#and chapter five is coming next year!!!!!

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (31 - Paradise Calling)

Chapter Summary: After several weeks of looking for her, you do eventually find Wanda Maximoff after she leaves Westview, but not in any way you ever imagined.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: violence, mention of blood and injury

A/N: The story continues in the aftermath of Wanda’s release of Westview. I’m still debating whether to stick with the canon concept of Billy and Tommy’s souls being real but bodiless since I started this story long before Agatha All Along entered the picture. Also, there might not be an update next week as I'll be out of town. Thanks to everyone who still continues to follow this story :) You guys are awesome. P.S. can you guess which mutant attacked y/n? :P // More author's notes here. // gif

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Hex dissolves completely at midnight.

By then, more and more of Westview have become accessible, its walls shrinking like the last breath of a dying storm. Throughout the wait, Monica’s order remains ironclad, which is that no one who isn’t a Westview resident is to step across the boundary.

It turns out to be the right call. Letting Wanda end it on her own terms—without pressure, or interference—is the last mercy anyone can offer. So they wait at the edge of town, in the solemn dark, while those inside slowly begin to come back to themselves.

And when the last of it winds down, Monica gives the signal. The military moves in, not with weapons this time, but with medics in tow. People stumble into the streets, dazed and hollow-eyed, like toys winding themselves up after years on a shelf. Some of them rush to scoop their children into their arms, while others just stand there, holding each other, staring at their hands like they’ve only just remembered what it means to move on their own.

It’s harder than anyone on the rescue team expected. Because how do you assess damage like this? These people aren’t injured in any conventional way. Their minds weren’t broken so much as hijacked. Puppeted. Made to smile and speak and move without their consent. It’s not madness, and it’s definitely not grief that they are experiencing. 

It’s something more…alienating. Locked in the backseat of your own body, watching your hands move and your mouth speak, knowing none of it is you. It’s the kind of trauma that leaves even seasoned therapists unsure where to begin. So the medics do what they can. Blankets for the cold, water for the dry-mouthed, and a hand on the shoulder for those who can’t seem to stop shaking. 

And you—you stay rooted at the edge of the ground where Wanda’s house once stood, silently taking in the aftermath. It’s the first time you’ve really looked at the lot you bought on a whim five years ago. It feels larger than you remembered, and standing here now, it stirs more regret than pride.

“There’s no sign of her,” Clint says as he approaches. He glances between you, Monica, and Darcy. “She’s gone.”

Monica exhales sharply. “Of course she is,” she mutters.

Agent Woo’s already packed up and gone too, reassigned mid-crisis to another urgent matter. Those left behind are burdened to help pick up the pieces.

“I guess she escaped?” Darcy offers.

You wince. “Don’t say ‘escaped.’ She didn’t—” The sentence stalls, the logic collapsing halfway out of your mouth.

Monica catches it and shrugs. “Yeah, maybe ‘escaping’ wasn’t her plan.” Then, more pointedly, “But what did you think was gonna happen? That she’d stick around? Turn herself in? Like you did, Y/N?”

Right. You’re still technically a prisoner. Still walking around on borrowed time, under a conditional release that’s quickly running out, especially now that Wanda’s vanished, and no one has a clue where she went.

You’d been hoping for a moment—just one—to talk to Wanda alone. And now, you’re starting to think your presence never mattered at all. The other you, her you, was the one who got through to her, who helped her bring down the Hex.

All you’ve ever done here was make it harder for Wanda.

“And her children?” you ask quietly, turning to Clint, your voice stripped down to worry.

Clint just shakes his head. “No sign of them. Or your copy.”

Everyone’s face falls at that. They’d all felt so real, the idea that they simply blinked out of existence is hard to swallow even if the theory always seemed to suggest that direction.

Darcy breaks the spell. “Shame, really. I kinda liked that Y/N.” She shoots you an apologetic grin. “No offense to the original, it’s just... we never got our moment.”

You manage a weak smile. “None taken.”

Monica claps her hands together. “Well, I guess… that’s it.” 

You turn to her slowly, frowning. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”

Monica’s hands drop to her sides. “I mean… she’s gone. The Hex is down. Everyone who was trapped is free. There’s nothing more we can do.”

Clint gives a weary shrug. “Sometimes disappearing’s the only thing a person has left.” You shoot him a glare, but he honestly seems oblivious that his words just struck you straight on.

Before you can argue further, a young S.W.O.R.D. tech jogs up, tablet in hand.

“Uh, Director?” He gestures vaguely at Monica. “We found a vehicle just outside the old perimeter. Abandoned. Figured you’d want to take a look.”

Monica glances between you and Clint. “Yours?”

You shake your head no.

“Color?” Clint asks.

“Deep maroon,” the tech says. “Old Volvo wagon. New Jersey plates.”

Clint lets out a low whistle. “That’s Wanda’s.”

You’re already moving before the words finish leaving his mouth.

“Y/N—” Monica calls after you, but you don’t look back.

Clint mutters a curse and follows. Monica and Darcy hang back, letting you go.

You’re desperate for any sign of Wanda, anything that might tell you where she went. You haven’t run this far or this fast in years, and your lungs are burning from the effort. But the thought of her out there, alone and possibly hurt, keeps your legs moving, pushing through the ache.

Soon, just past the edge of the boundary, you spot the Volvo.

You slow as you approach, heart thudding in your chest.

Clint catches up beside you. “That’s definitely hers.”

You nod, already reaching for the handle. It shouldn’t open, but it does. The door gives with a soft click, swinging open without resistance. You slide into the driver’s seat and glance around. 

“She didn’t even lock it,” you murmur.

“The keys?” Clint asks.

You check the ignition. Nothing. Then the cupholders, under the seat, the center console. Still nothing.

“Glove box,” Clint says, leaning in through the open door.

You press the latch. The compartment drops with a soft thunk, and something slides forward: a single manila folder, edges crisp, your name penned in Wanda’s looping cursive across the tab. Your breath catches. Carefully, almost like it might break in your hands, you lift it. It feels like it holds everything you’ve been chasing.

Inside, everything is heartbreakingly familiar. The property deed you mailed Clint weeks ago. Photographs you never had the courage to burn when you first became convinced that Wanda wasn’t coming back. Letters and notes you randomly wrote to Wanda throughout the years she was gone. 

And resting on top of it all, catching the faint moonlight—

Your wedding ring. The one you gave her. The match to the one you still wear around your neck.

With trembling fingers, you turn the band over between thumb and forefinger; it’s still warm, as if she’d only just set it down.

“She left this car here,” you whisper. “Because she wanted me to find this.”

Clint drifts a few steps back, giving you space but not leaving. He folds his arms and waits, giving you time to come to terms with Wanda’s clear response at having found out you lied to her. And it’s not pretty.

After a long, brittle silence, he clears his throat. “So… what are you going to do now?”

It’s the same question everyone’s thrown at you all day, and you still don’t have an answer.

Instead of answering, you whisper, “Did I make a mistake, Clint? Walking away back then, leaving her to sort through the rubble alone, was that when everything started to fall apart?”

He exhales and lowers himself onto the curb beside the car. “We all made mistakes,” he says, rubbing a thumb over a scar on his knuckles. “But no one could have known it would lead to this. We were careless, sure, maybe blind to how much she was really hurting. But this,” he says, nodding at the folder in your lap, “this was Wanda’s pain. Her choice. Not something you could have predicted.”

“I should’ve seen her slipping. I asked you to look after her and—”

“I know,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “And I’m sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t there for her like you asked. I was drowning in my own mess, trying to keep my family together once we got them back… I missed the signs.”

You nod slowly and slip the ring into your pocket. Then, flat and quiet, you say, “I’ve still got about a decade of my sentence to serve.”

“I can buy you more time,” Clint offers. “Tell them Wanda escaped. Technically, this whole thing isn’t over.”

You huff a humorless breath. “It won’t matter. I don’t want to go back.”

Clint studies you for a long moment, brow furrowed. “You mean that?”

You nod again. “The second I saw her… I wanted to take it all back. The deal. The surrender. All those years I spent trying to convince myself that moving on was the right call.”

He sits with that for a while, then says, quiet and honest, “You know I can’t turn myself in either.”

You glance over at him. “I’m not asking you to.”

“I’ve got my family back,” he says. “I’m rebuilding. I can’t walk away from that.”

“I know,” you reply. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

He gives you a sidelong look. “Then what are you thinking? You planning to go back on the run? Because you remember what it was like after the Accords, right? We didn’t end up in the Raft, but we weren’t free either. We were always looking over our shoulders.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Wanda was with me back then.”

He raises a brow, watching you carefully.

“And somehow,” you add, voice soft, almost to yourself, “that made all of it bearable.”

After a long lull, Clint asks, “What were you hoping for, Y/N? When she saw you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a shrug. “Maybe that… that she’d recognize me, at least.”

“She probably did,” Clint says. “That might be why she destroyed the Hex herself.”

You shake your head, hard, unwilling to accept that. “I doubt it was that simple.” 

The idea feels impossible. You remember the look on Wanda’s face: hurt, disappointment, the unmistakable sting of betrayal. You have put that look there before, but this time it was different. This time, that betrayal caused her this guilt she now carries with her for something she’d done out of her mourning you—

When she never should have had to mourn at all.

—

With Clint’s quiet blessing, you slip into the night, becoming a fugitive once again, determined to reach Wanda before the authorities do. It isn’t enough that Wanda released the town willingly; the damage is already done. Westview’s residents remain traumatized and disoriented, and dissolving the Hex doesn't absolve her actions. This is exactly what Tony always fought for—the idea that even heroes, even Avengers, must answer to laws meant for everyone, not just hide behind the duty of saving the world.

You don’t blame them for hunting her. You just don’t trust them to understand her.

So you go first.

You swap your jacket for a plain coat, leave your comms behind, and start reaching out to contacts you haven’t spoken to in years. A woman like Wanda can’t move without leaving a ripple, and eventually, you learn to follow a pattern: unexplained power surges in rural areas upwards north. Clint checks in with you every now and then, but you don’t expect anything more. He’s busy these days—a civilian fully occupied with being a father. 

The first few weeks blur together. Deep down, you keep hoping Wanda will be the one to find you—not because she misses you or wants to forgive, but because she finally wants answers. Isn’t there at least one question she needs to ask? Maybe she hates you too much to bother. Maybe she hates you enough to stop caring about your reasons altogether.

That thought hurts more than you’d like to admit. Still, it’s nothing compared to what you’ve put her through. You don’t know how you’ll face her when the time comes. All you know is that she’s hurting—and a hurting Wanda Maximoff isn’t just a danger to the world. She’s a danger to herself.

Late one evening, while tracking rumors of strange sightings in the forested mountains of Vermont, you feel unease settle in your gut. The trees grow denser, their branches knitting overhead, and the pale yellow moon offers little light. Shadows slither and shift across the narrow trail. You stop, breath misting in the cold air, certain now that you’re not alone.

You hold still and listen. Over the thud of your own unsteady pulse comes a faint rustle in the undergrowth. It’s too careful, too deliberate to be wind or wildlife.

“Who’s there?” Your voice is brittle, an uncertain challenge.

In the dark forest, you know you shouldn’t make a sound. But if it’s Wanda—

A low growl answers, so deep and guttural it sends a chill racing down your spine. You spin, eyes straining through the gloom, just as a shadow barrels toward you. The movement is fast, smooth, and completely inhuman.

It slams into you with brutal force, all muscle and claws—definitely not Wanda—knocking you hard to the ground.

You scramble to your feet, breath ragged, eyes sweeping the darkness in search of your attacker. The figure rises slowly, towering and hunched, its skin a sick, mottled gray. Its limbs are grotesquely stretched, ending in claws slick with fresh blood (yours).

Its face—

No. That can’t be right. Tony’s snap wiped out all of Thanos’ army. This thing shouldn’t exist. So how is it standing here? How did it survive?

“What the—” you gasp, stumbling back.

It lunges again, jaws gaping open with teeth glinting sharp and savage. You swing your arm wildly, and your fist connects with its jaw. The impact jars painfully up your arm, but the creature barely reacts, snarling viciously as it swings one massive clawed hand toward your face. You dodge by inches, claws slicing the air with a sharp hiss.

You stagger back again, trying to regain your footing. Your breath comes out in uneven bursts of fogged air. The creature circles slowly, blocking any clear route of escape. You study it, desperately searching for a weakness, but its movements remain erratic, unpredictable. 

Your combat skills are still there, but you’ve aged some, and it’s not as easy to fall back into your old rhythm and speed, especially when facing such an aggressive foe.

“Stay back,” you warn weakly, your voice trembling despite your attempt at bravado.

It snarls louder, head twitching, neck muscles spasming unnaturally as it stalks closer. You backpedal and your foot slips on wet leaves, throwing you off-balance. You hit the ground hard, skull cracking sharply against something hidden beneath the foliage. Stars burst in your vision.

As you struggle to sit upright, the beast approaches slowly, enjoying this, you realize sickeningly. It flexes its claws, taking its time.

“Wait,” you choke out, tasting copper as blood fills your mouth.

It stalks towards you leisurely as if hearing nothing. It snarls again, lips peeling back to reveal teeth sharp as blades. It raises a hand for the final blow, claws poised high—

And all you can think is how ironic it is. That this is what you craved, once.

Back when you were Ronin.

When death felt like the only honest language left, and violence was the only thing that could answer it.

You spent five years chasing this moment. And now? Now, with Wanda back in the universe. Now, when for the first time in years, you actually want to live.

Now is when death decides to show up?

Of course it is.

You laugh, or try to, but it comes out as a choked breath through blood. The creature roars, the sound tearing through the trees. And as the snow drifts down and your vision begins to fade, you manage one last word, soft as a prayer.

“…Wanda.”

—

You wake slowly to warmth, a fire crackling nearby. Every part of you feels bruised, sliced open, and carefully stitched back together. Bandages wind tight around your ribs, your shoulders, your arms. Your throat burns dry, but you're breathing. Miraculously. 

You push yourself upright, careful and slow. The world sways around you as the blanket slips from your shoulders.

Blinking up at the slanted ceiling overhead—wooden, rough-hewn, beams exposed, nothing familiar about it—you realize you’re still in the forest. The earthy, damp scent of pine needles teases your nose. There’s no electricity, just lanterns, candles, heat from flame and old wood. The furniture is simple, hand-built, and worn from use.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet sinking into a rug so soft it draws a quiet sigh from your lips. You have no idea how long you’ve been unconscious—hours, maybe even days.

Unsteady, you find the hallway, one hand trailing the wall for balance. You pass a small kitchen, simple but well-stocked. A kettle rests near the fire, still warm, like it was used not long ago.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the front door slightly ajar, a narrow strip of gray light slicing into the room, dust suspended in its path.

You drift closer.

Outside, there’s Wanda.

She sits on the porch steps, wrapped in a thick sweater, her back to you. Her hair falls in loose, tangled waves, longer than you remember. Despite the biting cold, she’s barefoot, her arms draped over her knees as she stares into the woods.

You stop at the doorway, saying nothing at first. 

She looks so… peaceful. 

“Wanda,” you say at last, barely above a breath.

She doesn’t move.

You try again. “Wanda.”

Still nothing. You can’t tell if she’s ignoring you, or if your voice is simply too weak for her to hear.

Of course it was her who found you. Of course it doesn’t mean anything’s been forgiven. You take a step back, and the door eases shut behind you with a quiet creak.

You head deeper into the cabin. It’s not large, but in your condition, it feels like a maze.

At the end of a narrow hallway, you find a door left slightly open.

Something pulses beyond it—low and red and constant. Your fingers graze the frame as you nudge it open. 

The hair on your arms rises.

Wanda’s there, too.

She’s floating a few inches off the ground, legs crossed. Her eyes don’t blink. They don’t move. Just glowing red, unwavering and endless.

She’s reading. The book in her hands is anything but ordinary. Its pages shift and shimmer, symbols rearranging themselves the moment you try to make sense of them.

You open your mouth, but your voice doesn’t come. You’re frozen.

Slowly, like she already knew you were standing there, she lifts her head.

Her gaze locks onto yours.

The book snaps shut.

[mooningningg]

𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 — chapter 01 : task - start a family

PAIRING. assassin!sukuna x spy!reader — spyxfamily AU!

about. when a notorious assassin is forced to abandon his identity, the last thing he expects is to be ordered to build a new one—by faking a marriage and raising a child. but with a psychic kid, a mysterious wife who’s hiding something darker than him, and enemies closing in on all sides… sukuna’s new “normal life” might just be the most dangerous mission of all.

word count. 4.03k

warnings. angst, violence, blood, cursing, adult content in some chapters, slowburn.

notes. I really hope ya'll will like this as i am having so much fun writing this and bringing it to life.

chapters. Prologue - Chapter 02

They call you Crimson.

Not because it’s dramatic. Not because it sounds pretty. But because when the agency first tested your skillset, your report card came back bathed in red — not failure. Blood. Precision. Silence. You never missed. You never flinched. You still don’t.

Tonight, you’re tailing a weapons broker — someone who’s sold more illegal ammunition in the past year than most black-market dealers see in a lifetime. The agency doesn’t care about the weapons. Not really. They care about who they’re being sold to.

That’s your job.

The ballroom is loud — all glass chandeliers and high-profile laughter, a layer of music masking the stench of politics and crime. You glide through it all like smoke.

Your dress is backless, wine-red, fitted to perfection. The wig you wear is sleek and blonde, cut just above your shoulders — nothing like the way you usually wear your hair. Your real face is hidden under layers of lashes, shimmer, and subtle deception. You smile when you're spoken to, laugh once or twice. You're forgettable, just enough to get close.

And close is all you need.

“Crimson,” your earpiece crackles, your handler’s voice a buzz of static hidden behind the violin quartet in the room. “Visual confirmed. Target’s on the west wing stairs. You’re twenty feet behind. Keep him talking, but do not intercept. He’s transferring the intel to his buyer in the next ten minutes. We want the name. Not the blood.”

You tap the bracelet on your wrist twice. Signal received.

You’re on the move.

The target’s tall, ex-military by the way he carries himself. Graying at the temples. Two phones, one encrypted. You note the shoes — polished but scuffed at the heel. He’s not careful. Not enough.

But you are.

You follow him out of the main ballroom with a drink in hand, your purse light but dangerous against your hip. You catch his reflection in the mirror-lined hall as he stops to check his watch. The moment his eyes leave the mirror, you step into the side corridor. He doesn’t see you. He’s not supposed to.

Another voice comes through your earpiece. “Buyer’s approaching. Five seconds. Crimson, stay out of view.”

You press yourself to the wall, shifting into the narrow column beside the statue, eyes trained through the reflection in the glass.

The buyer steps forward.

You can’t see his face — just the back. Broad shoulders. Black suit. No security.

Interesting.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just takes the briefcase. Your target talks — low, anxious, clearly pushing too hard for a quick deal. But the buyer doesn’t rush.

Your fingers move fast, silently removing the bug from your ring and pressing it to the wall near the vent. It sticks.

They speak in fragments.

“…weaponized by Tuesday…”

“…Kyoto drop point…”

“…confirm the kill, then payment…”

You close your eyes, memorizing. You’ve done this a thousand times. In and out. Quiet. Cold.

But something about the man’s voice makes you pause.

It’s low. Unhurried. Confident in a way that isn’t showy — dangerous without trying to be. It makes the hairs at the back of your neck lift. Not because you recognize it. But because something in you does.

You leave before the conversation ends. You already got what you needed. You walk calmly back into the ballroom, rejoining the flow of meaningless chatter and polished champagne flutes. You smile again. You play your part. Nobody notices you.

Because Crimson isn’t meant to be noticed. She’s a ghost. A shadow. A whisper.

When you get home that night, your hands still smell like expensive perfume and cheap sin.

You strip the wig off first. Your scalp breathes.

The dress is next — peeled off like skin you don’t need. You fold it carefully. That version of you doesn’t belong in this apartment.

You are not Crimson in this space. Not in this quiet. Here, you’re just you. A little tired. A little soft.

You pull your hair back, warm a leftover bowl of curry in the microwave, and curl up on the couch under your worn blanket — the one with the frayed edges and too many washes. A cat meows outside your window. You feed it twice a week. You talk to it, too.

You like things like that. Soft things. Things that don’t have expectations or file reports or bleed if you love them too much.

The alarm on your burner phone goes off. One short buzz. That means a live briefing.

You don’t groan. Don’t sigh. You just get up and read it. Cold again.

CRIMSON: Drop your current cover. You’re being reassigned. Priority red. Mission codename: RED VEIL.

You blink once. Only one other time in your life have you been given a red-priority mission without a debrief.

Attached is a single message, unsigned.

“Start a family.”

You don’t like children.

Not in a cold-blooded assassin way, no — you don’t hate them, you just… prefer them quiet. Far away. Not sticky. Not unpredictable. Definitely not someone you should be legally responsible for.

Which is why this part of the cover — the adoption — makes your skin itch.

The agency gave you no flexibility. The fake marriage, sure. The new home, fine. You’ve worked deep cover before. But this?

“You’ll pose as a mother,” they said. “It completes the story. Husband, wife, child. A stable foundation. A family.”

“It’ll help you disappear.”

You didn’t argue out loud, but your silence was enough.

Now here you are — in a soft beige room that smells like glue sticks and old wood, surrounded by pastel posters and broken crayons. The orphanage matron has a voice like she’s constantly trying not to cry. There’s a paper cup of tea on the table in front of you. You’re not touching it.

Your posture is perfect. Your expression polite. You are doing what needs to be done.

You glance at the file they handed you. A name circled in red ink:

Itadori, Yuuji. Age: 6. Unadopted. Needs minimal medical attention. Cheerful disposition. Excellent physical health. High emotional intelligence.

You frown.

Sounds… too good to be true.

The door creaks.

Then comes the sound of thunder feet running down the hall.

And then — suddenly — he’s there.

A blur of salmon-pink hair, bright brown eyes, and oversized socks sliding dangerously on the tile. He skids to a stop in the doorway, stands there panting like he just ran from the apocalypse, and then—

“MAMA?”

You blink.

He gasps like he just solved a murder, “YOU’RE MY MAMA!!”

He runs full speed at you.

You stiffen — not out of fear, but pure tactical reflex. You’ve dodged knives. Bullets. Flame. But you barely dodge a six-year-old missile of joy.

He doesn’t care. He hugs your waist like he already belongs there.

“Hi! I’m Yuuji! I’m really fast, I can run super far, and I only pee my pants once a year now, so I’m a good choice!”

You’re speechless.

The matron makes a helpless gesture, like this is normal behavior. You shoot her a look that could freeze soup.

Yuuji lets go and looks up at you with a gap-toothed grin.

You are not normal, he thinks casually, staring directly into your soul. Your heartbeat is controlled, like a soldier. You’re lying when you say you’re here to adopt.

But… your eyes are tired. And your mind is quieter than most adults.

You’re not scary. You smell like metal. But also lavender. That’s kinda nice.

He decides instantly: He likes you. A lot.

You, meanwhile, are having a full existential crisis.

“...Why did you call me Mama?” you finally ask, stiffly.

Yuuji shrugs. “You just have Mama energy. Like, super tired and powerful. Also your brain said ‘ugh’ when you saw me, but your heart said ‘okay, maybe just this once.’”

You stare at him, your brain runs diagnostics.

There’s no way he should know that.

Not unless he’s… Psychic? No. Not possible.

You slowly sit down on the small loveseat. Yuuji plops beside you like a puppy, legs swinging, hands fiddling with the hem of his too-big shirt. He’s smiling up at you like this is the best day of his life.

You clear your throat.

“So. Yuuji. Do you know why I’m here?”

“Yup!” he says instantly.

You pause. “...Why?”

“To lie about wanting a kid so you can go be sneaky somewhere with a scary man.”

You inhale a little too fast. Your fingers twitch.

The matron doesn’t react. She clearly didn’t hear it. You glance sideways. Yuuji’s still grinning.

“Don’t worry,” he thinks cheerfully, like it’s perfectly normal to narrate his inner monologue to a stranger. “I won’t tell. I like you. You’re warm. Not like fire. Like blankets-from-the-dryer warm.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. You’ve tortured people for less confusion than this.

But then he leans his head on your arm — and it’s like something in you short-circuits. Not in a weakness way. In a what the hell is this kind of way.

He’s so small. And weird. And way too trusting.

You shouldn’t feel anything.

But… You sigh.

You hate yourself a little as you look down at him, eyes softening against your will.

He’s already named you Mama. And you haven’t corrected him.

The bar is loud, but Sukuna hears nothing.

Not the music, not the static chatter, not even the clink of his own glass. He’s been in this dive for hours, melting into shadows like they might forgive him if he just sinks far enough. The light here’s dim and angry — red neon flickering across cheap wood and bad decisions. The air reeks of sweat and spilled whiskey. He likes it that way. It’s a place built to be forgotten in.

He downs another shot. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t taste it.

He’s not drunk, but he’s trying to be.

The stool beside him is empty until it isn’t.

The presence is immediate — cold, quiet, coiled like a spring under silk. He doesn’t look. Doesn’t need to.

“I told you not to find me,” he mutters.

“You told me a lot of things,” Uraume replies smoothly, placing a thin, unmarked folder on the bar top between them. “Most of them were lies.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, jaw flexing. “That why you’re here? To cry about it?”

Uraume ignores the bait. They always do.

Their fingers tap once on the folder.

“You’ve been compromised,” they say, soft like a threat. “Again.”

He grits his teeth. He can already feel it — the noose tightening, the leash shortening. He’s been playing house in this nowhere part of town for seven months, working in a mechanic’s shop during the day, killing flies and memories at night. No traces. No trails.

But ghosts don’t stay buried, and the syndicate he once bled for doesn’t like their weapons going rogue.

He knew they’d come. He just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

“Who sold me out?” he asks, eyes still on the drink in front of him.

“Does it matter?” Uraume lifts a brow. “You’ve got half the underworld looking to collect your head like it’s some sort of rare bounty.”

“I’m not that special.”

“You are,” they say flatly. “That’s the problem.”

Sukuna finally turns to face them. His eyes are sharp, that muted red glowing like a warning light. But he looks tired. Hollow in the edges.

They used to call him unstoppable. Untouchable. The King of Curses, even before he walked away from the blade. Now, he looks more like a man than a myth.

But that’s part of the illusion.

“You think this is sustainable?” Uraume asks, almost amused. “Drinking in roach motels, fixing broken engines, hiding behind your own name like it doesn’t carry weight?”

Sukuna scoffs. “I didn’t ask for the sermon.”

“You didn’t ask at all. That’s why I’m here.”

They tap the file again. The motion is deliberate.

“New identity,” they say, eyes never leaving his. “You want to live? Play nice. Blend in.”

He doesn’t move.

Uraume’s voice cools another degree. “Or we let them find you. Maybe they don’t kill you right away. Maybe they use you as bait. Maybe they make you watch.”

The silence stretches.

Then — with a growl low in his throat — Sukuna grabs the file.

He flips it open. Just one page.

“You’ve made enemies,” Uraume continues, crossing one leg over the other. “Your face isn’t safe. Your name’s expired. Your ghost routine might fool the locals, but it won’t hold much longer.”

Sukuna’s eyes slide down to the folder.

“New identity?” His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze threatened to burn the paper.

“Something deeper."

He grunts. “That sounds stupid.”

“It’s above your pay grade.”

“I don’t have a pay grade.”

Uraume doesn’t smile, but they look like they want to.

“This time you disappear clean,” they say. “No more trail. No more bodies. You want to live? You do it right.”

He opens the folder. Slowly.

Blank forms. Basic stats. A cover name. Occupation. Address fields. All empty.

He flips to the second page. It's the role template — the structure they’re going to use to sell him as someone else. And there, in plain black ink, next to the “Occupation” field:

Occupation: Married.

His eyes freeze.

“…the fuck is this?” he says flatly.

Uraume doesn’t even blink.

“You need a stable civilian identity. Solo men raise flags. Married men disappear.”

“You want me to fake a marriage now?”

“It’s better than faking your own death. Again.”

He slams the folder shut.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already picked someone.”

Uraume lifts a shoulder. “Find a partner,” they say simply. Then — slowly, like it’s a joke only they understand — “We’ll do the rest.”

Sukuna glares at them like he might actually throw the folder at their face.

“I kill people for a living, Uraume.”

“You used to.”

“I’m not playing house.”

“You will,” they say, rising to their feet. “Or you’ll be dead before the month ends.”

He watches them go, fists tight at his sides, blood thrumming in his jaw. The folder still sits in front of him like a trap.

Married. A partner. A cover life.

It’s almost funny.

Except it’s not.

It’s cruel.

He downs the rest of his drink in one shot, lets the burn cut his throat raw, and glares at the folder like it’s personally responsible for his ruin.

The apartment smells like gun oil and smoke.

There’s a single bulb hanging above the living room — no lampshade, no warmth. Just that cold, jaundiced light humming above two men who’ve survived too many things to talk about them. A folding table in the corner is stacked with passports, licenses, old burner phones, and a revolver that looks like it’s been cleaned a thousand times but never fired.

Sukuna's standing.

Choso’s sprawled across the couch like a man with nowhere to be and no reason to move. A half-lit cigarette dangles from his lips. His eyes are barely open — red, dull, watching the ceiling fan spin as if it holds the answers to all his questions.

“Married,” Sukuna spits, holding up the folder like it insulted his bloodline. “They want me to get married.”

Choso blinks. Doesn’t move.

“Like—on paper. Signed. Joint fucking taxes. Wife. House. Possibly a child. The whole fucking story. They want me to disappear so hard I look normal.”

Choso finally exhales. “So do it.”

“I don’t even know anyone,” Sukuna snarls. “I don’t like anyone. Who the hell am I supposed to convince to marry me?”

“You don’t have to convince them,” Choso says, like it’s obvious. “Just find someone who needs a lie as badly as you do. There’s always someone.”

Sukuna drops the folder on the floor.

He’s still wearing yesterday’s shirt. His knuckles are bruised from a job two nights ago. He hasn’t slept in over 30 hours — running on nicotine, adrenaline, and contempt. His jaw clenches. His fists twitch.

He hates this.

The pretending. The erasure of everything that made him who he was. He gave years of his life to men who worshipped money and silence — and now that he’s no longer useful, they want him to vanish into suburbia like a ghost with a mortgage.

“You could’ve told me this was coming,” he mutters, staring at Choso.

Choso shrugs. “Would you have listened?”

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

Silence.

Outside, sirens echo somewhere deep in the city.

Inside, the only sound is the soft buzz of electricity and the occasional creak of Choso shifting his weight.

Then—

“You know,” Choso says slowly, “I could put some names out there. See who’s looking. There are people who’d take the deal. You’re not ugly.”

Sukuna glares.

“Don’t.”

Choso continues anyway, ignoring the warning tone completely. “Might take a cut, though. Some weird ones in that world. Last girl I heard about was on the run from five different prefectures and collects teeth.”

Sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. “I said no.”

“Just putting it out there.”

Sukuna sighs and sits. The folder sits on the coffee table between them like it’s watching.

He opens it again, flipping to the page with the occupation field. “Married.” The word stares back at him like a threat. He doesn’t know what’s worse — the fact that they expect him to go through with it, or the fact that he might actually have to.

“Find a partner,” the line had said, scrawled in pen.

“We’ll do the rest.”

It doesn’t scare him, but it pisses him off.

Choso shifts again. “You gonna keep sulking or start looking?”

Sukuna stares straight ahead, jaw tight. Eyes cold.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “Whoever it is, they’ll regret it.”

You didn’t want to be here.

Not tonight. Not at this hour. Not when there’s a six-year-old at home who refuses to fall asleep unless he knows you’re safe.

But duty doesn’t care about bedtime stories or fake smiles.

So you leave your door half-open for air. You kiss Yuuji’s forehead before you go. You tell him, gently, “Just paperwork tonight. I’ll be home before ten.”

