#IT ALWAYS FUCKING. REALLY ALWAYS FUCKING STUCK OUT TO ME. NAGGED AT ME.

[moe-broey]

Sometimes I worry I get too self-indulgent w how I portray Alfonse w Sharena, ESP keeping that one FEH comic in mind (which shows Alfonse and Sharena's differing boundaries, and how Alfonse in general "isn't much of a hugger") BUT. In my heart............. I like to imagine....... there are moments where he'll happily allow it. But the Problem Here, is if he gives Sharena an inch, she's taking a mile. She's going to completely smother him. She's dangling off his shoulders and squishing herself against him in ways previously thought impossible. Which may or may not be a contributing factor as to why he's a little apprehensive by default. And it's a feedback loop. Him being standoffish, her trying sooooo hard to respect that when she's STARVING for that physical affection, him allowing it, her squeezing him so hard that if he wasn't in armor he might break a rib. Endless loop. Unique hell. But they do love each other, completely.

[starktonyx]

Moral of the story - John Walker x reader

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Word count: 5.6k

Requested by anon: John Walker x reader based on the song Moral of the Story by Ashe . They used to be married with no kids, after tfaws she left him only to come across him during the events of thunderbolts. John attempts to reconnect with her as he never stopped loving her.

Description: You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

Tags/Warnings: Language. So much ANGST. John being an emotional rollercoaster. Shame rooms. Lots of fighting and regret.

Note: This turned out longer than expected but I loved writing this (my angsty heart is thriving) I'm currently obsessed with this man so expect more about him.

Masterlist

John Walker liked to think he always had the answer to everything. Or at least, most of the time. His brain ran on tactical planning, constant gears grinding with strategy and precision. He was the guy who accounted for every variable, every angle, every possible risk.

But right now? He had no idea how the hell he'd ended up in this situation. Out of all the threats he could've anticipated, out of all the variables he could've ever considered, he sure as hell never expected one of them to be named Bob.

Yes, Bob.

The weird guy that popped out of nowhere, in a bunker buried in the middle of nowhere.

That clean slate Valentina had promised him seemed to be slipping from his fingers by the minute. It was the last thing he could afford himself to screw up, with all his past failures clinging to him like heavy chains.

And yet here he was, stuck with the blonde he'd been sent to kill, a phasing assassin, and Bob.

Middle of fucking nowhere.

"Come on Bobby, you missed legs, arms and torso day" John mocked him, as he pulled him out the elevator shaft they were using to escape.

But the moment Bob's hand touched his, the world around him melted into a black shadow as it shifted around him.

The once warm air went stiff, cold.

When he turns around, he's suddenly back in his bedroom. Those godforsaken walls he once shared with you.

He takes a step forward, his pulse accelerating, and he's met with a scene his mind only replays when he isn't punching someone, when it gets too quiet.

And the first thing he sees, is you.

The ghost of you standing by the bedroom door in front of him, arms folded tight over your chest like they were the only thing holding you together.

It was too quiet, almost, the only sound being the zipper of a duffel bag his past self had thrown onto the bed.

"You're leaving already?" you past self broke the silence, voice so soft it barely reached him.

You didn't sound angry. You didn't even look like you had the energy to fight, not anymore.

John takes a step forward, watching how his past self didn't even throw a glance your way. The prick was too busy yanking dirty clothes from the bag and swapping them out for clean ones.

"You just got here" you mumbled, quieter now when he didn't answer.

John remembered this moment differently. He remembered you nagging, picking up a fight. But standing here now, watching like some unwilling spectator in a memory he didn't want to relive he really saw it, saw ... you.

Staring at him with glossy eyes, looking like not one single bone in your body wanted to fight him that day. You just stood there, still hoping that somehow this time it would land, that he would listen.

"Yeah, well" He muttered, eyes locked on a dirty torn off pair of boots he needed to get rid off. "Val needs me again. You already know how it fucking goes."

A quiet sob was caught in your throat. He saw now how you tried to swallow it, like you'd done a hundred times before.

"I haven't seen you in weeks, John. Is it really that easy for you to leave me? Every goddamn time?" you said quietly.

And fuck, he cursed when he heard it, it didn't even sound bitter. It was desperate, tired.

He scoffed, and let out that bitter, dismissive laugh he always pulled when he didn't want to feel anything. "Jesus Christ, are we doing this again?"

He didn't stop packing, like the answer to all his problems was hidden in a pair of socks rather than just turning around to look at you.

"Doing what, John? You choosing to leave every time instead of fucking talking to me?"

There it was, the anger he remembered.

"Then yes, John, we're doing it again. It's always your need to feel important. Like if you're not out there 'saving the world' you're nothing in here" you finally snapped. The ache in your chest made your words feel sour as they left your mouth.

That's what got under his skin. He saw it in the way his past self stiffened, jaw tightening with that same goddamn temper he could never quite control.

"You think I like doing this? You think I like risking my ass every time to come home to this? To another one of your guilt trips?" He's yelling at this point, throwing the holster in his hand back in his bag.

You looked like you'd been slapped.

"This?" you repeated stunned, pointing at yourself with your hands. "You mean me? I'm this'"

He turned to the door then, finally. But not to deny it, or to apologize or to even spare one single glance at you. It was to grab a jacket hanging on the doorknob.

He didn't say anything. Just grabbed his duffel bag and tossed it over his shoulder like the argument was some inconvenience he could just walk away from.

He keeps pretending to ignore you when he walks past you by the door, but a hand pressed to his chest stops his getaway.

"This is the last time I'm asking you to stay" You warned him. The lump in your throat betrayed you, what you wanted to sound firm came out like a child plea.

He didnt even flinch. He brushed it off and kept walking, thinking he'd come back home in a day or two, bring some takeout and fuck it out like always.

"Jonathan..." Your voice sobbed his name as he made his way to the front door.

Yet still, he never looked back. And neither did you.

That was the day you gave up on him. He remembers coming back a few days later, your favorite takeout in hand, only to find a half empty closet, empty drawers.

An empty home.

And now? Now it burned him watching it from the outside. Watching you blink away tears while he was too busy being an asshole.

His eyes burned, as his heart clawed its way up into a painful knot his throat.

He snaps back to reality when Yelena calls out to him. All eyes watching him, but his were locked in the tempting elevator's dark void.

What the fuck are you doing, John?

They’ll see right through your bullshit.

"Im fine" He said, a little too quick for comfort.

But with a plastic smile plastered on his face, his mask falls back into place like muscle memory.

Once again, how the hell did he end up in this situation?

And because karma seemed to have fun making John Walker's life even more miserable, he'd ended up tied in a half collapsed gas station.

Hostage to none other than Bucky Barnes.

Naturally, he just couldn't help himself to mock Bucky's absurd political position. Though in his defense, the bastard kept gettting on his nerves. They already knew each other, so why was Bucky being such an idiot about the whole Bob situation?

So John did what he always does. He fucked around and, as usual, found out.

"Yes. I know you, John" Bucky’s tone was calm, but the hint of a smirk hid behind his words. "And you've made your choices. I know it's been hard since your wife left you, but that is no one's fault but yours"

The cruel words rolled out his tongue like he's been waiting to throw them in his face since he found him in the blown up limo they'd use to escape.

John just stares at him for a second, then his eyes drift to a particular paint chipping spot on the wall.

Yelena turned towards him, lips parted in surprise.

'I've got a gorgeous wife waiting for me at home' she remembered him saying it back in the bunker.

Liar.

Yelena had believed him back there. She knew a thing or two about John Walker, having read his file, recalled your name and picture being printed out next to 'affiliations'.

Must've been exhausting carrying that rage for two, was her first thought, but she wouldn't say it out loud. Not when he was giving her that kicked puppy look.

Cause he didn't shy away from her eyes, didn't say a thing. All he could do was give a small, tight shrug that said it all: add it to the fucking list of things I've screwed up.

Yelena didnt press further.

He was grateful for that, and for Ava being too busy bickering with Alexei to pester him any further about the matter.

But then, Bucky's stance shifted.

"Shhh" he hissed, hand going up to his lips. Alexei and Ava immediately stopped talking.

In a different occasion John could've laughed at the sight of Bucky Barnes looking like a guard dog about to bite, but if he was tensing up like that, it couldn't mean anything good for anyone. So he listened.

That's when he heard it too. An almost undetectable soft thump, but his enhanced hearing catches it. It was the slight creek of metal, straight above them.

"Someone's on the roof" John said at the same time as Bucky.

Everyone looked up. But before anyone could think about what it could be, the ceiling exploded.

The roof came crashing down in a cloud of smoke and ash. The room burst in chaos between shouting and coughing, debris flying everywhere as a smoke grenade rolled past their feet. All John could see was the flicker of Yelena's widow bites glowing blue as the haze blinded the room.

Then, a pair of boots landed hard on the floor.

He hears some struggle between Bucky and the unknown intruder, and then a thud of heavy metal hitting the floor. It must've been Bucky's arm slamming against the concrete.

Someone had taken him down.

"I'm not here for you" the intruder said, a woman's voice muffled by a mask.

John instantly frowned. Even with the sound of debris falling down and the fighting in the room that muffled voice sounded familiar to him.

"I don't care" Bucky growled back.

The fight went on, blows landing hard and fast. Whoever she was, was determined to take him out.

But Bucky was the fucking Winter Soldier.

John feels Yelena drop next to him, then what must've been Ava falling unconscious as well, as the smoke hit their systems.

"Lena!" Alexei shouts.

"Okay now, what the fuck is going on?" John choked out, coughing.

He hears the fight halt for a second when he spoke.

The intruder recognized the voice. His voice.

You recognized his voice.

Bucky got the upper hand at the distraction, catching your wrist mid swing. He slams you to the ground with a quick motion, pinning you down with his knee and pressing his metal hand against your throat.

You gasped, struggling, eyes wide with fear under the mask. Next thing you knew his gun was pointed at your head.

As the dust cleared enough for John to see the scene, his face turns to horror.

He sees the mask, and immediately knows.

You're about to get blasted into next week by Bucky.

"Bucky–Stop! Stop! It's Y/N!"

John broke his cuffs in one go, his arms fighting against the bent rod holding him back.

Bucky froze, confused. He ripped off your mask, and there you were, gasping for air. Still beneath his knee, throat red where his hand had been.

"Shit" Bucky breathed, when he recognized you. But before he could lift his weight off you, John tackled him to the ground.

The girls jolted back to consciousness at once. Coughing as they sat up.

"What the hell is going on?" Yelena rasped, seeing John on top of Bucky and you standing beside them.

"Man come on, I didn't know it was her!" Bucky snapped, twisting beneath John to shove him off.

You sat up in your spot on the floor, coughing, one hand still braced against your throat.

And then you saw him, that voice you heard. God, it had been years.

"John?" you said, voice hoarse. You wished it really wasn't him.

He pried his eyes off Bucky without loosening his grip, and half turned to you.

"Oh, you have to be kidding me" You curse, a hand covering your face.

It was really him.

You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the pain. "Get off him you idiot, I'm fine"

John didn't argue. Just got up and backed off, hands on his hips.

Everyone stared at him like he'd just grown second head. Why didn't he protest?

Bucky immediately got to his feet, annoyed, brushing dust from his shirt.

"So ... who even are you?" Ava asked. She was still tied up and this was getting annoying.

"Y/N Walker," Yelena replied, the name burned into her memory from that file.

"That's not my name anymore," you snapped, too fast, too sharp.

John's jaw clenched, eyes going back to that same chipped spot on the wall.

"Wait, you were his wife?" Ava asked, incredulous. "What, Steve Rogers wasn't available?"

Bucky bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something.

"Ava..." Yelena warned, voice low.

As much as Yelena might've loved to take a jab at Walker herself, she didn't, his expression had left a feeling on her chest that stuck to her more than it should've.

"No but really, where'd you even find this guy?" Ava pressed on, like the idea of you marrying John Walker had personally offended her.

You turned slowly, your glare enough to shut her up for half a second.

"Give me a fucking break, Ava. When you're young, you fall in love with the wrong people sometimes." you snapped, without even thinking.

The words tasted like regret as soon as they came out. And you knew the way John stiffened meant they landed like a blade on him.

His gaze burned the side of your head.

If he'd only looked at you like that then.

"Is no one going to mention she tried to kill Mr. Soldier?" Alexei chimed in, at least the drama was interesting.

"I wasn't going to kill him," you muttered, rolling your eyes. "I just needed to knock him out long enough to get rid of you—"

You pause, the pieces clicking together.

"Goddammit. Valentina." You muttered under your breath.

That bitch. She'd really sent you to kill your ex husband without even telling you. What is he going to think about you? That this is what you'd turned into?

"Wait–you work for Valentina now?" John asked, like the words physically hurt, like he couldn't believe that's the path you had taken.

"It's not like that, John," you sighed, suddenly aware of how many eyes were watching. "I was angry at everything. At you. I figured... if running helped you escape your life, maybe it would help me too."

He didn't speak, but you saw it in his face. The guilt, the disbelief.

Had Val gotten to you the same way she got to him?

"She told me she lost a facility to some rogue agents" you explained, more to yourself than to anyone else.

"Yeah" Yelena cut in, "Because she tried to kill us."

You blinked. And suddenly, it all made sense.

You turned back to John.

“She didn't tell me you were one of them."

Your eyes locked on his, for some reason needing him to believe you. To see the truth in you, if nothing else. He barely nodded, but it was enough.

And then, from the corner, Ava scoffed.

"Pfft... perfect family" Ava muttered under her breath, shaking her head at the lie he'd told.

It had been perfect once, you thought. The dates. The proposal. The wedding. The honeymoon. The house with the porch swing.

The high school sweethearts who got married right after graduation because you couldn't keep your hands off each other.

The partying, the late night drives, the making out in parking lots, it was reckless and "romantic", all that was okay as teenagers.

But running wild has a way of turning volatile.

And then suddenly you were grown ups, trying to build a life, a home, a future. But your boy? he only knew how to fight. Maybe for the country. Maybe with you. Maybe both.

That's what he loved, really. The fighting. The heat.

Screaming, slamming doors and then fucking it off was the usual. The real break? Was when there was no more yelling, the unbearable silence.

Silence in a home you thought was built on love. Turns out it was just paper house you burned out.

All that "marry your high school sweetheart, build a dream life behind a stupid white picket fence" bullshit?

Propaganda. Nothing more than that, a fraud.

You weren't perfect, you knew that. Maybe you were even selfish. But was it selfish to want to be wanted?

To want John to look at you like your company meant more than his next mission?

It didn't seem fair.

You thought you had your lives figured out. But then he was made Captain America. You were there when he went to the army. When he lost people. When the world turned its back on him.

But when he got the serum? It was different.

All that pressure. The eyes on him. Expectations he could never live up to, no matter how right he tried to follow the orders.

And he tried. God, he tried. But the weight of it all twisted something in him.

He started carrying it alone like he had to. Like letting you see the cracks would make them real. He stopped talking, started shutting you out.

And in the end, the silence between you became permanent.

So it wasn't the fight, the heat, or that stupid shield what got to you.

It was the quiet between two people who forgot how to ask each other for help.

—

It all happened too quickly. Even for John.

One second you were helping a little boy who fell, the next he saw you dive straight to push Yelena, shoving her away from a collapsed beam.

You barely dodge it.

But now there you were, in the middle of the chaos, standing directly in Sentry's line of sight.

John saw the way your body stiffened. You knew it. And he knew it too.

You made eye contact with him, just long enough to hold the blue of his eyes. That look, carved into his memory forever, like you were trying to memorize his face, like this would be the last time you'd see him.

He was horrified. He wanted to scream. He did scream your name so loud, so broken, it tore through the chaos and made the others flinch. But not even his enhanced speed could reach you fast enough.

One second you were there, and then the next ... nothing.

You turned to nothing more than a black shadow spilling on the ground.

John stopped dead in his tracks, wide eyes staring at the shadow where you stood. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what he just saw.

No. This wasn't happening to him again.

The ringing in his ears drowned out the screaming around him.

Not again. Please, not again.

It was Lemar. It was Afghanistan. It was everything all over again.

It was you, gone.

No, this couldn't be real.

He didnt give Bucky enough time to grab him. He didn't even think twice about it. He ran straight into the void, his footsteps so heavy they tore through the pavement, cracking it beneath his boots.

All he knew is that he couldn't fail at another thing in his life.

When darkness surrounded his eyesight, he crashed onto a wall. His ragged breath was the only thing he could hear as he came to his senses, and realized he was thrown into the same memory, that same room he had stepped in before.

"You're leaving already?"

Your voice behind his back startled him, and he whipped around expecting to see you. The real you. But it was your ghost.

"No, fuck that" John growled, marching forward. "I'm not watching this again."

He grabbed the shoulders of his past self who kept stuffing clothes into the bag like it wasn't costing him everything.

"Look at her, you fucking idiot!" He yelled at himself, shaking his body. “She’s right there!”

His past self looks at him with that same smug, distant, uncontrolled anger he used on everyone else.

John barely had time to react before he was spun around and yanked into a chokehold by himself. His arms crushed his windpipe like a vice.

"Should've done that when you could Johnny" Past John muttered coldly.

John fights to free himself from the chokehold, kicking wildly, clawing at his own arms, struggling against his own brutal strength.

He could feel his breath giving out.

"She’s not here anymore, John" You said, and if felt like adding salt to the wound.

This was it. This was the punishment. Watching himself ruin everything and then being choked by the same hands.

And then, it stopped.

The grip vanished. He collapsed onto the carpet, coughing, gasping for air.

The scene resets.

"You're leaving already?"

"No, no, no" He grunts, dragging himself up from the floor, looking around for a way out.

He spins, breathless. "Nice place, Bobby” he mutters bitterly under his breath, looking around like a caged animal.

He slams himself into the wall next to him, bent shield first. Nothing. The plaster doesn't even crack.

I have to find her. Where is she?

"Come on, baby. Where are you?" He spins again, searching for something, anything. A door, a window, a crack in reality.

His eyes catch on two mirrors standing side by side against the far wall. They shouldn't be there, they weren't before.

Both reflecting something different from what they were supposed to.

Two different scenes.

He steps towards the first one and sees those fucking pillars. The blood stain on the concrete. The day Lemar had–no. He turned his face away violently, he'd save that one for his nightmares.

He turns his eyes to the other mirror and catches the sight of an office. Your lawyers office.

He finds a silhouette across the room, watching the scene unfold on repeat. It’s you. The real you.

He puts his bent shield in front of him and pushes through the glass, landing hard in a new memory.

The crash doesn't startle you. You stand frozen, eyes glazed, watching the scene replay again, the end of your marriage looping in front of you like a broken film reel. Your back is to him.

John doesn't move forward, he can't.

He feels like throwing up when he sees it. The mahogany walls. The glass table. That goddamn vanilla air freshener like this wasn't the worst moment of your lives. 

The moment he signed the papers.

You were separated by that long glass table. You sat beside your lawyer, hands fiddling in your lap, eyes glued on him. He was across from you, beside his lawyer.

And worst of all, his past self doesn't look at you. Not even now.

He just sat there, head hung low as he fiddled with the corner of the page. Your fresh signature next to his empty spot mocked him.

He'd told himself that day he couldn't take your angry eyes. But looking now he sees the truth. You weren't angry. You were grieving.

Hoping he'd just meet your eyes one last time. Like maybe if he did, you could still fix it. Maybe he'd remember how he used to look at you, like you were everything.

Like he still had some love left for you.

The pen next to the papers laid untouched for too long. He was dragging it out.

"We just need your signature, Mr. Walker, and we'll be settled" your lawyer said. Her voice slices through the tension like a knife.

It made him flinch, of course she was in a rush. For her, it was another Tuesday. For you, it was the end of the world.

And for him, it was losing the love of his life.

He gathered the guts to finally reach for the pen, signed with one quick stroke, and tossed it back onto the table. The glass cracked where it fell.

Then came the screech of his chair, echoing off the polished floor, and the sound of his boots walking away.

The scene restarts. 

John takes a shaky step forward. "Hey" he whispers, voice rough. You flinch. "It wasn't supposed to end like that"

"You just ... wouldn't look at me" You reply, your back still turned away.

"I couldn't" He blurts. "I couldn't see you not wanting me anymore. Wanting to end it all"

You spin around, voice breaking with anger. "Look at my face, John. Did I look like I wanted to end it?–I waited. I thought if you just looked at me, maybe we could salvage something. But you didn't. You never did"

He can't speak.

God, he'd thought about that day a thousand times. About every way he could've stopped it, every word he should've said. But right now? that you're in front of him, sobbing and shaking, he was speechless, too ashamed.

"I tried to be there for you. After the captain America mess, Lemar, the government turning their back on you" You cry, remembering all the shit they put him through. "But you kept pushing me away, like being out there was the only place you mattered. Like having me wasn't enough for you."

"It wasn't like that" he said, shaking his head.  "After everything I ruined, the field was the only place I felt like I was doing something right."

You cut him with just one line.

"I'm sorry our home didn't feel like that to you."

The pain in your voice hits him like a train. His pathological need to feel useful, needed, like his skills still held some value, had already taken so much. Then he gave it the last thing that still loved him. You.

"I used to think I knew everything about you" you whisper, shaking your head. "But then you got the serum and it turns I never really knew you. God, I really tried to."

You wipe your eyes, and John feels the earth drop from under him.

"I know I made too many mistakes. But it was real" he says, desperate. "You did know me, you loved me as much as I loved you."

He still remembered everything. The way your laughter filled the room after he made a stupid joke. The way your hands always found his, in crowds, in private, even in your sleep. The way you looked at him like he was worth saving, even when he wasn't sure he was.

"We were never what they made us out to be" you said, bitter. "We thought we were in love, but we were really just in pain."

You lie. Because it's the only way left to protect yourself.

Because you still remember too.

The way his arms felt around you, safe, strong, like the world couldn't touch you as long as he held on. The rasp in his voice when he was half asleep, mumbling nonsense against your neck. The way he made love to you like it was the only way he knew how to say I'm still here.

And the way he looked at you, like you were the one good thing in a world that had taken so much from him.

But you also remembered when it started to change, when the look in his eyes started to fade. The never ending fighting. How the conflict just kept escalating, becoming bigger than it should've.

And it hurt like hell.

He wants to punch a wall. To throw himself into that void he'd seen earlier. He sees right through you, he knows you're lying. He knows you remember as much as he does.

And the scene kept playing behind you, over and over.

"No" He snapped. "We loved each other. I loved you. I still fucking do."

He points at himself with both hands, and that's when you see it.

A glint of silver poking out under his left glove. His wedding ring.

And that's what breaks you.

Because you can't answer. You can't admit you still love him too, not after all he's done. Not when he still wears the symbol of a promise he broke.

He steps forward, hesitating and you turn your face away, but he doesn't stop, not this time. Cause all you ever needed was for him to stay, to fight for you the same way he fought out there.

And now? He would crawl to the ends of the earth if you asked.

So he keeps walking, until he's in front of you. 

Your hands cover your face as the sobs tear out of your chest, and his arms wrap around you without hesitation. One hand on your back, the other pulling you into him as he rests his chin on your head.

Your cries break against him.

How could he have hurt you like this?

You don't know how much time passes as he holds you. How many times you heard the pen crack the glass. All you felt was the pressure of his arms wrapped around you.

And slowly, your sobs soften. All that's left is the quiet shake of your chest against his.

"I'm sorry" his voice cracked the silence. This time, he means it with everything he has left in him.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Because what do you even say when the apology comes years too late? When the damage has already carved itself into the walls of who you are?

So you just stand there. Wrapped in arms that used to mean home. Sinking into a chest that once felt like safety. Trying to remember how it used to feel.

And maybe that's the tragedy, that after everything this is the closest you've felt to him in years.

And it wasn't enough, not now not ever.

“Please…” he breathes, his voice scraping at the back of his throat. “Please, just… let me try to make things right.” his voice cracks, it’s raw.

And for a second, you freeze. Just long enough to feel it, something you wanted to hear too long ago.

Then you pull away, not harsh, but before he can say more.

You don't want to hear it, not his pain, not his regret, not his late promises.

But his hand catches yours.

“Don’t leave me again, please.” His eyes search yours, desperate.

“John, you left me first” You shake your head, pulling your hand but he doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know if I can fix what I broke. And I know I lost the right to ask for anything from you. But if there’s a part of you, even a small one that still thinks of me when it’s quiet, then let me try. Cause I sure as hell think about you all the damn time”

You look at him, and it’s like he finally lets you see through him. Like he finally opened up the gates he shut on your face all those years ago.

“I was so scared” he admits, eyes looking to the ground. “Of all the weight, of failing, of not being enough for that shield or for you. And I didn’t know how to say it without sounding weak. So I fought everything instead, even…even you.”

“I would give anything just to go back to before I fucked it all up. To that night in the kitchen, when you asked if I still saw you in my future… and I stayed quiet.”

You feel something twist in your chest at that memory, the way his silence echoed louder than any fight you had before.

“I should’ve said yes. God, I should’ve said yes.”

There’s too much in you, too much pain, too much tired, too much history.

But for one second, you let yourself look at him. And it’s just your John in front of you. Bruised and begging.

And maybe that’s what love looks like sometimes.

Just the quiet, broken voice of someone asking for a second chance, even when they know they don’t deserve one.

Your throat feels tight, that fight in the kitchen.

You remember the way you leaned against the counter, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to break while your heart thudded like a war drum.

“Do you still see me in your future, John?”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with eyes that didn’t hold an answer.

And now here he was, years later. Begging to rewrite a chapter that had already been printed and bound in the pages of your life.

You take your hand back, gently this time.

“You always had perfect timing” you say quietly, voice steadier than you feel. “Just never when it mattered.”

