#so that going on and thought I would give this a try...

[maskedbyghost]

this is part 2 to toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader, smut, mdni

You hadn’t planned to cry, and honestly, you weren’t even sure why your chest felt tight in the first place. It was just supposed to be a walk, nothing more, just some fresh air and sunshine and maybe a break from your own thoughts.

You thought moving your body might help. Maybe if you just walked far enough, breathed deep enough, looked up at the clouds instead of staring at your bedroom ceiling, something would click into place and you’d feel like yourself again. Like a person again.

But the universe clearly had other plans.

Because every corner you turned, there was another couple.

They weren’t even being obnoxious about it. It wasn’t the affection that made you roll your eyes or want to vomit. It was worse. It was the soft stuff, the connection you could feel without even hearing a word of it.

A guy was walking with his girlfriend, and his hand was resting right at the small of her back. Another couple sat under a tree with a checkered blanket spread out beneath them. She was half in his lap, trying to balance her drink, laughing at something he had said, and he was holding her as if she were made of glass and sunlight, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other brushing her hair with his hands, slowly.

An older couple walked by, holding hands, their fingers intertwined so casually that it made your throat ache. She was talking, he was nodding, and they stopped every few steps to point at the flowers planted along the sidewalk like they had all the time in the world.

And you just… froze.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even sadness, just this deep yearning that settled heavy in your chest and refused to budge, this desperate ache for something that didn’t hurt, something soft, something simple, something that didn’t feel like you were holding your breath all the time, afraid of saying the wrong thing or asking for too much.

You wanted to be held. Not grabbed, nor thrown onto a bed because someone couldn’t control themselves. You wanted to be chosen in the quiet moments, when there was no sex or tension or drama to sweeten the deal. You wanted someone to look at you and think, There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.

You sat down on the nearest bench, dropped your phone into your lap, and just stared at the grass. You didn’t want to cry in public, not really, but the sting was there, just behind your eyes, and you blinked fast, hoping it’d go away.

Your phone buzzed.

You didn’t even want to check. You already knew, somehow, like a sixth sense, or maybe just muscle memory.

“Come over. I’ll order Thai. You can stay.”

As if it was some kind of prize. Like the offer of food and his bed was supposed to feel anything other than a pity invitation. Like that sentence wasn’t the exact same breadcrumb he’d been throwing your way for months, just enough to keep you following, never enough to satisfy.

He wasn’t saying I miss you. He wasn’t saying I’m sorry I hurt you or I didn’t know what I had until you were gone. He was saying Come over. Like this was still a game he was winning.

And maybe a week ago, hell, maybe even yesterday, you would’ve paused. You would’ve stared at the message with that same dull throb in your chest and thought maybe this time will be different. Maybe he means it. Maybe he’s trying.

But right now?

Right now, you felt done.

Done with making excuses for him. Done with confusing attention for affection. Done with dragging your heart behind you like dead weight every time he pulled you back in with nothing more than a half-assed promise and a takeout order.

Your fingers hovered for a second, just long enough to acknowledge the part of you that still wanted to believe he’d ever be capable of giving you what you needed.

And then you typed:

“No. We’re done, Simon. For real this time. Don’t text me again.”

Your thumb hit send before your brain could stop you, before your heart could scream, before the echo of what if could take root and grow into something dangerous again.

And then, without waiting for the three dots to pop up, without giving yourself a chance to hesitate or soften or let him back in even a little you blocked the number.

And that was it.

Your hand was trembling, your eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall. And your heartbeat was steady in your chest, like it was relieved.

You looked up at the sky. Watched the clouds move slowly across the blue. They didn’t know what it meant to panic over someone who didn’t care.

You weren’t happy, not yet. But for the first time in too long, you didn’t feel chained to him anymore.

And that, in itself, felt like something.

...

You hadn’t seen him in over two weeks.

No texts, no calls, no sudden knocks at your door. No glimpses of him near your job, no DMs from new burner accounts, nor mutual friends trying to convince you he was “going through it.”

And honestly? You were starting to think he’d finally gotten the message. That maybe he’d realized what it meant when you said we’re done. That he’d felt the silence for what it was: a full stop, not a pause.