He nods, too fast. He’s already read your schedule in your head.

He knows it’s a lie.

Still — he smiles anyway. “Be safe, Mama.”

That word always hits weird. You haven’t decided if you like it or not.

The hotel bar is colder than it looks.

Everything here is expensive in the cheap kind of way — furniture that looks plush but creaks, chandeliers that sparkle but are dusty up close. It’s the kind of place you’re supposed to let your guard down in, and that’s exactly why you don’t.

Your target tonight is small-time — ex-intel turned data thief. You’ve been tracking him for weeks through burner emails and silent meetups. This is supposed to be the confirmation. One audio recording. One glance at the buyer. And you’re out.

No interference. No dead bodies. Just a clean “yes,” and the higher-ups take care of the rest.

You keep to the corner. Blend in.

Your dress is navy, simple. Hair pinned up. You look like someone’s tired assistant at a corporate conference, not a spy with a wire tucked under your ribs.

You’ve done this before.

But something feels… off.

There’s a pressure in the room. The kind that comes from too many people pretending to be normal. A little too much eye contact. A little too much silence between clinks of ice and laughter that sounds wrong.

And then there’s him.

You noticed him the second you walked in — not because he was loud, but because he wasn’t.

One booth in the shadows. Man alone. Dark eyes, unmoving. He hasn’t looked at anyone but his table.

But the air around him is dense. Coiled.

You can’t explain why, but you know: he’s not here by accident.

Your instincts twitch. Your grip tightens around your wine glass. You whisper into your wire, coded and low.

“Package is seated. Table Four. I have audio. Unknown third party at the south wall.”

The earpiece crackles.

“Copy that. No action unless provoked. Keep distance.”

You nod once.

But even as your lips smile and your shoulders relax — the muscles behind your eyes don’t.

Because your target? He’s getting jumpy.

Too jumpy.

He keeps glancing at the man across the room. Fingers twitching. Posture off.

You’re halfway through pretending to sip when you notice it —

His right hand. Dipping under the tablecloth. Not for a drink.

For something metal.

Something hidden.

Something dangerous.

Your breath stills.

And in that same instant — across the room — the man in the booth leans forward, slow. Deliberate.

Like he’s seen it too.

Like he’s ready for it.

Like he’s done this before.

You see the gun before he can pull it.

Your target — twitchy, small-time, sweating under the collar — slides his hand under the table, fingers twitching toward the bulge in his jacket.

Your first instinct is to stay seated. Let the wire catch it. Let surveillance do the job.

But then he moves faster.

He flips the table.

Gun drawn.

You move faster.

Your chair skids back hard enough to screech. Your heel kicks forward — catches the edge of the table, shoving it between you and the barrel. The gun fires. The shot punches into the ceiling.

Screams erupt.

Someone ducks behind the bar. Someone else drops a champagne bottle. Glass explodes across the floor.

You don’t flinch.

The man lunges. You stumble backward — on purpose — arms raised, panicked expression. Playing it up.

“I—I don’t—!”

The gun presses to your side.

You gasp. Loud. Convincing.

Until your hand slams into his wrist, twists it sharp. You pivot, knock his legs out, and slam his head into the marble tile with a sickening crack.

And just like that — The panic leaves your face.

The calm returns.

Across the room, you hear it.

Another shot. Then a thud.

You glance up.

He’s already standing.

The man in the dark booth.

Blood on his sleeve. A table cracked in half at his feet.

He’s not hiding it like you are.

He looks thrilled.

The others rush in then — men you didn’t clock, new threats from all angles. Not just one target anymore. This was a setup. Someone tipped them off.

Six bodies. All armed. Too close.

You ready your stance.

But Sukuna?

He laughs.

A short, cruel sound in the throat — and then he moves like he’s been waiting for this.

His elbow slams into the first man’s jaw. A second rushes him — gets flipped into a glass cabinet. Shards scatter. Liquor spills. Sukuna doesn't miss a step.

You duck a fist, grab a wine bottle, smash it over someone’s head. He staggers. You knee his ribs. His breath leaves in a bark of pain.

“You sure scream loud for someone holding a knife,” you mutter.

“Nice form,” a voice says behind you.

You twist — Sukuna’s there, mid-swing. He shoves a guy into your line of sight. You finish him with a clean jab to the throat.

“What the hell are you?” you snap, panting.

He grins, sweat at his temple. “Freelance yoga instructor.”

You blink.

“Seriously?”

He shrugs. “They fired me.”

You dodge another punch, shove your attacker into a table, and choke-laugh. “I’m a dental rep.”

“Really?” he says, ducking low to avoid a bottle.

“Mhm.”

He tackles a man into a mirror. It shatters like a scream.

“Tough.”

By the time the last man groans and goes still — The room is a disaster.

Tables overturned. Glass and blood and broken chairs everywhere. No witnesses left standing.

You and Sukuna are panting in the middle of it all, arms bruised, clothes torn, heartbeat still in your ears.

You glance at him.

He’s looking at you.

There’s something… unspoken. Something not quite admiration, not quite suspicion.

A shared truth.

A quiet knowing.

He steps over a body. Close enough now that you can see the nick on his cheekbone.

Then, calm as anything, he reaches down. Picks up a napkin. Wipes his hands.

And looks at you like he’s ordering coffee.

“What do you think about marriage?”

— Prologue — Chapter 02 —

[deen-djarin]

Soft Reins — Day Four

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Pairings: Groudskeeper/Rancher ! Joel miller x City girl ! Reader

Summary: Joel tries very hard to pull away, you won’t let him.

Tags: 18+, yearning, tension, a teensy bit of angst, reader frustrated with joel lol, crass language, p in v, creampie, mutual masturbation, cunningulus, absolute FILTH

Word count: 8,9k

a/n i’m so nervous to post this piece of cliterature lmao but…enjoy

Joel barely had time to exhale after you walked away, lips still tingling, head spinning, before he heard Tommy’s boots crunching hard against the gravel behind him.

“You outta your goddamn mind?” Tommy snapped, voice low and sharp.

Joel turned just enough to look at him. “Don’t start.”

“I will start, Joel,” Tommy said, stepping closer, eyes flashing. “I saw that. I saw you leanin’ in. What the hell were you thinkin’, huh?”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “She asked me to come with into town. I went. That’s it.”

“Oh, that’s it?” Tommy let out a humorless laugh. “Looked a hell of a lot like more than just errands. You almost kissed her outside the staff entrance.”

Joel didn’t answer. He looked away, jaw tight.

Tommy shook his head. “You think nobody else is gonna notice that? You think you can get away with sneakin’ around with one of them?”

“She’s not like them,” Joel muttered.

Tommy’s voice snapped. “She’s exactly like them. Rich, bored, here for a week of cowboy fantasy before she gets bored and flies back to wherever the hell she came from. And you? You’re just the help, Joel. That’s all we are.”

Joel’s fists curled at his sides.

Tommy pressed on. “You know who isn’t gonna be so forgiving? The company that owns this place. We’re already on thin ice with them. You remember the last email? They flagged your fuel receipts. Your overtime hours. They’re watching us.”

Joel shifted his weight like the truth of it physically weighed him down.

“All it takes is one mistake and they’ll gut this place,” Tommy continued, quieter now, more furious than loud. “Replace us with cheaper labor, roll us out like some damn theme park. You think they’ll keep you on if they find out you’re messin’ around with a guest? That I’ll keep my job?”

“You gonna risk all this for a fling?” Tommy sighed, his hands on his hips.

“I ain’t messin’ around,” Joel muttered.

Tommy threw his hands up. “Oh, that makes it better. Christ, Joel. You know better than that, hell- you taught me better than that.”

Joel didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Because it wasn’t just about the kiss, or the girl, or the ranch. It was about how he looked at her. And how much he already knew it wasn’t going away.

Tommy shook his head like he was too tired to keep fighting. “You need to end it. Before someone else sees.”

Then he turned and walked off toward the main building, boots loud against the quiet.

“And get those damn groceries to the kitchen, they waitin’ on you,” Tommy said before he closed the staff door with a loud slam.

Joel stayed where he was.

Heart thudding. Mind racing.

Hands still curled in fists, aching from holding back more than just a kiss

“Joel? Joel—”

Maria’s voice cut sharply through his thoughts. He blinked, eyes snapping back into focus.

“Yeah? Sorry, I was uh—”

“Yeah, yeah, focus up,” she said, waving a dismissive hand as she turned toward the gathered staff. A dozen or so stood in a loose semi-circle near the barn, coffee cups in hand, squinting against the morning sun.

“Alright, folks, today’s the big day,” Maria continued, voice carrying clear and firm. “The  grandparents’ wedding anniversary celebration—fifty years married, if you can believe it.” A couple of the staff gave soft chuckles or murmured impressed sounds.

“Tommy and I will be manning the main festivities up by the lodge,” she went on. “We’ve got lawn games, a live band coming in at five, and a photo booth being set up near the pergola.”

Joel shifted his weight, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. His eyes flicked toward the lodge involuntarily.

Maria caught the glance but didn’t comment, just pressed on. “Joel, you’re on standby today. Float between spots, make sure everything’s running smooth, supplies, crowd flow. If anything needs fixin’, I’m expectin’ you to be two steps ahead of it.”

He gave a tight nod. “Got it.”

Her gaze lingered on him for half a second longer, as if she wanted to say more, then let it go.

“Alright, let’s make it a good one. We want them talkin’ about this for years—no slip-ups, no surprises.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. No surprises. 

Joel gave Maria a stiff nod and watched the rest of the staff scatter, voices already fading as they moved toward the event setup near the main lawn. He stood still for a moment longer, rubbing his hands together like he could work the tension out through his palms.

Standby.

Right.

That meant stay outta trouble. Stay visible, but not too visible. Be helpful, but don’t get in the way.

Mostly, don’t get caught staring at her.

He exhaled hard through his nose and turned, heading toward the barn. From where he stood, he could already see the cluster of white tents going up on the front lawn, tables being rolled out, folding chairs carried by two and threes.

He caught a glimpse of her. Just for a second.

She was standing at the edge of the setup, not far from her family. Dress light and summery, hair tied back. She looked like she belonged there—comfortable, confident, laughing at something her cousin said.

If Joel had any sense at all, he’d take that image and walk away.

But his eyes lingered.

God, she looked good when she smiled. And he knew, he knew what she tasted like when she whispered his name. He could still feel her hands in his shirt, still hear that breathless sound she made when he kissed her like it was the only way to stop himself from falling apart.

“You gonna risk all this for a fling?”

Tommy’s words from last night snapped through his mind like a whip. The pressure from corporate had been ramping up—calls, emails, reminders about “professional boundaries” and “guest satisfaction metrics.” The kind of stuff that made Joel’s stomach turn.

They didn’t care about this place. Not like he and Tommy did.

And if anyone caught wind of Joel getting too close to one of the vacationers—especially someone from that family?

They’d lose more than their pride.

He muttered a curse under his breath and turned his back to the main lawn. There was work to do. Things to fix. A dozen ways to keep busy, keep useful, keep away.

But even as he grabbed a toolbox and made for the far fence line, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting.

To her.

To last night.

To what might’ve happened if he didn’t stop himself. 

And to what might still happen, if he didn’t find a way to shut this down soon.

You were dressed in a soft pastel sundress, pale yellow with fluttery straps — color-coordinated with the rest of your family, of course. Your mother had laid it out the night before and made a big deal about how “fresh” and “youthful” it looked on you. You smiled, nodded, played the part. Because that’s what today was about: showing up, smiling for pictures, and making sure the grandparents’ anniversary looked like a spread out of a lifestyle magazine.

You stuck close to Amy when you could, let her little ones distract you, let her husband make you laugh. But your parents — and most of the extended family — seemed weirdly unwilling to let you out of their sight. Maybe it was because you vanished yesterday. Maybe it was the lie you gave this morning over coffee, something about allergies and heat exhaustion. Amy backed it up without hesitation. But still, they hovered. Like something was off.

And they were right. You were off.

Because he was here. You had seen him.

Joel.

Not a ghost or a memory — not a maybe — but here. In the crowd. Just far enough to keep his distance, just close enough that it hurt. 

You spotted him midmorning during the lawn games — off to the side helping Maria set up canopies and tables. Later again near the stables, talking to a wrangler. Then during the first round of speeches, when he walked right behind your group to move something, eyes fixed anywhere but on you.

It was maddening. He was right there. Always there. But not once did he meet your eyes. Not once did he even acknowledge you.

And after everything that happened in that barn — after that kiss, after the way he held you like he never wanted to let go — it felt like being gutted.

You wanted to scream. Or grab him by the collar and shake him. Or kiss him again until he stopped pretending it didn’t matter.

You tried not to let it show. You smiled when your aunt asked if you were feeling better. You clinked your champagne glass when your grandparents gave a speech. You let your little cousins drag you into a three-legged race that ended with grass stains and polite applause.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Every time you caught a glimpse of him — the shape of his shoulders, the familiar way he moved — your chest ached. It wasn’t the distance that killed you.

It was the fact that he was close.

So damn close.

And still choosing to stay far.

The whole day had been a carefully orchestrated performance. You were paraded around the anniversary festivities like a show pony, smiling through group photos, politely declining seconds of cake, and trying to laugh at your uncle’s jokes.

And through it all, Joel had been right there.

Not gone. Not out of reach. Just maddeningly near—crossing the lawn with chairs slung over his shoulder, fixing up the microphone setup with those steady hands, talking to guests with that low voice that made your chest ache.

But not once, not once, did he look your way.

By midafternoon, it was getting pathetic.

You weren’t even being subtle anymore. First, you hung around the drink table while he was checking the ice buckets—stood there like an idiot with your empty glass, waiting for him to maybe glance your way. He didn’t.

Then you tried passing by the barn on your way to “nowhere in particular,” slowing your steps when you spotted him talking to another staff member outside. He looked up… but not at you. Right past you, like you were part of the scenery.

Each time it happened, your stomach sank deeper.

At lunch, you’d even dared to linger a little too long behind your family’s table as he walked past. You swore you saw him hesitate, like he’d felt you there. But he never turned around.

It was driving you crazy.

And the worst part was that he was everywhere. Helping with the sound system, adjusting the decorations, talking to Maria and Tommy near the games tent—always just close enough to make you feel like a ghost.

You weren’t sure what pissed you off more: that he wouldn’t talk to you, or that no one else seemed to notice your unraveling. Amy had given you one long side-eye after the third time you sighed too hard during croquet, but even she hadn’t pressed.

You ended up sitting beside your grandmother on a shaded bench near the flower arrangements, your aperol spritz sweating in your hand as you watched the party unfold across the lawn. And you watched him lean over the fences with that infuriating, effortless focus—while you were stuck pretending you weren’t waiting for something. Anything

You couldn’t take much more of this. You took another sip, eyes narrowing over the rim of your glass. Your stomach had been twisting all day and you weren’t sure if it was from frustration, nerves, or last night’s kiss still echoing in your body like a secret.

“You’re fidgeting,” your grandmother said beside you, her voice soft and amused.

You stilled, startled. “Sorry.”

She smiled faintly. “Don’t apologize. Just makes me think something’s eating at you.”

You shrugged, setting your drink down beside you. “It’s nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart. That’s the tone of someone lying through their teeth.”

You sighed, staring out at the party. “I guess I’m just a little… off today.”

“Off how?” she asked, not pressing but still watching you closely.

You hesitated. “Yesterday I wasn’t feeling well. Allergies or something.”

“I know,” she said gently. “But that’s not what I meant.”

There was a pause. The music from the band drifted through the warm air, cheerful and at odds with the knot in your chest.

“I saw the way you’ve been looking over there,” she murmured, like she was talking about the weather. “At the man in the work shirt.”

Your head snapped toward her. “Gams—”

“I’m old, not blind,” she said, chuckling. “I’ve been around enough young people to know a look when I see one.”

You flushed, heart stumbling. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” she said lightly, lifting her glass of lemonade. “Then why does your face look like it’s on fire?”

You pressed your lips together, trying to swallow the heat rising up your neck. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, honey.” She patted your knee. “If it wasn’t, it probably wouldn’t be worth it.”

You looked down at your lap. “He’s just… ignoring me. Pretending nothing happened.”

“But something did,” she said gently.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t answer.

Your grandmother leaned back, watching the crowd. “He looks like the type who takes a while to make up his mind. But once he does…” She gave a small smile. “Well. Men like that don’t do things halfway.”

You glanced over, unable to help yourself. Joel was standing near the band now, arms crossed, listening to Maria talk. He still wouldn’t look your way.

You clenched your hands in your lap.

“You can’t chase a man like that, sweetheart,” your grandmother said softly. “But you don’t have to sit here letting him think you’ve given up either.”

You turned to her, surprised.

She winked. “I won’t tell your mama. Now go take a walk or something before you combust.”

You grinned and murmured “Thanks gams,” as you rose up from your seat.

You walked off without telling anyone, weaving through the crowd until you spotted him at the edge of it all. Joel stood by the fence, arms crossed over his chest, watching the festivities like he was somewhere else entirely.

You stepped up beside him, just a few feet away, careful not to touch.

“Joel,” you said, quiet and even.

He didn’t look at you, just replied your name in that same low, unreadable tone.

You shifted your weight, watching the rolling hills beyond the ranch, trying to act like your heart wasn’t pounding.

“So—”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, cutting you off.

You glanced at him, brows drawing together. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just talking to you.”

His jaw worked. “Doesn’t matter.”

You turned fully now, facing him. “Can’t we just talk, Joel?”

He finally looked at you—and that was all it took. One glance. His eyes flicked to yours, and something in him faltered.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, turning away slightly like he needed to shield himself from you.

“Why can’t I look at you?” you asked.

“Because I don’t trust myself when you do.”

You swallowed. “Then say something that makes this easier.”

He shook his head, fingers twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “There’s no way to make this easy. For either of us.”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, voice steadier now.

“I’ve been keepin’ my distance,” he corrected gruffly.

“Same difference.”

His eyes finally found yours again, and this time he didn’t look away. “You want me to pretend like that kiss didn’t mess me up?” he said lowly. “Like I haven’t been thinkin’ about it every damn minute since?”

Your breath caught, hope flaring too fast, too hot.

“But that don’t change the fact that this is wrong.”

“Then tell me to leave,” you challenged, voice trembling. “Say it and I’ll walk away.”

He didn’t say it.

He just stared at you, jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked. And for a second, you swore he was going to close the distance between you again.

But he didn’t. He stepped back.

“I can’t do this here,” he said, voice strained. “Not now. Not with all of them watchin’.”

You watched his back as he turned and walked off, leaving you by the fence—burning with everything you didn’t get to say.

“Then where?” you asked, folding your arms tight against your chest, trying to steady your breath. “If I shouldn’t be here, then tell me where.”

Joel’s eyes flicked toward you, jaw working. “Don’t do this here,” he muttered, glancing around like someone might catch you just standing too close.

“I’m not trying to start anything,” you said, voice low. “I just want to talk.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, then dragged a hand over his mouth. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. You could see the war in him clear as day—shoulders tense, gaze darting anywhere but your face.

You softened. “Joel…”

He finally looked at you, like he couldn’t help it anymore. And it made your stomach twist, the way he did. Like you were gravity and he was just tired of fighting it.

He hesitated, then said gruffly, “Later. After dark. Back of the stables.”

Your heart jumped, but you kept your voice even. “Okay.”

His eyes lingered a second longer—more than he should’ve allowed—before he turned, muttering, “Don’t be late.”

And just like that, he was gone again.

By sunset, you sat quietly at the long outdoor dining table, your half-empty glass of wine cradled between your hands. The golden hour stretched lazily over the lawn, turning everything syrupy warm—soft light, long shadows, and the low hum of cicadas joining the smooth sway of the band the family had hired.

From your seat, you watched the couples—your aunts, uncles, even your parents—moving slowly together on the grass. Arms around waists, heads leaned on shoulders, the occasional kiss on a cheek. Everyone looked perfectly content in their little matched sets, like a catalog shoot for love and stability.

You let out a small sigh and glanced to your left, then to your right. Your cousins were either off dancing with their partners or had migrated inside to tuck their kids into bed. All that was left at your end of the table was a crumpled napkin, your untouched slice of cake, and a few younger teens still absorbed in their phones.

Great. You were officially at the kiddie table.

You fiddled with your fork, pretending not to notice how alone you felt. Not lonely, exactly—just… extra. Like a place setting someone forgot to clear. You’d smiled and chatted and laughed through dinner, but now that the music had started and the stars were coming out, the ache set in a little deeper. Everyone had someone.

Except you.

You picked at the edge of your dessert plate, dragging your fork through the icing like it might offer some kind of distraction. The music shifted to a slower tune—something older, probably chosen by your grandparents—and the band’s singer let her voice fall into a smoky hum. It floated across the lawn like something delicate and private, made just for the couples still swaying out there in the twilight.

You rested your chin in your hand, watching your uncle dip your aunt dramatically, both of them laughing like teenagers. You didn’t even realize you were smiling a little until it faded.

It wasn’t about needing a dance partner. You weren’t aching for someone to grab your hand and spin you under the stars.

But it still stung.

Because you used to have that—someone who made you feel chosen, even in a crowd. And then he cheated, and the memory of it left a bruise that hadn’t quite faded.

Now, just as you’d started to feel something new tug at your heart, and you let it do. Just when you thought you found something that felt real, he pulled away.

And you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe love just didn’t run in your blood the same way it did for the rest of your family.

Your eyes drifted to the edge of the lawn—toward the darker part of the path leading out to the barns and stables, past the halo of lights strung up in the trees. You squinted, unsure what you were hoping to see.

Nothing moved.

You looked back down at your plate and pushed it away.

Maybe you’d just go for a walk. Clear your head. Maybe circle by the stables, totally casually. No big reason. Just some air.

You told yourself it wasn’t about anyone. It was just a long day. You were restless. That was all.

You stood quietly and slipped away from the table  before anyone could ask where you were going.

You found yourself wandering toward the stables. It was quiet—emptier than usual. The hush was almost comforting.

You made your way to Dolly’s pen.

“Hey, Dolly,” you murmured.

She huffed softly, poking her head over the gate. You smiled and ran your hand gently along the side of her face.

“You get lonely too?” you asked with a quiet chuckle.

Dolly blinked slowly, like she understood.

“Yeah…” you sighed. “I’m talking to a horse,” you added, half-laughing at yourself.

Then came the sound—heavy footsteps on gravel.

You turned your head and saw Joel in the doorway, pausing like he hadn’t expected to see you just yet.

“Oh… you’re here already,” he said, surprised.

“Oh. Right… that,” you murmured. “Sorry, I was just wandering around…and now I'm here.”

He stepped in a little closer, eyes landing on you, then Dolly.

“You were talkin’ to her?”

You let out a breath and nodded. “She’s good company,” you said softly.

Joel leaned against the wall beside you, close but not touching. You didn’t look at him when you asked,

“You done avoiding me now?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“It’s not that simple, sugar,” he said eventually.

You huffed. “Figured you’d say something like that.”

“Because it’s the truth.”

He paused, eyes still on Dolly, like it was easier than looking at you.

“Something like this…” he started, voice low, “it doesn’t end good.”

“And you’re so sure about that?” you asked, not hiding the sting in your voice.

“Yes, I’m sure.” His voice was firmer now. “You’re one of them. The guests. I work here. That’s not somethin’ I can just pretend don’t matter.”

You stared at him. He kept going.

“I’m too old for this kind of risk,” he muttered. “Too old for you,” he added.

You turned your head to him, finally really looking at him. He was staring at the ground like he was counting every stray piece of hay, doing anything not to meet your eyes.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” you said softly.

“Joel, I’m not asking you to quit your job or run away with me. I’m not asking you to marry me.” You let out a quiet breath. “It’s just… what I felt with you…this connection…it’s real. And I haven’t felt something real in a long time.”

”Maybe it’s stupid, selfish even,” you looked down, voice even smaller now. “But I just wanted to feel again.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but you could feel the silence shift—charged, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying. You could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he stood still, battling himself.

Then, finally, he stepped closer. Slow, deliberate. Until he was right in front of you, his presence blocking out everything else.

His hand, rough and warm, tilted your chin up. You met his eyes, and this time, he didn’t look away. He studied you, quiet and searching, like he was trying to see through the layers, to make sure this wasn’t some fleeting whim. And whatever he saw in you—it was enough.

“You sure about this, sugar?” he asked, voice low and hoarse.

“Yes,” you breathed.

He exhaled, thumb brushing gently along your bottom lip. “No one can know,” he murmured.

You nodded.

Then finally, finally, he leaned in. And when his lips found yours, it was soft, careful at first. Like a secret. Like something sacred. And it made you feel real, in the most aching, beautiful way.

You kissed him back—slow at first, but aching, hungry beneath the surface. Your hands slid around the back of his neck, pulling him closer like you couldn’t get enough, and you couldn’t 

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, then suddenly pressed you back against the stable wall, his mouth claiming yours in a deeper, needier kiss. His hands were on you—one at your waist, the other cupping the side of your face with a surprising gentleness that contrasted the urgency of his lips.

You let out a soft, involuntary moan, fingers tangling in his hair. And as your lips parted on that breath, he didn’t hesitate—his tongue swept into your mouth, slow but sure, coaxing yours to meet him in a rhythm that made your knees weak.

When the two of you finally pulled apart, your breaths came shallow and uneven, lips still tingling. You looked up at him, your gaze meeting eyes that had gone darker—stormy with something unspoken, something barely restrained.

“Fuck, sugar…” he breathed, his forehead resting against yours like he needed the contact just to steady himself. His voice was rough, low, wrecked. “You make it damn hard to be a gentleman.”

His hands, still holding you like you might slip away, slid slowly from your waist down to your hips—fingers splaying, grounding himself in the feel of you. The touch made your breath catch, your stomach flutter.

You didn’t say anything—couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you. Not with the way your whole body was already leaning back in, ready for more.

Then you grew bold and whispered, “I don’t want you to be.”

He let out a deep, rumbling groan from his chest, a sound of pure, unchecked desire. Before you could even process it, his lips were back on yours, devouring you with a hunger that stole your breath. "You're fucking trouble," he muttered against your mouth, his voice a low, strained rasp. You could only moan in response, your body melting under his touch, your core clenching with need.

His calloused hand slid down to grip your thigh, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. In one swift, decisive move, he hitched your leg up to wrap around his lean hip, pulling you impossibly closer. You gasped as you felt the thick, hard length of him pressing against your stomach, a promise of what was to come. "Joel," you sighed, your voice a needy whimper, drunk on the feeling of him.

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, a tortured sound filled with lust and longing. "Fuck, baby, you can’t keep making noises like that," he panted, his breath hot against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured “tell me to stop before i drag you to my cabin and fuck you propper.” 

“Fuck,” you panted then bit your lip, “Don’t stop.”

With a sense of urgency, he took your hand in his, practically dragging you out of the stables. He paused at the door, peeking left and right like a man on a mission, ensuring the coast was clear. Then, with a tug of your hand, he led you quickly down the narrow path towards his staff cabin, nestled at the edge of the property.

You had to jog to keep up with his long strides, your heart pounding in your chest as anticipation coiled tight in your belly. The cool evening air rushed past you, but it only seemed to fuel the fire burning under your skin, the fire he had ignited with his touch.

He rushed you inside his cabin, locking the door behind you with a decisive click. You barely had a second to register your surroundings before his mouth was back on yours, hungry and insistent. His hands found your waist, guiding you backward with practiced ease, step by step, until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed. You tumbled gently onto the soft mattress, breath catching, heart racing.

Joel stood over you for a beat, gaze sweeping over the sight of you spread out before him, as if committing it to memory.

“You have no idea how many nights I’ve thought about this, sugar,” he murmured, voice rough as gravel.

He climbed onto the bed, his broad frame caging you in, a question lingering in his eyes. “Last chance to back out,” he said lowly. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” you whispered. “Please.”

A deep groan escaped him, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing skin, then teeth—trailing kisses and teasing nips that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“If we’re doin’ this,” he murmured against your throat, “I’m doin’ it right.”

“Right?” you breathed.

“Mm,” he hummed, mouth sliding lower to your collarbone. “Means I’m gonna take my time. Gonna make you cum at least twice before I even think about slippin’ inside you.”

The way he said it—those dirty words wrapped in that low Southern drawl—made your whole body tense with need. You felt your breath catch as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes searching yours, serious even through the heat.

“You gonna let me do that, baby?”

You bit your lip and nodded quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Use your words.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively at his tone, but you obeyed.

“Yes, Joel.”

A slow, wicked smile curled on his lips. “Atta girl,” he murmured.

He shifted lower, slow and deliberate, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, trailing down to the edge of your dress’s neckline. His breath was warm against your skin, his voice rough when he murmured, “You looked beautiful in this today.”

Your chest tightened at the confession.

“Had to will myself to look away,” he added, lips brushing the dip between your collarbones.

“I didn’t think you were looking,” you breathed.

That earned a low, rumbling chuckle from him, his stubble grazing your skin as he tilted his head.

“Only when you weren’t lookin’ at me,” he muttered, his hands gliding down your sides, mapping every curve like they were something sacred. He let out a long, almost exasperated breath. “Where the hell’s the zipper on this thing…”

You giggled softly, biting your lip, then reached down to help him find it at your side. He huffed out a quiet laugh, amused, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

And then he stilled.

For a moment, he just looked at you, searching your face for any hint of hesitation, his gaze slow and steady, like he needed to be sure that there wasn’t the smallest flicker of doubt in your eyes.

All he found was hunger. Trust. And pure need.

That was all the permission he needed.

With a gentle hand, he eased the straps of your dress down your shoulders, watching the fabric slide like water down your skin. Inch by inch, he took in every new bit of you revealed to him, reverent in his touch, like you were something rare he never thought he’d be allowed to hold. And he savored it. Like he wanted this moment burned into memory.

The dress pooled silently to the hardwood floor, and Joel’s breath hitched the moment his eyes landed on you—on the soft curves of your body, the delicate lace of your bra, the shape of you that had haunted his thoughts all damn day.

“Fuck…” he murmured, almost to himself. “Look at you, sugar.”

His hands came to rest on your waist, wide and warm as they smoothed up your sides, his thumbs brushing along your skin with a reverence that made your heart skip. You felt his gaze drinking you in—like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You bit your lip, trying not to smile, but failing. Because the way he looked at you… it made you feel like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And maybe you didn’t always believe that about yourself. Maybe there were parts of you you’d been taught to second-guess.

But right now you chose to believe his view of you, you let yourself feel perfect. 

His thumb brushed along the edge of your bra, just where the lace met your skin, slow and reverent. “Can I take this off too, baby?” he asked, voice low and a little rough.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips—almost a laugh, really—because for all the urgency in the way he kissed you earlier, for how quickly he led you here, now he was being so careful. So gentle.

“You don’t have to ask,” you murmured, nodding, voice soft with affection.

Joel let out a quiet chuckle, deep and warm. “Tryin’ to be a gentleman here.”

You gave him a teasing look. “I thought I told you not to be.”

That did it.

He leaned in, kissing the corner of your mouth, and then his hands moved behind your back, steady and sure. The clasp came undone with ease—too easily, you thought, and he must’ve caught your expression because he smirked, just a little. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Not my first time with tricky hooks, sugar,” he murmured against your skin as he eased the straps from your shoulders, his touch as careful as it was possessive.

And when the lace slipped away and hit the floor, the look in his eyes made your whole body burn.

"Mmh," he murmured, his teeth gently tugging on his lower lip as his large hands moved up to cup your naked breasts, kneading the soft flesh with his rough fingertips. "Perfect fucking tits," he whispered, his thumb pressing and tracing deliberate circles on your sensitive nipples. You exhaled a small, breathy moan, and he noticed your vulnerability, compelling him to carefully pinch and roll your nipples between his thumb and index finger. "Hahngh," you gasped, feeling the heat rise in your chest as he let out a deep growl from his throat.