His hands twitch, like he’s ready to beg, to reach, to hold on, but you shake your head.

“I don’t know what this is anymore,” you whisper. “What is left of us, or if there’s anything left at all.”

His silence says more than words ever could. You let it stretch for just a second too long.

You meet his eyes, steady, unwavering.

“I need you to understand that I’m not her anymore. I’m not the girl who built her life around you.”

He nods slowly. He’s not the same guy who did that to you either.

You take a breath, slow and shaky, fingers lifting to the collar of your suit. For a second, you hesitate, then pull it down just enough to reveal a chain.

A ring dangles there, silent and gleaming like a ghost.

His breath hitches like you just knocked the air out of him. His eyes drop to the ring, and for a second, he forgets how to stand.

You still have it, you didn’t discard it, you carry it with you.

Just like he does.

“You kept it…” he says, barely above a whisper.

His voice cracks like a fault line, and your chest tightens because you weren’t supposed to make this harder. You were supposed to walk away and leave no room for what ifs.

John takes a slow step forward, not touching you, just standing close enough that you can feel how badly he wants to.

“Can I…” His voice falters. “Can I still try?”

You say nothing, just looked at him. Really looked at him.

The dark under his eyes, the tired weight in his voice. The ache of someone who finally understood the cost of his actions.

You bit your tongue. You wanted to say yes, that was the worst part.

And maybe that’s the moral of the story. Some mistakes get made, that’s alright, that’s okay. In the end you choose what you think it’s better for you.

Even if sometimes it meant to throw yourself back again into what once destroyed you, because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only thing that can put you back together.

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━ comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #15 死

† arrangements †

"You were supposed to go back to individual training sessions with Takama. But torday, it is Jeon standing there instead. And you really feel like easing off some tension."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9k.

content: training with jeon (it gets intense), sexual tension off the roof, kissing, ass grabbing, boner popping up (lmao), cafeteria shenanigans.

☠ author's note ☠

AHHHHH MY PRECIOUS BABY CHIMCHIM (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

What are you getting yourself INTO, you financial genius disaster? Every time I write Jimin scenes I'm just sitting here like "no baby no don't do it" while simultaneously typing out exactly what he's doing. I'm his god yet I have no control. The duality of being an author.

ANYWAY, let me know your thoughts about Y/N and Jeon's little "arrangement". ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Also... the way this man goes from cheeky little shit to MAN OF STEEL in 0.2 seconds is honestly doing things to me. Like the DUALITY?? One minute he's all sarcasm and eyerolls and the next he's all commanding presence and intense stares. Please show me all your facets while I mil—

ANYWAY! 🥰

Hope you enjoy this chapter, you magnificent disaster magnets! I see you all in the comments thirsting over fictional gang members and I just want you to know I'm judging you... from my very similar position of also thirsting over fictional gang members. It's a hard life, but someone's gotta live it.

Stay hydrated! You'll need it after this chapter!

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Training room it is today. Takama is probably waiting for you.

You step inside immediately and—fuck. The air's different. Not the usual sweaty, stale gym smell, but something...else. It's like walking into a storm front, all electric and tingly on your skin.

Weird.

You stop, blinking. Your brain's trying to process what your body already knows: something's off.

Shaking it off, you scan the room for Takama. He's usually here by now, ready to nag you about your form or whatever. But nope. Instead, your eyes land on—

Oh.

Jeon.

Shit.

Your whole body goes rigid. This is not what you signed up for today. Takama's stern but predictable. Jeon? He's a walking thunderbolt.

He hasn't clocked you yet. He's too busy with his hand-wrapping ritual, black tape winding around those knuckles like he's prepping for war. I̶t̶,̶s̶ ̶w̶e̶i̶r̶d̶l̶y̶ ̶m̶e̶s̶m̶e̶r̶i̶z̶i̶n̶g̶.̶You've tried it yourself, but you always end up looking like you got in a fight with a roll of duct tape and lost.

The door clicks shut behind you. Loud. Way too fucking loud.

Jeon's head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours. Fuck. It's like being caught in a headlight beam, but instead of deer-in-headlights frozen, you're fight-or-flight wired. His gaze is pure Kkangpae—hard, sharp, seeing right through your bullshit.

"Thought you could sneak up on me?"

You try for casual, miss by a mile. "Takama's usually not this quiet."

Jeon's mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. More like you just told a joke only he got.

Great start. This is gonna be fun.

"Takama had to handle some business. Guess you're stuck with me. It'll be good in preparation to our upcoming mission."

IIt's not a question, it's a fucking statement. And you know better than to argue with that tone.

Right. The mission.

Shit.

It all comes flooding back now. That goddamn mission assigned to you and Jeon back on the camping trip. The one where you both have to infiltrate MDF—Kkangpae's number one rival. Talk about high stakes.

You know how crucial this is. You know you need to concentrate now—more than ever.

But fuck.

Your eyes betray you, sweeping over Jeon's training attire.

It's insulting, is what it is.

That simple tank top might as well be painted on, doing jack shit to hide the sculpted landscape of his muscles. And those grey sweatpants? They're hanging so low on his hips it should be illegal.

(If you tried hard enough—which you're not, obviously—you're pretty sure you could see that happy trail you remember from that night in the tent.)

The fabric clings to him like it's got a personal vendetta against your sanity, obeying gravity with a lazy kind of insolence. And that silver neck chain? It's playing peekaboo from under his top, daring your eyes to follow its path. A metallic tease against skin you shouldn't be thinking about.

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of distraction.

Focus. Mission. Training.

Not Jeon's body.

You make your way to the corner where bandages and tape are strewn across a metal shelf. The mess speaks volumes—countless sessions of wrapping, unwrapping, preparing for fights both won and lost.

Grabbing a roll of black tape, you try to mimic what you've seen Jeon do a hundred times before. But your fingers feel clumsy, uncooperative. The tape sticks to itself, to your skin, everywhere but where it's supposed to go. You end up with more gaps than protection, the wrap loose in all the wrong places.

And Jeon? He's watching you. You can feel his eyes on you, sharp and intense. His face is unreadable, a perfect mask. But you'd bet your last dollar he's judging every fumbled attempt, every misplaced piece of tape.

Then he scoffs, the sound cutting through the air like a whip crack. Before you can react, he's moving towards you—footsteps echoing in the quiet room, each one making your heart beat a little faster.

And then he's there, right in your space.

The heat rolling off his body makes you acutely aware of how cool the air is around you.

He leans in close—too close—to inspect your sad attempt at hand-wrapping.

"Let me," he growls.

You don't even try to argue. What's the point? Jeon's already unraveling your sad attempt at hand-wrapping like it's the world's shittiest birthday present.

His fingers brush against your skin and for a second it's like someone just plugged you into a live wire.

He starts rewrapping your hands, and you're caught in this weird... limbo.

Because his touch is firm, almost stern, but there's this... gentleness to it that makes no sense coming from him.

It's a mindfuck, really.

This is Jeon. Cold, distant, get-the-fuck-away-from-me Jeon.

But here he is, handling your hands like they're made of glass.

Your heart's going a mile a minute, and you're praying to whatever gang deity is out there that he can't hear it. His hands are everywhere, wrapping the tape around your wrists with a precision that's almost artistic. It's like he's crafting this black armor just for you, and every pass of the tape feels more intimate than the last.

And why the fuck does he have to smell this good? It's unfair, really.

Every now and then, his eyes flick up to meet yours, and it's... like looking into the sun peeking between the clouds.

Like something is hovering—something molten and wild that reminds you of tents and nighttime.

"Tight enough?"

You manage a nod, amazed that your brain can still form coherent thoughts.

"Perfect," you say, definitely not thinking of the innuendo.

The corner of his mouth twitches, and for a heart-stopping second, you think he's read your mind. You don't like that knowing look in his eyes.

"There," he says, giving the tape one last tug. It pulls you closer, just a fraction, but it might as well be a mile. "You're ready."

Ready for what? you want to ask. Ready for training? Ready for the mission? Ready for whatever the hell this tension between you is building towards?

But you don't say any of that. You can't. Because this is Jeon, and you're you, and there are a million reasons why this—whatever this is—can't happen.

Even if it already happened once. Even if he's there, looking like a five course meal.

So you just stand there, hands wrapped perfectly, heart racing, caught in the gravity of Jeon's presence and wondering how the fuck you're supposed to focus on training now.

"Let's get started."

It hits you like a sledgehammer to the chest—everywhere at once—this massive storm system rolling in, all dark clouds and electricity. The kind that makes your skin prickle and your hair stand on end. The training room suddenly feels too small to contain it.

Contain him.

You move to the center of the mats, too aware of every step and where your feet are landing. He's still watching you—you can feel those eyes tracking your movements like a sniper's scope.

You try to copy his stance, but it's like your body's forgotten how joints work.

Everything feels awkward.

"How are you with your blocks?"

"I can handle it," you say, going for confident but landing somewhere around defensive.

He laughs. It's not a nice sound. More like broken glass wrapped in velvet.

"We'll see about that."

Because fuck. Training with Takama was... different. Predictable. Safe, even. You knew what to expect—his patient corrections, his methodical approach.

But this?

This is like jumping into the deep end of a pool filled with sharks.

And Jeon?

He's the great white circling you.

Everything feels suffocating, like there's not enough oxygen in the room for both of you. It's hard to breathe, his presence pressing in from all sides like you're caught in a fucking typhoon. You can practically taste the ozone.

Jeon circles you lazily and honestly? It's terrifying how someone so big can move so quietly. His control is infuriating—while you're here trying not to vibrate out of your skin, he looks like he could be ordering coffee.

"You're tense."

No shit, Sherlock.

The observation hits a nerve. Maybe because it's true, maybe because you hate how easily he can read you. You try to relax your shoulders, aiming for that casual 'oh-this-is-totally-fine' vibe.

Then his hand hovers over your lower back.

You flinch. You can't help it. He's not even touching you, but you can feel the heat radiating from his palm, just a breath away from contact. He's telling you to fix your posture without a single word, and your body responds before your brain can tell it not to.

Your abdomen tightens in defiance, like some part of you is still telling him to fuck off. But you straighten up anyway, because what else can you do? Not like Mr. Perfectionist here will take anything other than perfection.

Jeon steps back, and you try to remember how breathing works. Focus. This is training, not whatever the fuck that hand-wrapping thing was. You need to get your head in the game before he notices how rattled you are.

You watch him demonstrate a block.

It's unfair, really, how he makes it look so effortless—like he's been doing this since birth. (Maybe he has—he definitely looks like he fights nurses, if his attitude with J-Hope is any indication).

His forearm cuts through the air in this fluid motion that's somehow both defensive and threatening at the same time.

"Now you," he says, and oh there it is. That hint of smugness in his voice that makes you want to either punch him or—

Absolutely not. You are not going there.

He knows though. You can tell by the way his mouth quirks up slightly at the corner. He knows exactly what he's doing, the bastard. Knows he's got you at a disadvantage with his years of experience. But there's something else there too, in the way he's watching you. Like he's getting some sort of kick out of whatever this is.

You mirror his movement, slicing your arm through the air; and it feels good—solid. Like maybe you're not completely hopeless at this.

He gives you this tiny nod, and for a split second, there's something that looks almost like approval in his eyes.

But it's gone before you can really process it, replaced by that laser-focused look he apparently gets when he's in full instructor mode (like right now).

"Again," he orders, and you comply.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, the movement feels more natural, less like you're just flailing your arm around and more like you might actually be able to stop someone from punching you in the face.

And all the while, he watches like a fucking hawk. Cataloging every single one of your mistakes, every moment of hesitation.

It's intense, being under that kind of scrutiny. Makes your skin prickle.

Then he moves—just this slight shift of weight—and suddenly he's closer.

His foot nudges yours, and you get the message without him having to say a word.

Your stance is off.

You adjust quickly, shifting your feet until you feel more grounded.

"Like this," he says, and it's low and gravely.

His voice shouldn't affect you. It's just two words.

It does.

You force yourself to focus on the technical stuff. The way his feet are positioned, how his knees are slightly bent like he's ready to move at any second. And then you copy his stance, feeling the stretch in your calves as you adjust.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Count it out in your head.

One, two, three, four.

Anything to keep your mind off the way he's circling you again.

Because that's what he's doing now—moving around you like some fucking lion sizing up a calf.

His presence is like gravity, pulling at something deep in your chest.

It's distracting as hell.

But you're determined not to let it show.

You've got something to prove here, after all. Even if you're not quite sure what that is anymore.

"Not like that", he says and...

His hand's moving again, and your brain halts all its processes when his fingertips brush your shoulder.

It's supposed to be professional. Just another training correction.

But your body didn't get that memo, because every nerve ending lights up like it's a fucking carnival.

His hand starts this slow slide down your arm, and you're pretty sure this isn't standard training procedure. Your arm quickly gets covered in goosebumps, betraying exactly how not professional this feels.

When his fingers wrap around your elbow, you almost forget how to breathe. His grip is firm—s̶e̶x̶y̶ steady—and you can feel the calluses on his fingertips from years of handling weapons.

"Your alignment," he says, and shit... His voice has dropped into that same low register he pulled back in the tent. "It's crucial. When you block, you need to be solid, unyielding. Like this."

You feel the strength in his grip all the way up your arm. The way he's holding your elbow, it feels like he's trying to rewire your muscle memory through touch alone. It's invasive in the best-worst way possible, like he's leaving his fingerprints on your bones.

You should be focusing on the block he's teaching you. That's what a good student would do.

But instead, all you can think about is how his palm is practically burning against your skin, how strong his fingers feel, and how every "correction" feels more like a caress.

When he finally lets go and steps back, it's like someone just yanked away your favorite blanket. The air feels too cold where his hand was, and you have to fight the urge to chase that warmth.

"Now, let's see you put it into action," he says.

Get it together, you tell yourself.

This is training. Just training. Nothing else.

(You don't even believe your own lies anymore.)

You try to focus on breathing. In, out. Simple stuff. But it's not working, because every time Jeon adjusts your stance, every careful correction he makes, it's like striking matches against your skin.

At this point, your brain can't string two thoughts together.

Not with Jeon there, touch somehow both grounding and displacing.

Then he's back in your space.

And his hands are suddenly on your hips.

The touch is professional—or it's trying to be—but his fingers spread wide, pressing into you through your training gear like he's trying to leave prints. Like he's trying to remind you of that other time those hands have been there.

He stares at where his hands rest for way too long to be just about fixing your stance.

The air gets thick. Sticky.

You can feel every slight adjustment of his fingers, how his palms mold against your hips like they're meant to be there.

When he looks up, it knocks the breath right out of you. His eyes are dark, searching your face for... something. You're both breathing the same air now, and fuck, you remember this kind of proximity. Remember what it leads to.

Then his tongue flicks out, wetting his lip ring, and your brain just—stops. It's absent-minded, probably, but Christ. The metal catches the light, and suddenly you're back in that tent, remembering exactly what that piercing feels like against your—

Focus, bitch.

His hands haven't moved from your hips. Haven't even twitched. Like he's forgotten they're there, or maybe like he can't bring himself to move them.

He's not apologizing for it either, though.

Not that you want him to.

"What about now?" Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathless.

"Yeah," he says, and oh. His voice has gone all rough around the edges. "This is good. Real good."

The way he says it—like he's not just talking about your stance—makes heat pool low in your stomach. You know that tone. You've heard it before, whispered against your skin in the dark.

Professional, you remind yourself. This is supposed to be professional.

(It's really, really not.)

His thumbs start moving against your hips—tiny, barely-there circles that are definitely not about fixing your stance anymore. The touch is light through the fabric, but it might as well be branded into your skin.

Then he clears his throat, the sound sharp and sudden. Just like that, he's stepping back, putting distance between you.

Your skin feels weirdly empty where his hands were.

You watch him slip back into Chief mode. It's fascinating, really, how he does it. Like watching someone put on armor piece by piece. His face goes blank, eyes cooling until they're giving nothing away. Pure business. This is the Jeon that everyone else sees—the Chief of Tactical Assassinations, not the guy who just had his hands on your hips like he owned them.

Training kicks back in.

The tension does not dissipate.

He spars, but this time it's like... Like he's built this invisible wall between being your instructor and being... whatever else he is to you. And he's trying real hard not to cross it.

You match his energy, throwing yourself into it. You're here to be instructed, after all.

Then he pulls this move—his feet moving so fast they blur. You think he's going left, but nope. It's a trap, and you fall for it like an idiot. You stumble, losing your balance, and—

Oh.

Oh.

His arm catches you around the waist, hard and sure.

The contact hits different this time—no pretense of training, just pure instinct.

This isn't your instructor catching a student.

This is just Jeon catching you.

His grip is steel, anchoring you against him. You can feel everything—the hard planes of his chest, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing, the way his bicep flexes against your back. His thigh is pressed against yours, and you try very hard not to think about that.

You can feel his heart hammering where you're pressed together, matching yours beat for frantic beat. His hand spans your waist like he owns it.

You turn your head, just a little, just enough to see— Jesus.

His eyes are dark, wild. Like he's fighting a war with himself and losing badly. Pupils are blown wide, fixed on you.

You've seen that look before, in a tent, in the dark.

When he swallows, you can't help but track the movement. His throat works, pulse visible under the skin.

It's weirdly vulnerable, seeing that flutter of pulse on someone who's usually all hard edges and control.

The silence in the room feels heavy. All you can hear is breathing—yours, his, both of you trying to pretend this is still just training.

His grip on your waist tightens, just a fraction, and your body betrays you. You lean back into him, seeking that solid warmth. Because apparently, your survival instincts have left the chat.

His other hand hovers near your stomach, not quite touching. It's weirdly protective, like he wants to shield you from something.

From what?

From himself, maybe.

The hand trembles slightly. Jeon is trembling.

That hits different, knowing someone so controlled is fighting for composure. It has you almost whining, the distance between his palm and your body.

Focus. Breathe.

But how are you supposed to focus when he's right there?

Because hell, this is Jeon—Chief of Tactical Assassinations, walking danger sign, and somehow the person you want most.

Your eyes drift to his lips because you're a m̶a̶s̶o̶c̶h̶i̶s̶t̶ glutton for punishment. They're right there, and that lip ring is practically taunting you. You remember exactly how that metal feels, how it tastes. Your throat works as you swallow, mouth parting on its own, like your body's sending out an open invitation.

At that, his eyes immediately drop to your lips. Just a flicker, almost nonexistent, but you saw it. The look in his eyes—fuck.

You've seen hungry before, but this?

This is starving.

You tilt your head up, slow, careful, like you're approaching a wild animal. Your heart's trying to break out of your chest, and breathing? That's for people who aren't about to kiss their superior officer.

You lean in, slow. So fucking slow. Like if you move too fast, he'll spook and bolt.

His breath catches. The sound is soft, intimate, does stupid things to your core. You brush your lips against his, just barely, just enough to test, tease.

For a moment, he's completely still. Like he's processing, like he can't believe this is happening.

Then—holy fuckity hell.

He kisses you like he's dying for it, like he's been holding back forever and can't anymore. His lips are insistent, demanding, coaxing yours apart. There's something desperate in the way he angles his head, deepening the kiss, claiming your mouth like he owns it.

Your hands move without permission—one in his hair, one gripping his shoulder. The contrasts under your fingers ground you: soft strands, hard muscle. He tastes like mint and something darker, something that makes you want to crawl inside him and stay there.

It isn't some sweet, gentle thing.

It's a continuation of your sparring match, just with different rules.

He softens for a moment, less demanding, more inviting, and you lean into it, chasing his taste.

Finally, finally, his hovering hand makes contact. It spreads across your stomach, possessive, anchoring you against him like he thinks you might try to escape.

As if you could.

As if you'd want to.

Your fingers find his jaw, smooth skin under your touch.

When he pulls back, it's like it physically pains him. He gasps, the sound cutting through the heavy air. His eyes are wild, unfocused, like he's just come up for air after nearly drowning. There's a storm brewing in those dark depths, and you're caught right in the middle of it.

"I thought that was a spur of the moment kinda thing?"

His voice drops low, and you know exactly what he's talking about. That night in his tent during the camping trip, when things got real heated real quick.

You raise an eyebrow, channeling every ounce of b̶a̶d̶ confident bitch energy you can muster.

"I don't see why it has to be. I find you hot, you find me hot."

"Making assumptions now, are we?"

The playful edge in his voice does things to you. He's toying with you, and the worst part? You're kind of into it.

"Actions speak louder than words, Jeon." You lean into your sass because fuck it, why not? "And considering I had you cumming all over me a couple of days ago, I'd say you don't find me aesthetically unpleasant."

His lip curls into that fucking smirk—you know the one. It's rare and deadly and makes your stomach do this weird flippy thing.

"Oh?"

It's just one syllable, but Jesus Christ. The way he says it—all low and gravelly—makes your lungs seize.

"Going there, huh?" He tilts his head, and you can practically see the cockiness radiating off him. "Then I guess we can say the same about you."

You can't help the scoff that escapes.

It's either laugh or combust, honestly.

"I already said I find you hot. Craving compliments that much?"

"Just wanna hear it again." His smile widens, and fuck, it's not fair how good he looks when he's being an asshole. "Strokes my ego."

You swallow hard, trying to get your shit together. Because this? This is a whole new side of Jeon you're seeing. One minute he's Mr. Ice King, all cold and untouchable, and the next he's... this.

This s̶e̶x̶y̶ infuriating bastard who knows exactly what he's doing to you.

And the worst part? He's really good at it.

(Your underwear situation is becoming a serious problem, but you'll die before admitting that to him.)

"I think you're hot," you whisper, because fuck it—might as well lay all your cards on the table.

"I know."

The sheer audacity—

He says it with this cocky certainty that should be annoying but somehow isn't. Like he's stating that water is wet or the sky is blue.

You press on, because apparently your brain-to-mouth filter decided to take the day off. "So it doesn't have to be a one-time thing."

"Really."

It's not even a question. He's amused, the bastard. His chuckle hits different—low and rich and doing things to your insides that you'd rather not analyze right now.

"Just..." You try for casual, miss by a mile. "Think of it as a way of improving synergy between gang members."

The moment it leaves your mouth, you want to cringe.

Synergy? Really? But you see the way his lips twitch, and yeah, okay, maybe it wasn't your worst line.

"Hmm? I'll make sure to send Moon the briefing for approval."

"Make sure to give me credit then."

"Will do."

"So indulgent," you tease, because apparently you have a death wish.

He raises an eyebrow, and oh. Something shifts in his expression—something dark and promising that makes your stomach flip. He does this thing with his tongue, running it along the inside of his cheek like he's considering all the ways he could r̶u̶i̶n̶ wreck you.

"You know how indulgent I can be, sunshine."

Fuck.

That nickname. The way he says it—soft but loaded with intent.

It's not fair how he can take two simple words and turn them into something that feels like a caress and a threat wrapped in one.

Your heart's going absolutely feral in your chest. You're pretty sure he can feel it, which is just... great. Really great.

You swallow hard, trying to remember how words work.

"Don't you think..." You pause, trying to find the right words without sounding too desperate. "...that as gang members, we need to... release some tension from time to time? For the sake of the gang."

His mouth twitches. You want to punch him.

"For the sake of the gang," he echoes.

"Mhm." You feel a little rush of pride at having his complete attention. It's not easy to get Jeon to focus on anything that isn't mission-related. "And, you know... Fucking just seems like the healthier option."

The silence that follows should be awkward. It should be, but it's not. It's charged.

You wait for him to shut you down, maybe throw some sarcastic comment your way.

Instead, his fingers dig deeper into your skin, and fuck, that shouldn't feel as good as it does.

"Mhm. You're persuasive." His voice drops into this low purr that makes your insides twist. "Are those your seduction skills in show?"

"Maybe." You tilt your head, feeling bold. "Is it working?"

"I don't know..." There's something dark and promising in his eyes. "Considering I have you all over me right now, who's seducing who?"

Your eyes drop for just a second because—oh. That's... definitely something pressing against your thigh. Something very familiar from that night in the tent.

"I guess it depends on whether you want to include your boner in that analysis," you say, meeting his gaze.

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and against your palm.

"Fair. But only if we include those 'fuck me' eyes you're giving me."

The crude language coming from him is... something else. Instead of making you blush and back down, it makes you want to push harder.

"What can I say, Jeon? Lust is a human emotion."

"It is." His tongue swipes over his lip ring, and Christ. "And you have a lot of it."

"Funny you say that when you're also looking at me like you're undressing me with your eyes."

"I never said I didn't."

The way he says it, all casual with that hint of a smirk—it's doing things to you. Things you probably shouldn't be feeling in the training room, but here you are anyway.

Professional training session your ass.

Your hand moves before your brain can catch up, fingers skimming over his chest. You look up through your lashes, meeting his gaze.

"Good then. I guess it's settled."

"What is?"

"You. Me. Fucking."

Real smooth. Way to be subtle about it.

"And how do you wanna go about it, exactly?"

The way he says it—like he's trying not to laugh—makes your face heat up.

You pause. Wait. Shit.

You hadn't actually thought this far ahead. The logistics of it seemed... well, obvious until now. People just fuck, right? That's how it works? But now that he's asking, you're drawing a complete blank.

"How... What?"

Real articulate. Nailed it. You're doing amazing sweetie.

He actually laughs at that, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into yours because you're still pressed together like some kind of human sandwich.

Then he's moving, helping you get your feet back under you so you're face-to-face.

His hands stay on you though, like he can't quite bring himself to let go.

"I mean, I'm game for it being a way to blow off steam." His thumb starts that little circle thing on your hip again, and fuck, that's distracting. "And as you said, we're not breaking any rules if there's no strings attached..."