But then he showed up. Of course he did.

You were walking home from the grocery store, just a quick trip for bread and milk and some random snacks you didn’t need but bought anyway because the act of filling your cupboards made you feel happier. You’d just turned the corner onto your street, earbuds in, music low, mind somewhere else entirely, when you looked up and froze.

He was leaning against your building. And he had the nerve to be casual about it too, his arms crossed, head down like this wasn’t completely insane. He looked up when you stopped walking, and his mouth did that slow curl into a grin that used to make your stomach flip but now just made your jaw tighten.

You pulled your earbuds out and said nothing.

“Hey,” he said, as if this was normal or completely not out of bounds. “You’ve been hard to reach.”

“Simon,” you started, your voice flat, your pulse already kicking up. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “You blocked my number and my backup email. You weren’t really leaving me a lot of options.”

You blinked, stunned at how casually he said it. “So you decided to stalk me instead?”

“That’s a dramatic word,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you like you weren’t already backing away slightly, trying to hold onto your grip. “I just wanted to talk. You made that impossible.”

“I made it impossible because we broke up,” you snapped, dropping your grocery bag onto the steps with more force than necessary. “I told you not to text me. Not to call. I said we were done—done, Simon—what don’t you get?”

He smiled again, that infuriating smirk, like you’d just said something cute instead of trying to set a boundary.

“Yeah,” he said, cocking his head. “We broke up, sure. But that doesn’t mean you get to erase me.”

You stared at him, jaw slack. “Are you actually hearing yourself?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Simon said, stepping closer now, his voice calmer, which, honestly, made you want to scream. “You think a couple texts and a blocklist are gonna make me forget what we were? You really think that’s enough?”

“I don’t want you to forget,” you snapped. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to understand that this—whatever this was—is over. I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t belong to you.”

Something in his expression shifted then, just a flicker. A twitch of his jaw, a tightening of the eyes. You’d seen that look before, right before the walls went up. Right before the mask slipped into place.

“You keep saying we’re over,” Simon said slowly, “but you don’t get it.”

He stepped in so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the scent of his skin, that cologne he always wore too much of, the one that used to make you ache but now just made your stomach turn.

“You and me?” he whispered. “We’re never really over.”

Your breath hitched, and for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you felt that pull again. That old, broken, magnetic force that lived in the space between his mouth and yours, in the memory of what it felt like to be wanted by him.

But you were so fucking tired of confusing that with love. So you stepped back.

You looked him dead in the eye, and you said:

“What do you want from me, Simon? Seriously. Do you want me to scream? Do you want me to cry? Do you want me to fall apart in front of you just so you can feel something? Because whatever this is—it’s not love, it’s not real. It’s you, trying to control me. And I’m done letting you.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just stood there. And you picked up your bag again, turned on your heel, and walked away. You didn’t look back, didn’t have to.

Because this time? You were the one leaving him behind.

...

It had been weeks.

Weeks of silence, weeks of healing, and pretending you were ready to move on, even when your heart still felt like a battlefield he’d walked away from without ever looking back.

So when your coworker asked you out—the nice one, the one who remembered your coffee order and always held the elevator—you said yes.

You didn’t feel fireworks, nor did you get butterflies. But you also didn’t feel dread, or the bone-deep exhaustion that came from chasing someone who only ever looked back when you were halfway out the door.

And maybe that was enough. Maybe soft was what you needed now. Safe and simple.

He took you to a cozy little restaurant tucked off the main street, the kind with candlelight and mismatched chairs and a menu written entirely in cursive. He held the door open for you, pulled your chair out when you sat, complimented your dress without looking at your chest. And you smiled, even if it felt a little forced. You laughed, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You tried...

Halfway through the meal, you excused yourself to the bathroom. The ladies’ room was down a narrow hallway in the back, quiet and dim, music muffled through the walls. You were halfway there when you felt it.

That shift in the air.

That awareness that only ever came from one person. And you didn’t even get the chance to turn around before he was there.