"The noises you make..." he murmured, taking a moment to look into your eyes before leaning in to flick his tongue over your hardened peaks, while his free hand alternated between feather-light caresses and firmer squeezes on the other breast.

He was patient but deliberate in his actions, teasing you until you couldn't help but ask for more. You felt the dampness of your panties become unbearable, your hips shifting restlessly on the bed. "Joel, please," you whimpered softly. His eyes locked onto yours as he hummed in response, acknowledging your unspoken request as his hot kisses traveled down the valley between your breasts and across your quivering stomach.

This time, he didn't hesitate or ask for permission; instead, he hooked two fingers around the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down your legs before tossing them carelessly to the floor. "Let me see you, baby," he murmured as he gently nudged your knees apart with his firm hands.

His warm breath wafted over your exposed skin, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on every inch of you―possessive, adoring, hungry for all that you were offering. The bristles of his stubble grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses closer and closer to your dripping wet cunt. Every lingering caress you felt, every teasing pause he took, seemed to unravel another knot in your belly.

Finally, he settled himself between your legs, his large hands gripping the curve of your hips to hold you steady against the mattress. “Pretty girl,” he rasped, his voice raw and thick with desire. And then, without warning, his tongue slipped between your folds―sweeping a languorous path through the slick arousal that had pooled there. The sensation nearly caused you to buck into his mouth; but he held you firm, relishing the way your body begged for more while he took his time learning what makes you gasp and whimper.

Joel alternated between slow, torturous strokes of his tongue and quick, insistent flicks that targeted your sensitive clit―never allowing you to predict what came next. Your entire body quivered beneath him as you gasped out his name, your fingers twisting into the dark strands of his hair while your hips ground against his face in search of more friction, unashamed. 

He didn’t stop, just kept giving and giving. Until  breaths turned shallow and heavy, “Joel, ahng fuck baby i’m gonna cum,” you whined and shift your hips. He groaned and pinned your hips harder to the mattress and doubled his efforts, making your breath catch and you let out a lewd mewl. “Joel! Ahngh- baby- nnghh!” you moaned and finally your legs trembled, your legs instinctively clamped his head. A wave of pure ecstasy hit you and you came. Hard. You were left trembling and boneless beneath his mouth.

He licked a last, lazy stripe, then pressed a soft kiss to your inner thigh before drawing himself up over you, his face flushed and wet with your release, smile crooked and wolfish. "There she is," he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek, proud of how undone you were, how loose-limbed and ruined by his touch. You tried to muster a clever retort, but all that came out was a shaky laugh. 

He kissed you, his beard rough and his tongue tasting of you, kissing you with an urgency that reminded you he still wanted—wanted badly. "You tasted so fucking sweet," he murmured as he pulled away, his voice a low rumble. His hand drifted downward, his rough fingers tracing a deliberate path over your slick skin. "Are you going to give me one more, baby?" he whispered, his words like a gentle command. Your hips instinctively bucked to meet his touch, and he chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. "Hmm, that's what I thought."

He slowly urged one finger inside, and you gasped, a soft moan escaping your lips. "Yeah, baby, there we go... Does that feel good?" he cooed, his tone both teasing and tender. You nodded, biting back a whimper, "Nghh—yes," you managed to reply, your voice a breathless admission of pleasure. His lips curled to a smirk, “good girl.”

"You're so fuckin' tight," he groaned, easing you open with his thick finger, then a second. "Goddamn." His pace was patient, careful, like he was intent on learning everything about how your body wanted to be touched—when to keep it slow and when to curl his fingers just right. You buried your face in his neck, breath hot and uneven.

"Don't hide from me, sweetheart," Joel said, and guided your chin up so he could see your eyes, so he could watch you fall apart for him. "I want to see every fuckin' thing you feel." It was almost too much—his gaze, his hands, the attention, the resurrection of something wild and alive inside you.

You thought of protesting, making some half-joking complaint about being watched, but all that would come out was a needy, embarrassingly desperate whine as his fingers curled and pressed perfectly on your g-spot, His rough palms grinding on your already extra sensitive clit.

He grinned at the sound, hungry and a little smug, and leaned in to catch your helpless little noises with his mouth—kissing you through it, swallowing every gasp, giving you something to hold onto as the pleasure built. 

His fingers moved in and out agonizingly slowly, making you dizzy with your need for more. "Joel, please," you begged, desperation lacing your voice as your hips bucked uncontrollably. "Patience, baby," he murmured, his voice gruff yet gentle. "Gotta get you ready and stretched for me," he insisted, maintaining his maddening pace. "Hahngh—Joel... Ngghh," you whined again, defiant and yearning. "Shhhh, I know, sugar, I know," he whispered soothingly. 

Your desperation transformed into audacity, your free hand embarking on a daring journey between his legs. It slid against the rough fabric of his jeans, palming the hardened bulge that strained beneath. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath, hips instinctively rocking towards your touch. "Fuck, sugar," he muttered, voice thick with need. Your hand continued its exploration, tracing the length of him through denim, eyes wide and glazed, shimmering with pure, unadulterated want.

He groaned when he met your gaze, your eyes reflecting a storm of desire. His fingers quickened their pace, just a touch, "You want my cock that bad, huh, baby?" he muttered, voice hoarse with lust. You bit your lip, nodding, a silent plea. "Take it out then," he commanded, chin gesturing downwards.

Eager, you didn't need to be told twice. Your hands worked at his pants, deftly unbuttoning, unzipping, just enough to free him. You nearly gasped as his cock sprang free from its confines, thick and veiny, the angry red tip glistening with beads of pre-cum. "Fuck," you cursed under your breath, the sight of him sending a jolt of heat through you.

"Yeah, you like that, sugar?" he whispered, fingers moving faster, drawing out a gasped moan from you. "See why I gotta stretch this tight little pussy out?" His words were crude, raw, dripping with need and promise.

You whimpered, a ragged breath caught in your throat, and wrapped your hand around his length with trembling fingers. The skin was soft, heated, so alive, and you reveled in his sharp intake of air and the way he twitched in your grip. “Christ,” he rasped, head tipping back, his fingers stuttering inside you for just a split second as your thumb traced a slow, teasing circle over the head of him.

For a few breaths, you found a new equilibrium—your hand pumping him, his fingers plunging inside you. It was a game of escalation, of mutually assured destruction, of who would break first.

And of course it was you.

He withdrew his dripping fingers only to thumb over your clit, hard and insistent, and that was all it took. You shattered, hips jerking, vision going white at the edges, your whole self squeezing down on this sharp, sweet ache. He watched, greedily, taking the sweet sounds of your loud moans when you came once more. 

“Look at you, baby,” Joel crooned, voice melting into roughest honey. He slowed his hand, coaxing you through the tremors, head bent to watch every twitch and quake as you spilled over his fingers and soaked his palm. He licked his lips, then brought his hand to your mouth, offering you the taste of yourself. “Open.” You did, dazed and eager, sucking his fingers clean. He grinned at the hungry way you took them, at the gleam in your heavy-lidded eyes. “Good girl.”

You whimpered when he drew his hand away, already empty and greedy for more, a pulse that throbbed everywhere at once. He kissed you again, messy and desperate, all-consuming as the heat surged between your bodies.

"Wait here," he murmured, rising from the bed with a sense of urgency, striding over to his nightstand. He yanked open the drawer, rummaging through the clutter with a growing sense of frustration. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. "What's wrong?" you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. "It's been so long since I've been with anyone," he confessed, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "I, uh... I don't have a condom," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. You grinned, a chuckle escaping your lips, "That's okay."

"What do you mean that's okay?" he asked, his brows knitting together in confusion. "It means I'm on the pill," you smirked, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You watched as his gaze darkened, a primal intensity taking over. "You mean you'll let me fuck you raw?" he muttered, disbelief mingling with desire. You bit your lip, nodding slowly, your heart racing as he made his way back to you, unbuttoning his shirt and let it fall to the ground. You take in the view of him fully bare, for you and only for you.

He trapped your body beneath his, murmuring in a hushed, fervent tone, "You sure about this, baby? 'Cause once I start, I'm not sure I can stop." You nodded, breathless, and whispered back, "I'm sure," followed by a moment of charged silence before you implored, "fuck me, Joel."

A deep, primal groan escaped him as he pried your legs apart, pressing them firmly against your chest. His ravenous eyes devoured every inch of you—your flushed cheeks, lips swollen from passionate kisses, your chest rising and falling heavily—and finally, the sight of your yearning, glistening depths. He urged you to grip your legs, commanding with an authoritative growl, "Hold them there."

With a hunger that could no longer be contained, he stroked his rigid length, a few deliberate pumps, before guiding himself into you.

He slid inside you in one long, slow push, and the stretch was immense—it made you see stars, made you claw at his arms and bite down on a wanton sob. “Fuuuck—baby, you’re so tight—” he groaned, the words shuddering out of him like a prayer that hurt to say. He paused, breath shaking, and leaned in to press his forehead to yours.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and you did, and the eye contact made the sensation a thousand times more raw. He kissed you, slow and deep, swallowing every wanton moans and whimpers that left your lips. Then he pulled out, inch by inch, and slid back in again, and the friction from the mere movement had you gasping, your head spinning.

He set a rhythm that started out careful, like he was memorizing the way your pussy felt around him, but soon enough the urgency took over. He pistoned his hips with a hunger you felt in your bones, the pressure building with every relentless thrust. Your hands keeping your knees to your chest like he asked you to, until he yanked your legs to rest against his broad shoulders, making his cock hit the blinding spot inside you.

"Ahnngh! There! Joel-fuck hhnnghh," you cried out, your voice dripping with desperation and raw desire. "Yeah? There, baby?" he taunted, his movements relentless, pounding into you with that perfect angle that obliterated everything else from your mind. 

"Fuck, you sound so good, baby," he panted, his hips driving with fierce determination, his arms wrapped tightly around your legs, pulling you closer to him. "C’mon, sing for me, sugar," he grunted, a command that sent shivers through your spine. And you did, your moans and whimpers pouring out uninhibited, echoing loudly in the room, though you barely noticed the volume, lost in the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

Your body convulsed as his thumb bore down, grinding tight, relentless circles on your clit. It was your undoing. Every muscle tensed, snapping like a live wire, your spine arching as a raw, primal scream tore from your throat. He didn't just ride you through it; he fucking powered through, pinning you helplessly against him, his cock buried to the hilt as shockwaves of pleasure ripped through you. He was feral, sweat dripping from his hair, jaw locked, eyes feasting on the carnage of your orgasm.

He tore out of you, leaving you gasping, clenching around nothing. Before you could beg for more, he manhandled you, flipping you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up, presenting your ass to him. "I’m not fucking done with you," he growled. Without warning, he impaled you, his cock slamming deep, forcing another desperate cry from your lips. "FUCK! Oh god! JOEL!" He was merciless, the room echoing with the brutal sound of his hips crashing against your ass, his balls swinging, slapping against your throbbing, oversensitive clit with each vicious thrust.

He reached beneath you, snaked an arm around your waist, crushing you back onto him in hard, punishing snaps that had your face pressed to the mattress. Dirty words spilled from him, choked and shaky: "Perfect fucking pussy—taking me so good—goddamn—gonna fill you up, fuck—" Your mind blanked, every thought burned away by the pulsing sensation between your legs and the thick, searing pressure of him inside you.

"You fucking love this, don't you?" he rasped, pulling your hair until your back bowed and your mouth fell open in a wrecked sob. His free hand shot around your throat, not quite choking, just holding—possessive, anchoring, and it made you melt. You nodded frantically, unable to form a word, only a hungry, whimpering "please—please—" as his cock split you, heat pooling low in your belly for another intense orgasm.

With a primal urgency, Joel drove into you with two forceful thrusts, finally surrendering to the overwhelming sensation. He erupted inside you, painting your insides white with his release. "FUCK! Yes, baby—take every drop of my cum," he roared, his voice a guttural growl as he plunged even deeper, determined to ensure his seed reached the farthest depths. You were lost in a haze of ecstasy, so overwhelmed that you barely realized your own climax had crashed over you in tandem.

It flashed by in a blur, a rush of sensations that left you dazed. It wasn't until Joel's voice, filled with admiration and awe, reverberated in your mind that you became aware of what happened. A warm, liquid sensation trickled down your thighs, a testament to the intensity of your climax. The release had been so powerful that it left a noticeable splash against him, seeping into the fabric beneath, creating a dark, damp stain on his navy blue sheets.

Joel paused, pulling out with a slick, wet sound, and for half a second, there was just the sound of you both panting—chests heaving, your knees trembling. He looked at the mess you made, at the way his cock glistened, at the liquid pooling down your thighs, pride and hunger warring in his expression.

"Jesus Christ, sugar," he breathed, his thumb tracing the curve of your ass. "You’re fucking perfect." He slapped your ass—hard, a sting that radiated delight across your skin, then leaned down and pressed his tongue to your still-aching cunt, licking you up, swallow and all. "Made such a mess for me," he mumbled, between greedy, deep sucks.

Your limbs twitched with aftershocks, overstimulation so acute it bordered on pain, and you tried to squirm away—but his hands gripped your ass, holding you open and steady, and he tongued your clit until your thighs clamped on his bearded jaw and you half-sobbed, half-laughed into the pillow.

"Stop, stop," you gasped, wriggling free, but he only smiled—wolfish, proud—and pressed a final, searing kiss to your swollen cunt before letting you collapse, boneless, onto the messy sheets. Joel rolled beside you, his chest still heaving, and flung an arm heavy over your waist, pulling you back against him.

After a moment of ragged breathing, you both gradually settled into a calm. "You okay, sugar?" he murmured softly, his voice tender and gentle, a stark contrast to the intense passion he had shown just moments before. You nodded, releasing a weak, breathy chuckle. "You ruined me," you admitted with a playful grin. He chuckled in response, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Yeah, sorry about that," he murmured, gently stroking your arm before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, a reassuring smile on your lips. "Just gonna be sore tomorrow," you replied, feeling the pleasant ache. He smiled and chuckled warmly. "Damn right you are."

Joel, ever the considerate gentleman, slipped out of bed,  then you heard the soft sound of running water. He returned with a warm wet cloth and a glass of water, crouching beside the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t say anything, just tended to you with such gentle care it made your chest tighten.

He wiped you down slowly, his touch unhurried. “You okay?” he asked softly, brushing his knuckles along your thigh once he was done.

You nodded, a soft smile curling on your lips “Yeah.”

Joel climbed back into bed and opened his arms without a word, gathering you back in his arms, your face tucked against his chest. You knew you should probably leave before anyone noticed you were gone, but the thought of moving felt impossible. Wrong, even—his body was warm, his arms felt safe, and your legs still trembled slightly from what he’d just done to you.

“I should probably go,” you murmured, though you didn’t move.

His hand on your back didn’t budge. “Stay.”

You looked up at him. “You sure?”

He nodded and pulled you closer until your legs tangled beneath the sheets. “Yeah,” he said. “Just… stay.” He kissed the top of your head, then your temple. His voice dropped into a whisper. “I’ll wake you before the sun’s up. Promise.”

You smiled into his chest, your fingers resting lightly over his heart. “Okay.”

Joel tilted your chin up with two fingers and kissed you once more — soft, slow, nothing like the hunger from before.

“Goodnight, sugar,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you whispered, eyes finally fluttering closed.

a/n don't look at me....i felt filthy after writing this one lmao. but i hope you guys enjoyed this one! they finally fucked!! yippieee!! your comments and reblogs have really helped me stay motivated to continue this fic so thank you guys so much! let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist ily all!

Taglist: @bau-muffin, @javierpenaismyhusband , @dilf-docs , @heavydirtygirll, @somedayheaven , @loveisacowboyyy , @lyssaspengler, @buckyinluv, @sadgirlcait, @anoverwhelmingdin, @wencontre

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Peace - Act III : Chapter nine

Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Reader comes back to her hometown and transfers to Wiskayok High School after getting expelled from her previous high school. Follows Junior year into Senior year, all the way up to the crash. (Eventual NSFW mdni)

Warnings: not necessary crazy NSFW but definitely gets a lil passionate at the end.

A/N: Soft lottie is my favorite 🥹

The first game of senior year had weight. It pressed down on the field with the late-summer heat, heavy with sweat and adrenaline and everything left unsaid. The bleachers were packed with students, parents, scouts pretending not to be scouts. Banners waved. Coach Martinez barked like his life depended on it. Jackie gave the pre-game speech with a steel in her voice that dared anyone to lose.

And you were there for all of it, lens up, finger steady on the shutter. You felt invigorated. And quite frankly fucking excited to be capturing it all. Like a passion was lit in your gut.

Your camera captured everything: Jackie's glare from midfield, Lottie’s sprint down the line, Van and Tai’s tandem celebration. Each moment inked in light and motion.

Beside you, Misty Quigley stood stiffly with her clipboard tucked to her chest, wrapped in her usual layers even in the heat. She sniffled once, eyes watery behind her big glasses.

You looked at her with sudden concern. “You good?”

Misty nodded, but her voice was small when she spoke. “It’s just... I’m gonna miss this. The first game. It’s always the best one. All the hope’s still fresh.”

You didn’t know what to say. But you looked at Misty a second longer than you normally would. Really thinking about what she said. And when you turned your camera back to the field, you framed the photo a little differently. You got the lights. The smoke. The shadows under their cleats. The ache of it all.

When the final whistle blew and the Yellowjackets won, it wasn’t just a victory, it was a declaration. The team was back. Better. Hungry.

Your photo made the front page of the school newspaper the next morning. A blurred shot of Natalie mid-air, arms outstretched, lit by the glow of the stadium lights, Jackie screaming in the background. Flight and Fight: Yellowjackets Take First Win of the Season. The whole school was buzzing about it.

That night after it printed, you curled up on Lottie’s bed, legs tangled, radio on low. Lottie’s cleats were still muddy by the door from another rainy practice. Her jersey was tossed over the chair.

“Everyone’s obsessed with us,” Lottie said, mock-sighing as she flipped through the latest copy of The Wiskayok High Times. “Tai said her physics teacher high-fived her after class. That’s the power of journalism.”

You grinned and rolled your eyes with a teasing nudge to Lottie. “Let it be known I was obsessed first.”

Lottie beamed, setting the paper aside. “I know. You won’t stop kissing me.” It’s said like a joke, and the way her smile is, you know it's meant to tease you. But still, you can’t help yourself.

“Oh? My bad if you hate it so much. I can stop.” You sigh in a faux defeat.

Lottie sat up in alarm. “Wait—”

“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Wait, don’t—no, that’s okay—”

“It’s been decided. No more kisses. None. Ever.”

“I’m literally suing,” Lottie declared, flopping back onto the mattress dramatically. “I will die if I have no kisses from you.”

You leaned over her, all teeth and smug delight. With a dragged-out dramatic sigh. “I guess I don’t want you to die.”

“Mercy,” Lottie whispered, pulling you in.

The kiss was soft, slow, and tasted like bubble gum and heat and something that might almost be love if they weren’t both terrified to name it yet. When you pulled apart, Lottie’s fingers brushed your jaw.

“You’re really good at this. The photos. The paper. The whole thing.” she said it in a sincere whisper.

You blinked, surprised. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious. I think you found your thing.” Lottie said, eyes staring at you with eyebrows raised, the way she does when she means business.

You smiled, feeling warmth spread over you watching as Lottie leaned down to place a small kiss on the corner of your mouth. Your mind couldn’t help but think about college. Maybe you could…maybe it was something worth exploring? Journalism? If Lottie thought it was your thing. Maybe it was.

Your hands threaded through Lottie’s hair, as she very silently nestled herself into your neck. Lips pressing occasional kisses. Like she needed them to survive the next few minutes.

You hummed quietly, a rare kind of proud. “And miss best footwork of the entire team. You’re gonna take this team to nationals.”

Lottie didn’t move from her spot, but she gripped you tighter. You felt the smile on her lips, the way it curved against the skin of your neck. Like she believed you. She sighed, and pressed herself even closer if that was possible.

You didn’t say much, didn’t need to. But when you feel her hands slide underneath your shirt. Goosebumps begins to flood your body. You feel her fingers spread across your stomach. The pad of her index finger writing words on your skin. Like an invisible letter.

“Wish we could stay here forever.” Lottie mumbles into your chest.

You can’t meet her gaze but you nod silently. You brush her bangs to the side, and press a kiss to her forehead. “When we graduate we can do whatever we want.”

“Yeah?” Lottie hums.

“Oh yeah, we can get an apartment in the city. I’ll get a job, you can go to college or do something you want to. Maybe adopt a dog.” You suggest, the words coming out dreamy and far away.

Lottie doesn’t say anything, but then suddenly her hand is rising up your stomach. You start to feel heat flash on the skin her touch leaves.

Oh.

“What else?” Lottie asks, her voice soft and low.

Hot.

You swallow hard. Trying to think, but the higher her hand goes, the harder your brain is working. “Uh…well, we can kiss whenever we want-“

“Yeah? And then what?” She asks it so casually. So casually like her hand wasn’t palming your left boob. Fingers tracing her name across them like she owned them. (If she wanted to she could)

“Well-uh…then I can cook for you every night. Like real girlfriends do.” She gives a squeeze, and then a pinch.

A moan slips out of you. A harder pinch. Another moan rumbling out. Clearly, Lottie liked that.

“Hmmm Y/N my real girlfriend.” Lottie repeats with a grin, and placing a kiss to your neck. “Kinda has a ring to it.”

She pressed her lips to your neck again. This time open mouthed. Her teeth nipping on a spot just below your ear. You let a moan slip at the bite.

With the moan she bit even harder, making you wince. Her tongue soothes the bite. She’s all teeth and tongue. You feel heat pool in between your legs. And you’re suddenly a ball of need.

You need Lottie to do more.

You grab Lottie’s face and slam your lips on hers. Pulling her to straddle your waist. She chuckles into your lips at the sudden roughness and hunger.

“Sorry baby, you're going too slow.” You mumble in between kisses.

Lottie pulls away to smile a wide smug smile. Like she knew what she was doing. All innocence drained, and just her full of hunger and need. And all the confidence in the world that you want her just as much as she wants you.

“When we graduate, I’m going to make sure it’s just you, me, our apartment in the city, and maybe even a dog. So I can take advantage of eating your food forever.” Lottie whispers, the last part with a slight tease, but her eyes are watching the dark red and purple patches begin to form on your neck.

“You promise?” It comes out way too vulnerable than you intended.

Like you needed her to vow to you she’d make it happen. That she wouldn’t abandon you. She wouldn’t be like everyone else.

And Lottie’s eyes soften but theres an air of intensity behind them. Not sexual need. But it was a need. Something deeper. It made your heart race.

She leans back down silently, pressing a peck onto your lips. “Promise.”

[thinkinonsense]

if it's meant to be.

joel miller x fem!reader

masterlist — next chapter

summary: joel begins to settle in jackson when he meets a young widow on the second anniversary of her husbands death. he didn't plan to befriend her, let alone fall for her but when he sees a reflection of grief and love in her that he carries within himself, he can't help it.

warnings: slow burn, grief, mentions of death, cursing. some characters might feel slightly ooc, mentions of religion, half canon/ half not canon, nicknames, fleetwood mac mention, mentions of fertility and parenthood

chapter one: are you going to heaven?

every anniversary, you somehow find it within yourself to go to the graveyard. three rows back, five spots from the right; there he was. a small stone with your husbands name scratched in it.

the house feels haunted, you once told your friend, maria. for months, no one saw you leave your home. some of the people in the small town would come check on you, but that was two years ago. by now the wound should be healed, right?

“c’mon, sweet pea.” maria yelled, knocking on your door. “let me in! janice said she saw you leave this mornin’!”

"damn that old nosy lady." you mumble under your breath.

with a loud groan, you roll out of bed and make your way downstairs. only dressed in henry's clothes, a pair of boxers and a flannel shirt. even though the scent of him is gone, you can't find it in your heart to send them to donation.

“i'm alive, maria.” you answer, standing behind the door. “isn't that enough?”

the woman on the other side sighs. “you know we just don't want you to be alone today.”

reluctantly, you open the door and peak your head out.

“tommy took some flowers to henry's spot this morning. he said you always leave prettier ones than us.” maria smiles.

“there just the ones i grow in the garden every year.” you shrug.

maria’s heart ached for you. so young and already lost so much. eyes full of sorrow still mourning the man you had adored. henry and tommy worked together as fireflies for a while before tommy left them. the two were close friends before his passing.

“you should join us tonight at the town hall party.” she suggests. “i think dina would like to see you there.”

a small chuckle slips from your lips. “that little shit came in earlier with her key and made herself a sandwich.”

dina never caused you or henry any trouble. one day she just appeared and grew to you two like another limb. she was the only person who knew the pain you went through. some nights you would wake up sobbing from dreams of what almost was and what will never be. there were drunken nights where maria found you the next morning, slumped over in your bathroom with an empty glass in your hand. dina stayed with you for months, worried to leave you alone. the community of jackson did as much as they could to help but the ache never fully went away.

a beat passes and you sigh. “i guess, i’ll be there.”

happily, she walks off to get back to work. once the door closes, that sinking feeling returns.

joel didn’t know the first thing about the town of jackson, nor the people in it. women would admire him from afar but he was too worried about ellie to notice; especially on a day like today.

“she's fine, old man.” tommy chuckles, watching joel stare out the window at ellie and a group of teens around her age.

“just wanna make sure she ain't gettin’ in any trouble.” joel huffs, returning back to his breakfast.

tommy shakes his head at his worried brother. this side of joel reminded him of life before the outbreak.

“where's maria at?” joel asked, changing the subject.

“checkin’ in on an old friend of ours.” he replies almost in a somber way. “todays the anniversary of her husbands passing.”

“jesus.” joel exhales, not expecting that. “how did her husband pass? infected?”

tommy nods. “he went out for patrol and it went south. poor bride saw his head get blown off by some officers.”

'poor bride' was an understatement, joel thought. he still remembers what it was like to lose sarah. the wound gets easier to manage but it never fully heals.

" 's a real shame. henry was a good man." his younger brother sighs. "they'd been together since he showed up here in jackson seven years ago..."

whatever story tommy was about to tell about the dead man was interrupted when maria walked in. joel still couldn't believe how tommy looks at her she hung the moon and individually picked every fucking star in the night sky.

"morning, joel." maria says, taking a seat next to tommy.

"mornin'." he nods, politely.

as the couple catches up, something in the window captures joel's attention. two women on the sidewalk were talking together, one older and one younger. the older one seems to be doing most of the talking while the younger just nods along. she's dressed half hazardously in a pair on men's boxers as shorts and flannel about two sizes too big for her.

the woman was pretty, joel had to admit. soft features and eyes that shined.

"... she said she would show up tonight but who knows?" is all joel seems to have caught from the conversation between maria and tommy.

instead of trying to figure out who they were talking about, joel leans forward a little onto the table to get a better look at the women outside; but by then, it was too late. both of them had disappeared.

"joel? did you hear me?" tommy asked, snapping joel out of his thoughts.

"um, yeah, yeah... seven o'clock." joel guessed.

seven o'clock came around and you somehow made it down to town hall with a fresh baked pumpkin pie in your hands. the leaves in jackson were just beginning to change colors into different shades of brown and orange.

town hall was packed with just about everyone in jackson. kids played outside, chasing each other in the yard.

"oh! there she is!" you hear dina cheer when she sees you walk through the doors. her arms wrap around your waist, brushing against the white slip dress and henry's old leather jacket you had on. "pretty dress ya' got on."

"it better be." you chuckle. "costs me three jars of my homemade jam."

the two of you laugh until you spot maria and tommy at one of the tables. dina seemed too occupied with a brunette girl across the room anyways. politely, you excuse yourself and promise to catch up later.

"mind if i join ya'?" you ask, spooking maria who didn't expect to see your face here tonight.

"i'm glad you showed up tonight." she smiles, offering you the seat next to her.

"only came to remind tommy that he needs to come fix my heater again. winter will be here soon and i don't know why it keeps breaking."

there was a dry chuckle coming from behind you.

"it keeps breakin' cause tommy is the one 'fixing' it." a southern accent from behind announces. your gaze follows the sound until it leads you to the older man in front of you.

the mysterious man looked down at you almost like he had seen someone familiar. for an older man, he sure was handsome. looked rough around the edges, unlike the boyish charm you were usually drawn towards.

"and that pain in my ass would be my older brother, joel." tommy says, shaking his head.

"sweet pea, this is joel." maria introduces us. "joel, this is sweet pea."

there's a beat of silence between the two of you; almost like one is afraid to scare off the other.

finally, you speak up. "nice to meet you, joel."

"pleasure to meet you, sweet pea." he mutters, offering you his hand to shake.

joel regretted as soon as he felt your velvety touch. you don't fail to notice all the scars and callouses that covered his hand either. he must enjoy working with his hands, you thought to yourself.

luckily for the both of you, jane and chris call for everyone's attention up front. three small taps against their glasses and everyone turned.

"tonight, we want to come together to celebrate our community's fallen hero's..." chris announces.

for a moment, you're flashed back to two years ago. everyone heard the emergency call over the radios. infected.

"t-tommy, tell me it's not my henry."

the words came out in broken sobs near the gate. on the other side, you couldn't even begin to imagine what was happening. instead you are stuck here.

tommy avoids your watercolored eyes because he knows the truth. he leaves you there to go back out but when the gate opens again, you make a run for it. behind you, tommy's voice of warning shouted at you to stay away from henry but you didn't listen. the closer you got, the less he looked like your henry.

"henry!" you call out.

it happened so quick. one moment he charges at you and the next, sheriff carter's bullet shot straight through henry's temple until it came out the end. his blood splattered on your face and torso, marking you with the only thing left of him.

that night, dina and maria helped you clean henry's blood from your body and clothes. in the weeks that followed, tommy heard your screams from that day echo in his head every night while he slept. both of you were left replaying henry's final moments in your heads. tommy let you sob in his arms for hours, him and maria were both too afraid to leave you alone.

as the months passed by, the clouds around you only grew darker. you weren't sleeping or eating, the only people you would talk to were dina, maria, and your therapist, gail. it took a long time to open up to the idea of therapy. even now, you aren't entirely sure that it's done much help.

henry's name barely registered in your mind; nor did maria's voice calling your name.

"i need some air." you mumble, getting up and walking out the door.

on your way out, you snag a bottle of whiskey off one of the tables. a moment of awkwardness falls over everyone as the door slams shut behind you. joel watches as the young girl with ellie tries to go after you but maria stops her.

"she just needs a minute." his sister in-law tells the young girl.

once jane and chris continued, joel slipped out the door. he wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to check on you. told himself that he would just make sure you were okay.

well, that was until you heard his footsteps.

"i'm fine, dina." you sniffle, placing the cap back on the bottle.

"sorry, i ain't dina." he mutters awkwardly, shifting on his feet.

the accent makes you turn around. tommy's brother stood a good distance away with his hands stuck in his pockets. there's an unreadable expression on his face.

"oh, s-sorry." you apologize, wiping a few fallen tears from your face. "i didn't know someone was out here. i was just about to go home."

"you don't um, you don't have to leave." he tells you, stopping any movement.

you offer him a small nod. "promise, i'm not usually a mess."

"didn't take you as one." joel replies, leaning against the railing.

"i wish they would all stop with these parties on the anniversary of his death. feels like their mocking me."

the two of you stare ahead at one of the old faded billboards that you've stared at countless times over the years. are you going to heaven?

"that's such a silly question. 'are you going to heaven?'" you giggle, a little tipsy from the whiskey.

"well, are ya'?" joel asked, almost jokingly.

"i gotta." you admit. "only chance i have at seeing henry again."

if anyone knew what you meant, it was joel.

"see that over there?" you ask him.

joel's eyes followed your index finger to what looked like might've once been a church.

"for years, i sat front row in those pews. even got married there." a small sigh escaped you as you recall the memories. "now i'm not so sure why i did any of it to begin with."