You blink. Slowly. Because is this actually happening? Is Jeon—Mr. Ice King himself—actually considering your half-baked proposition?

"However, we should probably set some ground rules. Any limitations? Is there anything off the table?"

"Well, we can see when... time comes."

"And when do times come, sunshine?"

That fucking nickname again. The playful edge in his voice isn't helping your brain function any better.

"We can just tell each other, no?" You say it without thinking, which seems to be your brand today.

"What, do you really want to say you want to fuck in front of everyone—"

"God, Jeon, no—" You cut him off because Jesus Christ. The thought alone makes you want to crawl into a hole and die. "But we can say something like... we need to ease off some tension."

"So 'ease off some tension'? Is that our code?"

Amusement twinkles in his eyes, and you kind of want to punch him.

Maybe.

Not really.

"Yeah. Yes." Eloquent.

"Okay then."

"Okay."

And just like that, you've somehow negotiated the most professional friends-with-benefits arrangement in the history of gang life. With your Chief. In the training room.

What could possibly go wrong?

"What about halting?" His eyes lock with yours. "Need a safe word?"

You glance around the training room, brain scrambling for ideas. Your gaze drops to your hands, still fisted in his tank top. Oh.

"Black tape," you say. It feels right, given the context. Then, because your mouth apparently has a mind of its own: "And maybe... white tape? Like, for when things are good to go?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Black tape stops everything, white tape means keep going?"

"Yeah." You nod, feeling weirdly professional about this whole thing. Like you're negotiating a business deal instead of arranging hook-ups with your Chief. "Black for stop, white for go."

"Alright." His voice drops lower, settling somewhere in your chest. "Once either of us says 'black tape', everything stops. Immediately."

"Okay."

"Okay."

The word's barely settled in the air between you when something possesses you to just—

"I wanna ease off some tension."

Real smooth. Way to be patient, dumbass. (Have you seen him though? Like...)

But the way Jeon's eyes darken? Maybe being smooth is overrated.

His eyes snap to yours—look pure animal—irises swallowed whole.

Jeon's fingers stop their little dance on your hip, like he's taking a moment to process what you just said.

Everything goes quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you hyper-aware of every little sound—birds chirping outside, people talking somewhere down the hall, completely clueless about what's happening in here.

"Yeah?"

It comes out as this low rumble that you can practically feel in your bones.

Then he's moving closer, crowding into your space until there's barely room to breathe.

Not that you're doing much breathing anyway, because the way he's looking at you right has knocked the air out of your lungs long ago.

You manage a nod because words? What are words? Your brain's pretty much short-circuited at this point.

His smirk turns wicked—the kind that promises trouble—and then his fingers are sliding under your clothes, and oh.

Oh, okay.

You can feel him pressed against your inner thigh, hot and hard and very, very interested in where this is going. He notices you notice, (of course he does) and he sways his hips slightly like he's testing the waters.

A sound escapes you—something between a whimper and a gasp—as you arch back, exposing your throat. Like your body's offering itself up to him before your brain can catch up.

(And what the fuck are you, a cat in heat?)

You're both still technically fully clothed in a training room where anyone could walk in, but honestly, it feels more obscene than being naked.

Maybe it's the forbidden aspect, or maybe it's just him, but it's like everything is on fire.

(Somewhere in the back of your mind, a little voice is reminding you that this is probably not what RM had in mind when he approved combat training. You tell that voice to shut the fuck up.)

He doesn't just dive in—no, because Jeon's the type to take his sweet fucking time. His mouth traces your jaw with these slow, deliberate kisses that make you want to tug at his hair. Each one edges closer to your neck, and hell, the anticipation is killing you.

When his teeth find that spot where your neck meets your shoulder, you nearly lose it. He bites down—not hard enough to mark, but the sensation shoots straight through you, and this embarrassing sound escapes your throat before you can stop it.

"No... marks," you manage to get out, even though your brain's pretty much offline at this point.

He laughs against your skin, and the vibration does things to you. You can feel his smile—that smug, knowing one that makes you want to strangle him with his own hair or something.

"Okay."

You both know why there can't be marks—can't have evidence of whatever this is showing up in training tomorrow.

His breath fans hot over the spot he just bit, and you're pretty sure you're going to die if he doesn't do something soon.

Then his hands start moving, and okay, maybe dying wouldn't be so bad. He maps your body like he's trying to memorize every curve, every dip. His thumbs sweep over your clothes, and even through the fabric, his touch burns.

When he gets to your ass though? Different story.

He grabs two handfuls like he's been waiting to do this all day, and the sound that comes out of your mouth is straight-up pornographic. You should probably be embarrassed, but you're way past caring at this point.

He squeezes like ike he's finally getting his hands on something he's been thinking about for way too long.

"God..." He says—voice wrecked, all rough and deep. "You've got one hell of an ass."

You laugh against his mouth.

"All this training must show results."

"Fuck if it shows."

That compliment—delivered in his sex-roughened voice—does weird things to your stomach. You press back into his hands because you're only human, and the way he responds tells you all you need to know—fingers dig in harder, and yeah, okay, this is definitely happening.

You claw at him in retaliation like some kind of feral animal, nails dragging down his back through his tank.

You can't think straight—can't think at all, really.

Your brain's on fire, fuzzy with want. If this is what losing your mind feels like, you're kind of okay with it. Actually, more than okay. You're drowning in him, in the heat of his hands, in the way he's marking you up without leaving marks, and—

Clink.

The sound of the door handle cuts through your lust-haze like a bucket of ice water. Pure instinct takes over, and you shove Jeon away from you with enough force to send him sprawling onto the training room floor. The sound of his body hitting concrete is probably the least sexy thing you've ever heard.

When you look at him, his eyes are wide with shock that quickly turns into this mix of annoyance and—wait, is he amused? There's this little twitch at the corner of his mouth that says he kind of wants to laugh, even though you just threw him on his ass. But there's also a storm brewing in his eyes because Jeon? He doesn't do pretend losses.

Especially not to you, in what's supposed to be a basic training session.

Then Takama walks in, all decked out in Kkangpae black, and raises an eyebrow at the scene in front of him.

You must look like a mess—hair probably everywhere, breathing like you just ran a marathon, standing over Jeon who's sprawled on the floor.

"Thought you two would be done by now," he says, confusion lacing his tone.

"Training got a bit... intense," you manage to say, trying to sound casual while your heart's still doing its best to break your ribs.

Your voice, however, comes out steadier than you expected, considering you were about two seconds away from letting Jeon rail you against the training room wall.

The irony of using "intense" to describe what was definitely not training isn't lost on you. But hey, at least you're not lying.

Technically.

Takama lets out this low chuckle, and you can feel his eyes darting between you and Jeon, who's still sprawled on the training room floor like some Renaissance painting gone wrong.

"Gotta say, I'm surprised to see Jeon flat on his back. Never thought I'd see the day."

There's this note of respect in his voice. Because yeah, you just put the Chief of Tactical Assassinations on his ass. Even if it was totally not what it looked like.

Jeon's still looking at you as he gets up, fluidly and graceful despite having just been thrown to the ground.

He brushes off his clothes, but his eyes?

They haven't left yours for a second.

It's like he's trying to tell you something without words, and you're getting the message loud and clear.

"She's a quick learner."

You both know exactly what kind of "learning" he's talking about, and it has nothing to do with combat training.

Takama, bless his oblivious soul, just strolls to the center of the mats like he's not walking into the world's most sexually charged training session.

The sound of him cracking his knuckles cuts through the air then.

"So, ready for another round?"

He has no idea about the conversation happening without words. No clue about the way Jeon's still looking at you like he's thinking about all the different ways he could pin you down—and none of them involve training.

"Always," Jeon says.

His voice is pure sin, wrapped up in that one word like a promise. Like a threat. Like everything you want but shouldn't.

"Bring it on," you manage to say, and you're pretty proud that your voice comes out steady.

Because this? This is definitely not just about training anymore.

Not even close.

You drag yourself into the cafeteria with Yunjin, who's been talking your ear off since you left training. She's going on about something—probably important, if you'd actually been listening—but your brain's too busy playing "Where's Waldo" with the dinner crowd.

Not that you're looking for anyone s̶p̶e̶c̶i̶f̶i̶c̶ important.

(That's a lie. You totally are.)

Your eyes keep scanning the room like some kind of desperate radar system, and you want to smack yourself.

Since when did you turn into one of those people who can't walk into a room without checking if he's there?

Jeon's not the center of the universe.

He's not even the center of this cafeteria.

But try telling that to your traitor eyes that won't stop searching.

You follow Yunjin to the buffet line, nodding along to her chatter about work stuff and gang politics. The food looks good tonight—all steam and color and promise of actual flavor. You're reaching for the rice when—

Oh.

There he is.

Jeon's standing a few people ahead, his back to you like he doesn't even know you exist. Which is bullshit, by the way. You know he knows you're here. But he's pulling this whole 'I'm too cool to acknowledge your existence' act, and honestly? It's working for him.

You can't help staring at his plate because of course it looks like that. All protein and greens, like a sad jail meal. No carbs in sight because god forbid the Chief of Tactical Assassinations eat a fucking potato. It's like looking at a fitness influencer's meal prep, except this one could probably kill you with his chopsticks.

He drives you insane. How does he do this? How does he go from being that smug bastard in the training room—all heated looks and smart mouth—to... this? This walking ice sculpture who portions his vegetables like they might try to escape?

You're still watching him stack his protein like he's playing food Tetris when Yunjin's elbow catches your ribs.

"Hey, you okay? You've been zoning out a lot today."

Great. Now you're so obvious even Yunjin's noticed.

But how are you supposed to explain that you can't stop staring at the way Jeon handles his chopsticks because it reminds you of how those same hands felt on your—

Nope. Not going there. Not in the cafeteria, not while you're holding rice tongs, and definitely not with Yunjin right there giving you that knowing look.

You flash Yunjin what you hope is a convincing smile. "Just tired. Been a long day of pretending I actually know what I'm doing."

You both grab your plates and—okay, maybe you glance in Jeon's direction one more time. Just a quick look. For science.

The way his jaw moves when he chews shouldn't be this interesting, but here you are anyway, feeling heat pool in your stomach because apparently now everything that he does is just hot.

Get it together.

You scan the cafeteria for a free spot and spot Kazuha sitting alone. She's got this serene energy about her that makes you feel instantly calmer. It's kind of ridiculous how put-together she always looks, even after a full day of work.

"Hey, Zuzu!" Yunjin chirps, already bouncing over. "Got room for two more?"

Kazuha looks up from her food, and her smile is soft, genuine. Like she's actually happy to see you both.

"Of course. How was training?"

You plop down next to her, already digging into your food because you're starving. "Bold of you to assume I survived. Pretty sure my muscles are plotting revenge."

"That bad?" Kazuha asks, and you can hear the amusement in her voice.

"Let's just say I'm considering a career change. Maybe I'll become a nun."

Yunjin snorts into her rice. "You? A nun?"

"Hey, I could be holy!" You protest, but you're grinning. "I mean, how hard can it be?"

"About as hard as that time Eunchae tried to seduce that businessman and ended up talking about his cats for two hours," Kazuha reminds you, dry as desert.

"Okay, but in her defense, his cats are adorable—"

"And second of all," Yunjin cuts in, "she got the intel anyway because he thought she was 'refreshingly genuine' or whatever."

Kazuha shakes her head, but she's smiling. "Only she could fail upwards so spectacularly."

The conversation flows easy after that, just three girls sharing dinner and stories from their day. It's almost normal, if you ignore the fact that you're all trained in professional seduction and manipulation.

"Zuzu, you seen the new race bikes downtown?" Yunjin's practically bouncing in her seat. "They've got some wild colors this year. Bright as the neon signs lining the alleys."

"They're really something," you add, grateful for the distraction from your Jeon-related thoughts. "Makes you wanna take one for a spin, just you and the empty streets at midnight."

Kazuha's smiling that soft smile of hers, the one that makes her look like she knows all your secrets. "I saw them. Wish we could know the stories behind them."

"Speaking of stories," Yunjin says, and there's this gleam in her eye that makes you nervous. "Kazuha, aren't you usually having dinner with Saku and Eunchae around now?"

It's an innocent question. Totally innocent. Except nothing's ever really innocent in this place, is it?

Kazuha lets out this little laugh that somehow sounds like wind chimes.

"They're training. Apparently, the training room was..." She pauses, and you swear your heart stops. "...in heavy use earlier."

You start coughing like an idiot because of course you do. Real smooth. Your neck feels hot, and you just know you're turning red because your body is a fucking traitor.

Because yeah, the training room was definitely in use earlier. By you and Jeon. Doing... training things. Totally professional training things that absolutely didn't involve his hands all over you or his mouth on your—

"Oh, is that so?" You try for casual, miss by about a mile. "Training room's been busy lately. Gotta stay sharp and all that."

Yunjin's looking at you like she can see right through your bullshit. Her eyebrow does this little thing—this 'I know what you did' arch that makes you want to crawl under the table. The way she's staring at you, it's like she's reading a book where every page is stamped with "I ALMOST FUCKED JEON IN THE TRAINING ROOM."

Kazuha, bless her soul, just nods serenely. The conversation moves on, but Yunjin's still giving you these looks. You can practically hear her thoughts: 'We're so talking about this later'.

You end up having this whole silent conversation with Yunjin through eyebrows and meaningful glances. She takes a sip of her drink, ice cubes clinking against glass like they're laughing at you, and the little smirk on her face says everything.

Busted.

(You're really going to need to work on your poker face if you're going to keep this thing with Jeon going. Or maybe invest in a paper bag to hide your face. That could work too.)

You're in the middle of telling Yunjin about this absolutely ridiculous mission report you have to finish when—

CRASH.

"You bastard, you think you can talk to me like that?!"

The whole cafeteria goes quiet. Like, pin-drop quiet.

You whip around to see Dongho—V's right-hand man and certified hothead—with his fists bunched in Woojin's shirt. They're both red-faced and looking murderous.

Great. Just what you needed with your dinner: a testosterone-fueled throwdown.

"What the fuck," Yunjin whispers, already tensing up. Kazuha's gone still beside you, like a deer sensing danger.

The thing about fights in Kkangpae? They're never just fights. There's always some deeper shit going on, especially when it's between different divisions.

And this?

This is V's second versus some guy from tactical assassinations. The rivalry between those divisions runs deeper than the Han River.

Speaking of V—you spot him across the room, looking way too entertained for someone whose deputy is about to start a brawl. He's got that look on his face, the one that makes your skin crawl. Like he's watching his favorite show.

"Now, now, let's not get too rowdy, gentlemen!" V calls out, voice dripping with absolutely false concern. When that doesn't work, he cups his hands around his mouth: "Simmer down, boys!"

But they're not listening. Of course they're not, they're men.

You watch as Woojin throws a wild punch that Dongho barely dodges. People are scrambling now—some to get away, others to jump in. It's chaos.

Then Takama's there, all six feet of concentrated 'don't fuck with me' energy. He plants himself between them like a human wall.

"Enough! Stand down, both of you!"

The command in his voice could probably stop traffic.

But Dongho—because he's either brave or stupid or both—just sneers.

"You're the same rank as me. Don't you ever try to pull authority on me."

Oh shit.

You feel the tension in the room spike. This isn't just about whatever started the fight anymore. This is about division politics, about the endless pissing contest between V and Jeon's teams.

And their seconds are about to throw down right here in the cafeteria.

You hear V's dramatic sigh that would put soap opera actors to shame.

"Why must things always descend into violence?" he asks JM, who just shakes his head like he's seen this show a hundred times before.

You watch as V's face changes. It's subtle, but terrifying—like watching a cute puppy turn into a wolf. His playful smile twists into something darker, and then there's suddenly a knife in his hand.

(You're not even sure where it came from; he just does that sometimes, produces weapons like a deadly magician.)

"I tried asking nicely," he says to JM, casual as if he's discussing the weather.

Then—oooookay.

The knife flies through the air, spinning so fast it's just a silver blur. It hits the wall with this loud THUNK that makes everyone jump, landing exactly between Dongho and Woojin's faces. Like, exactly.

You know V well enough to know that wasn't luck—if he'd wanted to hit them, they'd be picking pieces of their noses off the floor right now.

The whole cafeteria goes dead silent. Every head turns to V, who's sitting there looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

But his eyes? They're gleaming with something that makes your stomach turn.

"There, that got your attention." His voice is soft, almost sweet. Then, louder: "Now sit down and play nice, children."

Dongho and Woojin break apart like they've been electrocuted. You watch Takama and Dongho share one last murder-glare before going their separate ways.

"Holy shit," Yunjin breathes next to you, eyes wide as saucers. She lets out this low whistle that perfectly sums up what everyone's thinking. "Only V could pull that off so effortlessly."

She leans in closer, practically vibrating with excitement.

"That was kind of hot, don't you think?"

You turn to her, eyebrows shooting up. "Didn't know you had a thing for psychopaths with good aim," you tease.

Yunjin's cheeks go pink, and she does that thing where she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's flustered. It's kind of adorable.

"What? Confidence is sexy," she defends, sneaking another look at V. "And you have to admit, that was pretty impressive."

You follow her gaze across the room. V's already moved on, chatting with JM like he didn't just turn a cafeteria brawl into an impromptu knife-throwing demonstration.

But that's V for you—deadly and dramatic in equal measure.

Yunjin's practically glowing as V catches her eye and winks. The smile she gives him is shy, which is funny coming from someone who literally seduces people for a living. But that's just Yunjin—confident as hell on missions but turns into a blushing mess when she actually likes someone.

Speaking of liking someone...

You notice JM's acting weird. He's sitting next to V, pretending to be super interested in his food, but his chopsticks are gripping that poor piece of kimchi like it personally offended him; movements sharp and jerky—very un-JM-like.

He keeps doing this thing where he looks up at V and Yunjin, then quickly back down at his food like he's playing the world's most obvious game of 'I'm not looking, you're looking.' The tension in his shoulders is giving him away though. JM's usually all soft sweaters and gentle vibes, but right now? He looks like someone replaced his bones with steel rods.

After what feels like an eternity of aggressive chopstick action, JM turns to V and says something too quiet for you to hear. His tone's forcefully light—the kind of casual that takes effort. V glances at him with that signature smirk of his, says something back, and suddenly JM's whole face changes. His eyes get all crinkly at the corners, like he's trying not to smile.

Then JM leans in closer (way closer than necessary, if you're being honest), and whatever he whispers makes V laugh. Not his usual theatrical laugh either—this one's soft, private. V nudges JM's shoulder, and just like that, the tension bleeds out of the moment.

You can't help but watch them, pondering. Maybe V's little knife-throwing show bothered JM more than he's letting on. Or maybe...

Oh.

Well, that's interesting.

JM catches you staring and gives you this little smile that definitely means 'nothing to see here, move along.'

You return it because what else can you do? Start announcing your theories about whatever's going on between him and V in the middle of the cafeteria?

The conversation around you picks back up, and you let yourself get pulled into Yunjin's excited whispers about V's 'totally unnecessary but kind of hot' intervention. But part of your brain is still turning over what you just saw.

Because either you're reading way too much into this, or there's something brewing on JM's behalf that makes the gang's 'no relationships' rule look more like a suggestion than a law.

You file that little observation away for later. Right now, you've got food to eat and a best friend to tease about her obvious crush on the gang's resident knife-throwing psychopath.

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[before-it-felt-like-a-sin]

Better Kind of Best Friend [1]

Summary: Shauna asks you to fake date her to make Jackie jealous. 3.3k words. (fem reader)

Warnings: not proofread

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

“I want you to fake being my girlfriend.”

“What?”

You were sitting on your bed, working on a project for your English class when Shauna suddenly asked you to be her fake girlfriend. The question came out of nowhere, and it caught you completely off guard. 

“Pretend to date me, you know. To make someone else jealous.” She shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. And you guess it isn’t, at least not to her. Why would it be? It would all be fake. 

You give her a look, stretching your legs out. “Yeah, I got that. But why me? Who are we making jealous? Is there an upside to this for me?”

Shauna rolls her eyes, finally looking up from her book. “I know you, and we’re friends, but Jackie really doesn’t. Perfect for a fake relationship, no one’s going to think anything of it.”

“You still haven’t answered my other questions, Shauna.”

“Jackie, okay? I want to make Jackie jealous.”

“I have more questions now, actually.”

“Just agree, it’s not a big deal.” “Shauna, this shit is crazy. I’m not just going to say yes because you asked me to.  So answer my questions, and maybe I’ll say yes,” you urge, waiting for her to give you permission to ask more of your questions. 

“Fine, okay.”

“Great. Why are we making Jackie jealous?”

“I think you know the answer to that question, dumbass.”

“Yeah, duh, you’re into her. But why now? Is she doing something that makes you want to make her jealous, or..?”

She sighs, sitting up. “She’s been super in my face about Jeff lately. More than usual. And I can’t deal with that. It feels like she’s trying to make me jealous.”

“Well, clearly it’s working.”

She shoots you a glare, and you hold your hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry, okay. Low blow, I get it. So fake dating me is going to make her jealous because..?”

“She’s going to think she’s not my top priority anymore. She’ll realize how much she actually likes me once I have someone else, and she’ll lay off with the Jeff shit. Maybe she’ll even break up with him.”

“So, you don’t even want to date her?” You’re confused now, feeling like Shauna’s reasoning is a bit off. There’s no way this plan is going to end up working out for her, and you hope she realizes that soon, or you may actually be stuck fake dating her.

“Of course I want to date her.”

“But you just said you just want her to lay off with the Jeff shit.”

“Yeah, I do. But I don’t really expect her to break up with him and immediately start dating me.”

You look at Shauna, assessing her. “You know this plan is shit, right?”

She glares at you, clearly annoyed by the callout. “Yeah, okay. It is. But she’s also been fucking nagging me to start dating. Every time we talk, she brings it up, and she’s always suggesting the worst guys.”

“Does she not know you’re bi? I thought that was like, common knowledge. She’s not throwing in any girls?”

“She knows I’m bi, she just thinks it would be better for double dates with her and Jeff if I was dating a guy. I guess so Jeff has someone to talk to.Plus, all her sorority friends are straight. She has talked about setting me up with girls before, it’s just a lot of guys recently.”

“So you’re telling me I’d not only have to fake date you, but I’d also have to go on double dates with Jackie and Jeff where I’d be stuck talking to Jeff. And don’t say I won’t, because everyone knows that you and Jackie get lost in your own little bubble when you’re together. This literally sounds like my nightmare scenario. Is there no one else you could ask? You’re on a fucking girl’s soccer team, there has to be at least a few gay people.”

“None that I’m really close to. And Jackie would freak out if she thought I was dating anyone on the team. She’s weird about that shit, even though like half of us have hooked up by now.”

“If I say yes, will you at least admit that this is a horrible idea? And I’m not taking any credit for it. Like at all.”

She nods, looking at you expectantly. As much as you want to say no, tell her to find some other girl to fake date, you know you aren’t going to. You really weren’t getting anything out of it, but you weren’t losing anything, either. Everyone knew you were gay, and you did like Shauna as a person, even if the two of you weren’t super close. 

“How committed are we going to be here? Like, obviously we’ll be pretending around Jackie, so we’ll have to pretend to like, everyone we know. But like, what about dates? Kissing? PDA and all that?” If you were going to say yes, you were at least going to figure out how much she wanted you to put into this. 

“We’ll go out once a week to parties or whatever, plus a one-on-one date once a month, I guess? Plus just like, normal hanging out. And whatever Jackie wants to do with the double dates. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“What do you want to do about PDA?”

“No cuddling or whatever. Couples that do that piss me off. Holding hands is fine.On dates we can do kisses on the lips, I guess. We’ll probably have to actually make out at parties, at least to make it believable. Depends on the situation. Shit changes depending on who we’re with. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something. You should probably do the same.”

She nods, mentally noting down everything that you’re saying. “That sounds fair.”

“And you’re paying for dates.” If you were going to fake date someone, you were at least going to get a free dinner out of it. Sue you. 

“Fine.” Shauna doesn’t sound happy about it, but she knows this was her idea, and she needed you to agree. 

You smile, somewhat satisfied. “When do we start this?”

“A couple weeks? A month? I have to convince Jackie I actually have a crush on you, and that I asked you out. She won’t believe it if I just show up with a girlfriend tomorrow.”

“Okay, that works. Just like, let me know the exact day. And warn me when I first have to meet Jackie. I need to brush up on my acting skills. If I’m doing this, I’m making it believable.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A month later, you were sitting with Jackie and Shauna in one of the cafes on campus, Shauna’s hand on your knee. Jeff wasn’t there, thank God, but the whole thing was still unbearably awkward. You knew Jackie, of course, but only through Shauna. 

There was also the aspect of being in a fake relationship. That wasn’t super easy for you to ignore. 

You and Shauna had only gone on one “date” so far, but you’d had to commit to a decent amount of buildup. Going to parties or bars so you could flirt with Shauna where Jackie could see her, hanging out with Shauna alone so Jackie really believed she liked you. It was fucking exhausting.

Two days after your first real “date” (although Jackie thought you’d been on more), Shauna had told you that Jackie wanted to meet you for real. So there you were, in what was possibly the most awkward situation of your life. 

“Shauna hasn’t shut up about you in like months, you know,” Jackie chattered, clearly trying to make you feel secure in your relationship. You highly doubted Shauna talked about you that often, and especially didn’t believe she’d been talking about you for months. 

Instead of telling Jackie that, you smiled, looking at her before turning to Shauna. “Good to know.”

Shauna, to her credit, does blush at this. It’s faint, but noticeable. She was a better actress than you originally thought. 

Jackie laughs, and you relax a bit. She was nice, if a bit energetic. You could see why Shauna liked her. Maybe she wasn’t exactly your type, but you saw the appeal. They’d make a cute couple, if Shauna’s plan did end up working. 