He stepped out from the shadows of the hallway like a fucking ghost, like he’d been waiting, like he knew you’d be here and timed it down to the minute. And before you could speak, before you could even breathe, he had you pressed up against the wall, one arm caging you in, the other sliding slowly along your waist.

His mouth was at your ear in an instant, voice low, thick, dirty.

“Really, sweetheart?” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “This the best you can do?”

Your heart slammed in your chest. Your hands went to his chest, pushing lightly, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He leaned in closer, body not quite touching yours but so fucking close, you could feel the heat radiating off him like fire.

“You think he’s gonna fuck you better than I do?” he whispered, and it wasn’t even a question—it was filth wrapped in confidence. “You think he even knows what to do with you? Bet he doesn’t even know how you sound when you beg. Doesn’t know how your thighs shake when I’ve got my mouth on you—”

“Stop it,” you hissed, voice shaking, but your knees were already weak and your throat felt tight.

Simon smirked, eyes dark and gleaming. “Can’t stop thinking about it, can you? His hands won't feel right, will they? Bet you’d picture mine every time he touches you.”

Your hands pushed harder now, but he didn’t flinch.

“And what about when he’s inside you?” Simon rasped, mouth brushing your jaw, teeth grazing skin just enough to make you gasp. “You gonna close your eyes and pretend it’s me?”

“At least he’ll fucking stay,” you snapped, louder now, anger burning through the haze. “At least he won’t leave the second he gets what he wants. At least I won’t wake up to an empty bed.”

That got him. His jaw clenched instantly.

But he didn’t move. He just stared at you, breathing hard, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to touch you or punch a hole in the wall beside your head.

You shoved him. Hard.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

Simon didn’t move right away. He just stood there, watching you like you’d gutted him, like your words had cut deeper than you’d meant them to—but you didn’t regret it.

Not this time.

You stepped around him, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you, head high, heart pounding like it was trying to tear its way out of your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You walked straight back to the table, sat down, and smiled at your date like your ex hadn’t just whispered filth into your ear in a hallway like a man possessed.

“Everything okay?” your date asked gently.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “The bathroom line was just long.”

...

The walk back to your apartment felt like an out-of-body experience.

Your date had walked you home, smiling the entire way, hands tucked into his pockets, making soft jokes that you tried to laugh at, even though your stomach had been turning since the second you stepped out of the restaurant. He was kind. He listened, he held the door open, and he even complimented your dress without leering. And when you reached your door, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and gentle, just like the kind of kiss you should want from someone like him.

And you felt nothing. Not even a flicker, not even a spark.

You kissed him back out of politeness, maybe even a little guilt, and when you stepped away and thanked him for dinner, he smiled like he’d had a good time. And you hated that you hadn’t. Hated that he was everything you said you wanted—safe, respectful, sweet—and all you could think about the whole fucking night was Simon’s mouth, Simon’s hands, Simon whispering filth and promises and pain in your ear like he was made to ruin you.

By the time you reached your door, your hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from rage.

From this endless, exhausting loop of trying to do the right thing and still craving the wrong one.

You fumbled with your keys, cursing under your breath, eyes burning. You wanted to scream. Wanted to punch a wall. Wanted to shove Simon’s face into the fact that he’d broken you so thoroughly that now, even when someone was good to you, it felt wrong.

The door opened. And there he was.

Simon.

Sitting on your couch but he didn’t look cocky this time. Didn’t smirk or lean back with that smug glint in his eye. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, head in his hands like he didn’t even know what to say anymore.

You dropped your purse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” your voice cracked, sharp and loud in the quiet room.

He stood, slowly, but you were already walking toward him, hands clenched, eyes blazing.

“How dare you?” you hissed. “How fucking dare you be here again. After everything.”

“Just listen—”

“No!” you snapped. “No, you don’t get to talk. You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re confused about why I don’t want you in my life. You ruined me, Simon.”

He flinched, and good. You wanted it to hurt.

“You took everything I gave you, every part of me, and you made it ugly.” Your voice shook now, rage mixing with grief. “You used me when you wanted company. Tossed me when you were bored. And I kept coming back, like a fucking idiot, thinking maybe this time you’d mean it when you kissed me.”

He was quiet.