"born into it?" joel asked.

you nod. "daddy used to be a preacher but that was many moons ago, before the outbreak."

"you from jackson?"

"born in california but all i remember is jackson. came here for safety. for all i know, i could be the only girl alive from california."

a moment passes the two of you by. only the noise from inside the building can barely be heard.

"tommy's told me a lot about you, ya' know?" you tell him, breaking the silence.

joel almost winces at your statement, worried that tommy had nothing good to say about him.

"he's told me a bit about you too." he says, hoping to avoid any talk about himself.

you laugh dryly. "lemme guess.... did the words 'poor bride' come about?"

joel stays silent, immediately answering your question. he almost feels embarrassed that he doesn't answer, not wanting to hurt your feelings.

in a small voice, barely audible you mumble. "promise that i'm more than just a grieving widow."

for a moment, joel almost saw a mirrored reflection of his grief over his own daughter, sarah. despite all the years that have passed the hole in his heart was still there.

"you ever lost someone important to ya'?" you ask, looking up at him with puffy eyes and lips.

he nods and takes a deep breath. "years ago i lost my daughter."

"what was her name?"

"sarah."

"you're the poet of my heart." you hum an old familiar tune. one that joel hasn't heard in decades. a small smile crosses him.

"what was she like?" you asked.

"perfect." he replies without hesitation. "she was smart, smarter than anyone i ever met. too sweet for her own good."

"i bet she was."

"what about henry?"

you sigh. "henry had his flaws but even on his worst days, he always put me first. made me feel cared for and special. i don't think ill ever find a love like that again."

"don't count yourself out so soon." joel says earnestly. "you're young still."

"all my friends here are already married and have kids runnin' around while im here reliving memory's in my head that i'll never get back."

"being a parent isn't always all it's cracked up to be." he says, hoping to make you feel better.

"probably but at least i wouldn't be stuck daydreamin' about it."

the door swings open and maria walks out, joining the two of you.

"hey, you alright sweet pea?" she asked, rubbing your arm.

"yeah." you give her a smile. "joel here is keeping me company."

joel? her face read surprised. she gives him a look that you can't quite see but he shrugs sheepishly.

"he's been talkin' my ear off. told me some stories about growing up with tommy." you lie, hiding the depressing conversation the two of you shared in private together.

"told her tommy can't fix shit." he muttered, following along with your tale.

"maybe you can go fix sweet peas heater? let ellie breath for once." maria suggest.

"oh, he doesn't have to–"

joel cuts you off.

"i can look at it tomorrow, if ya' aren't busy."

"never am." you admit.

in the blink of an eye, a light snow began falling. the children outside cheer with excitement. you take it as a queue to return home.

"i'm gonna head home." you announce. "can you tell jane that i don't want that damn plaque?"

maria nods her head then pulls you in for a hug.

"have a good night." she says as you pull away.

"you too."

as you turn to joel, he's already looking at you. waiting for you.

"see you tomorrow, joel."

"see ya' tomorrow, sweet pea."

—tags: @lowrisemiller @imsherlocked-1998 @vvitchesh3x @chrrypascal @dugiioh @havensucks @olsenscardigan @sadgirlcait

[mister0ctopus]

We Are All Sinners 07

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

Summary:  You left Jungkook and this town behind, but every visit pulls you back into his arms, chasing a high you can never leave behind.

Ratings: 18+ ONLY!!! MDNI!

‼️CHAPTER WARNINGS ‼️

This chapter contains sensitive and potentially triggering themes including grief, loss, miscarriage, mentions of unhealthy family dynamics, implied death (non-major character).

Please read with care. Your well-being comes first.

Word Count: 8.4K

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

ex·o·dus [ˈeksədəs] noun a mass departure of people, leaving a place or situation

THEN

“Hey, you sure you’re good to close? I’m so sorry for dipping early again. Husband got called in early for work, and I just can’t afford a nanny right now… I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Jada, the school librarian you’d been working with, gave you an apologetic smile as she slid the last book into place.

“Yes, oh my god, go! Go spend time with your family. Leave me alone!”

You swatted at her jokingly as you turned back to your laptop.

Working in the school library had its perks.

Free Wifi. Quiet corners. And best of all, getting paid to do homework.

You and Jungkook were graduating this year, and things had started to feel like a blur.

“I haven’t seen Jungkook around lately. You guys okay?” Jada asked it casually, zipping up her bag. But you knew she meant it.

You glanced at your phone again. No notifications.

Not unusual, and definitely not new.

The last message was before his first class, and it’s already 7pm. 

A long paragraph, all about his day.

A rundown of their late-night session in the studio, his dad’s latest scan, what he ate (just ramen, while reminding you not to skip a meal), and the fact that he nearly passed out during class. 

A lot has happened in the past months.

His dad being diagnosed with late-stage cancer definitely changed everything.

Lately, you felt more like his diary.

He talked to you when you were asleep.

Your classes were in the morning, his in the afternoon.

After that, he’d head straight to either band practice or a studio session, then rush to the hospital to stay with his dad at night. He and Jin took turns, depending on the day, so their mom could catch up on sleep somehow.

Then he’d crash into bed in the morning, barely catching a few hours of sleep before doing it all over again.

The last time you saw him was four days ago, and it was brief. He walked you to the library, gave you a quick kiss, and then sprinted off to his next class.

You realized you haven’t answered her, and she’s still waiting for a response.

“Yeah… we’re good. You know, he’s super busy.” You sighed and locked your screen, trying not to overthink and worry too much.

“Yeah, his dad, I heard… how’s he holding up?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully.

“He’s doing well… considering. The cancer’s spreading to the lower parts now, so he needs more help.”

You remembered the last time you visited – it was painful, seeing the man you were used to seeing strong and full of life now looking frail in a hospital gown.

Jesus,” Jada muttered, pausing mid-zip as her expression crumpled. “How is Jungkook even functioning? I mean, classes, the band, hospital duty…does he even sleep?”

“I know…” You swallowed, voice quiet. “He’s trying his best, and he always tells me not to worry, but…”

Jada gave you a look. “Of course you’re going to worry. You think I haven’t noticed you check your phone like a hundred times in the last five minutes?”

You sighed, finally leaning back in your chair. “I really try not to. I just… I’m trying not to look like I worry too much. Because you know how he is, he’s going to feel guilty or burdened or– ” You stopped, pressing your lips together. “I don’t know. I just want to help him... I just don’t know how.”

“I think just being there for him is helping,” She said softly. “You’re allowed to feel this way, you know? Your feelings are valid too. And the best thing you can do for him is to take care of yourself. Him seeing you well… that probably gives him more comfort than you realize.”

You hadn’t noticed how tense your shoulders were until she reached over and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah…” You exhaled. “Thanks, Jada. That really means a lot.”

“Now go,” you said, giving her a playful tap. “Your husband’s gonna be late for work again if he has to wait much longer for you to get home.”

“He’ll survive! Should’ve thought twice about putting a baby in me in this economy!” she laughed, leaning in to kiss your cheek before leaving you with a soft smile.

“Take it easy, okay?”

You nodded.

It helped, having someone to talk to.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed it.

Ever since Jungkook’s dad was diagnosed, you hadn’t really let yourself vent to anyone. There was Jimin, who shared the same sentiments as you, so it helped to hear things from someone a little outside the circle.

You glanced at your phone one more time, though you already knew it was on loud, and it hadn’t buzzed.

Then you turned back to your laptop, willing your thoughts to settle.

The library was empty now.

Silent. 

You’d just switched off the main lights, leaving only the soft amber glow near the entrance door as you zipped up your bag.

A glance at your phone said it was just past 8pm.

At this hour, Jungkook was probably buried in practice, or at the studio, or– if the universe had a shred of mercy– napping.

You had texted him all day. Like you always did.

Little updates.

All unread.

You sighed, slinging your bag over your shoulder and stepping outside, ready to crash into bed as soon as you got home.

You’d been exhausted and sleepy lately, and you were praying it wasn’t the flu coming down on you, especially with exams just around the corner, right before semestral break.

You startled slightly when you realized it had been raining, the pavement glistening with puddles.

Great.

You hadn’t noticed. The library was practically soundproof.

You really hated the rain.

Which was ironic, considering you moved to a town where it rained half the year.

And, yes, of course you forgot your umbrella. Again.

What now?

Back to the library and wait it out?

Or just say “fuck it” and walk home? But your laptop in your bag, and who the hell was that beautiful man running toward you?

You squinted.

Oh. 

That..

…was your boyfriend…

Running toward you, breath fogging in the cold air, black hoodie already damp, carrying a massive red umbrella.

“Jungkook?!” You blinked, stunned. “Why? What are you--?”

“Knew it!” he shouted through the rain, grinning as he pushed back his wet hair. “You didn’t bring one.”

He stepped right up to you and swung the umbrella overhead.

Your mouth fell open. “You’re supposed to be in the studio! Or sleeping? Why are you here—”

So warm. 

He was so warm.

And his lips were soft and plush and sweet against yours.

You kissed him back, hungry and eager and messy.

“You didn’t answer me,” you mumbled against his chest after the kiss, pouting.

“I just did,” he grinned.

“You didn’t, you just kissed me.”

“Yeah.” He smirked. “I’m here for that.”

You smacked his chest, but couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. Then you wrapped your arms around him, tight. So tight he let out a soft “oh”, before squeezing you back like he was trying to merge your bodies into one.

“Where were you before coming here?” you asked, voice muffled against his hoodie. 

“Studio,” he replied with a grin. “We were almost done when it rained.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here, Kook.”

“It was raining.”

“So?”

“So of course I had to come get you. No way I’m letting you walk home soaked.” He chuckled, kissing your head again. “Plus, I really, really needed to see you. I needed this.”

Another kiss, more tongue on throat, hips grinding, hands on your ass kind of kiss, but you weren’t complaining.

You finally pulled back, and he reached for your bag without a word, slinging it over his arm before wrapping the other around your shoulder.

You walked side by side through the rain, tucked under the oversized umbrella and suddenly, the rain didn't matter anymore.

The yellow street lights reflected his beautiful face, and though it was dim, you could see it: the exhaustion in his eyes. The dark circles. The way he blinked a little too slow, like even now, his body was fighting to stay upright.

“Baby…” you said quietly. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

“I slept last night,” he said quickly. “I’m fine, babe. Don’t worry about me.”

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “You know you don’t have to pretend you’re ok with me all the time, right? Ever since your dad’s diagnosis, you’ve been… non-stop. Of course I worry about you. Sue me.”

He was quiet for a moment, then gave you a small nod. “I’m managing, I swear. Just… take care of yourself for me, okay? While I can’t. Not the way I used to.”

That – that right there – made your chest ache.

Even now, with everything he’s holding, everything he’s going through, he’s worried about you.

“Jungkook,” you said, stopping in your tracks. “That’s your concern right now? That you can’t take care of me while you’re going through a lot?”

He blinked, then gave you a soft, sheepish grin. “Hey… babe. Don’t be mad, yeah?”

“I’m not mad?”

“You’re getting upset,” he said, gently tapping your forehead. “This spot right here always gives you away.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Well,” he continued, “how about we agree it’s impossible not to worry about each other? I worry about you, and you feel bad. You worry about me, and I feel bad. Vicious cycle, huh?”

You cracked a smile. “Okay, fine. Okay! Just… promise me you’ll tell me when it gets too much. I’ll bring an umbrella every single day so you don’t worry when it rains. And sleep when you can.”

“Yes, ma’am. I promise,” he said with a smug grin.

You reached your dorm after a few more steps under the rain. You were ready to pull him into one last tight hug before he rushed off to the hospital again.

But the moment you stepped inside, he was already kicking off his shoes and tugging off his damp hoodie in one smooth motion.

You opened your mouth to ask if he was staying, maybe just for a few minutes, but he turned, eyes gleaming, and pulled you straight toward the bed.

“Jungkook–what are you doing?” you squeaked, laughing as you stumbled forward.

“I really, really, really need to do this,” he murmured, grinning as he fell back on the mattress and dragged you with him.

You landed on top of him with a surprised yelp, hands on his chest, your knees bracketing his hips– then his mouth was on your neck.

Fuck, it had been too long.

You couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped out, until you remembered his tired eyes, the deep shadows under his lashes. 

“Jungkook…” You brushed your fingers through his hair. “You staying for a bit?”

“Uh-huh. I’ve got two hours. Mom’s with Dad,” he mumbled as he flipped you over effortlessly. In a blink, he was hovering above you, his eyes tired, but hungry.

“Then maybe you should be resting instead of doing this,” you said, breathless but trying to sound stern.

His eyes fluttered open, and that handsome smirk curved his lips. “Babe, I told you, I’m fine. I’ll show you.”

You bit your lip. “Show me how?”

He chuckled low, fingers ghosting over your waistband.

“Why don’t you spread those pretty legs for me and find out?”

You snorted, raising a brow. “Aren’t you too tired for that?”

“I’m never too tired for that.”

“Jungkook…”

“YN.”

He matched your tone, unbothered.

You sighed, brushing your fingers through his damp hair.

“We don’t have to do anything,” you murmured, softer now. “You should rest.”

“I know,” he whispered, brushing his nose against your neck. 

“But I really, really wanna taste you again,” he added. “I miss your taste on my tongue.”

“You’re crazy!” 

“Baby… you have no idea. Pussy that tastes like that? Who wouldn’t be?”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it caught somewhere in your throat because his fingertips were already slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

God, you missed him. But as much as you missed his touch, you couldn’t ignore how tired he looked. How sleep-starved he was.

So you reached up, cupped his jaw, and kissed him softly. 

“Baby, I missed you so much. I know it’s been a while… but I also know how exhausted you are. Please, just rest. Take a nap with me? I’m sleepy too.”

Your thumb brushed over his cheek.

“Please… rest? Just for a little while.”

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, and he let out a shaky breath against your collarbone.

“Yeah,” he mumbled and buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around you.

“Sleep, baby,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Need you to sleep.”

Within the next minute, you felt his weight soften beside you. You drifted off soon after.

When you woke up, it was to the soft press of his lips kissing all over your face, a silent goodbye before he headed out to repeat another busy day.

You had already decided to skip class today.

Actually, not decided.

More like… surrendered to the exhaustion.

You’d been tired.

Nauseous.

Throwing up for a week now.

You hated a lot of things about yourself.

And you hated that you hated so many things about yourself.

But what you hated most was how indecisive you could be.

Like you’d rather be forced to choose between two things than be handed ten.

And right now, you were standing in front of a wall of pregnancy test kits, unsure whether to get the digital or the analog.

A decision that shouldn’t have taken twenty minutes.

You had opened another Google tab on your phone to read more about pregnancy kits, closing the one about early signs and symptoms.

You took two analogs – just to be sure – and marched toward the cashier.

You just wanted to go home and rest.

At first, you thought it was the flu.

But then you missed your period. 

Then another week passed. Now your brain won’t stop spinning, someone nearby smells like citrus, and it’s making you nauseous. The tag of your shirt scratches at the back of your neck, and everything feels too hot and too loud. 

When you got home, you kicked off your shoes, stripped off your clothes, and headed straight to the bathroom.

You tore the boxes open with trembling hands.

You had read the instructions twice. Maybe three times. Didn’t matter.

You knew what to do.

You just didn’t know what you’d do after.

You peed.

You waited.

One minute. 

Two…

Too long.

And then –

Two pink lines.

You stared at them like they might change if you blinked long enough.

Like if you tilted them just right under the bathroom light, one of the lines might fade.

Disappear. 

Undo itself.

But it didn’t.

You sat on the toilet, underwear around one ankle, heart pounding against your ribs.

Two fucking lines.

Oh my god.

Your mouth went dry.

You wanted to cry, but for some reason you just sat there, arms wrapped around yourself, cold tile biting into your skin.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that.

Long enough for your hand to start shaking.

Then your leg.

Then all of you.

At some point, you slid down onto the floor, curled sideways on the cold, chipped bathroom tiles of the dorm, eyes fixed on the only thing moving –  

A single line of ants, crawling out from a crack in the wall, toward the window, carrying the body of a moth.

Wings torn, but still beautiful.

And you wanted to think that the ants found the moth and carried it to its final destination, where it would be laid to rest in peace.

But you know the moth serves a purpose even in death. That its body will be broken down, piece by piece, fed to something else.

Not all losses are mourned.

Some are simply repurposed.

And you cried at the thought that you were thinking about the dead moth on your bathroom floor. You’re pregnant, and you’re crying about a dead moth.

“I’m only telling you this because someone has to knock sense into you!!!”

…Huh?

“He’ll trap you in this town, don’t you see that?”

“Throwing your life away for a boy!”

“Waste every ounce of potential you have!”

“What a waste!”

“Waste!!!”

Your mother’s voice lingered,

Louder and louder right in your ear.

“--in this godforsaken town!!!”

You jerked awake, chest heaving.

Confused and disoriented, you opened your eyes and tried to gain consciousness. 

Only to realize you couldn’t move.

Something heavy. No – someone.

Sprawled across your chest.

What the hell is going on?

Oh right…

You had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor and woken up cold, then dragged yourself to bed after texting Jungkook that you had skipped class.

At some point, he must’ve let himself into your dorm. He had probably come straight from the hospital, dragged himself through lectures, then crawled here.

The band had been working so hard ever since they started gaining more recognition and attention, with their late-night studio sessions and out-of-town gigs – on top of his duties for his dad, so maybe this was the first real sleep he had gotten this week.

You watched him, eyes tracing over features you knew by heart: the thick lashes, that tiny scar from a childhood fight with Jin, the mole under his lip. His arm was slung over your waist, clinging like he always did...

You noticed the tattoos that had accumulated slowly – some born out of impulse he now regrets, and some from visions he had as a teen. You loved them all so dearly. You ran your fingertips lightly over the ink. He twitched but didn’t wake.

You smiled. He looked so peaceful.

And God... you wondered – if the child you’re carrying will look like him.

Will it have his nose? His lips? That warmth in his eyes?

Will it inherit his loving nature, his loyalty, his selflessness, his ridiculous laugh?

You wanted to tell him.

Should you tell him now?

But before you could do anything, his eyes fluttered open – and he was staring right back at you.

“Hi,” he said, voice low from sleep.

“Hi.” you croaked.

“Why’d you skip class?”

You shrugged, trying not to fidget. “Just tired.”

He frowned and reached over, placing the back of his hand on your forehead. It was warm – his hand, not you.

“Are you sick?” 

You shook your head. “No… I’m not.”

God, you wanted to tell him. 

But what did you even feel?

You hadn’t had a second to sit still, to process any of this.

You were still trying to push the fear down.

Shove it somewhere dark and quiet.

You were terrified. Of everything.

And your mother’s voice was still ringing in your ears.

But he was sitting in front of you now, and you didn’t know how to hand him this, too.

“Alright,” he sighed, straightening his back. “Then you need to rest more. But we gotta eat first. You can’t sleep on an empty stomach, deal?”

He was already opening the food app on his phone.

“Are you… leaving soon?” you asked gently.

“Yeah, love…” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you something. Just… everything’s been so hectic.”

Your whole body went still.

“What’s going on?”

He exhaled slowly, sitting up straighter.

You already knew it was bad.

“Dad’s scans came back. It’s worse than before. The doctors walked us through options but… they said the chances of recovery are really low at this point. So… we have to prepare. For the worst.”

Your heart sank. 

“Baby…” You reach for his hand, your fingers curling over his.

He swallowed hard. 

“Mom’s still holding onto hope, and Jin and I... we’re pretending like we are too. But watching him go through it, the pain, the exhaustion… it’s killing us.”

His voice faltered. He tried to keep going.

“We decided on chemo. It’s aggressive. Expensive. But we’ll figure it out. Jin’s job helps. The gigs, too. We’ve just… cut back on some things, sacrificed a few things. We’re selling mom’s car, which is fine. It’s just –” 

He exhaled shakily.

“It’s hard. Seeing him like that. Hooked up to machines, barely talking. I’m used to him being strong, you know? Always laughing, joking…now he can’t even stand, can’t even use the toilet by himself. I don’t know how to be okay with that.”

You squeeze his hand gently, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. Maybe to calm him, or yourself.

“I’m so sorry, Kook… I know you’re trying to be strong for everyone, but you don’t have to carry it alone.”

He didn’t respond. But his grip tightened just slightly. So you kept going.

“Whatever happens, whatever you need… I’m here. Even if I don’t always know the right thing to say, I’m here.”

He leaned into you then, arms wrapping around you. You hugged him back just as tightly, and your heart broke with how hard he clung.

And then, he stilled.

His breath shuddered against your neck.

And you felt it, the damp warmth soaking into your skin, his uneven breathing, the quiet tremble in his shoulders.

So you held him, and let him fall apart in your arms.

“It’s okay, baby,” you murmured. “Let it out. Everything’s going to be okay.”

You glanced at the clock. He’d have to leave again soon. Back to his responsibilities. 

There would be another time to tell him. 

Not tonight.

So for now, you just held him.

And that had to be enough.

The bus ride from your dorm to your mom’s house felt surprisingly short.

Maybe because your thoughts were running faster than the bus.

Or maybe it was your mind spinning with one hundred and one questions, wondering if there would be any telltale signs that you were pregnant, besides the throwing up and the constant sleepiness.

Your mom wasn’t going to be able to tell, right?

Until you decided what to do, it was best that no one knew.

Normally, you would spend the semester break at her house, even though you usually just stayed holed up in your room the entire time. Still, it was a routine.

When you were younger, you used to go on road trips and camping with Jungkook, Jimin, and friends, but a lot has changed since then.

Your mom’s words played in your head like a curse you couldn’t shake, and you weren’t ready to face her.

Your fingers tightened around the folded papers tucked into your hoodie pocket, the ones you had picked up from the OB-GYN clinic a few days ago. They were crumpled now from being opened and closed so many times.

Pamphlets about what to expect over the next nine months: milestones, symptoms, what foods to avoid, what vitamins to take, check-ups.

If you chose that path.

You hadn’t told Jungkook yet.

And it wasn’t because you didn’t trust him. That was the thing—you did.

You trusted him so much, and that was exactly what made it harder. He was already shouldering too much, and you knew he’d drop everything for you.

He was already giving so much – to his dad, to his dreams, to you. How could you hand him this, too?

You weren’t trying to keep it from him forever… just… not now.

But one thing was certain: You weren’t ready for this.

If you went through with it, everything would change.

You’d have to stop school. Press pause on your dreams. Stay home for the baby.

Jungkook, of course, being Jungkook, would take care of you. He would graduate just as the baby arrived, and you already knew what he’d do next – work himself into the ground to take care of you. Of the baby. Of everything.

Because that’s who he is. 

You remembered the nights you dreamed about raising a family with him – how he used to say he wanted to give you the world.

But how could he give you the world when you were both still trying to survive it?

Still in college.

Still stretched thin.

Still learning how to take care of yourselves, let alone someone else.

What if choosing not to be a mother right now was the most motherly decision you could make?

What if the only way to protect the both of you… was to not bring a child into a life built on sacrifice and survival?

And worst of all, what if your mother was right?

You hated her for saying it.

You hated yourself for starting to think she might be right.

You pressed a hand to your belly, unsure if you were seeking comfort or apology.

A text from Jungkook paused your racing thoughts. Just a quick rundown of his day, and an apology for not being able to drive you to your mom’s. They were out of town for two days to play at a music festival, the one they’d been preparing for weeks.

You assured him that everything was fine.

And it was clear now how much his dad’s condition was taking a toll, not just on Jungkook, but on everyone. With hospital bills piling up, the band had been accepting every offer that came in.

Even if it meant going out of town more often. Even if it meant spending nights in the studio, hours and hours at a time, chasing deadlines and checks.

But somehow, he was still showing up for everything.

For you.

And even if it was only a few hours, he spent it holding you close.

And you were scared. Scared of what the future held.

“Have you been doing well at school? I take it you’ll graduate this year?” your mother asked, her tone as neutral as ever.

“Yes, hopefully,” you answered.

“I hope so too. Your father’s been calling me non-stop about your internship right after your graduation. Why don’t you give him a call and talk to him about that?”

You nodded and just said, “Okay, Mom.”

“It’s nice that you finally decided to come home for your break,” she said, not even trying to hide the bitterness in her voice.

“I was starting to think you’d officially moved in with that boy. Following him around like some groupie while he wastes time on those silly gigs. What, does he actually believe he’s gonna make a living off that noise?”

She scoffed and set her fork down with a loud clink.

You bit your tongue and clenched your jaw.

“You don’t even visit me on weekends anymore. I guess that’s what love looks like to you now, skipping your own mother for some tattooed dropout waiting to happen.”

“He’s actually doing well in school,” you said flatly, not looking up. “On top of making music and doing gigs. Their band’s doing great, too. It’s actually pretty impressive.”

Your voice was calm. Bored, almost. She thrived on reaction, and you weren’t going to give her the satisfaction.

Then, without much change in tone, like she was commenting on the weather – 

“Did you gain weight? You need to watch out for your figure before you work with your father,” she said casually.

“You need to show everyone from that family that you deserve that place in the company, better than your cousins. Make yourself presentable all the time.”

“Didn’t know my weight had anything to do with my competence or skills,” you replied evenly.

“It doesn’t,” she shrugged. “But you know how your father’s sisters are, vicious bitches, all of them. And I won’t be there for you this time. So if you show up looking tired like that, bloated, sloppy, don’t come crying to me when they start whispering about you.”

She set her fork down and leaned back, like she was waiting for you to react. 

“You think they care how smart you are? No. They’re looking for flaws. Don’t give them one.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t react.

It was a moot point. You were used to her by now, but god, she always knew how to make you feel like killing yourself, and you were already starting to feel drowsy, your body begging for rest.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long before you both finished your food. 

After cleaning up, you went straight to bed and changed into your comfiest pajamas, scrolling through your phone, reading Jungkook’s texts. Photos from soundcheck. Backstage stolen shots. Clips of the band playing to a massive crowd at the music fest.

He looked so happy. They looked happy.

You sent him a quick selfie from bed, skin dewy and glowing in all your skincare glory – and he Facetimed you right away. 

“I miss you,” he said before the call even connected properly, voice a little breathless, like he’d run to a quieter corner just to call you, though it was hard to hear with all the background noise. 

He was smacking Jimin, who kept trying to squeeze into the frame and god, you missed them so much. You wanted to tell him everything, about so many things, but it was too damn noisy and his reception was crap.

So you both gave up on talking, and just spent the next ten minutes smiling at each other in silence – him munching on snacks, you blinking through sleep, barely keeping your eyes open.

Eventually, your phone slipped from your hand as you surrendered to sleep.

Pain.

Pain woke you.

Sharp.

Like something tearing inside.

You sat up, heart in your throat, and that’s when you saw it –

blood.

It soaked through your underwear. Streaked your thighs. Spotted the sheets.

You bolted to the bathroom, breathing too fast.

You pulled your shorts down, and your ears were ringing and your chest was pounding and you saw more blood. Too much red.

You were shaking. You didn’t know who to call. 

What do you do?

So you cried. Biting your knuckles just to keep from screaming. You reached for a towel, trying to wipe the blood that kept coming.

But it wouldn’t stop.

And the pain, oh the pain, like your insides were being wrung out, and you hadn’t felt anything like it before.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

You folded onto the floor, pressed your back to the wall, knees to your chest as you sobbed.

That’s where your mother found you.

She stood in the doorway. She didn’t say anything, but she stood there just looking at you.

“We’re going to the hospital.”

Cold stirrups.

Bright lights.

Nurses talking like you weren’t in the room.

The ultrasound screen turned away.

The doctor tried to speak gently – "It’s a miscarriage..."

And you couldn’t hear a word past that first sentence.

You blinked, the doctor’s mouth still moving, but everything was just muffled noise.

You weren’t sure how long you cried after that, or if you even cried at all. It didn’t make sense.

Because how could something you barely felt… just disappear? 

You kept waiting to feel something – grief? Pain? Maybe even relief?

But all you felt was the void.

Was it even real? Did it really happen?

Maybe it didn’t feel wanted. Maybe that’s why it left.

You didn’t know what to grieve. You didn’t know what you lost.

But why did it feel like you lost a whole chunk of yourself, like your body remembers something your mind can’t make sense of?

You told your mother through broken sobs that you knew you were pregnant. 

She just stared at you with confusion and slight disgust, like she couldn’t comprehend a word you were saying.

You were given medication to help with the pain, and you wished it was something that could make you sleep forever.

You woke up, unfortunately, hours later.

The room was dim, and the pain was still there.

And your mother, sitting by the window reading her subscription magazine, not even looking at you when she said:

“Well. At least it’s gone now. The universe removed it for you, good lord.”

And you felt it, like a dam being cracked open, the rage bleeding out of your mouth. And you closed your eyes for a second, as you felt like your head was going to burst in anger.

“How could you say that?! It wasn’t some thing – it was mine! It was a part of me! You are so mean, and vile!I hate you!!!”

She didn’t flinch. Just crossed her arms and turned to face you with that cold, condescending look you knew too well.

“You’d look back one day and thank the gods this happened. That thing would have ruined your life just like I warned you,” she spat, her eyes nothing but disgust. 

And you were so angry that you were shaking, but she kept going.

“Use your brain for once and think about what was going to happen. You’d drop out of school, raise a baby on what? Hope? You thought love paid the bills? You thought Jungkook’s little hobby was going to keep food on your table? Grow up.”

Through gritted teeth, you yelled, “Shut up! Stop saying that! He is doing great! We were going to graduate, and – ”

“You’d been playing house with that boy, and I let you because I thought you’d come to your senses and grow out of it, thinking you’ll leave him after college anyway. But no. You really went and proved how reckless and selfish you are. You thought life was all about love and romance and dreams? I had bled and scraped and clawed to give you a better life, and this – this is what you do with it? Throw it away for some boy? And where is he now, huh? Where?”

Defeated, and feeling weak, you sobbed.

“Stupid girl. One day, when you’re older, broke, and exhausted, you'll remember this moment, and you will be thankful that this happened.”

You had imagined your graduation day so many times.

It always felt like the light at the end of a long, brutal tunnel. Like hope.

A gleaming exit.

When home felt like hell, this was the moment you clung to.

This was the plan: survive college under her roof, then work for your dad, move out, and finally live the life you always wanted.

You were supposed to feel relief.

But now, you were lying awake in your bed on your last night in this town, staring at the ceiling for what felt like eternity, as your entire world quietly caved in on itself.

Your graduation cap sat proudly on your desk like a trophy. 

Across the room, your new and expensive luggage – pink and purple, bought with your dad’s money – zipped and ready.

You broke up with Jungkook this morning. Right after graduation.

It was quick. 

After all, you had practiced the speech for weeks – rehearsed every word until you memorized every word and intonation. 

You just said it wasn’t going to work. 

Not with him staying in this town.

And you…

Well, you were never meant to stay here anyway.

You didn’t cry, in front of him at least. 

No matter how much he pressed. How he begged.

How his voice cracked, how his hands trembled, how his eyes searched your face like he could find a different answer hidden there. 

You walked out of his dorm with your head held high, back straight. Chin up.

Just like you practiced.

You hadn’t told him about the miscarriage.

You wanted to. God, you imagined it a hundred different ways.

But there was never a right time.

First, his dad got worse.

You watched him juggle school, rehearsals, and hospital visits, hope thinning out a little more each day. And just when you thought you’d finally tell him, thinking ‘what the heck, this is Jungkook, the love of your life’ – his dad died.

And if there was one thing you never truly understood — because you had never experienced it— it was the love that came from family, and the depth of grief that followed when they were gone.

For months, the whole family sank into a deep, consuming grief.

So you didn’t tell him.

His grief made him quiet. Yours made you quieter.

You mourned separately. 

You stood by him. Held space for his pain. But no one stood by you. 

But you couldn't blame anyone, because how could you?

You made the choice, and it was all on you.