The issue was, Jackie didn’t seem jealous at all. Shauna had been telling you how excited Jackie had been when she told her about her crush on you, and you’d noticed her looking happy when you fake flirted with Shauna at parties. It was cute, really, but Shauna’s plan didn’t seem to be working out for her. 

“Shauna says you’re majoring in communications,” you say, looking up at Jackie. 

“Yep!”

“And you’re in a sorority, right?”

Jackie absolutely beams at this, clearly happy that you know a little bit about her. “Shauna’s told you a lot, huh?”

“Yeah, she has.” You laugh, squeezing Shauna’s hand under the table. She hasn’t said much since you’d gotten there, and you were starting to worry. 

“I had to brief her on you, Jax. I couldn’t let her walk in blind.”

All three of you laugh at that, and you feel better now. Shauna’d finally spoken, which relived you of some of your anxiety. It still wasn’t your idea of fun, but it wasn’t complete torture, either. You’d be able to deal with whatever this was until: A) Shauna’s fake dating plan worked, or B) she got bored. 

“Well, thanks,” you reply, grinning at Shauna. “But I don’t think I needed a briefing. Jackie’s great.”

It was weird to say, but you did really like Jackie. She seemed sweet, and very supportive. Maybe a little over the top sometimes, but it worked on her. 

They both seem happy when you say that, Jackie especially. “Thank you! Shauna, she’s really sweet. I can’t believe we haven’t really talked before.”

“She’s been keeping you away from me on purpose, I swear. She thinks you’re going to tell me embarrassing stories from when you guys were little.”

Shauna looks at you, slightly annoyed look on her face. You know she doesn’t really mean it. “I didn’t mean to, you guys are always free at different times.”

“That’s a lie, and we all know it,” you reply, still smiling at her. 

Jackie giggles, and Shauna looks exasperated. “You guys are ganging up on me.”

You and Jackie exchange a look, both used to Shauna’s antics by now. You couldn’t tell if she was being serious, though. She was hard to read sometimes, especially times like these, when you couldn’t just ask. 

“Relax, Shipman. We’re just messing with you.” Jackie looks only somewhat apologetic.

“I’m relaxed.”

You squeeze her hand, letting her know that you could go whenever she wanted to. “We’ll stop, okay?”

Shauna takes a moment to collect herself, regretting bringing you to meet Jackie so soon. It was an experience she wasn’t used to. She’d never seriously dated anyone before, which meant she’d never had to introduce someone to Jackie. Maybe the first time being fake wasn’t exactly her best idea. “It’s fine.”

You can tell she wants you to drop it, so you do. Instead, you focus on just talking with both of them, trying to get to know Jackie, and trying to understand the dynamic between the two girls. 

“You guys met when you were in like, kindergarten, right?”

They both nod, and Jackie gets super excited when you bring it up. “We’re from a kind of small town in New Jersey, which you probably already knew. Anyways, we met in Kindergarten, but didn’t really become friends until second grade. But we’ve been inseparable since!”

“Yeah, I had fallen or something, I don’t remember, but she came up to me and told me that I shouldn’t be sad because there were a bunch of worms in the dirt that we could play with.”

You laugh at that, turning to face Jackie. “You don’t strike me as much of a tomboy.”

Jackie laughs, shaking her head. “I’m not, now. But I used to love all of that stuff. I used to spend hours in my mom’s garden looking for worms.”

You nod, sipping your coffee. Trying to imagine Jackie as a little girl searching for worms was difficult. It didn’t match the image of her you’d created, not even a little. “Did Shauna join you?”

“Never. She’d sit next to me, nose stuck in a book. That hasn’t really changed.”

“I can appreciate that.”

Shauna smiles at you, more sweetly than you’d anticipated. “I’m consistent, at least.”

“You’re also an English major, right? That’s how you two met?”

“Yeah, we were in a few classes together last semester and got to talking. Then it just kind of snowballed into this.”

Jackie smiles. “She seriously would just not shut up about you. Still doesn’t. Literally, she’s brought you up to me every day since you met. I’d never seen her so interested in someone before.”

She had to have been lying. This whole thing, your whole relationship with Shauna, it was all fake. You were sure it was purely platonic. Either way, though, it was sweet that Shauna liked you enough to tell Jackie all about you. 

“Okay, don’t exaggerate, it’s not every day.” Shauna looked sheepish, like you weren’t supposed to know that. 

“Shipman, she’s already dating you. I don’t think you have to pretend like you’re uninterested.”

Shauna just rolls her eyes, looking apologetic. You’re not sure why. Yeah, Jackie said she talked about you a lot, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. You talked about your friends all the time, too. If anything, you thought it was sweet. Maybe the two of you were closer than you’d originally thought. 

The three of you keep talking, bringing up childhood stories, talking about professors, how it was living in the dorms, how you all couldn’t wait to move into an apartment next year. It was nice, honestly. You did really like both of them. There were a couple times where you felt like a third wheel, but that was to be expected when you were talking to people who’d known each other since childhood. In all honesty, they were really good at including you, and you appreciated that. 

“One of the frats is throwing a party tonight, you should come!” Jackie looked directly at you, hoping you’d join her. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I was just planning to stay in. Watch a movie, catch up on some homework. Maybe next week.”

Jackie looked disappointed, but smiled at you anyway. “Well, if you change your mind, just let Shauna know. The more the merrier!”

You nodded, turning to Shauna and silently asking her if she wanted you to be there. Subtly, she shook her head, enough that you knew she didn’t mind. You’d feel more guilty if she were actually your girlfriend, but she seemed fine with you not going. 

“Do you want me to stay home with you?” She asked, really seeming interested.

“Nah, you and Jackie already planned to go out. I don’t want to fuck that up for you.”

“I’m sure Jackie won’t care if I stay in tonight.” Shauna was much more committed to this than you thought, which was throwing you off a bit.

“Shauna, it’s fine. Seriously. I don’t mind being by myself.”

She let it go, finally. “Just tell me if you change your mind.”

“I will, I will.”

Jackie watched your entire exchange intently, trying to figure out the dynamic between you and Shauna. She seemed to be wondering what her best friend acts like when dating someone, and you wonder if you’re Shauna’s first serious relationship. Sure, it was fake, but Jackie was supposed to think it was real. Shauna hadn’t said anything about you being her first serious relationship, but she didn’t have to disclose that to you. None of it was real, there was no pressure for that sort of deep conversation. 

Suddenly, Jackie spoke up. “Shit. I’m gonna be late. It was nice meeting you!” 

She stands up, giving Shauna a hug goodbye before hurrying out of the coffee shop. You assume she has a sorority thing, or maybe had a date with Jeff. Either way, it wasn’t that big of a deal. You’d already spent a couple hours together. 

“Sorry I sprung this on you.”

You shrug, taking a sip of your coffee. “It’s fine. Low stakes, just Jackie. I knew it would have to happen at some point.”

“She’s definitely buying it, which is good. Only a matter of time until she ropes us into a double date.” Shauna looks mildly worried at the prospect of this.

“It’ll be fine. She already believes us, and Jeff is absolutely stupider than she is. You could tell him the sky is green and he’d believe you.”

“I know, I just don’t want him to be weird about me dating a girl. Well, not really dating, but he won’t know that.”

“Well, if Jackie’s dating a homophobe, I’m sure you would’ve known by now. And if you didn’t, maybe that’ll be the reason Jackie breaks up with him. Has Jeff ever been a dick before? To you, specifically, I mean.”

Shauna shakes her head, taking a drink of her tea. It must have gone cold by now, but she didn’t seem to care. “No, not really. At least not on purpose. He’s said stupid shit, but only because he’s ignorant, not because he’s an ass on purpose.”

“It’ll be fine, then. She hasn’t even asked about a double date yet, anyway. You have plenty of time to let him know you’re with a girl.”

“You’re right. I’m just stressed.”

“This was your plan, you know. We can call it off whenever.” You don’t tell her that Jackie doesn’t seem jealous at all. If she can’t tell already, she’s probably beyond saving. 

“We can’t just quit a week in. Jackie would get suspicious.”

“Yeah, true. But if this doesn’t work after a couple months, I’m out. I don’t have time to be fake dating you for longer than that. I’d like to find an actual partner, you know.”

She sighs, running a hand through her hair. She knows you’re being serious, even if she doesn’t want you to be. Her whole plan was proving harder to pull off than she’d originally thought.

“Yeah, okay.”

You finish your coffee, standing up from the table. “If you want an out for this party, we could watch a movie. You made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to go.”

“Jackie might kill me if I skip.”

“Blame me. That’ll really make her jealous.”

Shauna smiles for a moment, then her face falls. “You said you didn’t want me to stay in with you. She heard that.”

“I changed my mind. Just go back to your dorm, tell her that after she left, we talked about it and I want you to stay in with me. It’s a double win for you. You don’t have to go to the party, and you have another chance to make Jackie jealous.”

She stands up, nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

“Great. I’ll see you tonight.”

You don’t hug, or kiss, instead electing to just go your own ways. If Jackie asked, Shauna could just say she walked you back to your dorm. She didn’t need to actually do it. 

On your way home, you kept replaying the day in your head. You didn’t know what it felt like, not really. On one hand, you felt like you were just hanging out with two of your friends. On the other, it almost did feel like Jackie was third wheeling a date between you and Shauna. The whole thing was confusing and annoying. 

Whatever. You’d power through, even if you couldn’t place your finger on why you were so dedicated.

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 7 - Black N' White Knight

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dick tells Tim, hand carting through his hair. The two of them are in the kitchen, at the breakfast bar. Tim sitting in front of his laptop with his legs crossed, and Dick tapping one foot agitatedly against the marble floor. While Tim might not be grinning ear to ear, it’s pretty obvious for anyone who knows him that he’s delighted by the tale Dick just regaled to him.

And what a tale it was. He hasn’t seen you in a year and a half, and then when he does, he finds you teary eyed staring at a picture of him shirtless at the gym. Bruce had always told him the way he played with the paparazzi would come to bite him in the ass one day, but he really can’t say he expected… that.

Obviously, it had to be a prank. That’s his first thought. That’s his only thought, really. What other explanation could there be? An accident? Maybe you’d forgotten what his room looked like. It wasn’t like he kept much personal stuff in his Wayne manor room, the only markers his clothes and the letters he kept in his drawer from his parents.

And you were wearing his clothes, of all things. He’d be surprised if you forgot how much of a Superman fanboy he was, seeing as he’d spent many hours ranting to you before the explosion. So, a prank. A show of good will, an olive branch maybe? It was more likely you were just fucking with his head, as you’d done in the past. Never like this, though.

This was just… bizarre.

“I can’t either,” and of course, Tim sounds near estatic saying that. The love of chaos ran true in that one.

Dick had managed to wrangle his life under control a few years back, and despite the universe seeming to try to unravel it at the seams, he was indisposed to let it simply happen. Even if you of all people had changed. No, Dick was getting older, and he was finding his taste for chaos a lot more… limited.

He didn’t want to suffer it’s affects. He was currently suffering it’s affects.

“I knew something was going on when she showed up to the party, but this…” Tim pauses, leaning back in his chair, “It’s gotta be a prank, right?”

It said a lot about their family that this was all the assumption they defaulted to.

“It could be something else. Did you even take her to the hospital after?” Dick offers instead, overthinking as always. This situation seemed to be made for overthinking, though.

Tim hums. “No, we did not.”

Then he turns his stare to Dick, like he’s expecting something from him.

“Seriously?”

“What? You’re the friendly one.”

Dick very much did his best to seem like the friendly one, at least. Tim was well aware it was a complete farce, though. Dick was nice but he could also be a bit… well… a bit of a dick. Another thing he’d been trying to overcome. He was doing better than when he’d been seven, at least.

Dick sighs, pressing his hand to his forehead, “I’d probably just end up accidentally nagging her, and then she’d never speak to me again.”

“That’s not my problem,” Tim shrugs, glancing back down at his laptop and squinting.

“It is, actually. Because if she stopped talking to me you’d probably be the next one till the girls and Duke came home who has to talk to her.”

“She could talk to Jay,” Tim offers, because he’s a shithead. Dick bets he did the same with Bruce, “And besides, I’m busy doing surveillance.”

“You mean stalking.”

“I do it to everybody, stop making such a big deal out of it.”

Dick sighs again.

“Hm, you might want to check your phone,” Tim says, in a way that suggests he has once again tapped the network. Keeping him out of Dick’s private life was like Sisyphus and his boulder. He still wasn't going to give up, and the time Tim and Steph mercilessly bullied him for getting dumped over text had made him all the more so.

‘Dont_try’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

“Please, tell me you sent that and are just messing with me,” Dick begs, staring down at his phone in mild despair. Chaos. Always fucking chaos. Despite how hard he tried, he could not keep his family out of trouble. God damn it, when he’d gotten this job he’d been the one made for trouble. Where did he go wrong?

“Honestly, sounds like the sort of thing I’d do, but the girl just got bitch slapped so I really think you should respond fast.”

“What?!”

“She’s fine now, run to the bathrooms I think. You know for such an upstate place you’d think they had better camera positioning,” Tim mutters, complaining that he can’t watch every single little movement you make. Dick thinks he should probably worry about this, as it’s a clear sign of another decline for his sanity, but he’s now got this shit to deal with.

“Why, Tim? What is going on? Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Hm?” he’s engrossed by the computer, “Ah, the shitty boyfriend… some soup- ha, how is she such a clutz? Maybe we should get her head checked again- and… an altercation of some kind? I don’t know, I can’t see it properly.”

Dick leans forward in his stool, clasped hands covering his face for a moment.

“Are you going to reply? If you don’t soon, she’ll probably make it a bigger shitshow,” Tim says, nudging his foot against Dick’s. Dick, good big brother that he is, takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Even if this is really not what he wanted for his holiday, he’s dealt with much, much worse.

The press will have forgotten about this within the week. You, however, likely not. He’d promised to help you all those years ago, and even if he had no idea why you were reaching out to him, or if you would even be amicable when you met again, he’d still damn well do it.

He glances back down at his phone.

“What is going on?” Dick repeats to himself, and Tim’s head cocks to the side. There’s that familiar cat that got the cream grin spreading across his younger brother’s face, and it just really isn’t welcome right now.

“Intrigued yet?”

Unfortunately for both him, Tim and especially you, Dick already was.

He’s in his car in five minutes flat, finger tapping against the premium leather wheel. The sound of it is the only thing that manages to keep him sane.

Riding up to the place, Dick realises that no, maybe the press won’t be over this within the week. Considering the amount of paparazzi swarming the place, he doubted you’d be free for at least a few months. To be fair, the mysterious ex-wayne making such a scene was a bit of a big deal. Before you’d been basically invisible, despite your immense wealth and past.

Invisible? Dick thinks he spots at least twenty cameras. And that’s not even mentioning all the phones inside that would’ve gotten up close videos of whatever happened. Their legal team would handle it fine, that which Barbara or Tim couldn’t wipe from the face of the earth. And that was very little, all things considered.

Dick has to push past the calls of his name, ignoring all the intrusive questions volleyed his way like the pro he was. He still makes sure to listen carefully and store away every vital bit of information, as well as remember the logos on the film crew’s van. Eventually he makes his way to the front of the line, and the flustered front of house immediately recognises his face and sweeps him inside. Dick ducks in with a thankful smile, which he admits, falters when he enters the scene.

A scene which you are not in. Your gold digging boyfriend was, though. Of all the things Dick regrets with you, it’s not breaking the horrid relationship the two of you had apart. Or well, the fact that you totally, loudly hated his guts. He was a sensitive guy, y’know!

He sees your terribly boyfriend - George, Dick remembers - raging at some poor servers, and he knows he need to go sweep in and save the pour soul. It’ll be a hard fight, he can already tell.

Before he does so, he sends a quick text to his phone.

Underwear_guy: Where are you?

Don’t_try: I’ll be right out.

Shockingly, that was the truth. You come striding into the restaurant, and immediately all eyes are on you. It makes you stutter-step. Dick can see you visibly stiffen up, before you manage to gather your courage and keep walking. You don’t even pay him a single glance as you walk straight towards your fuming boyfriend.

You try to whisper, keeping your voice quiet and your conversation private. The boyfriend seems uninterested in the idea.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” he cuts you off.

You glance around, and then say something else. It seems like you’re trying to defuse the situation, but George seems uninterested by the idea. 

“This behaviour is ridiculous. You need to get it together, we’re in public!” he yells, like he isn’t the one causing a scene. He seems to be trying to intimidate you back into silence. But today and well, yesterday too, something is different about you.

Okay, that’s enough of that. Dick’s intervening.

“You cheated on me! You deserve it and everything that’s coming to you!”

Or, uh, maybe you’ve got it covered.

-

George’s shocked face is almost worse than when you literally bit him. Guess he expected you to be a bit more demure after that encounter. He should know better, the other version of you seemed to have been even more spiteful in nature.

Today again, you prove you are a less than stellar person. You’d stopped caring about George as soon as you’d discovered he’d cheated, but you were still angry. Not jealous, but furious. Bubbling up your throat, rage and bile and the urge to attack him once again, even if you just want to go home.

Your teeth grind. Your jaw ticks. And oddly, you realise you have a real taste for George Lancaster’s limbs.

Though your life had changed (literally) in the past few days, you were still the same girl from your first twenty-first. You wanted George Lancaster to suffer. Even more so, now that the evil cunt had hit you right in the face. The hit had stunned you, though. More emotionally than physically, but it had shocked you.

You couldn’t say you were a coward. You’d spent far too many days in your teenage years indulging in self-destructive behaviours to think that. But something about this pathetic man was scaring the shit out of you. You think that made you more pathetic, but you couldn’t quite tell. That’d be victim blaming, right?

You did have a habit of blaming yourself. It was just usually your fault.

…Maybe you shouldn’t have bit him, no matter how much the response was instinctual or his screech was satisfying. This was all too confusing, all too much. You needed to get back to your apartment, lock the doors and barricade them so nobody bothers you. And then maybe hibernate for a week. You needed some time to process all the stupid bullshit you were experiencing. The wayne manor was too much, your horrible white apartment was too much, George fucking Lancaster was too fucking god damn much.

You take a deep breath, and manage to stop yourself from bolting like a deer. Deal with the problem at hand. Deal with it now, deal with it!

“I’m leaving, and we are done. It’s that simple,” you tell George, trying to drill in a message that he seems unable to comprehend. At this point you’d assume he’d be trying to apologise, manipulate back into his good graces, but you think you might’ve completely broke him. Broke the script.

Good. That was damn well good.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else at least?” George replies, eyes flicking to Richard Grayson’s angry gaze. At least you think he’s angry. You can’t quite gather the courage to look directly at him.

Also, there’s the manipulation! You wish you weren’t right this time.

“Sure, but I’m bringing him, and my answer will absolutely not change. You hit me.”

“You bit me!”

Well, yeah, not your best moment. You don’t think you can regret it, though.

“Then I think this relationship is ending on equal terms,” you reply, trying your best to just get him to quit it. It is obviously not working by the way his expression darkens.

“I’ll tell the press everything,” George threatens, which, well, is sort of a shitty threat because I don’t even know what he’s threatening. ‘Everything’? Couldn’t he be a bit more specific?

You shrug. It is the wrong response, you know it is, but you’ve completely ran dry of fucks to give. Couldn’t be much worse than the bullshit happening right now. The press were already very well fed, considering the situation that was today. George makes a small sound of fury.

“We’ll sue,” Richard Grayson, the white knight that you’d daydreamed about, comes to your rescue. Is it odd that it’s kind of flustering? You probably shouldn’t be flustered.

George immediately snaps his gaze to Grayson’s, giving the man a look with a healthy dose of fear. Couldn’t blame the guy. Even if he was the second smallest of the three remaining brothers, he was still well known for being strong. His family often did kick-boxing, and their sister, Cass, often whooped their asses. It was sort of satisfying to watch. Anyway, his physical prowess from fighting to weirdo gymnastic bullshit was evident in his svelte build.

George was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot. With just the one threat from the Waynes legal team, he skitters away like the little rat you know him to be. He leaves the restaurant, and he very obviously does not pay or even leave a tip. You suppose you have the cash to make up for it. Then, ignoring the paparazzi, you were technically home free. You glance to the side. Richard Grayson’s beautiful face looks a mix of confuddled, frustrated, and exhausted. He still saved you, though, even after the fool you made of yourself.

White knight, indeed. It almost feels a bit anticlimactic, but it’s the results you wanted. And yet, an ominous feeling befalls you. Somehow, you don’t feel you’ve seen the last of George Lancaster. You just really hope the old you hadn’t committed any crimes. A tabloid? Humiliating, but livable. Prison? Not so much.

Not that the rich stayed in prison in Gotham, or even the rest of the world. It was kind of strange to realise you were sort of above the law now.

You glance at Dick, pulling your uncomfortably wet shirt away from your chest. You’ve sort of been bled dry of any shits you could give at this point, so you decide, very maturely, to make jokes and ignore all your problems. It had gotten you this far.

You’d seen this behaviour before. Many, many times. It was what usually got you fired. But now you didn’t really have to worry about that, so why should you worry about causing a scene and ruining your life a bit more? It wasn’t yours, after all.

“What do you think?” you joke, elbowing Dick. He looks down from glaring at the entrance George just slipped out of, to you. His blue eyes are a damn near shock to the soul. It takes everything in you not to start fidgeting.

��Think of what?” he responds, and despite how hard you try, you can not read his expression.

“I’m trying to make some more news. Don’t think the reporters got enough the other day,” you say, gesturing to the giant stain. It’s still Dick’s shirt. You hadn’t realised till now, but the Beatles was now some sort of green soup. Is it kind of gross of you to acknowledge that at least the soup smelled good?

Probably. You didn’t actually get to eat anything here. It’s also probably a bit weird that you’re thinking about eating at a time like this. Probably.

“I think you’ve done enough, honestly,” he says, glancing at the camera flashes from outside.

He sounds exactly like your mother, it’s almost uncanny. Well, this version of him technically knew her. You’re still not sure how well en-meshed your two families had been before the disaster, but maybe he’d picked up some traits from her.

…That… you’re not sure how to feel about the idea. The old green monster bubbles up at the thought, and you can’t tell if you’re jealous your mum got to meet Dick Grayson, or that Dick Grayson might’ve gotten to know your mum.

“We should leave,” he says, cutting off your bitter inner thoughts, “I know you don’t like it when the magazines bother you.”

You don’t? You don’t. Yes, that makes sense, ‘you’ definitely wouldn’t have. And it’s not like you feel comfortable with them either. In fact, if you think about the fact your drowned rat appearance will be on every tabloid in the city by tomorrow, probably alongside photos from your birthday, you feel so nauseous you could collapse. Going to compartmentalise that one.

“Yes, going, let’s go,” you say, following Dick out of the restaurant.

Despite the fact that the security guards are trying their best, it’s getting quite rowdy out here. When Dick wraps an arm around your shoulder, shielding you with his body, you almost just pass out right there. His muscles… Your heart simply can’t take it. As it is, Dick notices you jump like a foot in the air, and backs off. He still makes sure to try and protect you from their vision as much as possible.

Still, in an act that is purely rebellious, you turn and give them a big smile and a wave. Even as you hate every single person on the other side of the divide, you want to make one thing very clear. You will not be cowed by someone like George fucking Lancaster. Your peace sign and wink are a message to them, to him, and to yourself.

Despite the fact that this new life is one you have no idea how to handle, you know one thing. Put on a face, and it’ll always be easier.

Dick is probably wondering what the hell happened to you for you to be acting this way. Your shirt has a giant stain on it, you just broke up with your cheating boyfriend, went through a traumatising experience just a few days ago, and you’ve got the biggest grin on your face. This behaviour speaks more and more of a full blown mental breakdown. And it’s not the first you’ve had or the last.

There’s paparazzi snapping thousands of photos of the two of you, and instead of shying away as ‘you’ used to, you throw up a peace sign. One of the papps drops their camera. That confuses you a bit, as your peace sign deflates slightly. Didn’t they want more pictures? Weren’t you supposed to pose…?

For all you stalked celebrities online, you realise you have no idea how to pretend to be one. This is going to become an issue, you can already tell.

He points at a car, and you assume it’s his because he starts making his way over. He’s obviously done this sort of thing before, using and guiding the security with a smooth confidence. Even still, the two of you are a bit too close for comfort.

Which you prove, by putting your foot directly in your mouth.

“I don’t have abs, but do you think the press would like my stomach like they like yours?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. Another poor joke. You are deflecting so hard. And why the hell did you bring that up, you dunce? You feel your brain cells draining the more you’re around this guy, it’s not healthy for you.

“Please don’t pull your shirt up in public,” Dick sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. It’s spreading, like the plague. You’re patient zero, of course. Even still he gets you guys to the car, and opens the side door for you. You follow his wordless command and slip into the passenger seat.

“I won’t. Sorry, sorry,” you reply, to relieve him of some of the trauma you’re currently inflicting.

He glances back to the papps, and then back down at you. His smile bowls you over like he’s getting the last strike in a fucking 300. He genuinely is the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen. Thankfully, he closes the door so you have a moment to gather your sanity before he goes around the car and gets in the driver’s seat.

You hope you’re subtle when you shift away from him slightly. It shouldn’t be that surprising really. You were stupid on average. You would be stupider around attractive people. You would be frankly disastrous around someone as blastingly hot as Dick Grayson. The Waynes in general turned you into a drooling idiot.

