotten what comfort felt like. she melted into him and reciprocated the hug.
“i’m here too,” natasha joked, poking sam’s arm. “and i brought wine.”
“great to see you, too,” sam rolled his eyes then pulled away from y/n and gave her roommate a hug. “come in, we’re just about to get started on dinner.”
natasha had no problem sauntering into the house where y/n heard the sounds of everyone greeting her. she lingered in the entry-way for a moment, trying to pick out steve’s voice from the symphony. sam noticed her hesitation.
“what’s been keeping you away this summer?” he asked.
“work has been really hectic. everything just keeps piling up. i’m putting in overtime but i still can’t manage to get on top of things. by the time i get home, i’m too tired to do anything else,” she told him. it was true. she had been pouring herself into her work.
“that’s a shame. we’ve missed you around here, but i understand how it can be,” he nodded. “sometimes, when there’s a mountain of things to do, there can be just one thing that lightens the load. oftentimes it’s buried deep underneath and you have to dig around to find it and fix it,” he paused, letting his words steep in her mind, “maybe there’s some neglected or forgotten project. when you get around to it, it’ll make the mountain moveable.”
she wanted to burst and tell him about all the events that had transpired on her trip to boston. tell him about her regrets, her fears, and her heartache. instead, she took a deep breath and gave him a close-lipped smile. “thank you for the advice. i take it that things are going well at the V.A?”
“as smoothly as they can. it’s one day at a time for a lot of those folks. i just try to help and make those days a little more manageable.”
“since when have you been bashful? i like this new sam,” she joked, nudging him.
“whatever,” he chuckled. “now, are we gonna stand here all night or are we gonna go eat some dinner?”
just on cue, her stomach grumbled. they both dissipated into a bout of giggles. “does that answer your question?”
“okay, then let’s go!”
she mustered every ounce of courage in her body and followed him into the kitchen. she kept her eyes on her feet and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. although, she hadn’t heard his voice, she knew in her heart that steve was there. she could feel it. it was as if his heart was tugging on hers, begging to be reunited. she put her feelings aside as best as she could.
when she entered the kitchen, she raised her gaze up and locked eyes with steve. the feelings all came rushing back.
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