You didn’t even know if you were allowed to call it grief, or if you were even allowed to call it your child. All you knew was that something inside you was gone, and you never told him. And now, that silence felt like betrayal.

And after enough silence, you convinced yourself maybe he was never meant to know.

It was taken from you too early, anyway.

You fell asleep hugging yourself. 

And you woke to a knocking on your bedroom window.

Jungkook stood there, glowing as he bathed in moonlight, grinning wide. His eyes were wide and glossy.

“I’ll come with you,” he whispered. “I already talked to the band. Told them Jin can take over vocals. It’s fine. I can find a job in the city. A good one. I swear, I’ll figure it out.”

Your heart ached. Oh how it ached.

Because he was cutting out pieces of himself just to follow you into the unknown.

Everything he loved and cherished was here. You couldn’t take that away from him.

Just because you were miserable here didn’t mean he had to be miserable somewhere else just to be with you.

So instead of answering, you kissed him deep, and you kissed him hard.

And somehow, in that kiss, he understood that this would probably be the last time.

So he made love to you, and you made love to him, like it was.

You still remember how his solid body felt. How he made you feel at home when he was inside you, filling you, pumping his seed deep. 

And afterward, when he lay on top of you, sweaty and spent, you told him:

“You’re holding me back. If you really love me, you’ll let me go.”

It rained that night.

And you swore the sky cried with you.

Maybe it was the universe’s way of mourning the tragedy of it all.

Right place, wrong person.

How he was the right place.

And you were the wrong person.

He held you tight against his chest, his whole body trembling, shaking with silent, broken sobs. You felt his tears seep into your skin, felt his grief in the way his arms refused to let go. 

And by morning, he was gone.

You cried all your tears that day, because you never cried after that. 

Maybe you used them all up.

The rain tapped against your window as if it, too, has something to say. 

Maybe – just maybe – it’s crying for you. 

But that thought feels self-indulgent. 

Why would the sky mourn for someone like you?

After all, you were nothing but a selfish bitch, willing to lie and betray the only love you’d ever known.

Jungkook gave you his entire world, offered in open palms.

Every piece of him.

But it wasn't enough.

NOW

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

You turn to one of the investors with a polite tilt of your head, the smile on your lips still perfectly in place. Your cheeks ache from smiling. Family. Family friends. Business partners. Everyone your father and Kole deemed important enough to attend this pre-wedding dinner.

The wedding– your wedding– is in two weeks.

But apparently, everyone’s here to celebrate your father and Kole’s company merger.

It really shouldn’t surprise you how many private jets a private island can accommodate. But it still does. The extravagance is nauseating.

“Mr. Chen was asking if you plan to take over the Hong Kong branch after the wedding,” your father chimes in for you. “I told him it’s up to Kole if he wants you to work right after the honeymoon.”

You blink.

Up to Kole?

If he wants you to work?

You laugh.

And then finish your champagne in one go.

Where the hell is Kole, anyway? You haven’t seen him since dinner. Probably talking business.

You excuse yourself and make your way to the bar. The bartender asks what you’ll have, you don’t hesitate.

“A beer,” you say.

She raises a brow in amusement but doesn’t question it, and a pint of draft is placed in front of you.

You take it, gratefully, and walk toward the beach, away from the hushed conversations like everyone is talking about secrets.

You used to think this was normal.

The way they spoke in riddles and metaphors, like a dance.

It wasn’t until you moved with your mother to the town that you realized:

Normal people don’t speak like that.

They speak with their hearts full and their chins high, unafraid to talk about the things they love.

You pass by the softly lit cabanas and hear faint laughter near the main house, but the further you walk, the quieter it becomes. The huts here are empty. Just the sound of the shore. 

You find the furthest hut, the one tucked farthest from everything, and slip inside.

But the moment your foot hits the floor, you hear it.

Breathy gasps.

Soft moans.

Whoops.

The hut’s not empty, obviously.

And really, you’d hate to interrupt a guest enjoying themselves at your party.

Maybe try the hut before this one?

You’re already turning around, ready to slip out quietly, when– 

“...yeah, like that. Love it when you do that.”

A man’s voice.

You pause.

Kole’s voice.

Then, another voice - a man’s, laughs low and hums something in return.

And it sounds… familiar.

Curiosity tugs at you. So you look.

The curtain separating the lounge from the inner room is half drawn. Through the gap, you catch movement.

Kole is pinned against the wall, panting, shirt undone. His perfectly styled hair is now a mess, sticking to his forehead with sweat. His hands are buried in another man's dark hair, fingers guiding - as he kneels before him, head moving with a rhythm that has Kole’s eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering forward.

Your gaze flicks to the shirt the guy’s wearing.

You know that shirt.

You and Kole picked it out together last month during your vacation in Europe.

A birthday gift for your cousin.

Holy shit.

What the actual fuck.

Have they been… fucking?

For how long?

Kole and your cousin?

You didn’t even know about Kole’s sexual preferences. It’s not something the two of you ever discussed openly.

Not that there was space for that kind of conversation between you anyway.

What else don’t you know about him?

They don’t notice you.

They’re too lost in their own world. 

After collecting yourself, you quietly turn and step back out into the night.

You walk away calmly, beer still in one hand, your phone on the other.

You’re already in bed, in a satin nightgown, the glow of your phone screen casting light across your face as you scroll through nothing.

When Kole enters, he offers you that charming smile of his.

“Long day,” he murmurs, undoing his shirt. “You were wonderful tonight. Truly. The guests adore you.”

He disappears into the bathroom without waiting for a response.

You hear the water run. Then stop.

When he returns, he’s in his maroon pajama set, hair damp, skin freshly dewy with that aftershave you used to like. He slips into bed beside you and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Good night, darling,” he says casually. “Excellent job today. I’m sorry I couldn’t be at your side more, you know how it is, investor talk about the new branch. But tomorrow’s for us. Golf, then a massage. Yes?”

You look up from your phone and set it aside, then turn to face him fully.

“I saw you,” you said softly, calmly. 

You’re devoid of emotion.

You haven’t felt anything in months.

And honestly, nothing surprises you anymore.

“In the hut. With my cousin.” You wait for a reaction from him, but he only blinks once.

Then lets out a short, airy chuckle, the same chuckle he gives when the wine’s poured a little too generously.

“Oh? How unfortunate. That wasn’t my intention at all. Still… I do apologize you had to witness it.”

“That’s it?” Your voice remains calm, your face unreadable. “You’re sorry I saw?”

He sighs, folding his hands neatly across his chest.

“Darling,” he begins, composed, “what exactly would you have me do? Apologize for indulging in my own preferences? We both have our… pursuits. I’ve never interfered in yours.”

“What?”

He raises an eyebrow, utterly unbothered.

He is eerily calm.

You trained yourself to stay calm. It was survival, really. A skill honed through years of navigating your mother’s moods and your father’s expectations.

But this is something else entirely.

This is detachment - bred from an environment where emotions are inconvenient and consequences are optional.

It makes your skin crawl.

“Come now… Darling, I know about your affair.”

Your blood runs cold.

“I’m not an idiot,” he continues still in that maddening calm tone, as if explaining something obvious to a slow student. “I'm well aware you were fucking your ex every time you visited your mother.”

Your lips part, but you don't say anything.

“But I also know it wasn't serious. Of course.” He exhales softly. “Just like mine wasn’t. These things – flings, indulgences – they’re inevitable. Necessary, even. We all have our vices.”

He looks at you with amusement, as he continues.

“I never stood in the way of yours because I knew, at the end of the day, you’d come back to me. You always do.”

He leans back into the pillows, perfectly composed.

“Because no matter how good he makes you feel, no matter how well he fucks you,” he murmurs, “he’ll never be able to give you the life you want. The one you need.”

And then, he smiles.

“And you and I both know, you’re not about to give up this life,” he laughs softly, “that man? He can’t give you any of it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “This life?”

“Oh, don’t play coy. You love wealth. You love security. You love summers in Saint-Tropez and winters in the Swiss Alps. You love not having to think about money. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Bile rises in your throat as a tangle of emotions churns in your chest. But you say nothing. You let him speak.

“I don’t blame you,” he says smoothly. “Living in that charming little town must’ve been… enlightening. Poor you, having to experience what life is like for the rest of them. It must’ve reminded you just how different we are.”

He leans back and sighs. “I don’t fault you for it, darling. I never have. It’s simply who you are. This is where you belong.” 

He picks up his phone from the nightstand, casually scrolling for a moment before dialing.

“Cancel golf tomorrow,” he says. “The investors and I will meet on the yacht instead.”

Then, he sets the phone down, turns back to you, and adds

“Wear that pretty white dress I gave you. It’ll match mine tomorrow. You’ll look magnificent in it.”

And with that, he switches off his lamp and goes to sleep.

Kole was right about one thing–

the dress does look good on you.

But then again, what doesn’t?

You’ve sculpted yourself into perfection. 

It’s true that being part of this society requires effort to always be perfect, so you invest in yourself.

You sip at the champagne and glance out the plane window. The clouds drift past like marshmallows – soft, white, pure.

Far below, the island looks impossibly small now. Like an ant. The water surrounding it glistens, like blue Gatorade under the sun.

It’s not your first time flying on a private jet.

But it’s your first time flying alone.

And that thought feels… liberating.

You’ve been alone all your life, haunted by the isolating feeling that your life was never truly yours.

It’s true, you were an obedient child. You never once strayed from the path your parents laid out for you.

Except for Jungkook.

Being with him throughout college was an act of rebellion in itself.

It was the only reckless thing you ever did.

And it was the best time of your life.

It’s ironic how the best time of your life happened during the darkest.

Right person, wrong place, or right place, wrong person, or whatever it was Namjoon said.

The pilot says the flight is going to take two hours.

You plan on taking a short nap so you have the energy to pack as soon as you arrive at the apartment you share with Kole.

You have no concrete plan after moving out of the apartment, and that thought should scare you, but it doesn’t.

You didn't speak a word to anyone before leaving the island. 

Everyone was still asleep when you left.

Even Kole didn’t notice you leaving the villa. He was sound asleep on that stupidly large bed.

They can all go fuck themselves.

And as you close your eyes to take a short nap, you turn off your phone that’s been vibrating since you left, with people trying to reach you.

You probably have dozens of missed calls by now.

Maybe asking where you are.

Or maybe asking what the hell is wrong with you.

You can’t blame them, not when you emailed a few pictures you took of Kole and your cousin last night to your family.

To your father, your step mother, her sisters, their husbands, all your cousins… and Kole himself.

Just one email, sent to every single name on the recipient list before your plane even left the ground.

You debated whether to send the video, but it’s always nice to have extra ammunition, just in case.

You smacked your forehead when you realized you’d forgotten to add a subject line to the email.

But oh well.

Mistakes happen.

No one’s perfect.

We are all sinners, after all.

taglist: @softhaes @investedreader @whoa-jo @mageprincess7 @daskewl

a/n: thanks for waiting, told you it was a looong one! took me a bit longer to finish because, well… life happens. hope you enjoy the chapter and please let me know what you think. THANK YOU! 💛

feedback? asks? 💌

[imagination-mess]

A Second Chance at Life (Touya Todoroki X Fem!Reader) Chapter 9

Summary: For the past five years, you’ve been raising your son as a single mother. You’ve successfully avoided questions about his father by claiming that he died during the Paranormal Liberation War. From what you believe, this isn’t a lie. The last time you saw him was when he personally escorted you to U.A.’s shelter amidst the chaos in the streets.

Unbeknownst to you, he has been alive all this time, clinging to life in a facility working to keep him alive. His father, Enji, has been desperately searching for someone willing to heal him. After his presumed death, a single photo of you and Dabi began circulating through the underground, hinting at the nature of your relationship. To protect yourself and your child, you had to pay someone to stop the pictures from spreading further.

The photo provided answers to a long-standing question: who was the healer Dabi had been protecting? It identified you as the healer who had been deemed untouchable, but it also brought unwanted attention.

A/N: Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors in advance.

Word Count: 3.6K+ Masterlist of ASCAF Previously Chapter Eight

13 Years Ago

Touya was covering his head and curling his body up on the cold alleyway floor. He was trying to protect himself as he was getting jumped by grown-ass men who were twice his age, after swiping one of their wallets when they passed him.

He was starving, which caused his quirk to not work as effectively as he wanted. He couldn't even engulf his hand with flame.

"Hey! Fuck off!" a voice called out. It didn’t sound normal. It sounded like a distorted voice speaking through a machine.

"YOU! Fuck of—" one of the men started to yell.

"Oh shit! I a—"

Touya kept his eyes closed, but he heard the sound of bodies dropping to the ground. The next sound was something breaking. There was no screaming, only a whimper.

"I’ll break more than your arm. Next time, get out of my sight." The voice was definitely coming from a machine.

He then heard the men scrambling to get up and running away. He couldn’t feel them around anymore.

"Get up, kid," the voice said, nudging him with their foot to see if he was dead. Touya stayed on the ground, not moving. He knew better than to trust anyone.

"I’m not leaving until you get up, kid."

Touya slowly sat up, letting out a quiet whine from the ache running through his body. His left eye was definitely going to be a black eye in a few days.

"Happy. Leave me alone," Touya spat, looking up at the masked individual whose face was completely hidden, blending into their hood.

He had heard rumors of the faceless individual, Vein. Someone known for spreading fear. People often referred to them as a crossroads demon. They could find information faster than anyone and had supposedly been roaming the underground since they were kids, building a reputation along the way. They only made deals if it benefited them, otherwise, it wasn’t worth the investment.

They weren’t someone you crossed. Anyone who did was always found the next day, tortured depending on the betrayal. People in the underground would rather throw someone else under the bus than deal with Vein’s wrath.

Vein was about to walk away until the sound of his stomach growling made them pause.

"You know there’s a shelter a couple blocks down. They provide food and medical services—"

"I don’t need help," Touya said, glaring at the individual who was now facing him again.

"You’re starving. Winter’s coming."

"I can either take you there, or do it the hard way. I’m not going to ignore a starving child when there’s shelter literally a few blocks down."

"Get lost!" Touya yelled, but then his eyes widened as all of his muscles suddenly went limp. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. His body wouldn’t respond. He would’ve collapsed if the individual hadn’t caught him.

"Sorry, kid. I tried to do it the normal way."

His body was completely dead weight, and he couldn’t move anything except his eyes. He could only watch as the individual carried him like a potato sack. He couldn’t do anything about it. They were careful with where they placed their hands.

They didn’t complain, just kept walking forward, and people around them acted like it was normal.

"It’s not a traditional shelter, and it’s not packed. It’s a secret place, meant for people like us. Runaways, criminals, mutants, or those who are just struggling. You can only get in by recommendation or if you’re with a regular. I know you can’t trust people who offer free food, especially when you’re a kid. There are creeps out here. You can ask the staff to try it first if it helps you feel better. It’s not laced." Vein said.

The rest of the walk was silent until they arrived at a sketchy, enormous building that looked like it was falling apart, with a broken sign that read:

Safe Haven for Everyone.

There was a gorilla mutant standing guard who lit up at the sight of them, completely ignoring Touya’s wary stare.

“Good to see you, Vein.”

“Nice to see you too. Make sure this brat eats something before he leaves.”

“You got it, boss,” the gorilla mutant replied with a surprisingly soft smile.

He grabbed Touya by the collar like a wet cat and opened the door. Touya was held there for a few seconds before the strength returned to his limbs, and he was dropped to the ground.

Touya let out a string of curses at Vein. Vein didn’t flinch, but rather had a lazy wave goodbye.

“Go eat.”

After the door closed in front of him, Touya tried to reopen it, only to glance up and see the gorilla mutant already staring him down through the glass before casually tapping on the wall to his left.

“You heard them. Go eat.”

Touya grumbled under his breath and turned around, surprised to find the interior completely renovated. Kids around his age were waiting in line, the staff mostly teenagers and a few adults behind a glass counter.

He watched the staff with sharp, observant eyes, noting how they responded to each kid’s request without hesitation. Then he looked over at the kids themselves, who were already digging in without a care. Each was given two large takeout containers.

“Excuse me.”

Touya turned his head and saw a young girl around his age. Your (eye color) eyes widened at the sight of him, and he mentally braced himself for the usual comment about his scars.

“Oh! Wow! Your eyes are really pretty!” you said with a bright smile, pointing to your own eyes as a reference.

Touya froze and blinked at you like you’d lost your mind. That was the first thing you noticed? The comment caught him completely off guard.

“Thanks… I guess.”

You smiled again and began explaining his food options since he was clearly new.

“How do you know I’m new?”

“I know most of the regulars by now. It wasn’t hard to guess when the security guard was holding you like a feral kitten,” you said with a soft laugh.

You grabbed four containers and continued, “The usual rule is two containers per person, but newcomers get four. Please don’t eat them all at once. You’ll just end up puking.”

Touya filled the containers to the very top. You packed them up for him, tossing some silverware into a plastic bag. He quietly watched you, then noticed another teenager approaching, holding out a backpack.

He just stared at them.

“This is yours now. It has all the necessities. Let us know if you start running low on supplies. Welcome to Safe Haven.”

He hesitated before taking it, but there was no shame in his movements. He opened the bag to see it was filled with snacks, water bottles, and sports drinks.

“Thank you,” Touya whispered, eyes lowered. He didn’t look up, and the teen simply nodded before walking away, leaving him alone again.

That was the first night in a long time he went to sleep with a full stomach.

_____________________________________________

Touya continued coming to the shelter after that. Everyone kind of minded their own business. No one asked him questions. There were free showers and a crash room where people could sleep, with lockers to store their belongings.

Surprisingly, no one touched other people’s stuff, unlike the other shelters he’d been to. It was an unspoken rule among everyone.

There were flyers pinned on the board in the center of the room, offering help with housing, jobs, and domestic violence. Clothes were available for anyone in need. There was even a small laundromat, which you could use in exchange for helping clean the building—a task that wasn’t hard to do.

It was only open from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. every night. Vein wasn’t lying. People had to be invited or brought in by a regular to prevent abuse of the system.

Throughout the year, Touya only stayed at the shelter to crash during the winter and in the overwhelming summer heat.

He thought you were weird at first, because you never commented on his appearance. You didn’t give him the usual looks he’d grown used to. You were growing on him, especially since you worked on the medical side of the shelter. More often than not, you were the one patching him up, and you never forced conversation the way others did.

He noticed you only worked on certain days to complete your volunteer hours for a high school program, often alongside your friends. You were also one of the few who gave out bigger food portions, which explained why everyone wanted to be in your line.

That’s the only reason he had your schedule memorized. He always showed up earlier on your days.

You were kind of too sweet and naïve for a place like this, but you could bite when you needed to. He once saw you snap at another teen who tried to pressure you into giving more than the standard two containers.

“If you’ve got friends who are hungry, bring them. Otherwise, I’m not breaking protocol.”

He didn’t know how you handled things when they escalated. Once, there was shouting in the building, and he was one of the few who peeked over while eating. A man twice your size was on the ground. You looked shaken, but unharmed.

That man was banned from the shelter after becoming aggressive with you.

You’d been trying to get his name ever since he started showing up more often.

The shelter eventually added a gym in the empty part of the building, which brought in more people, but it was large enough to handle the regulars.

Most people didn’t stay long. They used the resources to find jobs and escape abusive situations. There was even a lawyer who took those cases for free.

You started calling him Drakon, another word for dragon after you accidentally caught him using his quirk to stay warm while waiting for the shelter to open. He had been sitting on the front steps with his backpack.

It was freezing, and he could barely feel his fingers. You let him in early with you, since you had a copy of the key. You were too trusting sometimes.

You brought him blankets from the medical clinic and a portable heater. That was the first time he didn’t lash out when you touched him, especially after you warned him first.

You wrapped him up like a burrito. He hadn’t even realized how badly he was trembling. He’d been struggling to regulate his temperature that season. His quirk wasn’t working properly either.

It was one of the coldest winters on record.

Before everyone had to leave that morning, the shelter handed out expensive winter coats. They were good quality. Something that would last him a few years, if he took care of it.

“Take care of yourself, kid,” the same gorilla mutant, now known as Fuji, said as he handed him the coat. ______________________________________________________ He doesn't really remember how the two of you became friends. It just happened. 

You barely reacted when he got snappy with you, just threw the same energy right back at him, even if it was kind of immature.

You weren’t bad to talk to. You didn’t push to know his background. The two of you just talked like normal teenagers, which felt rare in a place like this. 

But seriously, anything would’ve been better than Pretty Boy. That was fucking embarrassing.

He wanted to die on the spot when you called him that with that mischievous grin tugging at your lips as you held out his bag of food.

He’d even made the mistake of glancing around to see if you were talking to someone else. But he was the only one standing there. The regulars in the background burst into laughter at his reaction.

“Boy, she’s talking about you!”

When he realized it really was him, his whole body lit up with heat. Mortified, he snatched the bag from your hand and retreated to his usual corner of the building like his life depended on it.

Eventually, you came out from behind the counter with an extra dessert as an apology, along with a chocolate bar.

Touya shot you a glare but took the offering anyway. He wasn’t about to say no to more food. When he caught you training in the same gym as him, your form was completely off. You were going to break your wrist or fingers if you kept going like that. He knew from personal experience—he’d made those mistakes before.

"Who the fuck is teaching you?" he asked, walking over with a frown as he forced you to adjust your posture.

"...Myself," you admitted nervously.

Touya gave you a look. "You're doing a terrible job at it."

You deflated, shoulders slumping.

"Aren’t you trying to be a doctor or something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why the hell are you learning how to fight?"

"You never know when I’ll need to defend myself," you said quietly. "I know I’m privileged. I’m not blind to it. But that won’t protect me if I end up in a bad situation."

He was silent for a few seconds, watching you.

"...I could teach you a few things," he finally muttered. "But I want something in return."

You looked up, surprised. "Deal."

Then you smiled so brightly, and the look in your eyes showed a complete, blind trust in him.

How could you look at him as if he wasn’t already a few steps away from becoming a criminal?

It made something twist in his chest. He had the sudden, irrational urge to turn around and walk the hell away.

You were too soft… and he wasn’t.

But he stayed, ignoring the feeling in his chest.

Nevertheless, it was a bit fun picking you apart because, damn, your entire routine was a complete mess. Just asking for accidents to happen. _____________________________________________________________ It’s been almost two years since he first stepped into that shelter. You started calling him Drakon, the name you gave him, and it stuck. It grew on him. He responds to it without thinking now, since he always refused to say his real name and couldn’t come up with anything better. He doesn’t mind it.

A lot of people started calling him that, not because he introduced himself, but because they heard it from you.

It became routine. Once a week, you and Touya would train together at the gym and spar. You were getting better at blocking his punches even if he never used his full strength.

It wouldn’t be a fair fight, but you were catching up.

He doesn’t know how it happened, but he didn’t mind others joining in on the sparring matches. He was learning through experience. Some of the other teens even gave him tips.

You were picking up a wide range of fighting styles and adapting fast. Between school combat training and those matches, you were close to the level of students in the hero course.

And true to your word, you shared what you learned with him. It was either fighting drills you picked up from other fire-users… or food. Usually snacks based on his specific requests.

But you became lethal when you started integrating your quirk into your punches.

You didn’t use it while sparring because you were still learning and didn’t want to risk hurting him. You were still figuring out how to sync it with your movements, but he’s seen the videos your friends recorded to help you review your form.

You could seriously hurt someone with those blows. You’ve destroyed too many dummies to count.

You could kill someone with those blows. You’ve destroyed too many dummies to count.

You never really bragged about your quirk either, which he appreciated, especially considering how powerful it was. You struggled with it, not because you didn’t know how to use it, but because it was simply too much for your body to handle at your age. Even with years of quirk training under your belt, you were still learning to control it. Still pushing through it.

That was your theory about his quirk, too. If he could build more muscle and stamina, maybe he’d start to develop some resistance to his flames. It wouldn’t be fast. It might take a long time, but it was something.

You were persistent about it. Told him to give your method a chance for at least six months. Just six. See if it was worth it. If not, he could throw the idea away if he wanted.

….

You weren't wrong, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He couldn’t boost your little ego any more than it already was, especially with your apparent hobby of quirk analysis. You were going to be smug about it either way. He didn’t realize it until one day when you were staring at him a little too intensely during his training. That look when you were hyper fixated on something, calculating in your mind. You interrupted his training to tell him to lower his output and retry his move. But you were starting to scare him a little bit when you began challenging him in hand-to-hand combat. When you caught him off guard with a punch, he avoided it. Purely out of instinct, he threw a punch straight to your face without mercy.

When he realized what he'd done, his fist collided with your cheek. He froze, mentally panicking, not seeing the glint in your eyes. His mental turmoil was interrupted when you swept his legs out from under him, making him fall onto the mat. You pinned him down, your grip tight on his shirt, expecting a punch to the face, so he shut his eyes. He deserved it.

But instead, you flicked him on the nose, causing him to reopen his eyes.

"Checkmate," you said, out of breath, with a tired smile above him. Your quirk was active, the soft yellow glow covering where he'd hit you and healing the injury before it deactivated. "Please consider, this is not a real loss," you said, looking down at him. "You got into your head at the end there. I'm okay. I wanted to see if I could surprise you since you’ve learned my fighting style. He feels….guilt over it, despite you are not holding it against him 

"I didn't panic," he muttered, refusing to admit it. He never had harmed you before, breaking his streak with this mistake. He’d manhandled you a few times, but never enough to really hurt you. You gave him a look that said, Oh really? 

“Whatever you say, pretty–”

You cut him off with a surprised yelp when he flipped you over, slamming you onto the mat before standing up.

“Whatever you say, princes–”

You hurled a shoe at his head. He dodged, laughing.

He kept walking, dodging the other shoe when you threw it. He didn’t need to turn around. He already knew how much that nickname pissed you off. Especially since you’d grown up hearing it your whole life, always used to mock you when you didn’t know something.

You were aware of it. The privilege and money. You knew it meant there were things you’d never been exposed to. Things you had to learn the hard way later on. Money wouldn’t always get you out of trouble. You had to get yourself out of it.

And you knew he was teasing. It was a harmless game between the two of you. Still, it never got old. How flustered you got whenever he said it

But you were more than that. And he knew it.

He understood what you meant when you talked about how money sheltered people. He’d seen the reality of that the second he walked out of that orphanage.

Didn’t mean you weren’t still a spoiled brat, though. Bonus Scene: "I feel like I’m corrupting your naive little mind," Touya muttered as you walked side by side, both eating popsicles you'd brought from the store.

"I don’t think so," you said, glancing at him. "You’re honest when I ask things. I am naive, but not that naive. I know the world’s not all rainbows and sunshine," you added casually, eyes forward.

Touya stared at you for a few seconds before looking ahead again, then gave you a playful shoulder bump. "You’re too trusting, Remedy."

"Only to you," You muttered but enough for him to hear.

A smirk was slowly tugging subtly at the corners of his mouth.

"Am I getting special treatment? Am I your favorite?" He asked in a teasing tone. He knew damn well he was your favorite shelter citizen. You wouldn’t be hanging out with him outside the shelter, buying snacks like it was some weekly ritual.

What started as a deal for one snack had somehow turned into three bags without either of you ever addressing it. Not that he was complaining, he would never say no to more food.

You shot him a glare and tried flicking him off.

"Your flicking needs some work. Your finger isn’t even straight," he teased, laughing under his breath.

There was a quiet pause, before Touya glanced over to you to see the pout on your face looking down at your hand seeing he was right. Your finger's straight unlike his yet.. 

"...You really shouldn’t trust someone like me so easily." You glance over to him, before saying softly but firm.  "You haven't robbed me when you had so many opportunities to do it. You haven't given me a reason to not." You held his gaze, steady and unflinching. Your eyes were too warm, too trusting to be staring at someone like him the way you were.

It was too much. For someone like him, it always was.

He broke eye contact first.

The action made you laugh lighthearted at him, since it isn't the first time he has to break eye contact with you. 

He was getting too soft. Next Chapter Ten (Maybe 07/03) _________________________________ Author's Note: How are we feeling about the dynamic between younger Touya and Remedy? They are teenagers if i needed to clarify. I tried my best to keep this as Touya's point of view. Hopefully, people got the reference who is Vein? They have been mention before :3 (SPOILER ALERT CHAPTER 8)

Any thoughts or theories? I’m all ears! I’d love to hear them. I have seen some interesting theories :3

Once again, Your comments seriously mean the world to me. 💖 I’m so grateful to know there are people who want to read more. I am really enjoying writing this story.

Thank you again for reading! I love reading your comments. 💖 

[angstama]

sequel : traitor | l.jn

pairing: lee jeno x f!reader (ft. mark lee)

genre: angst, pure heartache, slight fluff!

synopsis — when jeno asked you to make his bride’s dress, it was more than fabric and lace—it was a reckoning. you never thought you'd be asked to create the wedding dress for the man you once loved, not after everything that had happened between the two of you. five years have passed since jeno walked out of your life, and now, he stands before you again—asking for a favour that stirs old memories and emotions you've tried to bury.

a/n: hello loveliesss~ this took so long i'm so sorry i've been sooo busy :") thank you so much for your patience and please look forward to the next angst coming soon!!!!!!

chapter music: so high school - taylor swift

traitor m.list | traitor's playlist | previous |

time-skip ; three years later

"excuse me! coming through!" you shouted, your voice cutting through the morning air as you sprinted down the street, barefooted, with polo tugging excitedly at your side. one hand gripped his leash, the other clutched a cathedral veil, trailing behind you like a long, delicate river of silk. "mark, hurry up!" you called over your shoulder, barely catching your breath.

mark, a little behind you, fumbled slightly as he tried to catch up, his casual jeans and button-down shirt a stark contrast to the formal chaos of the morning. his hair was still messy from sleep, and he clutched his garment bag containing his tuxedo in one hand. "i'm going as fast as i can!" he called out, sounding more amused than stressed. there was a laugh in his voice, rich and warm, but you could tell he was just as jittery as you were—his free hand running through his already tousled hair.

you turned back to shoot him a playful glare, your cheeks flushed pink from running and excitement. "this is exactly why we should've gotten up earlier," you scolded lightly, but there was no real bite in your words. instead, it carried that endearing, familiar kind of frustration that made your heart skip. "we're supposed to be walking down the aisle, not running to it, mark!" you groaned, gesturing dramatically with your free hand.

never in your life did you think you’d be late to your own wedding. you knew it was a bad idea the moment mark, ever the optimist, announced, “don’t worry, god will clear the traffic for us.” you should’ve knocked on wood. or something, because the roads were NOT clear, and now here you are — breathless, wild with joy and disbelief — chasing the moment you’ve dreamed of for so long.

"there they are!" donghyuck exclaimed, practically bouncing on his feet as he spotted the two of you racing down the street. relief and panic mixed in his voice as he waved frantically, his shouts carrying over the morning air. "and not dressed yet?! are you guys insane?! get inside, go go go!" you and mark couldn't stop laughing despite the chaos, stumbling along as haechan herded you both like a frantic shepherd. the whole situation was so perfectly ridiculous that neither of you could bring yourselves to feel anything but pure, giddy joy.