“I went on a date tonight,” you spat. “With someone who treated me like I mattered. Someone who held doors and remembered things I said and kissed me like he gave a damn, and do you know what I thought the whole time?”

Simon swallowed, barely whispering, “What?”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes now.

“I thought about you,” you said, voice cracking. “I thought about your fucking mouth, about your hands. I thought about how I’d rather have your soft kiss than his perfect one. And I hate myself for it.”

Simon took a step forward. “I never meant to—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice trembling now. “Don’t stand there and act like this just happened. You did this. You made me believe you’d never care, and now I’m so fucking broken I can’t even feel anything from someone who actually tries. I still picture you when I think about love, Simon. That’s the worst part.”

He was right in front of you now, his breathing shallow, his eyes wide as he just watched you split yourself open in front of him.

“I imagine you,” you whispered. “But better, softer, and kinder. I imagine you as the version I needed, the one I deserved, and it kills me, because I don’t even know if that version of you exists.”

Silence.

He reached out then, so slowly it made your breath catch, and placed one hand gently on your cheek, the lightest touch he’d ever given you.

“I can be him,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I swear to God, I’ll try. I’ll be him.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then another, on your temple. One on your cheek, your jaw, your nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between them. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You were crying now, full-on sobbing, body shaking like it had been holding this in for far too long. And he didn’t grab you, didn’t pull you into him like he used to. He just stood there, kissing every tear that fell like he was trying to wipe them from existence.

“I didn’t know how to love you right,” he murmured, voice breaking. “But I will. If you let me. If you give me a chance, I’ll change. I’ll do the work. Just… don’t shut the door on me yet.”

You didn’t answer.

Because even after everything, even through all the rage and resentment and raw wounds, his kisses still felt like home.

And that was the scariest part of all.

He kissed your tears like they burned him, as if each one that slid down your cheeks was proof of what he’d broken, and he was trying, pathetically, hopelessly, to piece it all back together with nothing but his mouth and the weight of his regret.

You didn’t say anything when he pressed his forehead to yours. Didn’t pull away when he wrapped both arms around you like he thought you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

You just stood there and let yourself breathe him in, his warmth, his scent.

“Let me show you,” Simon whispered, voice raw. “Please, just once. Let me make it right.”

You didn’t nod, you didn’t speak, but you let him take your hand.

He led you to the bed and didn’t tear your clothes off like he usually did. He didn’t grab or push or bite. He just kissed you, like you were something fragile, something he didn’t think he deserved to touch but was begging to try.

His hands trembled when he slid your top up over your arms. He took his time with every button, every hem, because rushing would ruin it. When your bra fell away, he kissed the center of your chest—not your breasts, not your neck—your chest, right over your heart, and rested there for a second like he was trying to feel it beat.

“You don’t have to forgive me now,” he whispered. “But I need you to know I’m gonna earn it. All of it. Whatever it takes.”

You didn’t stop the tears. You didn’t hide from them. They slid quietly down your cheeks as he lowered himself between your legs and pressed his mouth to your stomach, your hips, your thighs—anywhere but the place you were already aching for him.

“I’m gonna learn how to love you right,” he murmured against your skin. “I’m gonna give you every soft thing I never thought you’d want. You won’t have to beg for affection anymore. You won’t have to guess if I’ll stay.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, then finally pressed his mouth to where you needed him. It felt as if he was praying with his tongue. Like this was how he was going to worship you now.

You gasped, hands fisting the sheets, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

And he noticed. Of course he did.

He looked up from between your thighs, his face a mess of want and pain.

“You don’t have to cry,” he said softly, crawling back up your body. “I mean… I know why you are. But I hate that I’m the reason for it. I swear, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

You cupped his face, fingers trembling, and he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing holding him together.

He lined himself up, slow and careful, and when he pushed inside, he went still. Completely still. Just breathing against your mouth, his hands cradling your face like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this close again.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Fuck, you always did.”

He moved slowly, painfully slow. Like every thrust was an apology. Like he was rewriting the way he touched you, undoing every rushed, selfish fuck with something tender and earned.

Your tears didn’t stop. And neither did he.