Good god, you need to get out of this car. As soon as you think that, Dick is pulling away from the parking spot and out onto the streets. He makes slow progress because Gotham traffic, but eventually you manage to flee the horrifying stares of the cameras. Already you can tell it’ll be giving you nightmares. Probably along with images of the guy who tried to rape you and Damian Wayne sneering at you.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Despite how you wish it not, Mr. Grayson decides he’s going to start a conversation with you.

“Good,” you reply, the answer instinctive and an obvious lie.

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare return it.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and his voice is gentle. Sort of infantilising if you’ll be honest.

While it is very clear to anyone who looks at you that you have no idea what you’re doing, you’d rather he didn’t bring it up. You’ll figure it out. You’ve always managed to figure it out. This is what you get for asking for help. Really, despite your momentary panic you could’ve taken George. Probably not physically, but…

“You can talk to me if you want, you know?”

“Can you stop the car, please?” you respond, when that question immediately activates your fight or flight response. Dick must notice something about you, because he quickly shoots forward and into a momentarily available parking spot.

You scramble with the door, shoving your way back out onto the asphalt. The immediate distinct smell of Gotham, even Gotham’s richer districts, calms you down. Sewage, the ocean, and the ever present smoke and fog.

Fuck’s sake. You aren’t making yourself look anymore well put together.

Clearing your throat, you turn and find Richard Grayson coming around the car hood towards you. There’s a worried look in his eyes, and you really don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like you made a deal with the devil. By getting rid of George, you’d gotten a new problem - and an infinitely more complicated one.

Shit, you need to stop making rash decisions when you’re having panic attacks. You’d say you should probably try and stop having panic attacks entirely, but you don’t really know how to do that.

The sound of your name has you snapping back to attention. Dick looks even more worried.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, taking a few slow steps towards you. Again, infantilizing. Like you’re a wild animal about to run. Wait, weren’t you just comparing yourself to a chihuahua? Well, it’s not the same when other people do it.

“I’d like to take a walk,” you say, hand scrunching into your pyjama pants, “Alone, I’d like some time alone.”

“…In that?” He glances down at the stain that is slowly starting to dry. It’s making your skin itchy, but at least it’s not as cold.

“I can buy something,” you say, remembering one of the apps on your phone was connected to your bank account, which you had to assume was pretty full. It’s kind of stupid that you haven’t checked that yet.

You’re starting to feel a bit defensive towards your own intelligence. Maybe it’s because you seemingly keep making all the worst decisions.

Dick doesn’t make it any better.

“Do you have cash on you?” he asks, showing how little faith he has in your general abilities to survive as an adult in Gotham.

“I do, I’ll be fine,” you insist, because god damn it, you will be. You just need a fucking minute.

You ran from the Wayne manor because you felt like you were being watched, and then as soon as you showed up at the world’s most uncomfortable apartment, the haunting wraith known as George dragged you out in your P.J.s. You could figure it the fuck out, if these people would give you some fucking space.

Richard Grayson seems to realise that you’re getting upset, because he goes quiet for a moment. After staring at you for a moment longer, for which you manage to find the courage to maintain eye contact through pure stubborn will, he asks you one final question.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home or something?” he asks, still seeming so determined to help you.

His suggestion brings flashes of images of you breaking down in front of the Bruce Wayne to mind. From almost a birds eye view, you see yourself sobbing against your own ruined dress as the billionaire looked on. Bile literally jumps up your throat, and it takes a lot of willpower not to grimace at the suggestion.

“Look, Mr. Grayson, I really appreciate-”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

Once again, you feel the urge to simply sprint away from your own problems, but you manage to hold yourself still. Still, you can’t think of a solution. You can’t really think much of anything. Instead you stare at Richard Grayson with your hands threaded together and your lips pressed into a thin line.

Though you open your mouth to speak, you find you have no excuses ready or available. You’ve talked yourself into a corner already, and it’s your third day in this world. Marvellous. Maybe you should just tell the truth.

Still, the dangers outweigh the pros. They don’t know you, they don’t have any real reason to take care of you. If they believe you, they’ll toss you out onto the streets penniless. And if they don’t-

You blink. There’s a highway sign behind Dick, and it catches your attention like a lightning bolt. ‘Arkham Asylum 800 miles’. It’s white blocky letters on green panelling feels like a sign from god, warning you from the path you consider taking.

And then you realise that you might actually get sent to Arkham if you say anything, and you resolve to never tell a single soul about what has happened to you. You’ve heard enough stories about the asylum, and by god, you are not being roommates with the fucking Joker of all people.

Eventually Dick realises he’s not getting anything out of you and he sighs, shaking his head. His annoyingly perfect hair mesmerises you for a second, but you manage to wrangle your brain back under control. He really doesn’t make it easy.

“I just want to know if you’re safe. If you’re going through anything, you know we’re always happy to help-”

“Dick,” you say his name, face twisting in discomfort, “This was a… a one time thing. Usually I can handle my problems. It just… it caught me off guard. George cheating was a huge shock, and I needed someone to stand by me.”

“And you know I always will, right?”

Ah. That’s… Dick Grayson was a stranger. You didn’t know him, and more than that he did not know you. He did not know what you would do, could do. You didn’t think anyone did, not even yourself.

It’s a silly idea to expect your celebrity crush to save you, and it’s one you find you can’t stomach it at the moment. It makes you feel disgusted with yourself at the idea. It’s too indulgent, too silly. It’s very simply, not possible.

You’ve given up on relying on miracles. These lessons had been beaten into you, really. You didn’t want to have to learn them again.

Your feelings must show on your face.

Dick lets out a whoosh of air, frustration palpable. He carts his hand through his hair. It still looks perfect. The world is unfair, yadda yadda.

“You run hot and cold, you know?” he gives you a grin. It says a lot about his ability to act, seeing as it seems almost natural. Almost, being the key word.

Also, he is absolutely correct. The chihuahua effect is in full-swing. And you know what? You are probably going to continue to run hot and cold, because you’ve never made a decision in your life. He’ll just have to get used to it.

You raise your hands and shrug, in the universal ‘what-can-you-do?’ motion. He wasn’t wrong. You were being completely erratic. Not even you knew what you’d do next. At least life isn’t boring these days, right Right? You wonder who you are trying to fool, because it’s certainly not yourself.

“I’ll contact you if I need anything,” you lie, because it seems to be the right thing to end this torturous conversation, “And I’ll make sure to keep contact with Alfred. You can talk to Jeanine if you need anything, as well.”

Dick, unfortunately, calls you out on your bullshit.

“But not you, right?” he says, smile still printed on his face.

Woof. You think… you’ve hurt his feelings? Ah shit, you instantly feel like the scum of the earth. Still, you don’t know how you could fix this. Arkham is a genuine threat lingering over your shoulder, you don’t know enough about your new cut-throat billionaire world, and you can not lose any faith they have in you. Any that you have left, that is.

You’re sorry, but this is coming down to survival. And you are a greedy person, after all.

In the end, you don’t have anything to say, and Richard Grayson leaves without a word. Watching him walk towards his car, you feel… bad. Really bad. The part of you that is still crushing on this guy, a very large part of you, feels like you’ve ended the earth. The other part, the one that recognises that once again you’re going to have to fight for yourself… well, she thinks so too.

Maybe… maybe you could fix this. Apologise. Once you’ve gotten your bearings and know you’re safe and 100% financially stable, maybe you’ll figure it out. Give him his shirt back after you’ve dry-cleaned it.

For now, you give him your back as well.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[feveredvisions]

Kiss Me Thru The Phone

(Harry Da Souza x you!!)

Here's the Epilogue btw and my Masterlist if you want some more filth or some fluff xx

Synopsis: Harry Da Souza flakes on yet another date with his girlfriend. Tonight, she reaches her breaking point when she waited at Charlie's for nothing. Taking offence at the pity look the hostess gave her at the lounge. Even more of a loser when she lied about being "Missus Da Souza" just to lock in their reservation as they prioritise married couples than fickle boyfriends and girlfriends. Harry twists her searing hot anger into something even hotter and wetter. Keeping his double-life as a fixer for a ruthless crime family and as a boyfriend who's an on-call clinician for the elite, he races back home to fix the only real thing that matters most to him.

Author's note: So after I finished watching the first episode of MobLand, "Kiss Me Thru The Phone" by Soulja Boy kept playing in my mind. I hope this does not spoil too much. To those who have seen it, I got inspired by the part where Harry promises to try one therapy session with his wife, Jan, and leaving the scheduling to her as he guarantees her that he'll be there. Swear. And just like Jan, I am quite skepctical but yeah, sure, Harry. So that's how this story was conceived. Originally, this was dramatic and painful as shit, but then the wind changed. I made it smutty as shit because it works just like their dynamic as a dysfunct couple. Tysm @cafekitsune for the cute dividers!!

Roses are red. I'm a twat. A hundred ain't shit 'cause you're worth more than that. Wish I was there to kiss you proper, But I'm stuck playing hero... Call you later, my love P.s. Don't burn the flowers and the note yeah? They're extremely flammable - H. XXX

"A fucking joke." You bitterly spat out as you crumpled the note and threw it in the fireplace to burn into ashy oblivion like how Harry had been to you.

Tonight was supposed to be your dinner date with him at Charlie's restaurant in Mayfair that you booked two months prior. It was a serious warzone to even secure a reservation there as there were other richer posher cunts who were adamant to buy out a spot, but surprisingly all it took was lying to the reservationist that you were a Missus Da Souza instead of your maiden name to lock in a table. You scoffed at the memory of it. Of course, married couples would be prioritised. Less drama and they're more stable. Unlike you and Harry... That was probably the closest you'll ever get to ever being truly his.

Tonight, you showed up at Charlie’s in your long off-shoulder red silk dress and a pashmina shawl to match. You had your tell-tale signs that Harry was not at all going to make it tonight. He’s always fashionably on time but never late. But you waited for him at the waiting lounge and only ended up being a fool. He was too much of a hero to his VIP patients and to the world to spare a minute being your lover. You had nothing against his job as an on-call clinician for high-profile posh families but it was getting ridiculous lately how often he was always out. How often were these people terribly ill? You never questioned it nor nagged him about it as you respected his profession and the secrecy it demanded, but tonight, it just about killed you.

Defeated, you took a cab home and when you reached home, the florist truck was unloading a delivery of ten dozens of red roses. All pathetic sorry red roses and no sign of Harry. It was stupid, really. Another empty gesture. A currency of materialistic emotional bribe. It really pissed you off. Burnt off whatever patience and grace you've got left. 

The safe phone which was a wee keypad phone that Harry provided you was pressed against your ear. It was an emergency phone in case he needs to be contacted directly for whatever reason. Another bullshit. He doesn't always answer unless he's the one calling it. Your emotions were in an uncontainable chaotic storm. The stench of the subtle sweet fragrance of the roses in the living room were starting to make your head throb. Heady. Borderline nauseous if you think more of it.

Harry called you after he just finished a bloody clean-up for the Harrigans family. Burning off all the evidences, scrubbing off and rinsing any DNA off the earth after dumping the body in the river Thames in the dead of night. Something you'll never know. Adrenaline rushed through his body as he got inside the driver’s seat of his car, the engine on. His heart pounding. For a moment, he closed his eyes. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears too followed by a brief sharp ringing. The vein in his neck throbbing.

His life and everything in it always held at a gunpoint no matter how much he tries to keep certain things away from his fixer business. Now that the family mess had been dealt with for the night, this was a bigger one with his girl he had to fix. The blood splatters on his jacket he can explain. A bloody emergency surgery he had to assist to. More like a hands-on surgery to keep a war from erupting.

You were walking around the house, pushing all the windows open to let fresh air in whilst the cellphone was pressed on your ear. "Honestly, Harry. What were you thinking sending me all these roses? You want me to make a salad out of the petals? Have a mouthful of your sorry flowers?"

"Babe, no, don't even—"

"I don't even have the vase to fit all of them in…” You murmur, trying to distract yourself from lashing out at him through the phone by focusing on the mundane. But then you reached your breaking point and unable to stop your tears when you caught a reflection of yourself in the mirror by the staircase. Your mouth quivering into a pout, stifling a whimper as your throat tightened up from the tears. You looked absolutely ravishing in your dress. Spent hours getting ready for tonight's special dinner, only for all of it to go down the drain. It was beyond frustrating.

“And I’m wearing this really gorgeous red Isabel Marant dress that I look really good in and you’re not even here to see it. Didn’t even get to wear it for a happy occasion.” You spoke through your tears.

“Babe, listen—” Harry's voice cracked through the burner phone. In the background, you could hear the hum of his BMW engine along with the occasional horn blaring.

“No, you listen.” You snapped, swiping at your wet cheeks with the back of your hand. Kicking your high heels off and storming back to the living room where the stupid boxes of the the red roses were. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it was? Sitting in the lobby like some loser, watching every other couple get seated while the host kept giving me that pity look? And then…and then I come home to this!” you kicked at one of the bouquet boxes. Some loose petals fell down the floor. “You think flowers fix anything?” you kicked another box of roses harder.

“Oi!” His voice sharp and dangerous. “The fuck you kickin’ my gift for, huh?”

“So now you care about them getting wrecked?!” you hissed.

He just chuckled darkly. Sadistic fucker. 

And pretty sure it was the unmistakeable sound of the metallic clang of the undoing of his belt buckle and him unzipping his jeans. You frown as you tried to make sense of what you were hearing through the phone. Surely, he wouldn't do what you initially thought he's doing right? 

Then—ptui— spitting on his palm followed by…a slick, creamy sound of a flesh, followed by a sigh of relief. It automatically made your thighs press together that you had to sit on the couch, kicking off and stepping on some of the stupid roses in the process. Breathing hitched in your throat.

“... Harry?”

“You wanna act like a brat?” The sound of his fist dragging over his angrily throbbing weeping erect cock obscenely loud in your ear. “Then listen to what you're missin’, babe.”

You bit your lip and swallowed a moan. The rhythmic wet stroking of his cock sent a bolt of heat directly to your cunt. “You fucking dick—”

“Mmm yeah. Thick too. Just how you like it.” He taunted with a groan. Then his voice shifted to menacing. “Bet your pretty pussy’s drippin’ right now, pissed off as you are.” 

“Fuck you.” Your lips turned into a helpless pout as you lightly bit the tip of your pointer finger like a guilty nun quietly indulging in the Song of Solomons. Rucking your dress up to your hips as you leaned back and propped your legs up, spreading your thighs open. Biting your lip as you took your panties off and flung it on the floor, landing amongst the roses.

“Nah, fuck you, darlin’. Got me hard as shit hearing you get mad at me. And even lyin’ to that posh twat at Charlie's. Bloody Mrs. Da Souza. Cheeky thing.” another schlick, louder this time.

You arched your back as your fingers circled on your hard sensitive clit. “Had to. They only prioritise wives.” A moan slipped out. “Not that you'd know. Too busy playing doctor for every rich slag in London.”

“Tell you what,” he sped up. Breath hitching. “I’ll put a proper ring on it. Marry me. I'll spike your anti baby pills, knock you up so deep, you'll waddle down the aisle.”

You whimpered as you slipped two fingers inside you, walls hungrily squeezing around it, whining for his actual cock. Hitting the spot that immediately brought in the impending sensation of your orgasm. “Romantic. You'd ruin marriage.”

“Hell yeah, we would.” A groan. “Fuck tradition. I'd bend you over the altar, eat your cunt in front of the priest—”

“Ah! Harry!” You cried out as you came. Hips bucking. Your orgasm coming in a flashflood of squirt. Showering the roses as your body convulsed, followed by a loud shameless bubbly wet queef.

Harry growled. “Christ. That mouthy cunt talkin’ back to me now?” he mocked. His voice thick and angry. For a moment, his car swerves as he punches the gas to hell.

You weakly laughed as you fell limp into the couch, still having slight twitching. Your fingers still fucking your turned on and ravenous pussy. “Says you're shit at apologies.”

“Mmmm I'll eat that fucking cunt.” A slorch of a wet, open-mouthed kiss came out the receiver. Your clit hardening and your pussy walls growing slicker and warmer like molten honey again. “She’s creaming again ain't she?”

You breathe quietly as your fingers scissor and fuck your slobbery pussy. Filling the room with the obscene sounds of your wet and creamy queefs. Each puff like a taunt like it was sassing him, to which harry growls at.

“That’s right. Argue with me you filthy cunt,” he snarls. “Best fuckin’ pussy  I've ever had. Queefin’, creamin’, squirtin’ all over my bastard roses.”

Your whimper turned into a cry as you reached another squirting peak, which lingered so you kept fucking yourself wetly with your fingers. The pleasure of your second orgasm spasming through your walls and your womb. Your body twitching and trembling. 

Harry hissed over the phone, keeping himself from busting out his load. His fist still working his hard cock in brutal slick strokes as his pre-cum dripped down from the tip of his slit down to his shaft. Punishing himself as much as he's punished you.

“Fuckin’ hell, babe. Listen to that. Greedy little slag creamin’ for me, yeah?”

Another wet pfft came outta your pussy walls clenched around nothing. Pissed off and empty. “You’re a fucking tease.”

“Tease?” he darkly chuckles. The car engine letting out a mean snarl as he shifts his gear, tires screeching. “You're the one spread out on our couch, ruining my roses with your creamy squirt, babe. Bet they smell like you now—fuck.” He hissed as he achingly forces his sensitive hard cock back in his pants with one hand and zipping his jeans back up. “Wish I could bottle that scent. Wear it like cologne. Let every bastard in London know of the lady who owns me.”

“Harry—” You whine as your thighs begin to tremble. Eyes tearing up from frustration as your pleasure won't die down. 

“Nah, nah, keep goin’,” he orders. “Make her squirt again, babe. I wanna hear it.”

You obey, curling your fingers whilst you grind your clit on the heel of your palm. Eyeballs rolling back as another wave of pleasure coils tightly in your belly. Helpless whimpers escaping your mouth.

“That's it, love,” he snarls. “Come all over yourself. Make a proper mess. When I get home, I'm lickin' every drop off ya. Then fuckin’ you so deep, I'll get your pretty cunny queefin' ‘round me cock, yeah?”

A high pitched scream tears from your throat as your third orgasm hits you like a freight train. The roses spread in front of the couch were thoroughly soaked. The petals and stems glistening from your depravity. Your own personal crime scene.

Harry's breathing was ragged through the phone. His voice is as rough as sandpaper as he murmurs to himself. “Fuckin’ hell.”

A debauched mess in your red Isabel Marant dress that's still tucked up to your waist and partly drenched in your own fluids too. The air reeked of the evening breeze, the woody aroma from the fireplace, and the stench of sex mixed with a heady rosy scent.

A wanton thing you were as you sank down the couch. Post-coital electric humming in your warm damp skin. “Fuck you, Da Souza.”

“Promise, I will.” He was sincere this time. The engine of his BMW roars as he accelerates. “Soon as I walk through the door.”

You scoff. “You're barely even here yet.”

“But I am.” he taunts. “Already got my hands on you, didn't I? Made you cum ‘n squirt three times without even touchin’ you.”

“Cheater.”

“Nah, just good at my job.” He pauses. His voice soft when he speaks again. “Actually, quick change of plans. Get dressed, babe. We're goin’ out.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Charlie's. That table’s still ours.”

“Harry, it's past midnight.”

“Not for us. Let me fix this.”

For a moment, your heart stutters. Letting him put in the effort this time.

“Want that dress back on. Leave the knickers off. I wanna feel how fuckin’ wet you are under the table.”

You sat up, the post-coital rush of headache almost knocking you back down. “You're insane…”

“Insanely, madly in love with you, darling.” He shifts gears. “Twenty minutes, babe. Be ready.”

Epilogue at Charlie's maybe?

Thanks so much for reading, your comments, and your likes and reblogs!! MWAH xx

[moonlight-prose]

mr. perfectly fine

a/n: i've had this in my drafts since i saw the trailer of we live in time. and honestly it was basically done, so i don't know why i didn't just drop it. so this is me digging it back up and putting some finishing touches on this quick drabble of angst. it's small, but writing it really made me want to re-watch the movies. so we'll see if anything comes from that. for now though, enjoy!

summary: there's a lot you would change in your relationship with peter. how late he'd show up to dates, the massive amount of missed calls and texts, and his forgetfulness. only there's a defining factor that might shift the entire trajectory of your lives together. peter parker was spider-man...and you didn't know.

word count: 2.3k+

pairing: peter parker x reader

warnings: not explicit, angsty as fuck though, peter gets dumped (sorta) but it doesn't last long, lots of tears, secrets exposed, fluff, forgiveness.

New York always seemed to reflect your emotions with ease. Like a mirror you couldn't break, or even avoid. Maybe it happened because you were looking for it without realizing; searching for answers to the never-ending questions that nagged at you. Different ways to work out the equations that held no solutions. A new way of figuring it out.

Yet no matter how many trials you ran, how many times you inputted the numbers, you seemed to always find yourself staring at the one thing that made sense. ERROR.

You counted the times he stood you up, tracked the calls he missed and the texts he only read but never answered. You compiled them like research, as if you were stuck in your lab and he was the experiment. He became the hypothesis you had to back up with well crafted proof. Only science never helped in situations of love. And you found that counting the days, watching the minutes and seconds go by, only made things worse.

The dinner went cold an hour ago, the candles snuffed, and the soft love songs were traded out for something sadder. Like other nights, you half expected you'd see him in the early hours of dawn. The glow of sunrise illuminating him like your very own hero, your favorite person to exist.

Every other time you chose to forget, to move on with your time together and find something happy to focus on. But tonight's calendar had been marked. A red heart written around your initials.

One that he wrote.

Six months passed in the blink of an eye.

Where you used to be awkward—barely able to speak to each other—now you found comfort in the silence. But when the quiet gave way to loneliness, you felt yourself begin to slowly chip away. You always thought he'd be here to put you back together, to save you in moments of brief darkness that left you wandering this shared path alone.

Yet when the clock finally struck midnight, and you were three glasses of wine in, you felt the final thread of hope snap.

You sighed, the burn of tears spilling over as you swallowed the last of your drink. "Happy Anniversary Peter," you muttered, getting up from the table.

The rain outside pounded against the asphalt. Wet streets glimmered with street lights and smelled of discarded cigarette butts. You wrapped the buckle around your waist tight enough to close up what parts of the coat gaped on your body. The dark charcoal wool fabric didn't belong to you. It lingered with Peter's scent, but you couldn't find yours as you rushed out the door.

You didn't want to stay in that apartment longer than necessary.

Perhaps you should have left some message behind—let him know that eventually you'd be back for your things. Somewhere in the back of your mind you understood what tonight was. A defining moment in your relationship. A chance for him to finally pull his act together and be with you.

Yet like everything else...you'd be simply another thing he'd have to let go of.

He wouldn't have a choice.

The salt of your tears mixed with the drops of rain that streamed down your face. You welcomed it as you walked. There wasn't a defining spot you were going—no grand plan once this came to pass. But somehow you wound up in a park, staring at a bench, and picturing a past version of yourself. Nose buried in a science book and lunch propped on your knees. You could see how Peter rushed by, how he nearly broke his neck turning to look at you.

You watched the moment happen all over again right before you. And for the first time in two months, you wanted to stop him.

The door opened with the usual creak. He winced at the noise with the memory of saying he'd fix it eventually. The DW-40 sat under the sink where he picked it up, never getting around to actually completing the job. Simply another let down that he'd never live down.

You said it was alright; claimed that the squeak gave the front door character. And that might have been true.

It still didn't stop Peter from beating himself up over it.

"Babe! I grabbed some food on the way home. Got your favorite." He stuffed his mask in his backpack, discarding it in the hallway as he went. The suit still clung to his already soaked body, but he hoped you wouldn't pick up on the peek of red beneath his clothes.

The plan to tell you was coming together nicely. A romantic dinner on the top of the Empire State after hours surely would give you a chance to think things over. He just had to work out the logistics of setting up everything with the security guard he befriended.

"Also I remembered to ask May about dinner in two weeks-"

He froze at the sight of the dark living room, of the table decorated with candles and plates filled with food. Very little scared the ever living shit out of him now. A familiar territory of adrenaline he’d come to welcome. But the sight of the calendar placed on his chair—the red heart blaring like a signal in the night sky—had his heart dropping to his stomach.

"No..." The food was forgotten about, dropped on the counter as he picked up the offending piece of paper. The clear mark around the date drawn by him two weeks earlier. A reminder to let him know that of all days...he couldn't forget this one.

He couldn't let you down again.

The clock in the corner read ten thirty and his heart lurched at the sudden realization that you finally did it. You gave up on his antics. All the moments he couldn't fix himself. You chose yourself over the madness of loving him. He wasn't sure which was wore. You not being here to give him a chance of groveling on his knees, or the silence in the apartment at knowing that your laughter and love would never fill it again.

He didn't have time to rationalize his decisions. Barely even noticed that he was walking out the door—the loud bang echoing in the hallway—as he went. Somewhere in the city you were mourning a relationship he was determined to fix. Yet he couldn't figure out where the hell to start looking.

This wasn't the first fight you'd had. The first time you left the apartment he found you in a hole in the wall cafe. A place he'd never even heard of before. And after three cups of coffee, a long night of talking, you both agreed to work on the communication. To heal what small wound had been opened.

Only this time was different.

This time the wound festered, grew to the point of being fatal.

This time he wasn't sure he could heal what he already broke.

His web clung to the building as he swung, landing five feet away from the already darkened cafe. Much to his own detriment you didn't bother to try getting out of the rain.

A crackle of lightning echoed in the night sky, thunder rolling in a few seconds later. It covered the sound of him nearly collapsing to the ground as a car swerved by—the horn blaring in his ears. The calendar was tucked in his jacket pocket, the ink bleeding through the soggy paper. But he refused to let it go. He couldn't. That was his final piece of you—the last moniker of a relationship that was worth it.