"see you in a bit my love!" mark called out, grinning even as donghyuck yanked him away by his shirt sleeve. you stretched to catch his hand one last time before he was pulled away completely, still giggling as you slipped into your changing room. your makeup artist was already waiting, brush in hand and ready to work her magic. "oh honey, we have work to do," she said with a knowing smile, spinning you toward the mirror to assess your windswept appearance.

as your makeup artist worked on the finishing touches, your eyes drifted to the garment bag hanging on the ornate hook across the room. even through the protective covering, you could see hints of the intricate beadwork catching the soft light filtering through the stained glass windows.

you pinched your arm, needing to ground yourself in the moment. everything felt like a dream you were afraid to wake up from. after jeno, you had convinced yourself that this kind of love— the kind that felt safe, gentle and chosen wasn't meant for you. but mark had been there as you slowly found your way back to love, never trying to fix you but simply loving you as you healed, and this time, instead of picking up broken pieces, you were building something beautiful and whole side by side.

it had been six months after jeno, and you had just finished your first major commission since then—a stunning emerald evening gown that sparkled like captured starlight. you were standing back, smoothing out the final details with careful fingers, when you'd caught mark staring at you with this distant, dreamy look.

he'd been leaning against his drafting table, pencil forgotten in his hand, watching the way the late afternoon sunlight caught in your hair as you worked. and then it hit him—an image so vivid it made his breath catch. you, but in flowing white instead of your usual oversized tee. you, with that same focused expression as you adjusted your own veil. you, walking toward him down an aisle lined with the kind of flowers you'd doodle in the margins of your sketches when you thought no one was looking.

god, where had that come from? his heart was racing now, palms suddenly sweaty as the vision refused to fade. you in white, smiling at him like he was your whole world, like he was worth choosing—

"it's beautiful," he'd managed to say, voice barely above a whisper.

"thanks. i think i'm finally... back, you know?"

"you are." the words tumbled out before he could stop them, driven by the image still playing in his mind. he'd fidgeted with his pencil, trying to shake the thought, but it only grew stronger. "so... um, do you eat dinner?"

you'd paused, fabric still in your hands. "do i... eat dinner?"

"i mean, of course you do. everyone eats dinner." his ears had turned pink. "i just meant... like, do you like dinner? eating it. with other people."

you paused in your work, studying his face with growing concern. he looked like he was about to either pass out or run from the room. "mark, are you feeling okay?"

"yeah! totally fine." he's gone back to his sketching, but you could see his hands shaking slightly. then, after a few minutes: "there's this italian place."

"okay..."

"really good reviews. five stars." more nervous sketching. "i was thinking of trying it."

another long pause. you watched him struggle with whatever he was trying to say. "alone?" you asked gently.

"well... maybe not alone. maybe with... company. good company." he'd looked up quickly, then back down. "if the company wanted to. no pressure."

you'd set down your fabric, fighting back a smile. there was something so genuine about the way he was trying so hard, so different from the smooth confidence you'd once fallen for. "mark, are you asking me out?"

his face had gone completely red. "...maybe?"

you'd watched him fidget for another moment, this sweet man who'd been by your side through everything, who looked at your work like it was magic, who blushed when he tried to ask you to dinner. and for the first time in months, you'd felt something flutter in your chest that wasn't anxiety.

"okay," you'd said softly.

"okay, like... you understand what i'm asking, or okay like—"

"okay, i'll go to dinner with you, mark."

the smile that had spread across his face was brighter than any spotlight in the studio.

the months that followed were like discovering a new language—one written in shared sketches and late-night design sessions, in mark's terrible cooking attempts and your patient teaching, in the way he'd leave little notes on your drafting table that made you smile for hours.

your professional partnership had always been seamless, but your personal one was pure magic. mark would bring you coffee exactly how you liked it while you were deep in a creative trance, and you'd find yourself staying up until 3am helping him perfect a neckline he'd been struggling with. you designed everything together—wedding gowns that made clients cry happy tears, suits that made grown men feel like kings, pieces that ended up in magazines with both your names credited.

"we're good at this," mark had said one evening, both of you surrounded by fabric swatches and half-finished sketches, takeout containers scattered across every surface of your shared studio space.

"at designing?" you'd asked, not looking up from the beadwork you were planning.

"at everything." and when you'd looked up, he'd been watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip. "at working together, at living together, at... us."

because you had moved in together, somewhere between the third month of dating and the first time you'd both fallen asleep on the studio couch after a particularly intense design session. mark's apartment had become yours, filled with fabric samples and your vintage sewing machine, with his terrible houseplants that you'd somehow managed to keep alive, with the kind of comfortable chaos that felt like home.

every morning brought new projects, new dreams, new reasons to fall deeper in love with the man who understood your creative soul and loved you through every messy, beautiful moment of it. somewhere along the way, you had forgotten about the hurt that jeno had caused you. somewhere along the way, you had forgotten about lee jeno.

it was on one of those quiet sunday mornings, when you were both still in pajamas and the studio was bathed in golden light, that mark had started acting strange again. that familiar nervous energy was back—the fidgeting, the pink ears, the way he kept glancing at you like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

you were sketching idly, humming, when you noticed him pulling out a small velvet box from behind his drafting table.

"so," he'd started, voice shaking slightly, "i've been working on a design. a really important one."

your pencil stilled in your hand, heart suddenly racing as you watched him approach with that little velvet box clutched in his trembling fingers.

"it's... it's not finished yet," he continued, sitting down beside you on the studio floor where you'd been working. "because i realized i can't complete this design without my partner. my creative partner, my life partner, my... everything partner."

he opened the box then, revealing the most delicate ring you'd ever seen—simple, elegant, with a stone that caught the morning light like captured starlight. but what made your breath catch wasn't the ring itself, it was the tiny sketch tucked inside the box lid. a drawing of your hands intertwined, so detailed and loving it made your eyes blur with tears.

"mark..." you whispered.

"i know we're simple people," he'd said, voice getting stronger as he found his rhythm. "we don't need grand gestures or fancy speeches. but what we have... it's everything. you make me want to create beautiful things, not just with fabric and thread, but with our whole lives."

his hands had been shaking as he'd taken the ring from the box. "so will you... will you help me finish this design? will you marry me?"

you looked at him then—this sweet, nervous, incredibly talented man who'd loved you back to life—and the answer had been the easiest thing in the world.

"yes," you'd whispered, and then louder, laughing through happy tears, "yes, mark. always yes."

the ring had fit perfectly, like everything else about him in your life. like it was always meant to be.

the world had paused for a breath.

just one.

long enough for you to turn—to catch your reflection in the tall mirror framed in soft gold—and see yourself as if for the first time. as if you were meeting a stranger who happened to wear your face, your dreams made manifest in silk and light.

your dress.

your dress.

born in quiet moments between design sketches, stitched through evenings thick with laughter and low lamplight, whispered into reality by four hands that knew the language of seams and possibility. you and mark, sketching futures in thread counts and train lengths, imagining this exact moment when fabric would become memory.

and now, it lived and breathed with you.

the bodice was poetry written in chantilly lace, each motif a delicate rebellion against gravity. the patterns seemed to shift and dance in the mirror's reflection, catching light like secrets only your skin knew how to tell. tiny seed pearls dotted the landscape of your torso like constellations, each one placed by your careful fingers during those late studio nights when the city hummed quiet outside your windows.

the sleeves—gossamer-thin and barely there, skimmed your shoulders like the ghost of a lover's touch, like promises made in whispers. the silk charmeuse beneath the lace hugged your waist as if it had been dreaming of this shape for years, as if every yard of fabric had been waiting for this singular moment of purpose.

the train pooled behind you like captured moonbeams that had learned to hold their form. cathedral-length and impossibly fluid that when you moved, it followed like a devoted shadow, like the physical manifestation of every hope you had ever harboured for this day. you lifted your arms slightly, watching the silk respond, and felt something crack open in your chest—not breaking, but blooming.

you stepped out into the corridor for just a breath — the ceremony waiting, your heart steady and light, the lace of your dress whispering along the old wood floors.

you turned the corner — and the world tilted.

jeno.

he stopped mid-step, just as startled as you. in his hands, a to-go coffee, half-spilled. eyes wide, like he'd just seen a ghost. or maybe a memory.

“...y/n?”

your name in his voice — soft. stunned. and then, quiet awe as his eyes took you in.

you blinked, heart stuttering. “jeno?”

for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. and then he stepped back instinctively, as if to prove he hadn’t meant to interrupt.

“i didn’t know this was… your wedding,” he said, a sheepish, crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “i was just passing by. there’s an art gallery next door. i — i stop by sometimes.”

you laughed under your breath — not in mockery, but disbelief. of course the universe would do this. one last page. one last brushstroke before the final picture.

“i wasn’t expecting to see you either,” you said gently, voice steady. “but… it’s okay.”

his eyes dropped for a moment, as if he didn’t quite know where to look. then they flicked up again, to the dress. your dress. the cathedral veil still clinging to your hair like light.

“you look…” he breathed, then shook his head. “it’s beautiful. you’re beautiful.”

“mark and i designed it,” you said softly, fingers brushing the lace at your waist. jeno’s smile didn’t falter. if anything, it softened. “of course you did. it suits you. the whole… the everything.”

jeno meant it. you looked beautiful. not the magazine kind, not the runway kind. the real kind. the kind built from hours of mending yourself with thread and hope. the kind that doesn’t need validation, just quiet recognition.

“i’m really happy for you, y/n.” jeno smiled.

“thank you. truly,” you said again, this time softer — like letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

jeno nodded once, eyes lingering just a second longer. not in longing. not in regret. just in acknowledgment — of everything that once was. and everything you’d become.

then, behind you — the sound of hurried footsteps and a familiar, exasperated voice:

“y/n! oh my god, there you are—”

donghyuck came skidding around the corner, half-dressed in his suit, one boutonnière in hand and sheer panic in his eyes.

“i’ve been looking everywhere for you— you can’t just disappear like that on your wedding day! mark’s going to combust!”

you blinked, startled. “i just needed some air—”

“air?! air?” he threw his hands up, but there was no real anger — just relief at having found you. “girl, you’re getting married in five minutes. i had visions of you passed out in the hallway in a puddle of lace and regret—”

his voice trailed off as he spotted jeno standing quietly a few feet behind you.

donghyuck’s expression shifted — not sharp, but cautious. a flicker of understanding passed between them. jeno gave a small nod, almost imperceptible.

“i was just leaving,” he said gently.

donghyuck didn’t argue. just watched as jeno looked back at you one last time.

“go,” jeno said, voice low. “you have a forever waiting for you.”

you met his gaze, something tender blooming in your chest — not love, not longing. just peace.

“goodbye, jeno.”

he smiled, just a little. “goodbye, y/n.”

and with that, he turned and walked away — one hand in his coat pocket, shoulders light.

donghyuck turned back to you, eyes softening as he grabbed your hand.

“ready?”

you nodded, the weight of old things finally quiet behind you.

the music had started.

mark stood at the end of the aisle, fingers interlaced tightly in front of him. he wasn’t sure if his heart was racing or just… suspended. like it, too, was holding its breath.

donghyuck had reappeared a minute ago, flustered but triumphant, whispering something into the ear of the coordinator with a thumbs-up that screamed she’s here. and now, the doors were closed again — waiting. the guests were hushed. the moment had arrived.

and then—

they opened.

and mark saw you.

it was like the light shifted — like the sun tilted slightly just to fall across you and only you. your silhouette framed by the archway, veil falling in a silver cascade behind you, lace rippling like water at your feet. time cracked open a little. he swore he felt the earth move beneath him.

and he smiled.

not the nervous smile he wore earlier, not the practiced one for cameras or guests.

this one was quiet.

undeniable.

reverent.

his eyes welled up the second you stepped forward. not because you looked beautiful — though you did, breathtakingly so — but because it was you. you walking toward him. you, the girl he stayed up late working beside. the one who laughed at his dumb sketches and held his heart without even realizing it. the one he waited for, gently, faithfully.

every step you took brought him closer to that impossible joy — the kind you only find once, and never let go.

you saw it in his eyes: the way he saw only you. not the dress. not the crowd. not the lace or veil or gold-edged program. just you. like you were sunlight, and he had never seen morning before.

you reached him — breath shaking, heart full — and he took your hands, like they were something sacred.

"hi," you whispered, smiling cheekily.

mark swallowed, smiling back like it was the only thing his body remembered how to do.

"hi there," he chuckled, planting a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“mark,” you began, your voice gentle but sure, “i used to think love was something you chased — something fragile and distant, like a dream slipping through your fingers.”

you glanced down at your hands, still entwined with his, tracing the familiar lines and promises.

“but with you, i’ve learned that love is different. love is patient. love is quiet strength. love is coming home, again and again.”

a small smile tugged at your lips, eyes shining with tears and hope. “you showed me what it means to build something real — from the pieces of my past, from laughter and courage and even the hard days.”

you met his gaze, heart full and steady. “today, i don’t just marry you. i marry the love i never knew i could have — the love that is ours, and only ours.”

“thank you for waiting. thank you for believing. and thank you for choosing me.”

as your words settled between you, the room seemed to hold its breath — and then burst into quiet, joyful applause.

in that moment, surrounded by lace and light and the steady beat of two hearts finally home, you knew this was just the beginning.

your forever.

// the end

taglist: @starryeyesspice @bluedbliss @undomielsql @nshitae @starryeyesspice @spicyryujin @m8rkers @haechskiss

[silverynight]

The dark side of a hero

<--Previous

Chapter 4

Inko

21 years ago

She has gradually changed her mind about Katsuki; sure, he always tries to hide Izuku whenever Inko goes to the Bakugos to pick him up after a sleepover, hoping the woman forgets about her son and doesn't take him back, but he hasn't done anything concerning around her little green bean.

However, even though she understands that's the behavior of a child, she still doesn't find endearing at all when Mitsuki sends her pictures of Katsuki completely wrapped around Izuku even in his sleep.

I can't move him when he's with Izuku, it's like he doesn't want to let your kid go.

Inko sends a smiling emoji back, even though she's not that happy with the situation.

Despite that, she can recognize that Katsuki is not a bad kid at all; after everyone in their classroom found out Izuku was quirkless, the little explosive boy was ready to defend him against the whole class, and he kept hanging out with Inko's heartbroken son like nothing had happened.

Now they're inseparable. Izuku still loves heroes and knows a lot about them and their quirks, but he doesn't mind trying something else in the future. He's still too young to decide what he'll do with his life, but at least he's more kind to himself.

Her little one has told her many times that Katsuki has promised to become the number one pro hero for the both of them. They even talk about Katsuki's future agency; the blond boy assures Izuku he'll get him a job there.

That promise makes Izuku happier and Inko silently thanks the Bakugos' kid for that.

And just when she thinks she can forget about her bad feeling, Izuku comes back with a mark of teeth on his left cheek.

"What happened, Izuku?" Inko kneels in front of him, worriedly checking the mark.

When the little boy touches his cheek, he smiles.

"It's okay, Mom!" Sweet Izuku chuckles. "It doesn't hurt. Kacchan was very gentle."

"But why did he bite you?" Inko asks, trying not to narrow her eyes too much in front of the little one. She wonders if she should call Mitsuki and tell her about her son's inappropriate behavior.

"He says that way the others will know I'm his," Izuku mumbles calmly, taking his shoes off, like it's completely normal.

Inko takes a deep breath, telling herself Katsuki is just a kid, a five-year-old boy who doesn't know any better. And yet, it worries her that her son's best friend is behaving way too possessive for his age.

"That's not right, Izuku. People are not things, they don't belong to other people," Inko says gently, trying to explain the situation to her child. "Please tell him not to do that again."

"Oh, alright," he nods, like the good boy he's always been. She smiles back and presses a soft kiss on his forehead.

If Katsuki doesn't stop, she'll talk to his parents, but Inko already knows he will, because even though he's quite stubborn and aggressive to other kids, he doesn't seem to want to upset Izuku.

She knows he'll listen to him.

The next day, when Izuku comes back without scratches, but a very distinctive plastic bracelet that says "Kacchan" Inko looks up at the ceiling to calm herself down. Well, at least it's not a bite, and she's sure that Katsuki will get over his fixation with her son like kids get over old toys.

Then, a few weeks later, something happens.

She rushes to the principal's office; good thing that her employer has always been kind to her and lets her leave whenever there's an emergency.

The secretary opens the door for her, not bothering to answer any of her questions. The principal didn't give her any details over the phone so she let her anxiety run wild and was already imagining Izuku seriously injured.

But then she sees him inside, perfectly fine.

"Mom!" He's a bit upset, but otherwise okay.

Only after she's completely sure Izuku is not hurt, she notices the other kid with bandages around his hand, looking a bit scared as his father keeps glaring at the Bakugos.

Then there's Katsuki, ignoring his mother's harsh words and staring at Izuku like he's absolutely devastated.

That's when Inko notices that her son is frowning at his best friend. He's mad at him.

"What happened?" Inko asks, feeling completely lost.

"One of the teachers saw Katsuki hurt Daisuke with a sharp pencil." The principal explains calmly, looking from the sobbing kid to the blond boy.

"But why is my Izuku here?" Inko presses, even more worried now. No, her son will never hurt another child.

"He was involved in the incident."

Before she can ask even more questions, Mitsuki starts scolding her son again, hitting him on the back of his head once.

"He took Izuku's hand!" Katsuki hisses, still glaring at the other kid.

"That's not a reason to hit another kid, brat!"

"But Izuku is mine!"

The principal rolls her eyes, probably thinking that's just a normal behavior among kids like the other adults in the room do, except for Inko. She seems to be the only one who thinks that Katsuki's behavior is rather concerning.

"That wasn't nice, Kacchan!" Izuku frowns at the blond boy before turning around to check on Daisuke.

That seems to be more effective than Mitsuki's scolding, because Katsuki stops yelling and watches, almost devastated, as Izuku moves closer to another kid that's not him.

If he hadn't hurt someone else, Inko would have felt sorry for him.

Katsuki's eyes fill with tears.

"See?" Mitsuki tells the other parent. "He regrets it."

Inko watches as her husband shakes his head behind the blond woman; Masaru seems to realize that his son is not upset because of what he did.

He just doesn't want Izuku to be mad at him.

"I'm sorry," Katsuki mumbles, tearing up, shocking his own parents in the process.

Even Daisuke's father looks pleased now, probably thinking that the kid's words are directed to his own son.

It's not only him, but everyone in the room who thinks Katsuki is apologizing to the other boy, but now that Inko has learned to read the signs, she can't be fooled. Katsuki is only apologizing to Izuku.

And he gets exactly what he wants, because her kindhearted son turns around to smile at him again.

"It's okay, Kacchan. Everyone deserves a second chance."

Katsuki nods, eyes glimmering with hope before he manages to escape from his mother's grip and walk towards Izuku before puling him into his arms.

He looks like he doesn't want to let go of Inko's son, but he eventually does, smiling back at the boy with pretty freckles.

After that, the principal decides Katsuki deserves a suspension; it's only a few days, but it seems like it doesn't affect the boy in the slightest.

At least until he realizes the complete extent of his punishment.

His expression turns devastated after he realizes no school means no more Izuku because his mother also grounded him and the little green bean is not allowed to visit him.

Perhaps that'll make him understand that it's not okay to hurt other people.

However, instead of walking out relieved, like the other parents do, Inko leaves even more worried.

But what can she possibly do about this?

***

You can read Chapter 5, Chapter 6 and Chapter 7 on my patreon already!

Patreon

[lush-escape]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 2k a/n: this chapter had me stumped. it's been a long time since I've written angst and I'm (unfortunately for yall) so happy to hear how upset it's making some of you lmao prev: anger next:

Stage four: Bargaining

Jason sits at his desk for the first time in weeks. He's staring at the notebook in front of him. He can remember the last time he tried journaling. The way he felt after, the way he spent almost five hours at the gym with Dick to calm himself down.

It felt awkward for him now trying to get back into it - the same way he felt the first time he tried journaling. But he pushed through the heavy feeling in his chest and picked up his pen.

hey,

it's officially July. I haven't written in a while I'm sorry. I don't know what it is about the heat that makes people crazier. Penguin went on a fucking rampage that took days to stop. I'm exhausted. I haven't been in the best head space either. Canceled a bunch of appointments with Christy. She said she understands but I know she's disappointed. I don't really want to tell her “sorry I'm actually Red Hood and I was chasing down a crazy guy who goes by the name Penguin with Batman. I need some normalcy in my life. I'm just tired of feeling like I'm letting down everyone in my life because of Red Hood. But I don't know anything else. Not that it's a fucking surprise.

It's your (official) one year anniversary with Jason and you were so excited to spend the night with him. He promised he would be home early, said that B just needed his help with a case and that it shouldn't take more than a few hours. You believe him, of course you do, despite the small bubble of anxiety in your stomach that kept whispering: ”he's going to bail”.

You can't let yourself be negative like that - not right now, you tell yourself. So you go grocery shopping wanting to cook a special dinner for the two of you and a dessert for after.

That evening everything was perfect. Dinner cooked to perfection, dessert smelled heavenly, you put on your best outfit. The one that you knew made Jason go a little feral every time you wore it. The table was set.

You sat excitedly at the table that was set with your best dishes, fresh flowers in a small vase he got you for Valentine's day, candles lit. Picture perfect.

“Be there soon.” The text from him read. The text from two hours ago.

Three hours ago.

Four and a half hours ago.

The candles burned out. Dinner is cold, bad now. And you sit there with tears in your eyes. Stupid. You feel stupid. You told yourself that you should have known a case with Bruce would mean he wouldn't make it home in time for dinner, but you held out hope.

Everything gets angrily thrown into the garbage. Dinner, dessert, the candles, the flowers. You stack the dishes in the sink and spray them off with tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Idiot…” you mumble under your breath before taking yourself to bed.

You're sleeping is interrupted several hours later, you didn't even hear Jason come home. But you definitely feel the way he slowly crawls over you in bed. One knee beside you, arms on either side of your head.

“Hey, hey-” he coos softly, voice rough when he feels you stirring.

“God I'm so sorry.” Jason kisses your temple before moving to the apple of your cheek, warm breath ghosting over your cool skin.

You're still angry, unbelievably so. But the second he's on you apologizing you deflate against your will. Of course you want to talk about what happened, be mad about it, but you also just want to be with him, want him to make you feel better.

“You didn't even text me.” You whisper.

“I know, I know. Two Face made a move an’ we went after him.” He's pressing his body weight against you, one hand on your waist while the other holds him up. He kisses down your cheeks to your jawline.

You tell yourself you can't be mad at him for that, you knew Red Hood came first - that's how it was since he was Robin and you knew that's how it would always be.

With a soft hum, mixing in with a sigh, you put your hands on the back of his neck. “You bailed on our anniversary.” You state it as a simple fact.

“I know, baby, I know. Trust me,” he kisses down the column of your throat and you tilt your head to the side, “I pray to God every day that I was different, that I could give you a normal life.” He presses an open mouthed kiss to your pulse.

“Don't want normal,” you breathe out a moan, “just want you.”

You feel Jason's lips twitch, like he's holding back a smile. “You got me, sweet girl.”

I know you'd get all huffy and cute with me and tell me something stupid like I don't need to change. Part of me thinks I do. I still pray to God that I could have been different for you. Normal. Then maybe you'd still be here.

Jason sits back in the chair and just stares at the paper in front of him. Praying to God… Even growing up Catholic with everything that happened to him, continues to happen to him, he's not sure he believes in much of anything anymore. The only thing he knows for sure is that evil exists in the world.

But he still clearly remembers the last time he truly prayed.

Jason was a mess, a wreck. He feels about as numb and dissociated as he did when he crawled his way out of his own grave. His mind was a foggy, jumbled mess. His head felt stuffy from crying as he made his way down the sidewalk. He was wandering aimlessly through Gotham. He wasn't even sure what time it was, just that it was dark and quiet on the street.

And then he stops, seeing a familiar set of steps out of his peripheral. He wipes at his nose with the sleeve of his jacket before looking up at the massive cathedral before him. Without thinking Jason's body moves on autopilot, pulling him up the steps.

He ignores the voice on his head telling him to leave, that it wouldn't be open, not this late at night. His hand is on the handle pulling the heavy door open. The high walls feel overwhelming as his feet carry him to the pew at the front of the cathedral. He sits with a heavy slump. Ornate stained glass windows glare at him.

Jason's not sure why he's here. The last time he was here was when he came with you and your family for Christmas. While neither of you were heavily devout you had promised your mom you would bring Jason along for the family tradition.

His eyes are heavy and dry from crying. He stares half lidded at the statue of Jesus that stands in the very center of the apse. Part of him wants to scoff.

“What a load of shit.” He whispers to himself with a rough voice. He can't remember the last time he spoke out loud, something other than crying. He knows you would scold him with a smile on his face for swearing in church. He hates the thought.

With a sigh he folds his hands together and rests his elbows on his thighs, his forehead connects with his hands. He sits like that in silence for several minutes before the tears start back up.

“‘s not fair.” The words come out in a wet whisper. He shakes his head. “Why couldn't things be different? They should have been different. She should be here.” He sniffles loudly.

“Why couldn't I save her? Please,” he whispers desperately. He opens his red rimmed eyes and stares at the statue.

“Please, please.” His voice shakes with each syllable. His cries grow louder, unabashed, all consuming.

“Please bring her back. Please. She didn't deserve this- didn't deserve any of this. Not me, not my bullshit.” Jason's shoulders shake as he sobs.

“I ruined her… it's my fault. Please, you have to take me instead.” He begs like the statue of Jesus can simply snap its fingers and replace Jason with you.

“I already died once, dammit. Please! You have to take me instead. You gave me a second chance when I didn't deserve it! I came back! Why can't she? You have to bring her back! I have to make this right. I have to tell her I'm sorry, I-” he breaks.

Jason cries roughly. His arms fold over his thighs and he cradles his head in his hands. “I have to tell her how much I love her. Just one more time, please.” His voice cracks again. He's not sure how long he sits there crying but he lets himself do so freely.

He doesn't remember falling asleep on the hard bench that he barely fits on. The sound of a door opening jolts him awake. His back and hips are stiff and he's congested from crying himself to sleep. He swipes at his face with his jacket sleeve again. His head pounds from dehydration.

“Good morning,” comes a sudden voice. It's calm, gentle.

Jason's disoriented for a second before he blinks the sleep from his eyes, “Morning, Father. I'm sorry, I'm leaving right now.” He says in a mumble.

The priest shakes his head as he walks over to Jason, a warm smile on his face.

“What brings you here, Mr. Todd?” He asks. There's a sympathetic tone in his voice that makes Jason bristle.

“How do you remember my name?” Jason asks, voice nasally. “Haven't been here in months…”

“Of course I remember you. Your soul is troubled.”

Jason stiffens, “Don't think they give you one'a those the second time ‘round.” He grumbles.

He smiles softly at Jason again but says nothing, waiting for him to answer his question.

“I um… came to pray. I think.” Jason answers, looking down at his folded hands in his lap.

“You think? What were you praying for, son?” His voice is so sympathetic and gentle that Jason almost hates him for it.

“I-” he clears his throat, “I lost someone. Someone important to me.” And immediately the priest knows who he's talking about, having spoken with your family about your passing despite being no contact with them.

“Ah, I'm sorry to hear-”

“Why wasn't it me?” Jason blurts out before he can stop himself, cutting the priest off. He's momentarily taken back by Jason's outburst.

“It should have been me. It's my fault she's gone.”

The priest is silent before he speaks again, “He forgives you.” He offers softly.

Jason scoffs, “Yeah? Bullshit. He doesn't forgive me. How could he? She was so good, so perfect and I got her killed. Me. A good for nothing. He hates me for getting her killed, ruining her-” his chest tightens and suddenly it's hard to breathe. It's ragged and rough. He's spewing his own projections, his own feelings.

“Son,” the priest goes to place a comforting hand on Jason's shoulder but he's standing before he can.

“I have to go. I'm sorry, Father.” Jason murmurs before heavy footsteps lead him out of the church.

Jason shakes his head and rubs his temple.

Praying doesn't do shit.

He slams the notebook closed.

taglist: @thy-crimson-king @vellichor01 @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3 @cecebookworm

[phyllocnistis]

Faith Creek Girls Camp - Chapter 1

“This,” she continued, “is Teagan. She’s your new roommate for the next month. Can you show her the cabin?”

Bethany stared at the girl in front of her, jaw slack. This could not be her new roommate.

-----------

After finding herself bunking with a new and intimidating co-counselor at Faith Creek Girls Camp, God loving, obedient Bethany must make amends with the reality that everyone has their own interests. Teagan, her raunchy and unapologetically dykey co-counselor, decides to make it her personal mission to expand Bethany's mind and introduce her to new experiences, leading Bethany on a path to self discovery.

-----

This story is co-authored by myself and @m-mmoonshine and can be found here on this blog or over on ao3. Even chapters are written by myself, odd chapters by Morgan. We hope you love Bethany and Teagan as much as us!

Bethany

The bus was swelteringly hot despite every window being open as wide as possible. The younger girls at the front didn’t seem to mind, at least, they were too focused on the host of activities that waited for them in the following month. The sound of girls laughing and squealing in excitement could be heard over the sound of the bus creaking as it carried the group up winding, narrow roads. As the bus driver expertly maneuvered the pot-hole filled roads, Bethany closed her eyes and smiled. A cool breeze whipped blonde hair into her face.

“Finally,” she thought, “I’m back.”

Attending Faith Creek Girls Camp was Bethany’s favorite time of year. She’d been a camper for years before finally growing old enough to work as a counselor, something she’d been doing for a while now. So far this summer, she had already taken the trip up the mountain twice, a different group of excitable preteens scrambling off the bus in front of her, eager to learn about their Lord but more eager to have unrestrained, summer fun with their friends for five days. Bethany had always been an outlier; as a camper, she had enjoyed the tabernacle sessions, bible studies, and sermons more than physical activities like canoeing, volleyball, or archery. As an adult, though, she found it more and more gratifying to come back and teach these sports, explaining the importance of Christ and how he could fit into the lives of each and every one of the campers, even through an activity as mundane as rock climbing.

The sound of preteen girls screaming enthusiastically told her that they had arrived and she opened her eyes with a big smile, tucking windswept pieces of hair behind her ear. Bethany watched as the campers tumbled out of the bus and onto the pavement, looming pine trees providing shade from the sun’s rays. Grabbing her duffel bag, she reached for the small golden cross that hung around her neck, fiddling with it as she stepped off the bus and into the warm afternoon. The mountain air was thin, but fresh and crisp. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and as the last counselors who had ridden the bus exited, Bethany turned to face the group of impatient campers.

“Who’s ready for an unforgettable time?!”

—----

After Bethany passed the group of campers off to camp leaders, she turned and made her way to the bunks with the other counselors. Since she had already worked the previous month, all of her belongings were already here, minus the rotation of clothes she had taken home this weekend to wash. She had decorated her side of the shared room in a way that made it feel uniquely hers for the summer; a pennant banner hung above her perfectly made bed with the words “ I <3 GOD” stamped in bold red letters on it. On her nightstand, a picture frame sat displaying young Bethany and her best camp friend at the beach. She dropped her duffel bag onto her bed and looked around the rest of her cabin just as the sounds of campers could be heard busting into the far side of the cabin. This month, eight girls aged from 12-14, would be bunking in her cabin, separated by a log wall that ran perpendicular to Bethany’s bed. Last week, her roommate and co-counselor, Leslie, had moved out early, leaving her room half empty. It made her heart sad to not see Leslie’s box of embroidery floss on the desk or her life jacket hanging on the wall, but she couldn’t deny that she was thrilled to meet her new roomie: camp was for meeting new people.

After putting away her toiletries, Bethany checked the time and realized she was running late for the first counselor meeting. Pulling a cardigan over her shoulders, she quickly peeked at her reflection. Soft features and perfectly trimmed eyebrows stared back at her, not a hair out of line. She busted out of the cabin door, hiking her skirt up to her shins to keep it clean. Her sandals smacked the dirt path as she walked quickly down the paved walkway between trees she knew like the back of her hand. In no time, she was rounding the corner to the main pavilion and her heart swelled as she saw friends she hadn’t seen in years and the faces of new friends she hadn’t met yet.

When Emma, the camp director, was done giving her weekly spill (the same rehearsed speech Bethany had heard dozens of times at this point,) she had a chance to finally mingle. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her sloped shoulders as the sun began to dip behind the trees, cooling the air. One of her favorite friends, Maisy, was here this month. Maisy lived out of town and could usually only make it for one month out of the summer, but Bethany loved when she could. She had hoped that Maisy would be her roommate this year, but after she’d asked, Maisy had politely declined, citing her love of Cabin 2 over Cabin 4.