He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, and your jaw. Whispered everything he’d never said when it would’ve mattered most.

“I’m gonna do better.”

“I’ll take care of you. I swear I will.”

“No more games. No more pushing you away.”

You whimpered beneath him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, clinging to him like you didn’t know how to let go anymore.

He rested his forehead against yours and kept moving, slow and deep, every thrust sending something hot and unbearable through your chest.

“You deserve flowers,” he breathed. “And check-ins. And hand-holding and fucking morning texts and someone who doesn’t make you cry every goddamn day.”

His voice cracked again. You felt it.

“And I want to be him,” Simon said, nearly choking on it. “I need to be him.”

Your body trembled beneath him. You were already so close, not just because of his cock, but because of the way he was inside you.

You came with a broken sob, your nails digging into his back, your legs shaking.

He came a moment later, groaning into your neck, and holding you tightly.

He didn’t pull out and didn’t move.

Just wrapped his arms around you, face pressed to your shoulder, and kissed you again and again and again, believing that if he just stayed close enough, the damage might finally start to heal.

...

Morning came quietly.

You woke to the pale gray light bleeding through your bedroom curtains, the kind of early morning glow that made everything feel hazy. For a few seconds, it was peaceful. Warm.

And then you remembered.

The weight behind you wasn’t just a dream.

Simon.

Still here, and breathing steadily against your back, one arm draped around your waist.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t that last night had been bad. It hadn’t. If anything, it had been too good. Too soft. Too vulnerable. It was the kind of night you used to pray for back when you thought he’d never give it to you.

And now?

Now it just felt like weakness.

You untangled yourself from his arm slowly, carefully, trying not to wake him as you sat up and slipped your legs over the side of the bed. But he stirred anyway, and you felt his hand twitch behind you, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

You stood up and didn’t turn around when you said it.

“Simon… you need to go.”

Silence.

Then the quiet sound of bedsheets rustling behind you.

“...You serious?” His voice was rough from sleep, low and uncertain in a way you weren’t used to hearing from him.

You nodded, still facing the window. “Yeah. I am.”

He sat up, and you could hear it, the shift in weight, the creak of the mattress, the pause before the sigh.

“Last night—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Was a moment,” you said, finally turning around to look at him. “That’s all. A moment of weakness. It doesn’t mean everything’s okay.”

He blinked at you, eyes bloodshot, hair messy, mouth parted.

“I meant everything I said,” he told you quietly. “Every word.”

“I know,” you said. “But meaning it isn’t enough. Not yet.”

He was quiet again, looking down at his hands, he didn’t know what to do with them now that they weren’t holding you.

“Okay,” he said eventually, dragging a hand through his hair and exhaling slowly. “Okay. I’ll go.”

You watched as he stood, pulled on his jeans, his hoodie, his boots. He didn’t rush, nor beg. He just moved with weighted sadness, like leaving was physically hard to do.

But at the door, he paused and turned around. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“I’m gonna prove it to you. That I meant what I said. That I’m changing. You’re gonna look at me one day, and you’re not gonna feel stupid for loving me anymore.”

You didn’t reply.

You just looked at him, arms crossed, your heart pounding.

And then he opened the door and stepped into the hall, casting one last glance back over his shoulder.

“I’ll win you back,” Simon said, voice like a quiet promise. “Even if it kills me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you didn’t breathe until you were alone again.

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

@nightunite I'm not done with this bitch yet.

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[yasministration]

snobby slytherin princess - sirius black

summary: there's something about a snobby slytherin princess that sirius black cannot resist. so when you get into an argument with rabastan lestrange and let it slip that sirius black would have a better chance at marrying you, the boy springs into action. wc: 0.8k cw: public argument, pureblood stuff

Behind the perfect poise and manners all of the sacred 28 had been taught lay a beast of impatience and sass, every pureblood child being pushed to their limits. The marauders hadn’t been expecting to watch a showdown between two pureblooded slytherins on their way to the great hall for lunch, the silence between them a tell-tale of how double potions had gone. But their boredom had been noticed by some higher power, and by some miracle, they ended up two mere meters from you as you strode away from the great hall, a very obviously panicked Lestrange following behind you.