He only hoped you felt the same.

"Where are you baby?" he muttered under his breath.

After checking your favorite diner, bar, and bookshop. He was starting to run out of options. Almost as if you simply up and vanished from the city entirely.

You didn't want to be found. Yet Peter knew he wouldn't be able to live without you. How could he? When the chance of getting a peek at your smile was worth waking up early in the morning to see you off for work. Little moments of joy kept him going. And nearly all of his were spent with you. Each laugh, kiss, and look, were his to keep.

His to protect.

And he'd fucked all of that up.

Time passed quicker than he would have liked. The rain beat down on his body and he could no longer discern between his tears and the water. Still he searched. He checked every nook and cranny of spots you shared together.

Until the park came into his view atop a random apartment building. His heart leapt in his chest, body thrumming with nervous energy, as he swung down to the mushy grass that squelched beneath his sneakers. The cold shouldn't have made his hands tremble. Although perhaps the weather had nothing to do with what made his stomach twist, body overwhelmed with a fear he might never understand.

He knew why he shook like a leaf. He could feel the nerves beat alongside his heart, echoing his earlier sentiment throughout his entire body.

Letting you down this time wasn't a chance he was willing to take.

"Baby!" he called, running past low lit sidewalks and darkened tree lines. He ran until he felt the cold sting of rain on his face—until his clothes dripped water and the soles of his shoes were puddles.

Only to pause at the sight of a hunched over figure on a bench, their hands gripping the edge of the wood, and shoulders shaking with each stunted breath. Peter's heart tore into pieces. Fluttering to the ground as he stepped closer. Simply a flimsy piece of that ruined calendar. He could hear your sobs, smell the salt of your tears, and that broke him beyond repair.

He did this.

He took the most important person in his life and ripped them a part.

"I'm sorry," he said over the rain, catching the way you jumped—your eyes wide and lips swollen from where you bit down on them.

"Peter-"

Before you could get out the words to dismiss him. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands pressing into either side of the bench. Caging you in. This wasn't a chance for him to grovel, to give excuse after excuse. He’d passed that point months before. This was him finally letting you into the final piece of his life—the truth he wanted to shout from the rooftops if it meant getting a chance to see you smile again.

Fuck he'd give anything to see you smile.

"There's no good excuse okay? I don't have one. I'm just sorry." You sighed, moving to unlatch his grip. Only to find you couldn't get him to budge. "I don't want to keep hurting you. So if after this, you wanna go then you can go. I won't stop you, or call you, or even ask you back."

"Don't-"

He shifted closer, surprising you as his speed. "Just know I love you. I'll love you forever baby."

"Peter what are you doing?"

With a sharp gulp of air, he stripped off his jacket and t-shirt. They fell to the ground with a went plop as silence wrapped around the both of you. For a moment, he wondered if you'd take him seriously. Maybe you'd laugh. Maybe you'd leave him faster than before. But you simply stared at him—mouth parted and eyes wide as you took in the spider emblem sewn in his chest.

He coughed, shoving his wet hair out of his face. "This isn't how I wanted to tell you. The dinner with May was actually gonna be me telling you on top of the Empire State Building-"

"That's why you always forget the milk," you murmured, glancing to the side—a dazed expression now donning your face.

"What?"

"Every time I ask you to pick something up from the store at night. You never remember."

Heat spread rapidly across his cheeks. A red flush he knew was bright against the light on the sidewalk. "I don't always forget."

Rainfall filled the void of silence as you dragged your eyes along each web, the itch of your fingers too much to take—finally pressing them along the ridged fabric you’d only seen in blurry newspaper images. A mark that all of New York came to see as hope. The promise that for once in their lives they would be safe on streets known for violence and horrors.

You tried to wrap your head around the truth, pressing a thumb into the spider carved directly above a heart you knew was too good to be true. One that beat in time with yours, a familiar thudding echo you fell asleep to each night pressed tight to one ear. Peter was that man, the savior of a home you couldn’t see yourself leaving, the hero you’d only heard stories about.

“I guess this complicates things,” you finally mumbled, hand finding his chin soaked by the rain.

His sigh bled into the air, filling your lungs with the air you struggled to find. “Does that mean…you’re staying?”

“I’m just glad you weren’t cheating on me.”

Peter laughed, surging up with a speed you’d never witnessed before. “Never.”

His lips were cold against yours, gloved hands rough against the skin of your cheek, but the taste of him was the same. The man who asked for a chance in this park, promising to make your life interesting despite the chaos he dragged atop shoulders stronger than others. He carried the world with ease. Now it was your turn to do the same for him.

“So what’s it like dating Spider-Man?” you mumbled against his lips.

He grinned, pulling you up with an arm around your waist. “Free transportation.”

“Anytime I want?”

Thumbing the top of your cheek he pushed what tears remained aside. “For the rest of your life. If you want it.”

Oh how you loved him.

“I want it.”

[honeyshiddendesire]

Cross Guild + Shared Kinks 

Characters: Mihawk, Buggy & Crocodile 

Warnings: voyeurism kink, teasing, degradation, doms, bondage, misuse of d.f. Powers, pet names, use of toys, hair pulling, choking, oral sex/throat fucking

*masterlist*

Voyeurism 

Mihawk is a man who loves keeping you on your toes and he would never openly let you know that he wanted you to make a show for him. Instead, he would opt by buttering you up all day and night, starting by cooking you a wonderful dinner with a deliciously paired glass of wine. Take you to sit by the fireplace for a succulent and scrumptious dessert, the heat of the fire nothing in comparison to the way his hands run along your body. Then after your cheeks feel warm and your heart is racing he would slowly peel himself away from you with a sly smirk. “Mi amor do you realize how stunning you are?” He would wait for your answer and when you give it to him, he would lean close and tell you to show him just how stunning you are, especially for him. 

Crocodile on the other hand makes you give him a show for punishment. All up close and personal you would sit atop his desk as he leans back with his cigar smoke invading your senses and clouding your brain. “Come on princess, show me what it looks like when you listen for once.” His cold hook would run along your leg forcing it to open wider so he could get a better view of the way that your freshly done nails would play with your pussy. Unlike MIhawk who would admire in silence, Crocodile would give instructions on how and what to do for his pleasure. Your eyes would struggle to meet his gaze but every second you would look away was another second of your torture. “I want to see how pretty you look cumming all over my desk.”

Buggy loves making you his pretty clown star when he’s been stressed beyond belief. Everyone all day was nagging him so when he needs to blow off some steam then he’ll have you sprawled out on his circle bed with your hands using his cock like a dildo. Pleasure for you and pleasure for him. But in these moments he didn’t really want to participate, instead he wanted to see what you would do, he wanted to see you vulnerable and broken for him. “You look like a damn clown whore like this. My little clown whore fucking herself with my cock. Pathetic.” When Buggy was mad he would let you know about it, your hands shaking as you try to fuck yourself on his dick. Your eyes would plead for some assistant but this was Buggy’s show and you were the star, it would be rude if he were the one to jump in the main act. 

✨One thing all these men have in common is making you the star of their pleasurable show✨

Toys and Bondage

Mihawk would totally restrain you any chance he got, velvety ropes stretching you wide across the posted bed. Whenever you were restrained he would cover your eyes as well, wanting your senses to be screaming in panicked pleasure. “I love when you can’t run from me. Stuck here for me to do whatever I want to you. Does it make you nervous, my love?” As much as it would make you shiver you still enjoyed yourself knowing that he would take care of you, even if some pain was inflicted you knew Mihawk would make it feel good. The man took great pride in dominating you. Even when he used bondage for punishment he always took you in his hands seriously. “Remember the safe word.” Mihawk would always remind you as he would hold a vibrator against your clit until you couldn’t think anymore. Tears would spill and your limbs would tremble against the bed. “I want you to scream so much in ecstasy that you forget my name.”

Buggy like mentioned before Buggy would use himself as a toy. His cock plunged into your greedy pussy as you ran errands and went about your business. It would be hard for him to cover up his cheeky grin whenever you would try to cover up little squeals and whimpers. “What’s the matter superstar, you’re looking a little under the weather? Maybe you need to lay down.” If Buggy catches you in the hall alone or anything you better expect him to push up on you. When it comes to bondage Buggy doesn’t mind you tying him up every once in a while but no doubt will his mouth start flying just to see how far he will push you. “Ha! You think you could break me huh rockstar? I’d like to see you try you damn clown whore!” When it came to him tying you up though, you better have stretched before hand because he would totally suspend you in the air. Your body strung up like a gymnast ripe for his taking just how he liked it. 

Crocodile lovedddd trapping you for his pleasure and fun. Instead of ropes he opted for some classic handcuffs, nice and simple and also easy to undo with one hand. Crocodile would cuff you to the bed or his chair whatever he’s in the mood for and if he was feeling a bit lazy then he would just cuff your arms behind your back as you rode him. “I never thought my little princess would be into cuffs but look at you go. Filthy girl.” Crocodile wouldn’t care for toys that much but if you needed some brat taming then he would have no issues cuffing you to the bed and taping a vibrator to your clit as he would pound into your pussy. Pretty gemmed butt plugs would be an added punishment as well because after he would fill up your pussy with his seed then he would fill up your ass next. “I want you to be a good little slut and take every drop so I can fuck that tight little ass of yours next.” 

✨ Pretty ropes and toys never looked so good till they seen them used on you ✨

Choking & Hair pulling

Mihawk would sit in that pretty throne of his next to the fireplace with you on your knees rubbing against the plush carpet as your throat contracted and choked on his thick length. “Naughty girl spitting all over my cock like a whore.” Mihawk would lick his lips as he watched you suck his dick down to the base, your mouth not able to contain all the saliva that was dripping out. “Mmm, I knew those pretty lips of yours would look better sucking my cock.” Mihawk would love pulling your hair and forcing you further down. His hands pushed the hair out of your face so he could watch you choke and cry from how deep he thrust in your throat.. “I love the feel of your lips on me dear.” If your eyes weren’t so watery you would probably notice the faint blush that dusted his cheeks.

Crocodile would definitely not shy away from fucking your throat raw, his hand pulling your hair so tight you thought some would rip out from the hold. “Dirty slut getting spit all over me- fuck- keep it up princess.” He would spit all kinds of filth at you as your throat stretches to accommodate his well endowed cock. Your fingers would be clawing his thighs as if that would help the burning in your throat, it wouldn’t though. Crocodile would wind your hand around his wrist like a damn cock sucking leash, a wicked scowl painting his face. His hook would peel your shirt off to watch your tits spill out, drool dripping down your chin to splatter all over your chest. “I gotta have you sucking my cock more often baby girl, it’s a really good look for you.” 

Buggy would get you to suck his cock by telling you that you should go put your hair up. “Hey beauty queen, you know what would look cute on you? Putting your hair up in that ponytail that I like so much.” A clownish grin being seen on his face and you would totally complain because when he asked you like that you just found it so hard to say no. Your hair pulled back without a strand out of place, as your eyes would look up to meet his gaze. Unlike the others who face fucked you to tears, Buggy would force total eye contact. “Keep those eyes on me, diva. Want to look at you as I shoot down your throat.” Buggy would try and keep a simple pace pulling and pushing you on his cock, but the closer he got the harder he would fuck your throat. Cursing and groaning like an animal, “Fucking slut, keep swallowing my cock. So fucking close. Gonna cum down all over this slutty little throat of yours .”

✨ They loved doing your hair in the prettiest ponytails with their hands as the hair ties ✨

[sweetiecutie]

AHHHH I NEED MORE KEEGAN IN MY LIFE PLEASE could you write some Keegan h/c?

Pairing: Keegan P Russ x fem! Reader

Warnings: just general stuff, language, bad driving, NSFW under the cut, mdni, spit kink

A/n: it’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing😌 Keegan is such a bad bitch, he deserves more attention

• Starting off - I’m pretty sure that Keegan would want a civil partner; someone not related to military and actually as far as possible from all the war stuff. First of all, it’s to avoid having constant fear of losing you on the battlefield - it’s a highly dangerous job, sometimes coming out alive is not only a matter of skills, but also pure luck. Secondly, the amount of trauma and emotional damage Keegan carries is more than enough for two people - he needs someone grounded and, well, more stable, someone who will be able to give him a piece of blissful domestic life, faraway from all the constant war Keegan lives in.

• Always referring to you as his girl in conversations with other people or when introducing you to someone new. “That’s Y/n - my girl” “That’s for my girl, she likes pink” “My girl doesn’t like the smell of smoke so I’m trying to quit”. It’s also a way of showing everyone that you’re his - letting others know from the very beginning that you’re taken and no one better try anything with his precious girl, otherwise a few bones will be broken.

• Gives off annoying older brother vibes. He’ll always playfully nag you, and it’ll only become worse once you start dating. Placing stuff on the highest shelves just to watch you struggle to get it yourself, drawing some silly doodles on your notes, messing with your makeup that you spent nearly an hour organising neatly, punching your favourite plushie just to get a rise out of you. And of course, constant bickering! “Keegan, can you pass me that book?” - “Fuck no” *passes the book*. “Keegan, I want some sushi” - “Well shit, what am I supposed to do about that?” *already placing an order online on his phone*

• Another amazing driver here. Keegan has horrible road rage, hitting the car horn aggressively, yelling most intricate insults out the window at whoever that happened to piss him off. I also have a feeling the he drives really fast and reckless, teasing you whenever you ask him to go slower - so you better always buckle up. And yes, he definitely got in a few minor accidents - scratching or leaving indents on other car’s bumper.

NSFW here~*•.

• And while we’re speaking of driving - just imagine giving him a sloppy noisy head while being stuck in a long traffic. Keegan is seething with hot anger, rolling his eyes on other drivers, lack of nicotine adding to his distress. And here’s a sweet lovely you trying your best to make Keegan feel at least a tad bit better, soothing his booming annoyance with your silky tongue swirling around throbbing shaft, cheeks hollowing to provide stronger suction, allowing Keegan to set the pace. And it seemed to work wonders on him - his nape against the headrest of driver’s seat, pretty blue eyes half lidded, staring at the car ceiling, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, feeling your throat wrapped around his cock.

• Oh, how nasty he is. Biggest spit kink ever - ordering to open your mouth nice and wide just to spit a thick globe of saliva in it, then closing your jaw and making sure that you swallow it. Will gladly let you spit in his mouth as well; loooves messy wet kisses - either during make out session or after you gave him head, slurping up your spit mixed with his cum from your lips and chin. Very often uses his spit as lube, or telling you to spit in his palm before spreading it all over his needy leaking cock, plunging it deep inside your warmth.

• A horndog. You never have to ask him if he’s in a right mood because yes, he is. He is always in the mood to fuck. Now, he always lets you know that it’s totally fine if you say no - Keegan will never pressure or guilt trap you into any kind of intimacy, no means no. You can always cuddle up together or do something fun like cooking, dancing or simply dorking around. But if your sexdrive happens to match his - oh boy, I’m sorry for your neighbours. Let’s just say - there’s hardly any surface in your flat that you didn’t fuck on.

• It’s nothing new, but this mug is cocky. Like, I don’t think he has unimaginably big dick - not small for sure, but not huge as well; but the way he works with it - a chef’s kiss. Keegan just knows how to angle his hips to massage that one spot within you, how you like your clit to be played with, how he quickly discovers and memorises all the sweetest spots of your body. “Aw, cumming already? I barely touched you, does it feel this good?” - he’d purr, curling three of his long fingers inside of your needy cunny, thumb flicking swollen clit while hot mouth sucks on perked up nipples.

• Daddy kink? Daddy kink😏

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give writers some love<3

[gpcwsl]

Hey! Could you maybe write something for Lia Wälti where r has a reputation as a fuckboy/womanizer since they have quite a few one-night stands that never lead to anything more. They always get teased by the team for that. R and Lia are close friends and always very close physically: cuddling on the couch, sleeping in the same bed during sleepovers, Lia sitting on r's lap etc. One night they are watching a movie or smth on the couch and Lia straight up asks r why they have never tried anything with her. R tells her it is because they don't want her to leave, and then explains that basically all anyone ever wanted from them was sex, and no one stuck around after they had that, that's why now r just sticks to casual hook-ups if anyone approches them, and never actually initiates that stuff first. And they don't care about some stranger leaving in the morning, but they do like Lia a lot, and her leaving would really hurt, so they never acted on their feelings. And then a fluffy confession from Lia's side? Sorry this is really long, you absolutly don't have to do it if you're not comfortable with it!

Warnings: swearing, short, suggestive, mentions of sex (brief) mentions of fuck-boy, mentions of one night stands, kissing, making out.

Lia Wälti x Reader

You’re Different, and I don’t know why.

MasterList

Relationship’s aren’t your thing. You think they are underrated, love is underrated. You were taught that way while growing up. Sure, maybe the reason why is because you never knew your dad since he left the minute your mum got pregnant - ever since then your mother had taught you to never fall in love. So you took that advise. Never been in a relationship before, but definitely slept with half the girls in your hometown.

You always did a really good job with trying to not let those one night stands get in the way of football. Ending things with the girl as soon as the sunrise starts to shine awake. Cutting off any excess to phone number, instagram, ext.

Two years ago, you left your hometown. With getting a bigger contact with a new team who has been pushing for you for some time now - Arsenal. You decided to step up your game. Even win more trophies. Leaving was easy. You had no relationship with any family member, then not fearing enough to even say goodbye either.

But, ever since joining Arsenal things have been different. Different as in, not that many one night stand - and that’s because of a girl. A girl. Breaking a promise to your mother, you seem to be drawn into this woman. You so badly wanted to push her away, but you can’t seem to have the courage to. Which was weird. You always had courage to do anything. You never felt any sort of guilt of even thinking of doing anything like that.

She was driving you crazing.

Right now, it’s after training. Everyone is all gathered in the changing rooms. Getting into their own clothes they walked in this morning. You sitting down in the bench, tying your lases on your trainers.

Kyra, with the same old smirk on her face, sits down next to you, nudging your shoulder. “Y/l/n, you been with cute ladies lately?”

You roll your eyes, now knowing everyone is now focused on you. “No.”

Kyra raises an eyebrow, looking around the room before speaking. “Really? Cause if I remember what miss McCabe said to me the other day was - on your first day with the team you tried to get with everyone.”

You look up, immediately making eye contact with Katie who immediately moves behind her girlfriend. “I didn’t say tha-“

You roll my eyes again, before shrugging my shoulders. “Okay, sure but I didn’t try to get with them. Just flirted before I didn’t anymore.”

“That’s true, she hasn’t flirted with us ever since then.” Leah confirms, nodding her head.

“Why did you stop?” Kyra asks. Your eyes shifted to Lia, who was looking at you, smiling softly knowing the answer. “No reason.”

You then stand up from the bench. “Now, if you excuse me, I’m going home. Why don’t you nag to Alessia to who she kissed at last nights party.”

“What?!” - “For fuck sake, Y/n/n!”

With all the attention to Alessia. You look for Lia who is still looking at me. You nod my head for her to follow me. She easily sneaks past everyone who is still pestering Alessia.

As soon as you walk out the door; when you see Lia, you quickly grab her arm pulling her into a storage room. She lets out a yelp as you push her in. You quickly shut the door, locking it.

You turn around to see Lia smiling widely at you. Her hands on her hips. “Seriously? This is so high-school relationship material. Sneaking into the storage room?”

You shrug, smiling at her. “Can’t help myself. Haven’t kissed you for hours.” You mumble, taking only a small step forward to wrap your hands around her waist.

“Is that so?” Lia whispered, immediately wrapping her arms around your neck. “Well, we should do something about that, hey?”

You nod your head, pulling her closer to kiss her. The kiss was soft. Very different to other kisses you had with other girls.

You smile into the kiss - again, different to other girls that you never smiled while kissing before.

Lia change your life straight away.

First day at Arsenal. Kyra was right. You flirted with everyone - but as soon as your eyes founded Lia’s body you stopped. All your attention was on her and her only.

Lia pull away from the kiss. “Let me ask you something.” She says, looking up at you. - You nod your head, hands rubbing against her hips.

“Why haven’t you tried anything with me?”

You burrow your eyebrows, looking at her. “What you mean?”

“Like you were at your hometown. You choked up with every girl you found hot - and obviously you found me hot but, you didn’t try anything. You didn’t even flirt with me like you did with the others.” Lia rambled, her eyes staying in yours the whole time.

“Dunno. You’re different, and I don’t know why. I definitely thought about it but then hated myself. I could never do that to you.” You answered honestly.

“But, I’m not. I promise.” You state, holding her hands. Lia smiles, rubbing her thumb along your hand. “I know. I can tell how much you care about me. Just wanted to know.”

Lia then pulls you back into a kiss. You instantly kiss back, again smiling. “Let’s go home… I got something planned.” Lia mumbles, smirking.

“Oh yeah?” You mumble back, pulling away to see her smirk, smirking back. “What?”

“It’s a surprise.” Lia whispers, unlocking the door and pulling it open. Once the cost was clear she grabs your hand, pulling you with her to the exit.

You never been more grateful that you left your hometown to London.

[tthoughtdaughter]

bad habits.

pairing: dealer!ellie x reader.

summary: when you were a kid you had always put a pillow or a big stuffed animal between your legs, you honestly felt comfort by it. but tonight you decided it was going to be somebodies head.

warnings: uh widely ellie giving head?, use of drugs, girls kissing 🤯, swearing, a little bit of dacryphilia, pretty self-indulgent i know its weird im sorry — MINORS DNI !!

a/n: just because the strikes ended does not mean you shouldnt stop posting about palestine!

———————

you were helpless, depressed even. being locked up in your dorm for god knows how long. your friends had been nagging you about various parties on campus, you simply just left them on read, not wanting to deal with the aftermath of the party.

it wasnt until now that you had decided to go. not because you wanted to, you were going against your own will.

your friends, isabella, mattie and thea were forcing you out of your dorm because the state you were in right now was just honestly disgusting.

you were packing a bag to go over to isabellas house because they werent letting you stay in that dorm for a minute more, when thea said. “youve been stuck in here for forever, we havent seen you in awhile, we miss you girl.”

you sighed, reaching over to your closet to find an outfit appropriate for tonight. “look i know, things just havent been the best right now.” you didnt bother to look back because you know all thats going to be written on their faces will be pity.

“can you guys help me pick an outfit atleast?” they squeal, marching over to you before yanking you out of their ways.

mattie held up a dress, it was pink, delicate, something you would were on a picnic.

“dude, thats so basic.” isabella called out from the side, rolling her eyes at matties choice.

“i dont wear stuff like this— how would i fucking know?” she huffed.

“calm down guys, why dont we let ms depresso give us an idea of what she wants?” thea shouts over the teo annoyingly loud girls.

“i— depresso? seriously? not even funny.” you roll your eyes before pulling up pinterest on your phone, you always managed to find decent outfits off of the app.

you typed in ‘party outfits aesthetic.’ before you landed on something similar you had in your closet.

the outfit had a mini, mini, mini, mini black skirt paired with a black lettuce-cut, corset bralette looking thingy and just below that, knee-high boots. you admit it, you looked hot as fuck.

“damn girl, if i were gay id definitely hit you up.” way to go isabella, way to go.

“oh please youre totally into girls, youre acting like you dont eye that dina girl everytime we walk around her area on campus.” mattie adds.

isabella did everything in her will power to ignore the comment, but she couldnt help but blush.

the look of approval shot around the room was hilarious and you all burst out into laughter. you really havent felt this good in awhile.

quickly memorising the girl mattie had mentioned before, you could remember she would always be hanging around with someone else.

“hey, any of you know the girl dina hangs with? i cant think of her name.” you think hard, like really hard, you knew the girl was attractive from all the times you had seen her since isabella coincidentally hung there too.

“yeah, her names ellie, i buy from her sometimes. why, you got the hots for her?” thea teases.

“just shut up and give me her insta.” you roll your eyes, playfully shoving the girl as the two others made ‘oooooh’ sounds.

“fine, just give me a second.” thea whips out her phone and starts going through her following. she clicks on a profile and holds the phone up to you so you could get a good look.

her account was private, by the looks of it she had a batman smoking weed profile picture? interesting.. her user was ‘@ellieisawesome327.’

sounds like a name some 5 year old would put on secretly. “oh, interesting.” you couldnt help but giggle, she obviously wasnt the best at using this stuff.”

you pulled out your phone and searched for her user, you didnt follow it just yet, you thought it would be creepy since she didnt know you at all. you simply just kept the name in the search bar, ready for when you actually want to follow her.

———————

a few hours had passed and you all had gotten done up, makeup, hair, outfits, everything you would do before a party.

“whos car we taken’?” mattie asked. you and the others looked at her like she was some idiot.

“theres only one car in the driveway, take a guess numbskull?” thea pointed out, mattie pouted.

“rude.” she huffed. turning around to scroll on tiktok.

you were sitting on the bed, getting comfy since the party wasnt for another hour, when you spotted one of isabellas pillow. you had put it between your legs, you found some comfort in doing that ever since you were a kid, it was a weird and bad habit.

“whatre ya’ doin silly?” isabella pointed out, she sort of new you had this weird habit of putting things between your legs.

“getting comfy, what does it look like?” you roll your eyes, scrolling through your instagram feed.

“if you actually want something between your legs, try and get head tonight.” isabella added. it was a harmless joke, your group had always joked like this. you toned out the muffled giggles in the back thinking if you should actually get laid tonight.

it had been awhile since you had had sex, and it was getting annoying hearing everyones ‘wild’ stories.

you tool the pillow out from between your legs and threw it back into its position it was in before.