Understandable, Bethany thought, she didn’t want to leave her cabin either so she couldn’t blame Maisy. Still, she was excited to catch up. Bethany talked about the camp’s most notable events of the summer so far; like Hanna Sosa getting pushed into the lake or Lacey Loyd almost falling off the ropes course. Maisy looked less than impressed, softly offering Bethany an awkward laugh before turning to mingle with a group of friends that Bethany wasn't keen on. Instinctively, Bethany reached for her cross necklace, immediately understanding that Maisy may be growing distant from her and not truly embracing the camp spirit like they had as kids. This hurt her feelings and truthfully, scared her, though she didn't want to think about it right now.

Trying to ignore the feeling, Bethany turned to the rest of the group, saying hello to the other counselors she had worked with all summer just to ease her tension. At least she knew these people were reliable, even if they weren't her closest friends. Finally, she saw a brief opening to speak to Emma, excited to see if there was any news on her new roommate. She approached nervously, having always been intimidated by Emma’s ‘no nonsense’ personality. Emma looked up from her clipboard with a close-lipped smile.

“Ah! Bethany, just the girl I was looking for!”

Bethany felt her heart sink. Was she in trouble?

Why would Emma be looking for her?

Before she could get a word out, Emma turned and grabbed the arm of another counselor milling around and pulled her over aggressively, but not maliciously. The girl looked offended by this, glaring up at Emma with dark, brooding eyes.

“This,” she continued, “is Teagan. She’s your new roommate for the next month. Can you show her the cabin?”

Bethany stared at the girl in front of her, jaw slack. This could not be her new roommate. Teagan wore dark eyeliner around both eyes and a denim jacket covered in patches, some with words Bethany didn’t even recognize. Her hair was short, barely touching her shoulders and was unnaturally black, like she had dyed it herself. In her ears, more than a dozen rings sparkled against the firelight and for a moment, when she lifted her bag over her shoulder, her shirt raised up a little and Bethany thought she saw a tattoo on her hip. She was nothing like Leslie at all.

“You should close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” Teagan said, breaking Bethany from her trance. Emma shot Teagan a glaring look, staring down at her with a tense gaze.

“Sorry,” she said as she offered a fake curtsy to Bethany,

“Where do we go?”

Teagan

Bethany's room was an absolute fucking nightmare. The banners on the walls, floral patterned clothes and stacks of bible book courses were not a welcome sight, though they were one she had fully anticipated. Last month, her mother had scolded her for not taking church “seriously” after she had come home from school and mocked the church’s pastor, challenging some of his teachings in front of the whole clergy. Her mother had been livid, threatening all sorts of punishments; from refusing to pay for her school to taking her truck away for the summer. She had eventually calmed down and decided Tegan could choose her own fate, offering her the opportunity to choose Faith Creek as a sort of “spiritual rehabilitation.” Seeing as she didn't have another way to pay for school and couldn't dream of not seeing her friends later in the summer, here she stood; staring across the room at her new, God-loving roommate for the next month.

“So.. What classes are you teaching?” Bethany asked, obviously trying to break the tension growing in the room. Her voice was sweet and bright, like a candied fruit. She stood on her side of the room next to her bed, arms crossed. The rest of the cabin was silent as kids gathered outside for evening icebreaker activities. Teagan could tell she meant well by her inquiry; surely, this Godly woman wouldn't be rude directly to her face. Still, her reaction to her appearance before had been visceral, a reaction Teagan normally loved from people, just.. usually ones she wasn't living with for extended periods of time.

“I, uh. Don't actually know. Rock climbing, I think,” Teagan answered, pulling out the papers tucked under her arm. Flipping through them all, she struggled to find the schedule she was looking for, weighed down by the lengthy pages on scripture, camp rules, and maps. Bethany watched for several moments before approaching cautiously, reaching a hand out towards the stack of papers in Teagan’s hand.

“Can I see?”

In no time at all, Bethany confirmed that this month, Teagan would be teaching rock climbing; supervising two groups, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Teagan vaguely remembered checking the “rock climbing” box on her work application, hoping her limited knowledge of belaying and alpinism could score her a “fun” assignment, as opposed to a less exciting class like a devotional or nature walks. She was pleased with this assignment, sure she could stick it out and get through the month.

Tired from the drive here, Teagan flopped down onto her bed with her hands behind her head and as if on cue, the front door to the cabin could be heard slamming as girls made their way back into the cabin laughing hysterically. The sound was grating on Teagan’s ears and immediately, she reached for a pillow that she held over her face to muffle it. Over the sound of laughter and through the feathers, she heard a cough, more like a throat clearing, and dreaded having to face Bethany. Slamming the pillow down onto her messily made bed, Teagan sat up and was met with disapproving eyes staring down at her, her arms crossed. She blinked purposefully and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “what gives?” Though she was trying her hardest to look tough, Teagan couldn’t help but chuckle under her breath at the sight of Bethany’s comically mad frown.

“Is something funny?” she asked, her eyes wide and quizzical. Though she must be angry, the softness in her voice and peachy glow in her cheeks made it hard for Teagan to tell.

“Not at all,” Teagan answered, standing and striding past her into the open cabin, their eyes locked until she actually stepped out of the room. The room fell quiet for a moment as the counselor appeared, but chaos quickly returned with Teagan’s surprisingly upbeat dismissal,

“What is up, Cabin 4!” Immediately, the sounds of shrill screams and laughter took over the room again and Bethany was left standing in her bunk, stunned, for a moment. Eventually, she found herself and returned to the main part of the cabin to help with the rowdy group.

Teagan knew the best way to get through this month would be to “fake it” until she could get off by herself and have a moment of peace. She had plenty of accelerants for that stashed in her car but truly, even just a dip in the lake on her own would put her at ease. So she did just that, pretending to love every second of camp life and following Bethany’s lead when it came to actually supervising. The campers warmed up to her right away, thinking she was just “too cool!” She watched Bethany seethe as the girls asked her questions about the patches on her jacket and about the way she did her makeup. Bethany interrupted,

“Okay girls, time for bed! Get your jammies and toothbrushes, we’re gonna walk down to the showerhouse!”

A choir of groans sang out as the girls reluctantly stood to dig through their suitcases. Teagan shot Bethany a look, intrigued by what she thought was.. jealousy? She returned to her room to get her shoes before joining Bethany and the campers at the front of the cabin, the group of them walking as a unit past the other cabins and the messhall to the showers. Bethany took a seat on a bench outside to wait as girls brushed their teeth and showered. Teagan watched as Bethany crossed her legs at the knees and the maroon fabric of her skirt tightened over her skin. Trying to ignore it and move on, she approached the showerhouse and leaned against it. She could feel her roommate’s stare boring into her as she leaned on the wooden wall of the building, staring out into the woods beyond them. Eventually, the feeling became too apparent and she had to look, turning her head abruptly to meet Bethany’s eyes. For just a moment, Teagan saw her eyes widen before she looked away, tucking her hands into her jacket and glancing back nervously only once. The two didn’t speak for the remaining 20 minutes it took for the campers to get ready for bed which only made it drag on agonizingly slow. Each minute felt like an eternity and by the time the group was on their way back to their cabin, Teagan was actually grateful for the sounds of girls screaming and laughing.

When they made it back, it was nearly 10 pm, time for the mandatory lights out. Bethany returned to the main room and took a seat at the front no longer wearing her cardigan. Instead, Teagan saw nothing but a fitted, grey camp shirt that wrapped around her in ways that seemed truly too unholy for this place. She leaned on the doorframe of their bunk as Bethany recited scripture and praised her Lord, confessing her love for Him. At least, that’s what Teagan thought she was saying; she was too focused on watching her to hear or retain anything she actually said. She couldn’t help but notice how Bethany lit up when she spoke of God, her eyes growing brighter and her smile wider. Teagan couldn’t help but notice the way her hands held the book, fingers delicately marking the pages most important to her. She was fixated on the shimmer that reflected off the necklace around her neck, catching herself very blantantly staring at Bethany’s chest before she removed herself entirely, turning and heading to their bathroom to brush her own teeth. By the time she was spitting minty water back into the sink, Bethany was back in their room and quiet whispers could be heard from the far side of the cabin, no doubt the campers telling scary stories. Teagan tried not to make eye contact as she offered a forced “smile” and walked by Bethany, their fingers briefly grazing one another’s in passing. Bethany turned her head to where Teagan had stood but by that point, she was already flopping into her bed again, oblivious to whatever Bethany needed. She was so close, if she could just make it a little longer, she’d be able to slip out and seek some sort of creature comfort. She bid her time and waited until she could hear nothing but the snores of teenagers and the soft breathing of her roommate, surely asleep now that 45 minutes had passed.

Only one floorboard had creaked as she stepped out of the cabin, one she marked the location of in her head before continuing. It was on the far side of the room she shared with Bethany and for a moment she was worried that it had woken her, turning her head to stare, hoping she hadn’t just busted herself. She stood still for several seconds, the breath caught in her throat, before she was confident that it hadn’t woken Bethany. The rest of the cabin she was less worried about. She was technically in charge, so there would be no reason for the campers to be suspicious. Quietly cracking the door open, she slipped into the cool night air, latching the screen behind her.

Bethany

Does she play me for stupid?

Bethany laid awake in a silent room staring at the wooden rafters above her. She had been a counselor for years now. Did Teagan genuinely think that she wouldn’t notice her sneaking out on the first night? She turned her head to confirm that she was actually gone, her eyes narrowing in distaste at the sight of the empty bed. Quietly, she stood and fastened her sandals before making her own way to the front of the cabin. Taking one last glace at the room full of sleeping campers, she turned and quietly latched the door just as Teagan had. She wasn’t entirely sure where she should look first until she remembered that Teagan had driven here herself. She set off with determination, making her way across the campground to the parking area to see if she could find her untrustworthy roommate.

The parking lot was empty. No lights were on, no engines ran, and nothing look disturbed, so Bethany turned again, unsure if she should just go get Emma or continue looking on her own. She thought back to how the campers had reacted to Teagan, seemingly loving her and wanting to know everything about her while offering Bethany the same lukewarm greeting she was used to from campers their age. When she was younger, she’d had a similar counselor to Teagan for a summer, and though she would never admit it, she had always liked her more than the others. She had been so unique, so cool. So pretty. Just then, a noise pulled her from her thoughts. Rocks tumbling near the lake caused her to snap her head to the side, bee-lining it for the noise she had just heard.

She tried to keep quiet as her sandals moved across the gravel towards the treeline. There was a small trail that lead down to the lake shore, usually only used for the counselor-only parties that were held at the end of each month. Bethany didn’t ususally make the walk out here at night; every week this summer she had been down by the lake before sunset and come back when it was barely dusk. Still, she slipped between the trees on the narrow trail and leaves grazed her bare arms as she made her way into the rocky opening. Immediately, she knew she had been right.

The moon was full tonight and shined down across the lake with a bright, glowing brilliance. Normally, Bethany would have loved this sight. The reflection on the water danced back at her in silver waves that couldn’t be dampened out by the darkness of the lake, even at it’s deepest points. The pine trees loomed over the far side of the lake and created a distinct skyline; triangular tips of branches seemed to pierce the few clouds that floated above. They were so far into the country at Faith Creek that the stars shined brighter than normal, too, unobstructed by city lights or smog. Unfortunately for Bethany, in the middle of it all, a figure sat illuminated by the moon’s glory, leaning back on her elbows, ruining the view for her. Bethany stood still and watched as the feeling of her nightgown tickled her as wind blew the fabric against her calves.

It didn’t seem like Teagan was… doing anything, just sitting there and admiring the evening, sort of like she was. Bethany began to second guess herself now. She had marched over here with a determination, ready to get Teagan thrown from the camp or at least from her cabin, but she started to wonder if she had misread the situation… Taking a deep breath, Bethany took a step forward and the trail crunched under her foot loud enough that she looked down, nervous the sound would give her away. When she raised her head again, Teagan was looking back in her direction, already rising to her feet. In a split moment, Bethany ran through her options. She could run, now realizing that she was out past curfew, too, she didn’t want to get caught either. She could hide in the brush off the side of the trail, though her nightgown was a bright white and Teagan would surely see it. Or she could do.. nothing. She ended up choosing the latter, deciding that she would hold her ground and confront the girl that was already making her summer hellacious.

Putting on her strongest face, she raised her head and pushed her shoulders back as she saw Teagan making her way to the trail where she stood. In just a second, her co-counselor was walking up to her with an inquisitive look in her eyes. She tried to read past the look and figure out what Teagan was actually thinking, but before she could determine anything, her thoughts were interrupted.

“I didn’t take you as someone who would sneak out.”

Her voice was low and soft as she spoke, careful not to raise her pitch. Bethany stared back at her, the “strong” face she had donned now having melted into a look of confusion as she thought about the words.

“I didn’t sneak out! I’m only here because you left in the middle of the night!” She could feel her own voice rushing as she hurried to get the words out, now annoyed that Teagan was accusing her of breaking rules for no reason.

“It’s 11 pm..” Teagan couldn’t help but crack a smile, tilting her head to the side as she continued. “Plus, don’t you think it’s gorgeous?” The question irritated Bethany.

“Obviously, I do, look at-”

“Then why don’t you just come sit with me?”

Bethany felt her face run red as the words sank into her. She wasn’t sure why, but she hoped that Teagan couldn’t see it in the dim light. Several seconds passed in an uneasy silence as the two of them gazed back at each other, Bethany’s mind racing. She hated being out of her cabin this late, there was no one in the bunk in case of an emergency! It would be her fault if anything went wrong! Still, the campers this month were older than usual and were sleeping peacefully back in their cabin, blissfully unaware of the crisis Bethany had found herself in. Waves could be heard lapping against the sand as she gathered herself, pursing her lips before she spoke.

“Fine. But only for a few minutes.”

Teagan stepped to the side and opened up the path for her to walk past, comically gesturing to Bethany like she was a game-show contestant. She narrowed her eyes at her and took a cautious step towards the sandy beach, thinking about all the trouble they could get in for being here. Still, her heart pounded as adrenaline coursed through her, excited about ‘breaking the rules,’ even if it was over something as mundane as stargazing. As Bethany got closer, she could see that Teagan had brought a towel to the beach to sit on. She shot an uneasy look in her direction, though Teagan did not see it. Approaching slowly, she lowered herself onto the yellow chevron pattern and crossed her legs to keep them off the sand, leaning back on her hands to get a better view of the sky. Seconds later, Teagan joined her. She stretched out her bare legs and crossed them at the ankle, leaning back on her elbows as she had been when Bethany approached. Bethany could feel warmth radiating off of her as the two shared a towel, staring up at the dark, moonlit sky.

[carpet-gremlin]

just finished chapter 4. screaming crying throwing up. what the hell

[kaizokuseb]

i reread my biggest posted fanfic last night and then went and found the chapters i was working on before i quit years ago. it's weird because i have basically an entire finished chapter and another almost finished, but i was never quite happy with them, so they're just sitting there. i don't have any desire to write more, but part of me wants to post it because i think i would like that if i was subscribed to a fic i really liked? i also reread the comments and some of them were so enthusiastic, i imagine they would like more even though it isn't finished.

idk. i did really enjoy reading it again, so maybe i can work up the motivation to write at least another chapter. it would be a very different ending than i planned and would probably feel rushed, but maybe that's okay

[hauntingblue]

I'm still scared in sabaody

This is crazy...

THS IS LIKE 300 CHAPTERS AWAY!!!!! THE SMILE... and mingo being the owner of the slave house for the tenryuubitos... OF COURSE

Look.... luffy enablers vs normal rational people

I was like yeah sure luffy was saying he wanted to become king of the pirates but rayleigh didn't explicitly say roger wanted to become pirate king just that people called him that so I am SURE shanks is saying luffy has the same dream we don't know about as Roger. Which lines up bc luffy said shanks knew of it and then in wano ace tells yamato and he says roger said the same thing and ace also knew of it!!! Which is crazy that it's set up this early but EVERYTHING is being set up here

I need to frame this btw.

Shakky the mother that stepped up.... also new conspiracy theory shakky is Hancock's mother bc she is a fan of luffy and hancock is too.... she was busy being a pirate to take care of hancock so she feels incredibly guilty about what happened to her so shakky either hasn't told her and hancock doesn't know or they have a difficult relationship. Yeah sure whatever. I dont care if rayleigh is her father or not bc as you know I believe in asexual reproduction in one piece thank you.

🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️what can I say

😳🫣

Here we fucking go again..... I can't do this

Incredible face sanji

SHE KNOWS!!!!!!

Luffy tearing up...... christ

Sanji getting away from his group with nami to save zoro will never get old like jesus christ look at this

CHOPPER 😭😭😭😭😭😭

CRAZYYYYYYY IM GOING CRAZYYYYY

LUFFYYYYYYY NOOOOO

NAMIIIIII NOOOOOOOOOO nami asking for help and luffy not being able to help her this time.... this is so sick and twisted

THE WAY THIS GETS WAY WORSE MAKES ME SICK!!!!!!!!!!! SICK!!!!!! TWISTED!!!!!!!!

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ FIGURE EIGHTS

violet; 28,888 words; fluff and smut (at the end), semi enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi x figure skater!reader, ice dancers!meljayce, miscommunication, smau-intermissions, toxic ex!cait, simpgirl!vi, slowburn, the gays r bad at feelings, lots of making out that almost leads to something, emotional edging (for YOU lol), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, oral (r!receiving), slightly unhinged!reader, no "y/n"

summary: a hockey player and a figure skater kind of, sort of, not really, but then actually fall in love. what could possibly go wrong? (narrator: apparently, everything.)

a/n: YALL. yall. YOU. ALL. lmfao. i can't believe i finished this (i say, after writing any fic longer than 5k words). but i TRULY doubted for a second that i would bc as i kept writing, it kept... getting longer? i hope that this doesn't drag, and that you guys like it. it's really a fucking labor of love. like heavy emphasis on the labor. shoutout to @vifilms for being my emotional support, and to my irl bf for actually physically reading through like 90% of this fic out LOUD with me to make sure the dialogue doesn't sound awk. BUT ANYWAYS. pls enjoy and PLS tell me what u guys think!!!! the smau fake texts won't start till chapter three, but ! it's my first time making like.. fake texts so sldkfjsd.

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: party people

chapter one: shut up and kiss me

chapter two: fists to a knife fight

chapter three: love's dream

chapter four: for cup's sake

chapter five: don't hate the player (suggestive)

chapter six: six (nsfw)

─── TAG YOU'RE IT .ᐟ.ᐟ

pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged for this series! :) if you're already on my vi-taglist via my normal taglist link, then you're all good. if you only wanna be tagged for this series, comment below! pls pls have your age visible somewhere on your blog as this will be an 18+ fic!!!! thank you!!!

prologue: party people

─── Ⅵ IT STARTS WITH A GAME of spin the bottle — a college party post-game, the home team the exhalant victors, the crowds of adoring fans the worshippers at their beer-tower altars, doing keg stands and shot-gunning cans of cheap bud lite for an approving grin or a wink.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” you ask, jerking back as a drunken guy nearly topples into you, the red solo cup in his hand sloshing over onto the already sticky linoleum floor.

Mel sighs, “Because, darling, you promised me that you’d come out at least once if me and Jayce made it through the Challenger Series this year.”

She tugs you behind her, weaving through the crush of bodies till the cramped living room area opens onto a much larger patio, the mid-autumn chill cooling your skin.

“It was a joke,” you say, whining slightly even as Mel grabs what looks like an unopened hard cider from the table and presses it into your hand.

“Yes, and one that hurt my feelings,” Mel sniffs, turning her nose up, though a grin teases at her lips, “so to make up for it, you now have to stay at this party and have some semblance of a good time.”

And that was three and a half drinks ago, because sometime between then and now, you’ve found yourself pulled into an unwitting game of spin the bottle with what seems like half the entire hockey team, sitting next to Mel, her boyfriend Jayce on your other side, chatting animatedly with one of the girls hockey girls. You overhear the words “creatin” and “Bulgarian Squat” and decided that it’s time for you to tune out of the conversation.

“Vi, it’s your turn!”

Vi, your thoughts linger over the sound.

It’s a pretty name.

You glance up at the girl sitting across from you, Number Six — you’ve always known her as that, what with the tattoo on her cheek (there were rumors that it’s actually not real and she just reapplies one of those temporary tattoos every two weeks) and the fact that it’s her jersey number, it’s really not too hard to remember.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, laughing as she reaches for the empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle. Her right hand’s bandaged up and you can’t help staring at it. When you look up next, it’s to catch her watching you, your eyes meeting in a startling clash of raw contact — the cacophonous noise of the party dulling out to a thin whine somewhere at the back of your head as you stare at her and she stares right back.

You’d never noticed that her eyes, even in the dark, beneath the dim, flickering patio lights, reads mourning-dove blue, so subtle it’s almost gray, so sharp as she takes you in that your stomach drops from inside you. She smirks and twists her fingers expertly around the bottle, setting it whizzing.

You tear your eyes away, your breath sent astray in your chest by just that look alone. You frown at the spinning bottle, your mind abuzz with fragmentary thoughts you can’t quite string along for long enough to form a full sentence — eyes… her lips are pretty… wasn’t she dating… someone? who??? what’s her name again? something pretty —

“— right, ice princess, you ready?”

“Huh?” you jerk your eyes up from the bottle to find everyone watching you. From your left, Mel nudges you with a sanctimonious grin, her eyes flickering down to the bottle and back up towards —

“Go on!” she hisses, even as you blink uncomprehendingly down at the bottle pointing right at you.

Across the circle, Vi’s questioning smirk is all the answer you need as your alcohol-addled brain finally puts together the pieces.

“R-right…” you push up onto your knees, but something holds you back, a niggling feeling in the back of your brain as Vi’s smirk grows wide and she jerks her head towards the living room.

“Want a bit of privacy? Or… would you prefer an audience?”

Half the circle wolf-whistles at the insinuation, the other half roll their eyes, leaning back on their elbows as if to settle in for a long night.

You lick your lips, feeling your mouth scald dry.

“Privacy. Please.”

You follow Vi stiffly from the patio back into the stuffy house, her fingers closing around your wrist as she tugs you behind her through a long hallway splitting off from the main living room, branching into a series of what look like bedrooms. Half the doors are closed, illicit sounds echoing out from behind them, but Vi finds an empty one near the end of the hallway and pushes it open, leading you inside.

“Oh wow,” you say, looking around the room. It’s a typical fratboy’s room, full of suggestive posters, the floor littered with questionably laundered clothes.

“What, not your ideal setting for a makeout-sesh with a stranger?”

You frown as your eyes slingshot back to Vi, her standing feet from you, hands tucked loosely into her pockets, watching you with dark, firefly eyes.

“Thought we were just supposed to kiss once.”

Vi chuckles, closing the distance between you in a few quick strides, crowding you up against the closed door.

“Sure. We can do that. Or…” she makes no effort to hide the way her eyes flicker down to your lips, trailing back up in a line of fire that sizzles against your skin. “I could show you what a real good time looks like.”

Your breath crystalizes in your chest, and the strange, tickling feeling traces down the back of your head till it gathers, hot and unconscionable at the nape of your neck — a spin-click wheel of half-formed thoughts and images ticking by behind your eyelids as you try to remember why the hell this feels so wrong.

And then, it clicks, and you press a hand to Vi’s chest just as she’s leaning down to graze her lips against yours, the friction so delicious you almost lose your train of thought.

“A-are you sure this is a good idea? Didn’t you just break up with that track and field girl? Caitlyn?” you blurt out, a culmination of all the snippets of whispered conversations and half-caught glances of the pair of them across campus. The It-Girl Couple, people called them, the hockey team star and the track and field genius. They were hard to miss, and even harder to forget.

A moth-wing-flicker of emotions crosses Vi’s face as she takes half a step back, her expression morphing into one of shock, and then hurt, and finally, hard-lined disgust as she looks down at you with a thin-lipped grimace.

“Oh fuck you.”

She yanks you from the door, storming out without a backwards glance. You catch yourself against the half-made bed, your breath coming in heaving pants as your head spins. Guilt curdles in the bed of your stomach like spoilt milk, and it only takes you half a second to realize that of all the things to say, that probably was the worst possible choice.

You’d heard mention of the breakup, even if you didn’t have any stakes in this so-called game. It was harsh and messy and loud, and it had spilled across campus like a backed-up toilet, oozing foulness and stank across the grounds till not a single person was left unstained in the aftermath.

“Wait —” you stumble after Vi, but it’s too late. By the time you reach the patio doors, she’s already settling back into her place in the circle, an easy grin slung across her lips.

You swallow, pushing through the door to scurry over to Mel’s side. Mel beams at the flush in your cheeks, convinced (just like the rest of the circle) that it’d been one hell of a kiss, judging by how entirely breathless you are.

“Damn Vi, you gotta learn how to go easy on them figure skaters, hm?” Margot smirks, her eyes glittering as she looks you over, “look at the poor darling — she can barely breathe!”

Everyone laughs, and Vi flashes a convincingly satisfied smirk, shrugging up a shoulder. You glance at her, only to shiver at the arctic ice behind her gaze as your eyes catch once more.

“What can I say? Easy isn’t a setting I come programmed with.”

You duck your head as Vi casts you one more frigid look before turning to laugh at something a teammate has just said, and the circle devolves into good-natured banter and pocket conversations. You gulp around your too-dry throat and pluck Mel’s drink from her hand, tossing the rest of it back in a single gulp. She blinks at you, eyes wide.

“Darling, are you —”

“I — I’m fine just — it’s — I think I’m gonna head back.”

Mel frowns, “Are you sure? I mean —” she looks towards where Vi’s been pulled into an impromptu arm-wrestling match with some dude from the football team, “you could try and —”

You shake your head, “No, I — I think I’m good. I had a good time, I just —” you run a hand through your hair, “I’ve got practice tomorrow and Amara’s gonna murder me if I get there late.”

Mel stares for a second before relenting, a soft sigh on her lips.

“Alright, alright — go on then. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, yes?”

You give her a tight-lipped smile, reaching out for a quick hug before ducking out of the party, skirting the edges of the growing mosh pit forming in the living room till you finally find yourself out on the front steps again.

You close your eyes for a second, pressing your back to the frat house door, feeling the dull thump of the music inside reverberating through the thin wooden frame as you breathe in and out.

You can still taste the heat of Vi’s breath on your lips, feel harsh sting of ice as she’d caught your eyes after. The chill air, once refreshing, pebbles your skin and an involuntary shiver shakes down your spine. You wrap your arms around yourself and give your head a good shake.

Whatever, you think, stepping off the porch, casting your eyes up at the star-strewn sky, a whisp of warm breath fogging up the air before you.

Not like it’ll matter. Bet she won’t even remember me after tonight.

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt

[sprenthecreator]

IMPURITIES EP. 1 | N.Y. State of Mind

Male reader x Yunjin, Chaewon

First chapter of this LSF mini-series.

word count: 8.3k 

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When HYBE made you sign that contract over two years ago, you had no idea that you were going to be managing five wild, unruly girls. If you had known, maybe your signature wouldn't have been on that piece of paper, but at that point in your life, you needed the job; it was either that or starve. Besides, as a frequent K-Pop fan, it really was your dream job, so there weren't many issues with it; it was perfect.

But you never imagined that at your age, you would feel so close to going gray because of the behavior of those girls.

Maybe you were exaggerating and being a little grumpy. After all, they were girls around your age, so you could easily put yourself in their shoes and understand what was going through their heads. However, with all that, there were things that you would never be able to understand in your life simply because you weren't a woman. It might sound sexist, but it was the only explanation you could find.

At first they were little angels, as always happened in such cases; you were a stranger to them, and of course they weren't going to behave like unruly teenagers from day one. But as the days went by—yes, days, not even months—, the ones who seemed to be well-behaved and obedient girls turned out to be a pain in the ass 70% of the time.

To be honest, you couldn't say you didn't love them all. They were unbearable most of the time, but they were also endearing, and you could say you considered them good friends. What other choice did you have? You couldn't be at odds with the girls you would spend seven years of your life with, so there had to be a joint effort on both sides to not make discord the status quo. The results were positive, and even though they continued to do their misdeeds, you had learned to tolerate them for your mental health.

Two years later you were practically a family, having gone through both ups and downs. The emotional journey had been intense and rough, both for you and them. The things you had to deal with were rubbish: tight schedules, physical and mental overload, and most often, tons of hate on social media from out-of-work mentally retarded people. But like the family you had become, you faced each adversity with a firm grip.

And now you were facing the most stressful thing an artist could go through: a damn tour. But not just a tour, also a performance at one of the biggest music festivals in the world, something that even you were terrified of, and if you were terrified, you couldn't even imagine how they felt at what would be one of the most important moments of their careers.

You were all excited, though. The arrival in Los Angeles was smooth and uneventful, both at the airport and later at the hotel. However, things started to go wrong the very next day, at the sound and stage checks for the festival. As a manager, it was your job to absorb the vast majority of those problems so that the girls didn't have to worry, but due to factors beyond your control, it ended up affecting them directly and therefore, it also affected their final performance.

It wasn't a great performance; everyone was disappointed, but you remained strong and encouraging for them to keep them from falling apart, especially in the days to come when social media was at its hate peak and the criticism just kept coming. It was part of your job, but more than a manager, those couple of days you were just a friend to them, and the bonds became even stronger. It was hard to have to get to the point of having to disable all comments on every platform, but it was the best measure you could suggest as a professional who looked after her artists.

Coachella aside, preparations for the rest of the tour were going great. There weren't too many dates due to scheduling issues for the next few months, when the girls would have to start preparing for their next comeback, so you would only visit a few big cities until next year, which is when you would go to Europe as well.

The first stop of the tour was none other than New York, the city where Yunjin had grown up. You had arrived from Los Angeles in the morning, and at noon you were already checking in at the Park Hyatt for your stay for the next three days. The day of arrival was free, then the next was the rehearsal at the venue and the last day was the concert.

"Okay, listen to me everyone," you said, standing in the middle of them with the room cards in hand. You were in the lobby, near one of the many bars in the hotel. "You have a room for each of you, but if you want to share that's your problem," you handed each of them their cards. "If you're going to leave the hotel please notify me or I’ll kill myself and then blame you in your dreams."

"I'm not planning on doing anything today," Sakura said, taking her card. "I'm exhausted and I just want to finish knitting the hat I was making."

"Can you teach me?" Eunchae asked, standing next to Kura and holding onto her arm.

"What, knitting?" Sakura looked at her. Eunchae just nodded with a pair of bright, excited eyes. "Alright, I'll see what I can do."

"I'm playing Overwatch with a friend later," Kazuha said. "So I won't be going out either."

"What friend?" you asked, out of curiosity.

"That's not your problem, why do you want to know?"

You sighed.

"I'm literally just asking."

Chaewon and Yunjin were muttering things to each other, between giggles and knowing glances. You looked at them with a raised eyebrow.

"And what about you two, anything to say?"

They both looked at you with their arms linked, their eyes innocent and their lips pursed to keep from laughing.

"Nope, nothing," Yunjin shook her head.

"You're lying," you looked at Chaewon. "You're going out tonight, aren't you?"

"We already told you no!" she protested. "Why would you distrust us?"

"I can list the reasons and finish tomorrow."

"Oh come on, you're exaggerating," Yunjin patted your chest a couple of times. "We're not going out, really."

"Yeah, we're just going to eat snacks and watch a couple movies," Chaewon nodded.

You narrowed your eyes and looked at both of them for a few seconds. Suspicious, too suspicious. You weren't sure if they were really going out, but they were up to something, that much was obvious.

"Fine, I'll choose to believe you," you said. "Now go, I have a meeting with the venue staff and I can't be late."

The girls went to their rooms, and you asked one of your assistants to take your luggage to yours. The meeting was an hour long, but you had to be there at least twenty minutes early, so you hurried out of the hotel to the venue, to arrange everything related to the logistics of tomorrow and the day of the concert.