He was calling after you, breaking into a run to catch up with your pace as he pleaded “Don't be so stubborn! Can we please just talk!?” All air was sucked out of the hallway as you came to an abrupt halt, right next to the three boys and Lily, spinning around to face Rabastan.

“You want to talk? Okay, talk!”

Rabastan spluttered, at a loss for words. You scoffed, “Or do you just want me to talk so you can figure out what you did wrong and apologise for it?” Sirius made an impressed sound, but Rabastan was so busy trying to climb out of the grave he dug himself that he didn’t even notice. But it was hopeless; he had crossed the line and had veered into the dangerous terrain of your honest opinions.

“Rabastan, I am not marrying you. Go cry to daddy about it. He’ll have another wife lined up for you by tomorrow night.”

If the marauders weren’t already frozen with shock, they would be now. They had matching expressions on their faces, jaws slack, eyes wide. Sirius, as much as he loved listening to pureblood drama, had no idea about your engagement. Or, your arrangement, should he say.

“But I don’t want another wife, I want you.” It was a desperate attempt, but Rabastan trusted his acting skills. Rabastan’s father would kill him if he knew his son’s behaviour drove the perfect suitor away. Luckily for you, you saw right through him.

You doubled over, a loud laugh escape you, eyes still filled with rage. “No, you don’t! Oh my god! I’d have chosen your brother if I knew how disgusting you were!” Rabastan stumbled back from the force of your words, as though you had struck him. His brother? He didn’t know you or your parents had been given options. He thought his parents had decided to guide you towards the better Lestrange brother — him. He didn’t know that his parents wanted you to marry either one of them.

Shit, he really messed up.

Rabastan stepped closer to you, eyes pleading. He didn’t care how much more he humiliated himself in front of his rivals, he just had to avoid humiliating himself in front of his father. “Just give me one chance, just one.” Your eyes followed the movement of his hand, reaching out to hold yours. Laughing uncomfortably, you reached down with your free hand to remove Rabastan’s hold from you.

“You already had one chance. What, did you think this engagement was actually secured?”

Tilting your head to the side, you held Rabastan’s eye contact, as though challenging him to say another word to you. When he said nothing, you nodded, adding as the final straw “Even Black stands a better chance at this point.”

Rabastan laughed coldly, his innocent front now forgotten as he said “Yeah, Regulus two years younger stands a better chance. Sure.” You smiled sweetly at Rabastan, shaking your head. “No, Rab. Not Regulus.”

You heard Rabastan’s breath hitch in an embarrassing gasp as you spun around on your heels and continued down the hall — but not without catching Sirius Black’s eye first. He was fixing his posture, rolling his shoulders back and clearing his throat. He felt his cheeks go hot at your comment, head turning to follow your disappearing figure.

“Shit, there’s just something I love about a snobby slytherin princess.” His friends’ heads shot towards him, Lily’s face shocked whereas Remus and James both held amused smirks. But just as he stepped aside to follow you down the hallway, two more women made their presences known.

Rabastan turned to face Narcissa and Pandora, throwing his head back as he said “I messed up so bad.” The two women didn’t spare him another glance as they strutted past him. “Yes, you did Lestrange.” Narcissa called out, quickly followed by Pandora’s comment of “And daddy won’t get you a new wife with that attitude!”

“Cissy, you think I can bag her?” Yelled Sirius to his cousin, who very briefly turned her attention to him, shrugging her shoulders. “You know she does quite like a rebel.”

And then, “Not a disrespectful scumbag, Rabastan.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-f017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @why-am-i-like-this18, @theoraekenslover, @animalcrossingshameless, @azure-drag0ness, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @cakiebleh, @slytherin-princess-x, @daydreamandforget, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @5sospenguinqueen, @aouoo, @spider-girl , @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Imagine Joel taking your virginity

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

WC: 5.4k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, porn with no plot, unspecified but big age gap, oral (m!receiving), virginity loss, unprotected piv, thigh riding, daddy kink, baby-talking, young and innocent reader, creampie, condescending joel, terms like baby girl, sweet little girl etc.