“you guys think we should get going? the parties in twenty minutes.” thea said. you all nodded and got up from your positions to march off to the car.

the drive was ten minutes, you put on your group playlist, it was made for roadtrips you guys took every once and awhile. but tonight you just needed to hear something other then their voices.

you were all vibing to the music when it eventually came to a stop. you sighed and got out of the car, shivering as the cold wind hit your very exposed body.

everyone walked in, it wasnt exactly packed, but you hesitated and mattie noticed that.

mattie was the average femme grouped masc. the one to carry around the shopping bags when you went shopping kind of girl. she was sweet, there were times where you had found yourself harmlessly crushing over her. she knew you had a bit of anxiety and offered you some of her meds before leaving but you kindly declined.

now obviously regretting your decision, she gripped onto your hand and squeezed it tight, for reassurance. you smiled and walked in with the others.

———————

it had been 2 hours and the group had split, isa probably off eating dinas face off, mattie chatting with some of the guys from a basketball team she had played against when faking being a guy as a dare, and thea off buying or even selling drugs. you were sat on a dusty old couch, not exactly wasted but definitely not sober.

you hadnt noticed you were sitting next to the girl whos instagram you were stalking earlier. but the realisation hit when you smelt weed from her direction.

she was very obviously eye fucking you, she wasnt even shy about it, it couldve been the weed that was in her system or she was wildly bold.

“hey?” you started off your soon long to be conversation.

“hi.” she was caught off guard when she realised you were talking to her.

“ellie right?” she nodded and you exchanged your name to her, along with numbers. you sat back further into the couch, parting your legs a little giving her a slight view of what was under you skirt. you enjoyed the fact that she was looking. a little smirk appeared on your face and she didnt notice it.

“my friend thea buys from you right?” she snapped her head up to look into your eyes. you noticed the green in her eyes under the blue hue of the lights in the room. she nodded,

“yeah why? wanna buy from me?” you shook your head.

“kinda tight on money right now, i would though.” you sighed, resting your head on your hand.

she thought for a minute. “ill share a blunt with you, only coz’ youre cute.” she winked and you blushed.

“oh, thanks..” you stare off awkwardly waiting for her to light it, she was wondering if she made you uncomfortable.

“s—sorry, didnt mean to make you uncomfortable.” you shook your head a smiled before she handed you the joint.

you took a puff and handed it back to her, waiting a bit before exhaling. you noticed she was manspreading. then you noticed she didnt quite look like any other girls that were at the party, very masculine. is she lesbian? no surely not, maybe she just likes being comfortable.

ellie was wearing a worn-out jacket, joels. she wore it everywhere she went.

she caught you staring at the position she was in, fighting the urge to spread them further. you noticed she was holding back from something and looked up at her, oh shit she caught you.

a shit eating grin was plastered on her face. “you ‘kay?” she asked, the same smug expression written all over her face.

you nodded and took the blunt out of her hand. you were blushing under the dim lights in the corner, the rest of the place was filled with colourful lights changing every second.

she started blushing too, she didnt know why. you looked up to her with parted lips. the high kind of kicking in now.

“can i.. kiss you?” you asked softly. you regretted that so hard, fuck fuck fuck she probably doesnt like girls..

she moved closer, draping a hand over your shoulder. “thought youd never ask.” she smirked before smashing her lips onto yours.

the kiss was hungry, like she was desperate for something, you couldnt quite place your tongue on it. the only thing placed on your tongue right now was hers. you kissed her back with just as much passion.

the moans you let out were absolutely pornographic. ellie knew she had to do something about this, stopping the kiss whilst you let out a whine from the lack of attention.

you were borderline wet, like waterpark wet, and it wasnt helping that you were wearing a flimsy skirt that had rode up in the process.

“cmon’ princess.” she took your hand, you felt a bit clumsy for some reason, dizzy, your head was foggy, only thinking about how good she tasted.

you followed her around as she knocked on various locked rooms. finally breaking one open, she slammed it shut, locking it and pressing you up against it. not to hard though, wouldnt wanna hurt your pretty little head.

“fuck, youre so goddamn hot.” she mumbled between kisses. you couldnt help but moan at how turned on she made you feel.

she pushed her knee up between your thighs and you shivered, grinding down onto it. chasing the very needed friction.

you wondered how such an innocent question like ‘can i kiss you?’ turned into you riding on her knee.

“els’, please..” that shit eating grin reappeared on her face and you just wanted to smack it right off, you rolled your eyes. your words and wetness only boosted her ego more.

“please what baby?” she teased. why was she teasing you? you couldnt take it. tears started bubbling in your eyes.

“please just— fuck me.” you mumble out. she liked the sight of you crying, so desperate for her. she was going to tease you more before you actually got what you wanted.

“what was that?” she smirked.

you looked up at her through teary eyes. “can you, uh— go down on me? please?” you were begging, that was a sight.

she pulled you over to the bed, through the dimly light room. “strip.”

you did as she said, it wasnt hard to take off your clothes since there was barely anything on you. first your top, leaving you in a skimpy black lacy bra to match your underwear. then came the boots and skirt.

finally, leaving you in a two piece set. she was waiting patiently for you to take them off. you dont know why you were so hesitant, maybe it was because you hadnt done this in awhile, or maybe it was because her stare was so intense it made your stomach do flips, distracting you from the easy task.

she walked over to help you since you couldnt finish what you had started. “d’ you want this?” you nodded painfully slow.

she peeled off your underwear, holding them up to get a good look before back down to your now bare cunt. it was dripping at the sight of her.

“s’ wet for me princess.” she smirked once more, if she smirked anymore her face would probably get stuck like that.

then came the bra, she asked you to turn around so she could unclip it, she was slightly struggling since she wasnt used to these fancy bras, only because she wears a sports bra.

you giggled and reached your arms behind you to take it off, turning around to leave her ogling at the sight of you.

“youre so beautiful.” you blushed, hard. she looked up at you for some sort of reassurance and you nodded.

a minute ago she was so dominant and now shes sweeter than a cookie. you adored that.

she reached her hands out to cup your tits, so soft, she thought. squeezing them and pinching your now hardened, pebbled nipples.

she elicited a moan out of you. you sat back on the bed for comfort and she dived into them. sucking harshly on your tits.

you couldnt tell if you hated it or loved it, your monas were telling her otherwise.

she left purple marks all over your neck, tits, stomach, anywhere she could mark really. you were huffing, all you needed her to do was touch you down there.

“patience baby.” she replied to your subtle huffs. you rolled your eyes, pleading with your body language as you rolled your hips into nothing.

her head moved down slowly, taking time with your body as if you werent some one night stand. did she actually like you?

she kissed all over your stomach and you felt giddy, you were giggling at how it tickled.

the she dipped her head low, taking in how soaked you were. the whole time you had been rubbing your thighs together. any subtle touch made you go crazy.

she fully dived in, and you moaned her name out, loud enough to here over the booming music. “e-els!” she teased your clit with her tongue, licking a stripe down, giving your clit kitten kisses.

her tongue reached places your fingers couldn’t surprisingly. you couldnt stop panting. it felt like heaven.

your vision was going blurry, white, if the coil in your belly bubbled anymore it was going to snap. “ellie.. i—im gonna!..” she moaned into your pussy, sending hypnotising vibrations into it.

“i know baby, come for me.” those words was the thing that snapped the bubbling coil.

you felt hot slick pool out of you, she lapped up all she could, almost overstimulating you. you were panting.

she got up and laid beside you, toying with your plush tits. you could almost fall asleep right then and there.

“alright,” she patted your thigh. “i gotta get going, heres my number though.” she pulled out a random piece of paper from her pocket and a pen. had she been preparing for this? you thought. she handed you the note like a little kindergartener and put her shirt back on.

you had the sudden urge to shove a pillow between your legs, whining from the loss. you fought back everything in you to shove the pillow that was staring at you between your legs. you watched ellie leave,

she left you on the bed looking back at you to smile before closing the door behind you. you eventually got up and put your clothes on, walking over to the bathroom that was in the small room to fix up your hair and makeup.

you realised your hand was still clutching that little piece of paper. you looked at it and read it slowly, still regaining composure.

‘**** **** **** **** message me ;) x’

you probably werent going to message her, but just incase, you slipped the note into your purse and walked out of the room going to look for you friends to take them home, luckily ellie had sobered you up.

———————

a/n: im sorry the ending actually sucks i was getting sick of this and i needed to get it out of my drafts. should i turn it into a series were reader actually messages ellie? idk.

[viperineee]

more mean reader x sub abby if you could 🙏

it is the hottest thign ever ily for writing it

ily2! you ask and I shall deliver! but with a slightly different scenario :p

anyway sub!abby x mean reader <3

cw: needy, jealous abby, mean reader but in like a hot bully way, boot riding (surprise!), heavy degradation, slight public humiliation, tears, light face slapping, strap on sex (r!receiving), edging, leashes, casual hookup relationship, kinda rushed I’m sorry :( (also, reader is wearing those like really cute, at least to me, leather boots with the kinda chunky heel? I’ll include a picture at the end)

you had a long week, all you wanted to do was get a few drinks to end it. you sat at the bar, making casual conversation with the bartender. it was slow, she seemed to have all the time in the world, going so far as to lean in to engage. it seemed like it was going to be a good start to the weekend.

until abby strolled in, practically demanding to know who you were talking to. honestly, how could anyone blame her? you fucked her brains out almost every night for a week straight and she finds you here with the bartender almost drooling over you. “what? did our sex mean nothing to you? what do you take me for? the hell is your problem?” she nagged in your ear, and you roll your eyes. you cross your legs as you let her yap, words going in one ear and out the other. “knew you were mean, didn’t think you were such a bitch.” she said, trying to be discreet about her last choice of words.

you pause, martini glass on your lip. you place the glass down, scoffing with a smile of disbelief in your face. “what did you say, abby ? don’t think i heard you right.” you raise a brow, seeing if she had the balls to correct herself. not that it mattered to you, you already conjured up a punishment in your head.

“i didn’t say anything. i said you were mean.” she lied, a slight pout on her face now that she was finally getting attention. you pull out a few bills from your wallet, placing them under your glass. grabbing your jacket, you don’t bother putting it on. you toss the soft material in her face, watching the shock expression etch into her features.

“you know what my car looks like, abby. go heat it up and wait. and don’t sit in my front seat, sit in the fucking back.” you tell her, pushing her towards the entrance. she made no verbal argument, but she stood there stuck on stupid. so, you did what you always did when she acted out.

your palm strikes across her face, leaving a pink print slowly burning into a dark red. her eyes glossed over, and you shove her once more. a few people around you stopped what they were doing to watch, but you didn’t care. “did i fucking stutter, abigail? what did i tell you to do?” you ask her, waiting expectantly for an answer.

she gulped, burning from all of the eyes on her. she was humiliated, both from your public display, and from the fact that her underwear had an obvious damp spot in them. “go to your car and heat it up.” she mumbles, and you nod. “so you aren’t a complete fucking idiot. so why am i still looking at you?” your eyes flick towards the entrance, and she gets the hint. she knew more than anyone you hated repeating yourself.

inside of the car was physically warm, but she felt the chill of your attitude in the air, blocking off all warmth from your luxury car. she listened, sitting in the backseat and nervously tapping her leg. she was both nervous and excited for the punishment you had in store for her.

you get to your condo, the ride to your apartment was absolutely silent. you saw abby nervously shifting her weight from one leg to the other, and you feel a smirk pulling at your lips. god, she was so fucking clueless at what you had in store for her.

inside of your apartment, you took your time. you hung your coat up in the closet, turning on the dim lights of the living room. when you walked back to your bedroom, abby stood there, looking around your apartment cause it was the first time she had been there. When you came out, you had a faux bored expression, carrying a dark red leash and the familiar harness of your strap on.

only this one was different. you had your blue one, it was familiar, and you had a new one. it was black with silver sparkles on the inside. it was wide in girth, and the sight of it made abby’s stomach plunge.

“you are such a needy bitch, aren’t you? can’t let me have a few hours peace without you coming to fuck it up. honestly, besides pussy, i dont know why i keep you around. you’re too dumb to do anything.” you say, your voice monotone and it only aroused her further.

“im sorry-” she started, but you held your hand up. “i dont listen to stupid whores, abby. you know that.” you fiddle with the leash for a few moments before your hand shot out, fisting her hair by the roots and pulling her closer. you place the collar on her neck, not caring about how rough you were being. (of course you still left enough room for her to breathe when it went slack.)

once the collar was on securely, you wrapped the leash around your hand. “strip. i dont even want to touch you right now.” you spat, watching her hands quickly remove her clothes, tossing them to the floor. “get on your knees, dog. since you wanna follow me around like a lost puppy.” your bottom lip juts out in a fake pout. you yank the chain, hearing her yelp as she almost stumbled to the floor.

“you can crawl on a leash like one. now get on your knees, mutt. you aren’t so stupid you forgot my rules?” you raise a brow, and she shakes her head, dark blonde hair in a slicked back ponytail. she lowers herself to her knees, and you laugh cruelly at her pathetic state. it was almost good enough to record, that surely would’ve humiliated her.

you pull the leash, the chain rattling as you walk to your couch. sitting down, you pull abby until she kneels in front of you, palms pressed into the floor. “look at you, don’t you have any shame?” you look over her body, and you felt your pussy throb at the sight of her perky tits, nipples hard from the cold air of your place. “stupid thing, all you have is sex on brain. all you want is to cum.” you say like you’re disappointed in her.

“please, im sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt.” she apologized, but you could see her glistening with wet. you move your foot between her legs, the leather of your boots pressing against her inner thigh. you spread her legs further, watching contently as her puffy clit came into view.

“tsk, i have nothing to say, abby. you get off on me being pissed at you. fuckin’ pathetic, honestly.” you cock a brow, tapping her clit with the toe of your boot. something about being mean to her, watching her blush deepen every time you insulted her, drove you mad with lust. she just took it, and fuck, it was hot.

“be honest with me. you think you deserve to cum after the shit you pulled?” you ask her, rocking your boot back and forth along her clit, watching her shudder from the friction. she shook her head, but you didn’t miss the way her hips rocked along with the speed of your boot.

“good, at least you know you don’t deserve that reward. go ahead, ride my boot. do it good enough and see if I’ll be generous enough to let you finish.” you nod towards your boot, stopping your movements. she looked at you with wide eyes, but like an obedient dog, she obeyed.

she adjusted her position, keeping one hand against the floor and the other on her thigh. your eyes were glued to her, or more specifically, her pussy that was smearing juices along the leather of your boot. the sound of her whines hit your ears, poor baby couldn’t find enough friction to please herself. every time she even thought about begging you for more, she clamped her lips together.

minutes rolled by, and you noticed her hips and thighs trembling from trying to keep herself together. granted, it wasn’t what she was used to, what she needed, but abby knew to make due. “please, i need-need you to make me cum.” her words stumbled together, and you roll your eyes.

“oh, shut up and take what you can get. be grateful you’re even getting this.” you tug on the leash, pulling it taut against her neck, and she clenched around nothing. you huff, leaning back and lifting up the bottom of your dress. you pull your panties to the side, revealing your own pussy, dripping wet from the sight of her. it was almost annoying how wet you got from degrading her. you run two fingers between your folds, spreading them open enough to tease her.

abby leaned forward a bit, and you pushed her back with two of your fingers against her forehead. “back up, abby. you don’t get to touch tonight.” you tell her, and she whimpers, the strength of her hips increasing on your boot. “no, please, I’ll make you feel good.” she pleaded, and you felt a corner of your lip jerk up, threatening to smile. damn, such a tempting offer.

fuck it, why not? you push her off of you, leaving the leash on the ground as you went off to your bedroom. you came back out, tossing a harness with a dildo attached to it into her hands. “put it on.” you tell her, distracted by taking your dress off. abby didn’t dare hesitate, stumbling to her feet to pull the harness over her legs. her eyes watched you undress, the way your tits bounced free the moment you lifted the dress over your head.

once you were naked, you sit her on the couch where you were previously sat. you straddled her, rubbing the tip of the dildo between your pussy lips enough to get it wet. “ssshit.” you hiss, lowering yourself slowly onto the cock. “so help me god, abby, if you move, you’re done.” you threaten her, knowing you wouldn’t remove her from your life. abby probably had the best pussy known to man, you’d be a fool to get rid of it. no one was so desperate for cock like she was, tight little holes aching to be filed and fucked every second of the day.

but, the threat was still there. it kept her in check. you let yourself adjust to the size, holding onto her shoulders as the toy stretched you out. “please, please let me make you feel good. i wanna fuck you so bad. please-” abby begged in your ear, and you slowly began bouncing on her lap, the plush of your ass meeting her thighs. “fuck, shut the fuck up. take this shit, abby. it’s all-all you’re getting.” you moan, and abby let a desperate cry fall past her lips, watching your tits bounce every time you did.

fuck, you were a masterpiece in her eyes. you were taking what you wanted from her without care, and that’s what she loved the most. you leaned it, pressing a sloppy kiss to her lips as you moaned in her mouth. your lips trailed down, biting and sucking marks into her freckled skin as you built your orgasm up.

“yeah, you like me fucking myself on top of you, huh? fuck, stretching me out so good, i bet you wish you could touch me. dirty girl, probably so wet from me bouncing on your cock. wanna fuck my pussy, abby?” you tease her, your hands around her neck as you pressed your chest against hers. your eyes rolled back into your skull, the tip pressing against that soft spot inside of you. that alone had abby cumming, the friction from the harness was just enough to make her cum. her hips jolted, and as much as you wanted to scold her about it, it felt amazing. you tug on the leash once more, and her hips buck up again.

“shit-shit, oh right there. awww, look at you, are you drooling?” you squish her cheeks between your fingers, noticing the small trail of saliva that trailed from her lips down the side of her chin. “it-it feels so good.” she whined, and you could tell she was on the verge of tears. she was overstimulated, her hands itching to hold your waist.

“you can cum as many times as i make you. isn’t that right? you only exist to please me, abby. such a good little whore for me.” you emphasize your words with a movement of your hips, moving them in an up and down motion as you rest your lips against her neck. you knew your were getting close, your thighs were burning and your stomach was tight.

“fuck me, abby. make me cum, do what whores do.” you tell her, and you hold onto the leash tightly with one hand, the other wrapped around her neck to keep you stable. her hands went to your hips, holding you still as she fucked up into you.

“shit, oh fuck! fuck, yes, oh fucking me so good.” you gasp, biting into her shoulder. abby was so close to cumming, her mind went blank, all other thoughts except you and her cumming together were gone. “im gonna-gonna cum. abby!” you didn’t mean to moan her name as loud as you did, but it echoed through the apartment. your nails dug into her skin as you came around her dick, and soon, abby was cumming right along with you.

you panted against her sweaty skin, cockwarming her since neither of you had the strength to move. after a few moments, you dip your fingers between her legs, fingers swiping up the mess she left on the fabric of your couch. you wipe the creamy mess her pussy made between your fingers before placing them against your tongue.

“bet you’ll never interrupt me again.”

[mykoreanlove]

Jackson on Kinjaz

Your phone was blowing up constantly.

„Oh my god, did you see this?????“, your friend asked.

With shaking hands you clicked on the link.

„I used to be critical on myself in my mind in a negative way. Not healthy. At all. I would call myself names and put myself down in my mind. I drank the most disgusting shakes for my body health but up here? I was rotting.“

„Yeah, yeah. I remember videos of that nasty shake. What did you put in there - chicken?“

„Gotta get my protein, man. But you know I would constantly feel guilty for what I have done or what I might do.“

„Like what?“

„Like. Okay, like did I practice enough? Is magic man good enough? What if I let everybody down? How will I cope? How will I live?

All these voices.. these fucking nagging voices were with me 24/7.“

„Damn that sounds tough. What did you do?“

„I thought it was impossible to fix because I tried so hard and nothing changed me. Or if it did, it would only last a couple of weeks and I’d be back to feeling like shit and talking down on myself.

Jackson, you moron, how could you do this? Did you really think you could make it? You don’t deserve this success. You don’t deserve to be happy.“

„Jackson, bro. I feel for you. Really.“

„Look, I’m just being honest. I would naturally think of punishments coming my way. I’d imagine injuring myself or loosing all my fans or money. I’d think of the most horrific shit late at night when I should be peacefully sleeping.

I would try to change my thoughts to change my feeling. I would rationalize my way out for hours to only find myself entering a new cave.“

„Like a merry go round.“

„Exactly, I was stuck. Same shit, different day. My gut always had this underlying feeling of tension.

I tried my best to give myself relief but like I said, I could not find Relief for longer than a week. Maybe a month at best.“

„Is that why you turned to alcohol? Because I remember you chugging down a bottle of Hennessy and thought to myself that’s not normal.“

„Oh, of course I started drinking more. I needed more. What used to make me pass out back then is like a cute little cocktail to me now.“

„Damn, that really is a lot to handle. Did you try other things, as well?“

„Look, I tried everything in the book. You name it, I tried it. Worked out. Meditated. Drank. Had sex. Nothing could give me what I craved so badly. Nothing. Until I found her.“

You swallowed hard.

You had no idea that he would share all this with the public. You were very well aware of his struggles but hearing him talk about them upset you. It broke your heart imagining him like that, all dim and broken.

Also, it made you nervous.

You had no idea that he would introduce you into the world like this.

You had no idea that he would reveal your relationship to his homies on a podcast.

Yet, you were intrigued.

„Her as in …?“

„You see, love is a funny thing, right? I didn’t plan to fall in love, nor did I want to but I kind of did. I found the one, man. I found the love of my life and I was lucky enough to have her love me back. Do you know how rare that is?“

„Yeah, it is for you. I remember our last interview and how we wanted to get you on tinder and shit.“

„Exactly! I used to be on my own for years. Years, man. I gave up on love completely, thinking this was meant for others but certainly not me. And then she came into my life. Like an angel that was coming down to help me. Save me even.“

„Your savior, huh?“

„I swear to god her love saved me. It saved me from drugs, it saved me from self destruction and first and foremost it saved me from myself. I gotta be honest man, if I hadn’t met y/n I wouldn’t even be here anymore.“

„Wow. That’s, that’s a pretty heavy revelation. I’m glad you’re doing better now.“

„Oh, I am. Management is probably going to kick my ass later but I don’t care. Let me loose fans, let me loose money. I don’t give a shit. If you support me now, you support the real Jackson Wang. And that’s me right now - happily coupled to the most beautiful soul on this planet. If you can’t handle that - my bad.“

„Okay guys, it’s over. China‘s most wanted bachelor is officially off the market. WHOOOO!!“

„Yeah, the king has finally found its queen.“

„So, what is she like?“

You paused the interview and took a deep breath. Jackson was very vocal of his feelings for you, but hearing it like that felt different. The biggest smile was plastered on his face as he was talking about you.

You as in his queen.

You as in future Miss Wang.

Hundreds of butterflies announced themselves in your stomach, making you giddy and joyful.

„Oh man, she is the best. Like, she is so breathtakingly beautiful. Inside and out. We have the best conversations. I feel like she is my best friend. Truly, no one gets me like she does. It’s just.. it’s effortlessly easy. We laugh a lot, we talk a lot, we share everything with each other. I’m just so grateful, man.“

„Yeah, I can see that. You’re grinning from ear to ear. Make sure to invite me to your wedding.“

„Like you invited me to your birthday?“

„Okayyyyy, let’s wrap it up. Guys, that’s it for today. Thank you Jackson, really appreciate you brother.“

You stopped the video, giggling at your petty boyfriend.

„Remind me to have a word with you once you’re back, yeah?“, you texted him.

It didn’t take him a second to instantly call you.

„Did you see it? Already? Damn babygirl, you’re quick“, he teased.

„You could have warned me, Wang!“

„I didn’t plan to say all that but I couldn’t help myself. It just.. it just came out of me. I really meant it though.“

„Everything?“

He knew exactly what you were implying.

„Oh, I’m gonna make you Miss Wang for sure. Rule my kingdom with me? Please?“

[mins-fins]

hold me tight

&&. yes it took you a good couple of years, but it's nothing making out in a pool can't fix!

pairing: na jaemin x gn!reader

genre: fluff, sorta kinda sorta suggestive

warnings: kissing (is that a warning?)

word count: 1.4k

notes: this is a snippet from a longer form thing that i have given up on, but anyway, who else loves na jaemin?? if we ignore the fact that i only learned how to swim like one week ago….. i really like pools now that im not almost drowning every few business minutes 😁 i also really like na jaemin, and my last nana work was angst so i have to make it up to you all ⭐️ also, sort of kissing writing practice, it's terrible, don't focus on it pls xoxo

your arms are crossed as you slide the glass door open.

"jaemin".

"hm?"

you sigh, a heavy breath leaving your lips. he giggles, escaping your scathing stare by diving under the water. your corresponding groan gives him yet another thing to smile about, even when he's attempting to hide from you in chenle's pool. "how the fuck are you swimming at eleven pm?"

when jaemin rises again, he snickers, somehow able to keep his composure after almost inhaling a bunch of chlorine. "it's fun, y/n, why do you nag me so much?"

"i'm not nagging, i just need to make sure you don't get hypothermia".

he pouts like a child being punished. "your boring y/n" he sings, smile still tugging at his lips as he lays on his back, basking in the water that keeps him afloat.

you again sigh, rolling your eyes as you sit down at the edge of the pool, legs crossed. "and you act like a child, jaemin".

though he would usually feign offense at such words, it seems a switch flips in his head, and he swims his way over to you, leaning his arms against the ground you sit on. "you love me, though".

you chuckle, now that's amusing. "do i?"

jaemin hums, nodding, smile unmoving as traces shapes into your leg. "you do, that's why you aren't snitching on me to chenle".

you scrunch your nose at the feeling of his wet finger on your body. "what are you gonna do if i don't follow that?"