The meeting in question started at 1 in the afternoon and ended at 4. Then you and part of your team went to lunch, and at around 7 you were back at the hotel. Your day was not over yet, but the rest of your work could be done calmly from the comfort of your room.

Upon going up and entering your room you went straight to take a shower, then put your laptop on the desk next to the hallway and got to work, with headphones on and a can of Monster that you had bought during lunch.

Your inbox was full, and you were a bit of a workaholic, so you immediately locked in and got going. In these situations you always lost track of time, which was pretty unhealthy but you couldn't help it no matter how hard you tried. But you had to admit that this time you had gone too far, because it was 3 in the fucking morning.

There were still some things to attend to, but it was time to draw the line and set a limit, because otherwise you would end up seeing the sunrise when the next day you should be in full physical and mental prime. So you closed your laptop, rubbed your eyes and took off your headphones before standing up.

Whenever you went to sleep after sitting for a long time you had the habit of taking a walk to stretch your legs, and since there was no space in your room to do it comfortably, you opted for the hotel hallways. So you grabbed your phone, a small jar of M&M's, and left the room.

As expected, the hallways at that hour were deserted. To other people it would have seemed spooky, but to you it was relaxing for the simple fact that no noise pollution of any kind reached your ears, just the sound of the ventilation and the videos you occasionally watched on Twitter at low volume.

But soon you were no longer alone. Just as you reached the elevator to turn around and go back to your room, the elevator dinged and the doors swung wide open.

What you didn't expect was that the ones coming out of there would be two hot girls in cocktail mini dresses and high heels, and that...

Wait a fucking minute.

"Oh this has to be a fucking joke," you sighed, bringing your hands up to your face to lift your head and run both through your hair.

"M-Manager-nim, uhm, we can explain!" Chaewon hurried to say, exiting the elevator with Yunjin.

“Don’t talk to me,” you said, holding up a finger. You didn’t want to know anything, so you turned around and started walking back to your room.

“No, wait!” Yunjin said, chasing after you. “Where are you going? U-Uh… What are you going to do?”

“I said don’t talk to me,” you replied, looking ahead. The two of them walked behind you, right behind your shoulders. “I’ll report you to HYBE so you can get into trouble.”

"No! Please don't!" Chaewon pleaded, shaking your arm slightly. "No no no! We're sorry!"

"It was my idea!" Yunjin snapped. "It's just that if we told you what we were going to do, you wouldn't let us!"

"I wonder why," you said. "I can smell the alcohol coming off of you two."

"We're not even drunk!" Chaewon said. "I swear! Please forgive us!"

"I don't care, you crossed the line," you shook your head. "It would have been easier if you had just been honest with me from the start."

"So you refused to let us out?" Yunjin asked, defiant. "It was easier to just sneak out and be done with it! And besides, what the hell are you doing up at this hour?"

"Managing your reckless ass and looking out for your future. But I see you don't care about that."

At that moment you arrived in front of your door, but before you could put your hand on the knob, Chaewon stepped in between to stop you. Your bodies were very close, and only then did you pay attention to how she was dressed. It was a short, tight black dress, with a considerable neckline and long sleeves that went from her shoulders to cover her hands. She looked so hot in it that it distracted you for a moment, but not enough to forget your mission.

“Kim Chaewon, step aside,” you demanded.

“Aniyo,” she shook her head.

“Oh come on, manager-nim,” you heard Yunjin say quietly behind you, close to your ear. She put her hands on your shoulders and squeezed them gently. “Why don’t you relax a little?”

“Don’t tell me to relax when you guys lied to me so blatantly,” you replied, still looking at Chaewon. “Get out of the way.”

Chaewon glanced at Yunjin over your shoulder and showed a hint of a smile, before stepping away from your door and closing the small distance between you.

“We already told you we were sorry, manager-nim,” Chaewon said, placing a hand on your chest. You felt her breath against yours. “There’s no need to be so grumpy.”

She very subtly pressed her body tight against yours, looking into your eyes with slightly parted lips. You knew perfectly well her intentions because you were no fool, and you wanted to respectfully push her away and enter your room, but a stronger part of you kept your feet rooted there.

“Chaewon-ah…” you sighed, trying to change her mind.

Yunjin pressed herself against you as well, making you feel her chest against your back. She wrapped one arm around your abdomen and slipped the other hand into the left pocket of your sweatpants.

"Why don't you come with us to the pool so you can reconsider this whole thing?" the redhead asked in your ear.

"Yeah, I think all those emails have saturated your mind," Chaewon said, wrapping her arms around your neck. One hand stayed on your shoulder and the other went up to ruffle your hair. "Let us help you clear your head a little."

Before you could say anything, Yunjin lowered her hand from your abdomen and brought it to your bulge, just rubbing it up and down with her palm. Then any desire you had to go to your room and write that email vanished. Still, you didn't want to get too proactive just yet, you wanted to keep some of your dignity and see how far they would take it.

"So? What do you say?" Yunjin insisted, slowly making you hard. "You coming with us?"

Again the words got caught in your mouth when Chaewon suddenly pulled you into a kiss. Everything happened too fast for you to resist, and before you knew it you were wrapped up in a sensual kiss with her, your hands on that small sexy waist. Yunjin was now massaging your already hard cock, her head on the side of yours as she watched you and Chaewon kiss. That was what finally got you into the whole deal.

“You know this is wrong, right?” you asked against Chaewon’s lips, and you turned around to face Yunjin, who thanks to her heels was just as tall as you. Her dress was even shorter than Chaewon’s: burgundy velvet, strapless and an A-line skirt, perfect for showing off that perfect pair of legs. “Not only because I’m your manager, but because you have a sound check later.”

Yunjin put a hand on your shoulder and pressed herself against you. You instinctively wrapped one arm around her waist to hold her. It should have put you off by the fact that you'd never touched her like that in two years, but fuck, you were two people almost the same age, and she was a hot girl; you weren't going to miss that golden opportunity no matter how upset you were with the two of them.

"I've been on more important errands on less sleep, honey," she said, running the tip of her tongue along the side of her upper lip. Her hand still playing with your cock over your sweatpants. "So I don't care."

"Yeah, I know you don't care," you said before kissing her.

Yunjin had probably the most attractive lips you had ever seen, and it didn't surprise you that she knew how to use them so well in a kiss. Your heads went from side to side, as you tasted each other's lips and filled the hallway with wet sounds. Her hand squeezed your bulge and rubbed the outline of your cock, and you just lowered your hand from her waist to her left ass cheek and left it there.

"Hey, hurry up," Chaewon said from behind you. She had you by the waist, giving you little kisses on the back of your neck. "I want to cool off in the pool."

Yunjin pulled away from your lips and looked at Chaewon over your shoulder.

"You and I both know that's not what you want," she said with a giggle, and looked at you. "You're in then?"

"You guys dragged me in," you corrected her. "And I already have my hand on your ass. Now I have no choice."

"Then let's go!" Chaewon said, and she moved out from between you and the door to walk towards the elevator.

Yunjin gave you a couple more small kisses and took your hand to lead you to follow Chaewon. Once inside the elevator, she cornered you against the back wall and kissed you again with her hands on your neck. You returned the kiss, taking her by the waist. A few seconds later Chaewon stood to your left, and you moved away from Yunjin's lips to grab the blonde by the face and crash your lips against hers.

The floor where the pool wasn’t too high, so the kiss didn't last long. Once the elevator doors opened, the three of you walked out to a small hall before the pool area on the left. Behind the counter was only a girl who worked at the hotel. She looked up from her phone and watched you walk towards her.

"Oh, sorry, the pool is closed guys," the girl said.

"Yeah honey, we know," Yunjin said ahead, going to lean against the counter with her purse on the top. From there she pulled out five $100 bills and slid them towards the girl. "Why don't you go take a break for an hour and let us keep watch? Oh, and leave us three towels please."

The girl stared at the bills for a few long seconds until she reluctantly took them.

"You better not make a mess and not make any noise," she warned, pulling the towels out from behind the counter for you. "Because you'll get me in trouble."

"You don't have to worry, sweetheart," Yunjin said as the girl got up from her chair and walked around the counter. "We'll be ghosts."

"Just hurry up," the girl reiterated, going to take the elevator.

As the girl waited for the elevator, Yunjin led you and Chaewon by the hand towards the beautiful pool area. The first thing that stood out to you was the huge wall of windows right in front of your eyes, and the series of cube-shaped pendant lights that hung from the high ceiling and ran from one end of the pool to the other. But the overall atmosphere was modern and intimate, with the white lights of both the pool and the lower ceiling area where you were at a dim level, making a gorgeous combination with the gray matte porcelain floor and the marble walls and pillars.

Yunjin went to leave the towels on the chairs to the right, in a small raised area with white light below that had a few lounge chairs; she left the towels piled on one of them and went with Chaewon to the pool, which was L-shaped with the bottom cut out. They approached the stairs, took off their heels and dipped their feet in the water to stand on the first step.

"Oh god, the water is freezing," Chaewon said with a giggle, while Yunjin pulled her hair up into a high bun.

"It's perfect for washing down the alcohol, whatever," Yunjin said, then turned to look at you. "Ready for a little show?"

"At this point I won't be surprised by anything you two do," you replied from the raised area, arms crossed.

False. You wish you hadn't said that so you wouldn't look like a fool, as Chaewon and Yunjin both pulled their dresses up over their breasts, quite efficiently tucking the skirts at the neckline so that it held up like a top. This revealed both pairs of delicious bodies to you, as the only thing they were wearing were their respective panties. Chaewon's were white, thong-like ones. And Yunjin's were high-waisted black cheeky ones.

"What happened, manager-nim?" Chaewon asked with a giggle, seeing how you were stunned by their half naked bodies. "I thought nothing would surprise you."

"Yeah, well..." you couldn't find anything to say, and you definitely couldn't stop staring at them.

Yunjin and Chaewon laughed and went together into the pool, which was the perfect height for the three of you. While Chaewon's was shoulder-high, Yunjin's was just below her breasts. You went with them as they swam to the long end of the pool, rolling your sweatpants up to your knees, taking off your slippers, and sitting on the edge with your feet in the water.

"Huh? What are you doing there?" Yunjin asked, swimming to your feet. Chaewon swam backwards behind her, careful not to get her hair too wet. "Aren't you coming with us?" She grabbed your ankles, and you felt it as a warning.

"Uhm, I'm actually freezing," you replied, trying to get out of the situation. "I could catch a cold and die."

"Why worry about the cold when we can keep you warm down here?" Yunjin insisted, stroking your calves up and down. “Or did you forget why you came with us in the first place?”

Yunjin moved one of her hands up your calf to your crotch to meet your newly formed erection because of them. She squeezed it between her fingers and massaged it. 

You sighed.

“Are you really going to make me enter those Antarctic waters?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, biting her lip. “Unless you don’t want to get wet with us.”

“Some emotional blackmail you put on, woman,” you shook your head, and reluctantly stood up to take off your hoodie and sweatpants. Now in your boxers, you sat back down on the edge of the pool and slid in.

You gritted your teeth, tensed your body, and closed your eyes to keep from complaining, because the water was so cold that you felt it soak into your bones and freeze them. Yunjin immediately hugged you, both her arms and legs wrapped around your torso. You hugged her back, delighted to be able to feel that delicious body and that soft skin under your fingers.

"I know, I know..." Yunjin murmured, seeing that you were having a hard time with the water temperature. She made sure to be pressed against you, with as much skin as possible against yours. "Let me warm you up, manager-nim," she gave you a soft kiss. "Although I know a way to warm you up even more."

Chaewon swam to your back and hugged you and Yunjin at the same time, her chin resting on your left shoulder.

"And what way would that be?" You asked, already feeling more relieved to be in the middle of that sandwich. Your hands moved down from her waist to her buttocks, giving them a light squeeze and rubbing them up and down.

"Don't play dumb, manager-nim," Chaewon said in your ear, and slipped a hand between your body and Yunjin's to bring it inside your boxers. She grabbed your cock and held it between her fingers. "You know the answer, so you're going to say it."

"Yeah, but we know you well, and we know you won't say it that easily," Yunjin said. "So we're going to make you say it."

You chuckled.

"Are you going to drown me in the pool every time I refuse or what?"

Chaewon's response was to yank your boxers down, releasing your throbbing cock under the water. She wrapped her fingers around it, and slowly began to masturbate you. You gasped, and Yunjin smirked, unwrapping her legs from around your torso to press herself against the side of your body, leaving room for Chaewon to comfortably move her hand.

“Tell me something, manager-nim,” Chaewon murmured, giving you pecks on the side of your neck and then catching your earlobe between her lips. “In these two years, have you ever masturbated thinking about us?”

The question left you as cold as the pool water did when you got in, and your well-known answer made you blush. They were four of the stupidest hottest girls you had ever seen in your life, and they were all recently at their peak of hotness; it had to happen sooner or later for you.

“I...” you took a deep breath, trying not to look Yunjin in the eyes out of embarrassment.

“You have, huh?” Yunjin said, her gaze fixed on you. She held onto your shoulders with one arm while rubbing your abdomen with the other. "You don't have to be ashamed... it's not like we blame you. I've been given outfits that leave little to the imagination."

"How did you imagine us, manager nim?" Chaewon asked in a sexy murmur, still moving her hand on your cock. "Doggy style? From behind against the wall? Us riding you?"

"Or maybe sucking your cock?" Yunjin said, to spread kisses on your cheek near your lips. "Did you imagine my pretty lips around it?"

"I'm sure you also imagined yourself pounding my tight pussy," Chaewon said, moving her hand faster. Yunjin replaced it a couple seconds later.

"Or me jumping on your cock," the redhead said, jerking you off at a fast, steady pace. "Come on, don't be shy, manager-nim. Tell us."

"Please, manager-nim," Chaewon moaned into your ear, massaging your balls before replacing Yunjin's hand with her own. "We want to know."

You would have loved to be able to say something, but Chaewon was moving her hand so well on your cock that you were lost in the limbo of the physical and spiritual realm. You were brought out of your trance by her abruptly stopping her hand from moving.

"Ugh, no!" you whined, clenching your fists. Yunjin and Chaewon giggled.

"Then answer," Yunjin said, circling your tip with her index finger. "Have you masturbated to us or not?"

"Fuck, yes," you huffed. "More times than I'd like to admit."

Yunjin was the one in charge of grabbing your cock again and resuming the handjob, now faster.

"See? It wasn't that hard," Yunjin said with a giggle.

"You're such a pervert, manager-nim," Chaewon said, kissing your neck, while her hands roamed your chest. "Why don't we go outside and let us finish the work? Then maybe we can fulfill some of your little fantasies."

"What if the worker comes?" you said between gasps, since Yunjin was still jerking you off. "I don't want to get kicked out of the hotel with two days left here in New York."

"It's only been 10 minutes," Yunjin said, and let go of your cock. "We've got a good while left to have some fun."

"Then hurry up and get out," you said, trying to get out of the way of the two of them.

Chaewon and Yunjin stepped away from you and swam towards the pool stairs. You followed close behind. As you climbed out of the water you took the lead, heading straight to the small raised area near the exit to grab a towel and dry yourself off as much as you could, having to remove your boxers so as not to wet the lounge chair once you lay down on it. The girls certainly didn't mind, in fact they followed your lead and removed their panties, keeping their dresses bunched up around their chests.

They knelt on their lounge chairs facing you, and bent forward to bring their faces close to your cock, giving you a hot view of their arched backs and wonderfully raised cakes. You weren't shy at all, and as they peppered each side of your shaft with kisses and licks, you groped and squeezed their ass cheeks.

"Fuck, you have a very juicy cock, manager-nim," Chaewon panted, one hand on your thigh and the other around the base of your cock.

"I always knew he was packed," Yunjin said, stroking your cock from the middle up. You looked at her with a frown. "I should have seduced him earlier; now I see I had it pretty easy."

"Are you calling me a slut?" you asked between gasps, making them laugh.

"Considering how quickly you gave in," she shrugged and pondered the answer for a moment. "Yes."

Before you could answer Chaewon took you into her mouth, slowly pumping her head for a few inches and making you gasp. Yunjin joined in by using her tongue on your base and balls. You leaned forward a little, so you could extend your arms further and get your fingers between their ass cheeks and finger their pussies.

Chaewon moaned around your cock, quickly taking as much of your length into her small mouth as she could to pump faster and faster. A few seconds later she pulled out, giving way to Yunjin's perfect lips, which wrapped around your tip and went halfway down before coming back, in a pace that soon became fast and messy.

You rubbed your fingers between their soft and already wet folds as you watched Chaewon give you a sloppy blowjob, in aid of Yunjin's tongue and lips on the rest of your shaft. You didn't want to cum too fast to prolong that experience as much as possible, so you looked up and left your gaze on the cube-shaped lamps while you gasped.

But as hard as you were trying, Chaewon and Yunjin forced you to watch as they both slurped the saliva they themselves left on your cock, over and over again in a toe curling double blowjob that had you moaning like the slut Yunjin said you were. A few long seconds passed, until you couldn't control it, and you came as they were making out with your tip in the middle.

"Oh god!" You moaned, watching as Yunjin and Chaewon were still kissing each other even as your cum poured out in thick rivers and stained their tongues and mouths. They lapped up every drop, glad to swallow as much of your load as they could before using their mouths to get your cock clean and shiny again.

You didn't wait for either of them to say anything before you got up from your chair and went to kneel on the floor behind Chaewon, grabbing her firm ass cheeks and planting your face between them.

"Oh fuck!" she moaned in a small start, feeling your tongue move up and down her folds. "You were hungry for it weren't you?"

"You have no idea how much," you replied, squeezing her ass cheeks and eating her pussy like deep down you always wanted to do.

Within a few seconds Chaewon let her moans flow, soon drowned out by a kiss against Yunjin's lips. You devoured that tight pussy with devotion, with the sole goal of making her feel as good as she had made you feel just a couple of minutes ago. She let you know you were doing a good job by twisting her hips and pushing them back, urging you to keep going until you made her cum.

Her climax came not long after, thanks to the quick licks you gave to her clit and the intense way you groped her ass. She fell back with her hands braced against the chair Yunjin was on, writhing between cute moans and spasms.

“My god!” Chaewon groaned as you licked and kissed between her folds. “Why did you never say I was this good at eating pussy?!”

“I remind you that I’m your manager, Kim Chaewon,” you said, and stood up to spank her. An intrusive thought you let win. “I don’t think it would have been appropriate to tell you two days after your debut.”

“Ugh why now we women are the ones who have to make the first move!” she whined, now lying on her side to look at you with that adorable, usual expression she made when she got angry.

"I wasn't going to risk my career on whether you wanted cock or not. Don't be a bitch," you said, and walked around the front of the chairs to climb onto Yunjin's, who immediately hugged you by the neck and kissed you, pressing your torsos together and making your cock rub against her lower abdomen.

After a few seconds of making out with Yunjin you grabbed her by the thighs and made her sit down, with her back against the slanted back of the chair. You sat on the lower edge with your knees resting on the floor, leaning forward and bringing your mouth directly to Yunjin's pussy.

"Oh fuck yeah," Yunjin moaned, one hand on your head as you ate her out. "I should sneak around more often if this is the result."

"Don't push your fucking luck," you muttered, making her laugh. "If you want me to eat your pussy you just have to ask me nicely."

Yunjin moaned as you reached her clit and sucked gently on it.

"Mmmgh, really?" she asked, arching her back a little.

You smiled.

"Yeah, just fax me and get in line."

"Son of a bitch!" Yunjin squealed in annoyance and pulled at your hair, but her anger didn't last long as it didn't stop you from trying to give her the best pussy eating of her life.

Yunjin relaxed in the chair, leaning back and with her legs wide open to let you work. As the seconds passed she became more restless: she arched her back, tugged at your hair and breathed more heavily, until she ended up enclosing your head between her thighs. The grip was strong, with her calves crossed on your back, and you felt your head about to explode, but that was just like coal to your boiler.

"Fuck! Mmmgh!" Yunjin moaned, fingers clenching in your hair as you attacked her pussy mercilessly. “Right there manager-nim, yes, yes!”

Seconds later Yunjin exploded in your mouth, lifting her pelvis and holding onto your head with both hands. She bucked in her chair, moaning maybe a little too loudly, so you reached up and covered her mouth with your hand as her orgasm passed. When it did, she released your head and you pulled away from her pussy.

“Let’s go to my room right now,” you said, standing up to go get your clothes.

“What, why?” Chaewon asked. “We still have like half an hour.”

“If I fuck you guys the way I want to I’ll lose track of time,” you replied, picking up your sweatpants to put them on without your boxers as they were still wet. “And I don’t want the worker to come and find us in the middle of intercourse.”

"Yeah, that's fair," Chaewon said, and stood up to grab a towel and wrap it around her waist.

Once you were dressed you went to help Yunjin stand up and do the same as Chaewon did. You then grabbed all the wet underwear, wrung it out in a corner and carried it in your hand as the three of you left the pool area heading for the elevator. Upon reaching your floor you rushed to your room, and once inside, the two of them removed both their towels and what was left of their dresses from their bodies to jump into bed.

You stripped down at lightning speed and climbed into bed with them. Chaewon greeted you with her legs spread as you climbed on top of her to kiss her, wrapping her arms and legs around you. Yunjin settled on the left side next to Chaewon, and reached between your bodies to reach for your cock and stroke it; she had it hard in a moment, and without either of you asking, she took it inside Chaewon's pussy.

Chaewon squealed, and bit your lip unintentionally in shock. She dug her nails into your scalp, slightly tense as your cock forced its way between the tight walls of her pussy. You continued to kiss her, stifling moans of satisfaction until you finished with your entire length inside her.

"Mmmgh, manager-nim?" Chaewon moaned against your lips.

"Yes?" you gasped.

"Next time be a little bolder and ask me," she panted, stroking the hair on the back of your neck. "I can't believe I'm finding this out two years later."

"Or I could just sneak into your room and fuck you like the whore you are every chance I get," you replied in a sarcastic tone, beginning to move slowly.

"Oh, would you do that?" Chaewon asked with a giggle.

"Jeez, you're hopeless," you shook your head, moving from her lips to her neck to kiss it.

"You can always pretend you have an emergency and woosh! Catch him," Yunjin said from your left, kissing the other side of Chaewon's neck.

"Great Jennifer, give her ideas," you said between gasps, enjoying the way that tight pussy suffocated your cock every time it went inside. "As if I don't have enough with all the shit you two do on a daily basis already."

"You're overreacting, manager-nim," Chaewon moaned, tightening her grip on your torso, hands now on your neck. "We're not that unruly. But you made a big mistake, because now we're really gonna be bad bitches for this cock."

Mother of god, where the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

You forced Chaewon to release your torso and straightened your back to put her legs open, one over Yunjin, and with your hands on her thighs you began to go harder and harder. Chaewon sought out Yunjin's lips, and the two of them shared a steamy, sexy kiss as you fucked her pussy and made her moan against the redhead's lips.

Yunjin played with Chaewon's perky tits, pinching her nipples and massaging her mounds in the process, then moving her hand down her abdomen and to her pussy to rub her clit in quick circles. Chaewon pulled away from Yunjin's lips and arched her back, holding Yunjin's head with one arm and clutching a pillow over her head with the other.

"Does that feel good, Chaewonie?" Yunjin asked, bringing her mouth closer to one of Chaewon's tits to suck on it, circling her clit faster. You thrust harder, pounding that pussy between moans and with your fingers digging into her thighs.

"It's the best cock I've ever had in my fucking life!" Chaewon moaned, her mouth parted and her eyes fixed on you. "Please don't stop!"

Yunjin focused on licking Chaewon's nipple and moving her fingers faster, while you leaned forward a little just so you could thrust faster. Chaewon started moaning so loud that the very pillow she was clinging to became her muzzle, which she bit down on before covering her face with. An instant later she uncovered her face and exploded with a squeal, squeezing your cock as her orgasm made her shudder.

"Mmmm that's so fucking hot," Yunjin groaned, and got on her hands and knees beside Chaewon to reach over to her crotch, pulling your cock out of her pussy and bringing it into her mouth to suck on it for a few seconds. "You want me to ride you?" she asked.

"Who wouldn't want to be ridden by you?" you asked, and she smiled slowly stroking your cock.

"Wow, you're getting more and more points every time," she giggled. "This was quite a triple."

Yunjin made room for you to lay down in her spot with your head on the pillow. Already settled she straddled you, her pussy pressed against the back of your cock. She made eye contact with you as she untied her hair, and as she let it go she placed her hands on your chest and slowly ground her hips back and forth to rub your intimacies together.

"Are you gonna keep teasing me, Jennifer?" you asked with your hands on her thighs, looking into her eyes.

"Why? Are you desperate to be inside me, manager-nim?" she asked back and bent over you, running her hands up to cup your face. You brought your hands to her waist and then to her ass to squeeze it. "I think you want it even more than I do."

"You better shut the fuck up," you said, and reached for your cock to press it between Yunjin's folds. She giggled, and cooperated by slowly lowering her hips until she was fully impaled on your shaft.

"Oh god this feels better than I expected," Yunjin moaned with her ass resting on your pelvis and her hands on your shoulders. "I hope you know you just created a monster."

"I remind you again that I'm your manager, woman," you panted as she began to move up and down. "You're playing with fire and you might burn me by accident."

"Don't be like that, baby," she panted, giving you small kisses as she moved gradually harder. You had her red hair all over your face, but that and you groping her ass only made it hotter. "No one has to find out, right? It'll be our little secret."

“As you wish,” you replied, squeezing her ass cheeks before dropping your hands to the sides of her lower back. “But if it starts to affect your career or mine I will turn you off immediately.”

“Deal,” Yunjin said with a smirk, and crashed her lips against yours before going wild.

Yunjin grabbed your face and stuck her tongue inside your mouth, seeking to take control of the kiss. You happily gave in, content to let her do whatever she wanted with you as long as she kept moving on your cock, with those hip movements that were slow, deep, and deadly. After a few seconds she moved to your neck, to fill it with sucks, kisses, and finally biting you. She cried out when you spanked her with both hands, which prompted her to move faster and with less control.

"Hey, don't even think about leaving me out," you heard Chaewon say on the left, and she somewhat roughly pushed Yunjin off your chest to climb on top of you and sit on your face with her calves on your arms.

With your view now blocked by Chaewon's ass you had no choice but to adapt to the situation and put your mouth and hands to work. She pushed her hips back, smothering you between her perfect ass cheeks, which you held onto to spread  them and allow yourself to breathe while you ate her pussy.

"Can't you stop seeking attention for five minutes?" Yunjin asked Chaewon, planting her feet on the mattress to squat on your cock, fast and hard. "Oh god I was riding him so good!"

"And now you're bouncing on his cock," Chaewon replied between moans, her hands on your chest. You could hear her sharing sloppy kisses with Yunjin. "What's the fucking difference?"

“That I like looking into guys' eyes while I ride them!” Yunjin protested, moaning louder and louder as she bounced faster on your cock.

Chaewon didn’t say anything else as the two of them began to kiss and muffle their moans against each other’s lips until Yunjin came, grinding her hips with your cock buried deep in her pussy and shaking on top of you. Her orgasm having passed, Yunjin climbed off you and collapsed to the side. Chaewon then raised her hips and knelt beside your head.

“Manager-nim,” Chaewon told you as you sat up, staring at you with those puppy subby eyes. “You’re not going to tell HYBE anything about us sneaking out tonight, are you?”

You looked at her with a poker face.

"What kind of dishonest man do you take me for? Of course not," you replied, brushing a lock of sweaty blonde hair from her cheek. "Next time just tell me and I'll go with you."

Chaewon's eyes lit up like two cute lanterns.

"Really?"

"Aha," you nodded. "Only if you're a good girl and get on your hands and knees for me."

Chaewon complied with the order and turned around to bend forward and rest her hands on the mattress, knees apart and ass raised high for you. You positioned yourself behind her, and with one hand on her waist you went back inside the tightest pussy you'd ever been in. She looked at you over her shoulder and hugged the same pillow from a moment ago tightly, biting it the moment you started to thrust.

The view you had was perfect, and enviable to the you of a few months ago, who could only access it through a very lucky wet dream. But now it was for real: you had a hot view of Kim Chaewon, with that appetizing ass that looked small but whose shape was perfect, and that milky attractive back that had you salivating since the Smart stages.

"Go hard, honey," Chaewon moaned, still looking at you. "Please forget your position and fuck me like I'm all yours."

"Oh, if you insist that much," you nodded slowly, and let out a spank so hard that the shape of your hand was instantly marked in red. Chaewon squealed into the pillow. You then started going really hard on her, making the sound of her ass slapping against your pelvis reverberate through your room.

"Fuck! Just like that!" Chaewon squealed, and buried her face into the pillow. You gave her another spank to make her scream. "Fuck!! More!" another spank. "MORE!!"

One more spank, and this time you grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and pulled it back, in turn separating Chaewon's face from the pillow. Now her moans were fully audible as you pounded her pussy like she was a human fleshlight.

Yunjin had already recovered, and without asking Chaewon's permission, she did her best to get under her and stack their pussies together. Before the baby tiger could protest, Yunjin began kissing every corner of her face and neck to make her melt quite efficiently, as Chaewon was still entirely focused on you and your cock.

"God you are such a pillow slut," Yunjin teased Chaewon, grabbing her ass cheeks and spanking her in the same spots as you. "A little more and you'll be calling him daddy."

"Stop giving her ideas, Jennifer!" you growled through clenched teeth at how good Chaewon's pussy felt in that position.

"I'm gonna cum daddy! Mmmgh fuck!!" Chaewon squealed, burying her face in Yunjin's neck.

"Late," Yunjin laughed looking at you. You just shook your head. "It's your fault for falling into our trap."

"Listen here you little piece of..." you said, being interrupted by Chaewon's orgasm and cute whimpers. You placed a hand on her lower back, fucking her slowly until her body stopped shaking. Then you pulled out of her pussy to switch directly to Yunjin's.

"Hey!" Yunjin squealed when you got balls deep inside her again. "Warn me!"

"For what?" you raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you got down there because you were desperate for me to be inside you again."

Yunjin blushed and rolled her eyes, which was enough to prove you right. You smiled, and grabbed her thighs to press them against Chaewon's. With her, you took off at full speed from the start, already in search of your own climax, which was only getting closer by leaps and bounds.

Yunjin clung to Chaewon with her arms around her neck, moaning in her ear as you hammered her pussy even harder than Chaewon. Sweat was already pouring down your temples, proof that you were giving it your all when you were already exhausted after so many hours of work. It was definitely worth it, because just like Chaewon's, Yunjin's pussy felt so good that it made you use energy reserves you didn't even know you had.

But what kept you going at your best wasn't that, it was the possibility of seeing those two girls go crazy with pleasure thanks to you, and Yunjin's face being fucked mercilessly was like an expensive piece of art in the Louvre museum, especially when a couple of minutes later she came for the second time on your cock.

"Dear fucking lord please cum honey!" Yunjin screamed as you fucked her like an animal through her orgasm. "Oh my god cum!!"

Seconds later, when you felt yourself about to explode, you quickly pulled yourself out of her and went to kneel right next to both of their heads. They both turned their faces towards you, and stuck their tongues out as you stroked your cock rapidly, until with a loud moan you exploded.

The thick strings of cum came out in strong jets and landed on both of their angelic faces, every corner being painted white and getting sticky. What fell on Chaewon's face spilled onto Yunjin's, who collected most of the drops in a pool on her tongue. By the time your climax passed those two were a mess, so covered in cum that Chaewon kept one eye closed and Yunjin had her lips stuffed.

"Oh my god..." you gasped, mesmerized by the sight. "Stay there."

Even though you felt on the verge of collapse, your protective manager instinct kicked in and you were forced to go to the bathroom to get some toilet paper and help them clean themselves up. But as you did so, you realized something that you hadn't realized in all the fuss, something that left you staring into space.

Sakura's room was right next door.

Shit.