Even thought this part is a standalone, you might want to read a previous part: Joel teaches you how to go down on him.

Today was just another quiet afternoon in Jackson, you’d been heading back from the greenhouse, you weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings, too focused trying to brush the dirt off your knees, until you saw them…

Joel was outside the stables, half-laughing about something with a woman, gray in her hair, deep lines around her eyes from a life lived outdoors, she looked about the same age as Joel. She was standing close to him, not too close, nothing inappropriate, nothing that would give you the right to get pissed, but the kind of close that felt natural.

You stopped walking without meaning to, and you watched as she touched his arm and laughed. They looked right together, and it hit you like a sucker punch, the breath caught in your lungs and wouldn’t let go. Maybe because you’d never look right with Joel next to you, at least not in the way people expect a couple to look. People didn’t assume you two were together, hell, you’d even been mistaken for father and daughter more than once whenever someone new showed up in Jackson.

You turned away, heading back home before you could watch more. You felt so small, so young, like some little kid playing grown-up. You weren’t enough, not for him, not when he could talk for hours with a woman who remembered the same pre-outbreak songs, who didn’t need Joel to teach her how to shoot, or how to suck him off, a woman who could take all of him, not just the tip.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed after you reached your house until you heard the door open, footsteps crossing the threshold. Joel’s voice followed a second later, light and casual.

“Hey, darlin’. You home already?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. You felt so insignificant, who were you trying to fool? There would come a day, because of course there would, when Joel would get tired of playing house with a little girl pretending to be a woman.

Joel walked into the bedroom, you didn’t look up, you were staring hard at the floor, fists clenched in your lap. He paused in the doorway, sensing the shift in the air instantly.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head.

“C’mon now,” he said gently, stepping closer. “I know when something’s up, sweetheart.”

You finally glanced up, and the moment your eyes met his, everything cracked.

“I saw you,” you said quietly. “With her. That woman.”

Joel blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Her. Outside the stables.”

His brow furrowed. “Oh, you mean Carmen?”

You nodded once, the name sounded even worse spoken aloud.

Joel crouched in front of you. “What about her?”

You let the silence hang for a second too long, he caught it, could see it on your face. What were you supposed to say? He hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t cheated or anything like that.

“Goddammit,” he murmured. “My baby’s got herself twisted up, huh?”

“She’s your age,” you whispered. “She laughs with you. She gets your stories. She probably remembers music on the radio. And—and—I feel like a stupid little girl. You’re a man. You’ve lived this whole life. I don’t even… I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, I just pretend, and you’re just—You’re Joel. You don’t need me.”

“You really are just a dumb little thing, huh?” Your breath caught, he wasn’t cruel when he said it, just… exasperated, deeply, lovingly exasperated “Little dumb baby.”

Your breath was shallow, tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. Joel didn’t say anything at first, just reached for your hands, gently unclenching them.

“I’m gonna say this once,” he said, voice low. “And I want you to hear me, alright?”

You nodded, barely.

“You’re my baby. You're soft, and sweet, and so fuckin’ easy to wreck I can barely keep my hands off you. You look at me like I’m good, even when I ain’t. And yeah, baby, I like that you need me. I like teachin’ you. I like when you look up at me all scared and excited, askin’ me to show you things no one ever has.”

He pulled your hands to his chest, right over his heart.

“I want you. I choose you. Every single goddamn day.”

Your throat closed, he sounded sincere, and you really wanted to believe him

“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asked. “I see someone who makes me laugh when I forget how. Someone who touches me like I matter. You know how long it’s been since I’ve felt that? I feel alive, baby. I feel like a man again. Not a ghost.”

You looked at him, really looked, and saw how wrecked he was now, how deeply this was hitting him too.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re not a phase. You’re not pretendin’. And you’re sure as hell not some kid to me, you’re my girl.”

“I just… I know I’m not what you’re used to. I’m not older. I don’t know how to do stuff. I had to ask you to show me how to… suck you, and then I couldn’t even take you, not really. Just the tip.” your voice cracked on that. “You’ve waited so long already and it’s not fair—”

“Stop.”