"strangle you, maybe".

the threat is said with such certainty that you laugh, because there's a hidden sense of playfulness behind the warning. "you can't strangle me, you need me".

he scoffs, pinching your knee and chuckling at the yelp he receives. "you sound like jeno".

"is that an insult?"

"you two are just as desperate as each other, so.. yeah!"

your eye roll is stuck to you at this point, maybe you simply expect such words from your best friend, because it doesn't exactly furrow your eyebrows as much as it makes you giggle. you slap jaemin's hand away from your leg, childishly sticking out your tongue at him. "your a bastard".

"i'm being honest, come in with me?"

now it's your turn to scoff, listening to the rhythmic whistles and silent splashes of water. "no, you're crazy".

"oh come on! you aren't leaving me to entertain myself alone, are you?"

"i can entertain you while being dry".

he narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest underwater. "you are boring".

you click your tongue; "how sad".

"y/n!" he's quick to whine. "how are you going to come out here to nag me then not get in the water?"

"well i didn't come out here to swim".

"then you should leave".

he pouts again, and you sigh again. it's always like this with na jaemin isn't it?

you roll your eyes as he starts staring at you with that look. "okay fine, i'm sorr— AHH!"

your statement is suddenly cut off when he uses his superhuman strength to pull you down from your place, and you fall face first into the pool with a huge splash.

when you finally come to, jaemin only stares at you with that same shit eating grin. "oh you assho—"

"hey! you can't punch me in chenle's pool!"

"and whose gonna stop me?"

you yelp again when he splashes water in your direction, just barely closing your eyes in enough time to avoid the water attempting to enter them. "you think your sooooo funny huh?"

"hilarious, even".

you grimace, shaking your head aggressively back and forth in an attempt to get some of the water out of your hair. "fuck you".

jaemin frowns again, but he can barely hold in his snicker, and now it's your turn to cross your arms underwater. he moves his hair strands out of his face, staring at you for a weirdly long time. "i mean.. you look pretty like this".

you deadpan, cheeks just barely flaring up at the words. he says it all the time, y/n, it's not weird..

but na jaemin himself is weird, so you shouldn't be thinking all that into it.

"are you flattering me so i don't murder you?"

he snickers, looking down, seemingly as nervous about it as you are. "oh so i'm not allowed to compliment you now?"

"you're a weirdo, i always have to question what you do".

jaemin gasps loudly, clear offense in his tone, you can barely hide your smile as you see his reaction. maybe it's a bit strange how his eyes linger on your smile, but what can he say? it's pretty, he needs to make you laugh again.

"y/n".

you blink, staring at your best friend with eyes full of desire. did the outside air just turn up in temperature? it can not be this hot in early march. "yes?"

he hesitates for a moment, as if contemplating his words, which is probably the strongest sight to ever meet your eyes, because when na jaemin wants to say something, he says it. you sometimes forget he even has a thought process with how abrupt he is.

"can i kiss you?"

maybe it's the way it falls from his lips so naturally, or maybe it's the way his lips press together, they do look particularly soft, his constant use of lip balm clearly paying off.

you stare, the air getting significantly hotter, the water should be combatting that, right? your super attractive best friend who you totally harbor no romantic feelings towards just asked for permission to kiss you.

you chuckle. "in chenle's pool? really?"

your stalling, trying to correctly collect your word as your wondrous, beautiful best friend, na jaemin himself, stares at you like you're the only person in the world. has his gaze always been that heavy? when did your hands begin getting so clammy? what if you simply trust fall back into the water and drown? maybe it would be easier to avoid the awkwardness of this situation then..

"hey, when you have a chance you take it".

you laugh again, he really is something. you don't say more, simply pull him forward by his shoulder, finger itching to trace the skin of his bare chest. not before the kiss y/n, have some composure.

jaemin traces his fingers over the line of your jaw, and he pulls you in. his other hand slides down to your right hip, drawing a small squeak from you as your hands move up to his hair.

he wants to savor the moment, take a picture of it and hang it on his wall, there's a certain hunger in the way he groans against your lips, thumbs caressing the sides of your cheek. your arms are quick to wrap around his neck, still feeling the hairs on the back of his neck.

"you're so eager".

"you're the one who asked" you breath, gritting your teeth. "and besides—" you lean forward to take his lips again, the heat of his body transferring to yours. "—you wanted this as much as me didn't you?"

your desperation is quick to manifest, it manifests in the way you exhale sighs and whines, it's just something with na jaemin.

you two slowly.. swim(?) backward, your back hitting the surface of the pool wall. "oh chenle is going to kill us".

jaemin snickers. "why? it's not like were fucking in the pool".

you stare at him incredulously, of course he had to bring that up out of all things, but your face still heats up, and his lips turn up. "oh? do you want to fuck in the pool?"

"no you— pervert! we are not going to fuck in the pool!"

"okay okay, it was just a suggestion" he rolls his eyes, squeezing your hip.

you scrunch your nose, splashing water in his direction. "hey, let's just make this easy, go out with me?"

your jaw almost drops. is this man really serious?

"are you really asking me out in chenle's pool?"

"not as romantic as i wanted it to be but.. it works".

you would punch that smile off na jaemin's face if he wasn't absolutely adorable, oh, and you also really enjoy kissing him down. "okay stupid, but make it a good first date".

"i always keep my promises!"

and if you kiss him again? well that's no one else's business.

[thesilenceshh]

Long Forsaken Dusekkar Headcanons/AU stuff

(Sorry for it being long, and if these are out of character or been disproven by devs/whoever, probably didn't hear it. Do tell me if so)

.

.

.

Isn't a robloxian and is actually a being made out of light. A piece of light just became sentient one day out of the blue around when the world/Roblox started with Builderman creation along with all the supernaturals creatures, like Telamon

Just wandered around and observed, particularly in woods since he spawned there. He liked the deers and plants you find in them (and any kind of lights/shiny thing, like stars or fire), found them interesting. Later focus on Robloxians/supernatural ones, where he learned how to speak their way and found/stolen his name (two different robloxian names he combined), got the idea of gender and personality down (doesn't fully care tho, just using male pronouns since why not/what people called him. Loveshot is the partly the reason for this btw), and stuff , and wanted to be closer, later finding/joining the HQ as a admin

Can shape-shift, like stated above, but after losing a fun, tiring battle between him and Talmon in Heights, he kinda placed a hand on his shoulder as a 'good fun' thing and then- bam, messed up his ability to do that with his head, making it stuck as a thing of light and only stays a head for a short thing of time and neither of them could fix it (Talmon/Shedletsky now excuses that he 'blessed' him)

Talmon later gave him the Dusekkar hat as a apologies for messing his shapeshifting and a way for him to stop blinding people on accident. He kinda fused it with his magic since why not, making it easier to express then a head of light

Reason why he goes by Dusekkar instead of his actual name is because a lot of people mixed him up for the pumpkin's name, so it kinda stuck (sounded cooler too)

The antlers weren't apart of the pumpkin, that just kinda happened when he was watching deer again, and just kept them, again, coolness. The orange horns on his milestone (if canon) is actually made out of him/light/flame as he gets more powerful in a sense

Reason why he rhythms is because its just easier to with how many spells casting does that. Gotten to the point he nearly forgotten that he ever even spoke normally/doesn't need to do that, and if/when he does you know you done fucked up (would even the Spectre appalled with the things he's about to say to you, in every single language and way)

Builderman, with permission of course, kinda just puts him near solar panels to gain power for things, or to simply store some energy for 'just in cases' situations

Slightly a insomniac when he got forsaken (feels like everyone here is tbh) while asleep, since now he feels like something bad, something preventable, will happen when he sleeps. Got use to sleeping a bit better again, and gets/nags the others to sleep

Is really good with plants and is always warm, with being a thing of light. He naturally speeds up plant growth when around, definitely when emotions are intense, along with fires/lights brighter as well for emotional side effects

.

'If he is fully related to the idea of Spawn' down below:

He would be the reason cults and ideas of it began, since when he use to be in the woods he brought things back to life occasionally, and some robloxians seen him, accidentally made himself a cryptid/deity pretty much

Only stopped when it was beginning to feel wrong to mess with the life cycle (also feels wrong and making plants speed up growth, since that also messing with things). Its also the reason he dislikes Two Times, tho he doesn't fully hate them, just... makes him feel wrong, he practically started that cult, other cults, ruined so many lifes like theirs indirectly, for things he had brought, for simply existing in a sense

Also doesn't like going into Banlands or, more particularly, the great beyond (is there a heaven in Roblox since Banlands is pretty much hell? Is it just the Heights? Need to look into that) as the people there are more innocent then ones there. Just seeing the lost poor souls (again, ones who were more or so innocent), ones he can so easily bring back, restart anew. That, the urge of using his power, and simply his dislikes for messing with the cycle makes him feel so damn sick. This also gain some repeset points for Mr Doombringer from him, as he knew he could never do the things he did/does

Would definitely feel sick and horrible if he found out what happened to Azure and would blame himself, knowing that Azure probably wasn't the only one who gotten hurt because of him being seen using his abilities

[mvrkieboo]

Lord, just saw that ask on what if YN is bitter. And ykw? WHAT IF THEN THERES A LOT OF REGRETS LIKE COME ONNNNNN 😫 I really wanna good ending but damnnnnnnnn that scenario on YN being bitter? UGH LURVE THE ANGSTY 🥲🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️

pt. 2 of this ask right here

You've been missing your classes. For 6 days, exactly.

For the first three days, Prof. Suh nagged Xiaojun endlessly for an explanation for your absence, but at one point, all of your lecturers stopped bothering him about it. Xiaojun began to wonder if the lecturers could finally tell that he was simply not your friend anymore—until Prof. Suh suddenly held him back again today. As always, Yangyang and Aeri tagged along.

The lecturer pulled out a fruit basket, patting on it as he gave the three college students—for some reason—a sympathetic look, it even came across as apologetic too. Was the fruit basket an apology for something?

"Listen, I wanted to visit Y/N today, but some bullshit last minute meeting got scheduled—so can you guys pass this on to her for me? Tell her I'm sorry for the messages I sent too—I didn't know at the time. Thanks, guys."

The three looked among themselves, weirded out. Why would Prof. Suh buy you a fruit basket? When Aeri opened her mouth to ask for further explanation, that's when the professor's phone rang—and he took the call immediately.

When he saw that three students were still hanging around his desk stupidly, he pointed at the fruit basket then to the lecture hall's doors—telling them to get out.

Yangyang took the fruit basket and walked out the hall, wondering why the fuck would Prof. Suh bring a fruit basket for you?

There was a folded card stuck to the basket, and they were too curious to leave it alone. Flipping the note to read the contents, it was Prof. Suh's writing, but they realised that this fruit basket was on the behalf of all of the lecturers of the faculty.

May we see you again on brighter days, Y/N.

– On behalf of all the staff of NCU's Business & Management Faculty

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ever since celebrating Jaehyun signing on to SM Entertainment as a singer together, Mark's friend group and your—well, your old friend group hung out a lot at the place where they held the party, which was at Soyeon's café in Sinchon. Geonwoo's mom liked having them come over too, so they often had a fun time together at the café.

"What's with the fancy fruit basket?" Mark got to beat Haechan to it, since everybody was curious about the fruit basket Yangyang was carrying.

"Well, we're actually hoping that you would know, Mark—has Jaehyun mentioned anything about Y/N recently? Did something happen to her?" Xiaojun smiled hesitantly at Mark, and Yangyang places

Mark leaned away from the table, confused as to why Xiaojun would ask that, especially since your name would sometimes be a taboo topic to approach. Yangyang pointed at the card and Mark opened it to read it, now eyebrows all furrowed.

"May we see you again on brighter days? That sounds pretty serious." Haechan read the writing out loud from over Mark's shoulder.

"Listen, this fruit basket is gonna go bad if we don't immediately send it to her, and the staff's money would go to waste that way. How about this—you pass on Y/N's new address to me, I'll drop it off, and then this whole thing can be settled instantly." Yangyang spoke with a jaded tone, leaning back into his seat.

"I don't know her exact address, but I do know what apartment she moved into." Mark offered, and Yangyang nodded gladly.

"Oh, Mark, that would in fact be better. I could just drop it off at the front desk and tell the person to pass it on to her."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In the end, Mark offered to accompany Yangyang for the drop off, mainly because everyone could see Yangyang was ticked off that he had to do this, and if he ran into you, Mark being there was to mediate the situation.

One look at the apartment complex and they realised how much of a downgrade it is from your old place. Granted, anything else could be considered a downgrade compared to the luxury condo you used to live in, but your current apartment looked almost run down and shady.

Mark couldn't help but still feel a little bit bitter and envious that you were willing to move into this kind of place if it meant you could live with Junyoung. Did you really love him this much to endure living in a place like this? Mark was a broke college student too, but even he wouldn't settle to live in an apartment like this.

But, in your defense, it only looked run down because the apartment was old, dated, and looked like maintenance is done once a year only. It still had a lobby with a front desk at least, manned by a relatively old dude who looked well into his 60's.

"Excuse me, but could you please pass this on to one of your tenants? We don't know her exact unit, but it might be under the name Jeong Y/N or Lee Junyoung." Mark talked amicably, not wanting to piss off anyone in this apartment.

The older man behind the desk moved to take out a thick binded file on the shelves behind him. It was a long 3 minutes until the man finally got to the page he needed. He raised his eyebrows, looked at Mark and Yangyang, then looked at the page again.

"Kid, the unit you mentioned was a crime scene. The cleaners just arrived to wash away the blood and the mess. The tenant—Lee Junyoung—is already dead. A week ago, he stabbed his girlfriend before killing himself—but I heard the girl survived and is currently recuperating at Taeho Memorial Hospital. It's better if you brought this basket there instead."

Mark and Yangyang went blank and dead silent at the information, felt like the whole world froze for a moment, both of their bodies frozen still—then they took off without thanking the old man, bringing along the fruit basket with them into Yangyang's McLaren. On the way to the apartment's parking lot to reach Yangyang's car, Mark was already dialing Jaehyun's number.

Jaehyun was in the studio, nodding along to a beat he was really liking when his phone rang, flashing Mark's picture on his screen. Mark knew he'd be busy, and Mark always liked to text instead of calling anyway. Suddenly feeling dread and a weird sense of urgency take over him, he quickly excused himself out of the studio to take the call.

"Jae, did you know?" Mark sounded like he had the wind knocked out of him, and Jaehyun frowned at the sudden question.

"Know what?"

"Stop fucking around! If you knew, why wouldn't tell me about it? I mean—you know I still care for her and that I'm still not over her yet, so why the fu—"

"Mark! Bro, calm down. What are you talking about? You're speaking in riddles, man—I don't understand what you're trying to say." Jaehyun walked to the windows, looking down on the city as he heard Mark take deep breaths before speaking again.

That was when Mark realised Jaehyun didn't know. He messed with his hair as Yangyang began to drive the car a lot faster than what he was comfortable with. Did the dude even know the directions to Taeho Memorial Hospital?

"It's Y/N, Jae. Junyoung's dead, he killed himself—but before that, he attacked Y/N and—and she got stabbed. She's currently recovering at Taeho Memorial Hospital. Fuck, this is why her lecturer wanted us to give her a goddamn fruit basket."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

You wheeled yourself out of Dr. Kim Sejeong's office. She was a wonderful therapist, and you could tell there was progress in your mental health after you agreed to take up therapy to heal yourself—but it didn't change the fact you had felt pushed to do this the first time you entered her office.

You came to a halt when you saw two men rose from the waiting seats outside Dr. Kim's office. You felt your face going stiff, when you realized Kyungsoo and Taeyong had been waiting for you.

These were the two sneaky assholes who roped Junmyeon into their plan in convincing you to get therapy. You still remembered how hard you cried on Junmyeon's shoulder five days ago.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"So you found his body." You spoke out, sounding soulless.

Junmyeon nodded beside his old partner, Kyungsoo. Taeyong was busy getting coffee at West Wing's café. A kid ran past in front of your wheelchair, giggling as it chased a butterfly with her mother just right behind her. The hospital's garden was spacious, but there were still some tricky pebbles she should look out for.

"Yep. Yoonsu hadn't been lying—Junyoung was found at the abandoned plant nursery. They were just about to renovate it when we came with a search warrant—ah, the school's director was so annoying, kept bitching about how he didn't want it to leak to the media. People like them are the reason why I decided to become a cop." Junmyeon sighed deeply, loosening his necktie at the memory.

Kyungsoo smirked at the older man, making a snide comment on how the commissioner shouldn't be so crass in front of a civilian. Junmyeon slapped him at the back of the head—it wasn't like he wanted the position, but it was thrusted upon him. Turning it down would anger a lot of people, and that included his own grandfather who had given a lot of gifts to the old commissioner for Junmyeon to be selected as his successor.

You stayed stone faced as the two bickered, and when they realised you were staying quiet, Jumyeon looked at you then shared a look with Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo had told him over the phone you might possibly be suffering from a...kind of depression of some sorts after everything Yoonsu made you go through.

You needed someone to push you into the path of proper recovery.

Both men saw Taeyong walking out of the West Wing with a bag in hand, so Junmyeon nodded at Kyungsoo as he fished the inner pockets of his blazer, and Kyungsoo not so discreetly walked away, signalling Taeyong to turn on his heel too.

Junmyeon reached for your hand, forcing your closed fist to open and placed something on your palm. When you pulled your hand away, you saw it was Junyoung's nametag pin. You felt your heart skip a beat as you looked at it, buried memories unearthing themselves inside your mind.

"...you know, I couldn't stand Junyoung the first time I met him. He was more crass than me, arrogant, prideful—and most of all, he was so goddamn selfish. I hated that guy, if I have to be honest with you, Y/N." Junmyeon hunched over, placing his elbows on his knees.

He stared right ahead, watching an older brother carrying his younger brother on his back, probably boasting about how strong he was to be able to carry his little brother. Junmyeon let out a pained smile at the sight.

"But after he met you, that selfishness started to chip away. He was still arrogant and foul-mouthed—and if he was alive, I've no doubt he would still be that way—but he couldn't afford to be so selfish anymore when it came to you."

You felt your eyes water as you closed your fingers around the nametag, then you felt Junmyeon's hands cover yours, as if he was also trying to keep that nametag safe from the world like you were.

"Kyungsoo told me. About all the things you said Yoonsu said to you before he killed himself, how your own friend dismissed you when you asked to speak with your brother one last time—Y/N, you have to know that all those things he said to you will never be true, you're not selfish. You deserve to live a life beyond Yoonsu, Y/N. You deserve to live a life beyond Junyoung too. He didn't die because of you, he died because of Yoonsu's selfishness—not yours." Junmyeon spoke softly, watching you cry without making a sound.

"I know you resent your friends for leaving you, and I know you also feel like blaming yourself for it because you were the one that pushed them away first, but you can't keep wallowing in your pain all by yourself, Y/N. If they had hurt you so badly, they should apologise to you—but how could they realise what they did wrong and apologize if you're not letting them know?" Junmyeon started to wipe away your tears, even as you started to shake your head.

"But I can't seem to let it go. I don't know if I could forgive them even if they apologize to me. I don't think I'm strong enough to do it." You sobbed out, feeling so ashamed of yourself.

Junmyeon tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear before he placed a hand on the back of your head. This was the same head that his late step cousin loved so much, the same head that Junyoung sacrificed his selfishness for.

"Then get help. Get therapy, receive some counseling. Me and Kyungsoo are scared that if you continue to be like this, you might..." He trailed off, and he didn't have to finish it for you to understand what he was trying to say.

"Please? For Junyoung, at least? He loved you so much, kid. He deserves to see you live a life beyond all this pain, all this suffering...and you owe it to yourself too. Living in misery would just let Yoonsu win in the end. Don't let that asshole win, Y/N."

He saw how your shoulders slumped. You relented, and you started to nod. His hand on the back of your head stretched around your shoulders, letting you cry on his. Finally, Junmyeon felt like his debt with Junyoung was now paid tenfold. At last he got to find where Junyoung was after all these years, and the girl Junyoung loved so much was finally saved from Yoonsu's hold on her.

At last.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Detectives, if my memory serves me well, you belong to Gangnam's Police Force, not Seoul's." You grumbled, not having the strength to fight off Taeyong who was pushing your wheelchair for you.

"And that makes it illegal for us to visit you?" Kyungsoo scoffed from beside you, making you roll his eyes.

You began to tap your foot on the footpad. Kyungsoo caught it, and smirked when he realised he was annoying you. Great, he thought, it's payback for all the times you greatly annoyed him three years ago. It's even more fun when you can't find it in you to whip out snarky comebacks to use against him

"How was therapy? Can me and Taeyong finally go inform your family now? Or are you gonna stall our work for another week?" Kyungsoo side eyed you, and you whipped your head to look at him.

Taeyong cracked a smile, finding it both humorous and heartwarming to see you both bickering. You had been so despondent during the first days, it had him and Kyungsoo relieved to see you having a personality again, even if you were constantly grumpy every time they came and visited you.

"I told you already, Detective Do, I'll tell you when I'm ready. Stop trying to push me to—"

"Y/N?" The familiar voice had you silent in a heartbeat.

Kyungsoo and Taeyong stopped in their tracks, and you included since you were getting wheeled by Taeyong. All three of you stayed frozen at the doorway, seeing so many people in your private room that weren't your doctor and her usual entourage of medical students and nurses (Junmyeon pulled some strings to get you a private room once you were transferred out of the ICU ward. Sometimes you forget Junmyeon also came from a rich family like Yangyang and Chenle).

Inside your room were your remaining family members (Yuno, your father), your foster family (Geonwoo, Woojin, Soyeon), Mark, and your classmates (Xiao, Yangs, Aeri). They felt their breaths stop when they saw you sitting limply on your wheelchair, deep purple bruises all over your face.

You dug your nails into your lap and began to stand up from your wheelchair, alarming Kyungsoo and Taeyong who knew that you were supposed to change your stitches today. Everyone else in the room began to go after you too, seeing how the two men with you were panicking to see you walking by yourself.

You felt like Kyungsoo and Taeyong had betrayed you. You had immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was the detectives that called them over, even when they knew you weren't ready to face them again.

"Kid—" Kyungsoo yelled out, placing a hand on your shoulder when you were already out in the hallway, but you pulled your shoulder away from him so violently it had him going pale, worried that you might tear open your stitches.

And when Taeyong glanced down to the spot where you had been stabbed, he staggered when he saw blood seeping through the shirt the hospital had given you to wear.

"Y/N, stop!" Kyungsoo yelled out again, rushing over to stand in front of you.

The commotion caused everyone in the hallway to stop and witness the scene. Some nurses began to crowd you however, as some of them were already familiar with you and your injury, not wanting you to run and escape when your stitches were obviously ripping. Taeyong held your shoulders from behind while Kyungsoo closed in, forcing you into a bear hug to limit your movements.

You raised your arms and started to pound on his chest, tears streaming down your face at the pain of your stitches ripping open and at the betrayal you felt. The bear hug forced you to your knees, with Kyungsoo whispering something into your ears to calm you down.

"It wasn't us, kid. We didn't inform them. We don't know how they got here, okay? We wouldn't betray you like that. We didn't call them over, Y/N." He spoke softly, and quickly swept you up to carry you in his arms and into your room to lie you down on your bed.

As soon as he lied you down, your doctor came in with her team, immediately pushing everyone out of the room and closing the door in front of them.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Who are you people? How do you know my sister?" Yuno asked stiffly, obviously still frazzled from the commotion you caused earlier.

Taeyong and Kyungsoo stared at the people before them. Just right as Kyungsoo was about to tell them who they were, a voice down the hallway rang through, gathering everyone's attention.

"Detectives!" Dr. Kim, your therapist, appeared.

She staggered back a little when she saw national darling and viral sensation Jeong Jaehyun in front of her. Sejeong tilted her head at him then looked at the detectives for a proper explanation. She just heard that you made a commotion earlier and tore open your stitches.

"I'm sorry, but who are these people?" Sejeong asked sincerely, seeing that all of them were waiting in front of your door.

"Dr. Kim, meet Jeong Y/N's friends and family." Taeyong spoke tiredly, pinching at his temple.

Sejeong balked.

"No! Y/N wasn't ready to see them again, detectives, so how could you! Didn't you promise that you'd only reach them out and inform them once they're ready?" She nearly shrieked, now upset on your behalf.

Kyungsoo and Taeyong looked at your friends and family—well, former friends and family. Both detectives understood that they shouldn't let personal bias cloud their judgement on people (it's literally their job to be that way), but they couldn't help it when all they could see at the moment was Y/N's sole source of pain, now that Yoonsu's dead.

"That's the problem—we didn't inform them. We were wheeling Y/N back to her room so we could spend some time with her and see how she's doing, but when we got to her room, they were already there inside it. It's why she freaked out and tore open her stitches." Taeyong explained thoroughly, looking straight into Yuno's eyes.

"You didn't answer our question earlier, asshole—who the fuck are you, and how do you know Y/N?" Yangyang spoke out this time, stepping out of the group and coming face to face with both of the detectives.

"Okay, time out! Detectives, please take these people to the canteen downstairs to give them the rundown of it. You can't keep crowding the hallway like this, and it's also within Y/N's best interest that you don't overwhelm her once the doctor's done with fixing up her stitches." Sejeong did a karate chop in the air between your friends and family and the detectives.

"Why should we follow your orders?" Mark asked genuinely, and Sejeong sighed at him as she showed them her badges.

"I'm a psychologist working for this hospital, and I also happen to be Y/N's therapist. Please, I beg of you for the sake of my patient, go to the canteen with the detectives. I can't breach patient confidentiality, but these detectives are obligated by the law to explain to Y/N's family on what happened to her."

A/N : might post a pt. 3, but i also might not 🫨