You blinked, his voice was quiet, but it had teeth. Joel pushed himself up slowly, sitting beside you on the bed, and looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You think I don’t want this?” he asked, voice low and gravel-deep. “You think I’d rather be off with some older, experienced woman who could deep throat me and ride me into the goddamn sunset?”

He shook his head, almost laughing, but there was no humor in it.

“You think I give a single shit that you don’t know what you’re doin’? Sweetheart, I like teachin’ you. I like that you’ve never done this before. I like bein’ the first cock you take. I like that I get to be gentle with you. Take my time. Watch you fall apart under me.” He leaned down, bracing himself over you, hand sliding to your cheek. “You think I’m sufferin’ ‘cause I only had the tip inside you? Baby girl, that was the best fuckin’ orgasm I’ve had in years.”

Your breath caught.

“You were clenchin’ around me so tight, I damn near came the second I pushed in. And you were so sweet—so good—lookin’ up at me all wide-eyed, sayin’ please, Joel, please just the tip, like you didn’t know you were ruinin’ me.”

You looked away, a bit embarrassed by the memory, but is hand gently brought your face back to his.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said, softly this time. “You think I want someone who’s had twenty dicks in her mouth and five up her pussy?”

Your eyes widened, Joel was always so blunt, you let out a startled laugh, he grinned, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip.

“I want you, baby. I want this tight, shy little thing that don’t even know how sweet her own mouth feels until I show her. I want the girl who looks up at me while she’s suckin’ and asks, am I doin’ good, Joel? like it don’t drive me fuckin’ insane.”

You nodded against him, voice small. “I just… I want to be enough for you.”

Joel pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up. You were so clueless, Joel thought, how couldn’t you see how much he loved how soft and innocent you were? How you were all he’d ever wanted? Your sweetness made both his heart ache and his cock throb.

“You are enough. You’re fuckin’ perfect for me.”

You searched his face, the lines, the grey at his temples, the quiet sadness behind his eyes, and all you saw there was truth.

“Even if I need you to teach me everything?” You whispered.

“Especially that,” he murmured. “’Cause I’m gonna teach you right. Teach you slow. You’re gonna learn everything from me, and only me."

“Joel... I wanna try again,” you said, and your voice came out soft, but sure. “With my mouth.”

Joel stilled, his eyes darkened slow, oh, the things you did to him, hearing you say those filthy things with that sweet, innocent mouth of yours. He smiled, slow, crooked, filthy.

“You mean suckin’ my cock?” he asked, all teasing drawl and patronizing sweetness.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want to.”

Joel’s hand slid higher on your thigh. “You askin’ real nice, baby girl.”

You leaned closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Please, Joel. I wanna make you feel good. Wanna do it right this time.”

He groaned, low and sharp, hand flexing on your skin.

“Alright, then, but only cause you want to, not because you feel like you need to prove somethin’,” he muttered. “Go ahead. Show me what you remember.”

He shifted back on the bed and unzipped his jeans with one hand, tugging them low enough to free his cock, already half-hard, thick, and flushed. You sat up on your knees between his legs, suddenly so aware of how big he looked like this, broad and spread out, just waiting.

Your hand wrapped around the base of him, he twitched in your palm, and you leaned down slowly, licking a soft stripe up the underside like he’d shown you before.

Joel exhaled sharp through his nose. “Thassit. Just like that, baby.”

“Hi there,” you said softly with his cock on your hand.

Joel huffed a laugh, low and almost incredulous. “You talkin’ to my cock now?”

“Maybe,” you said to Joel, before focusing your eyes back to his cock. “Hello again,” you said sweetly, leaning in to kiss the head. “Missed me?”

His breath was already hitching, you took it as a good sign and did it again, this time licking the head in slow, teasing circles, letting your tongue slip under the ridge.

“Look at you. Such a good boy. Getting all big and strong for me.”

Joel groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. You’re one of a kind, baby girl.”

You batted your lashes up at him. “You like it.”

“I love it,” he muttered, eyes fixed on your mouth as you gave another teasing lick up the underside. “Love my silly baby girl talkin’ nonsense while she plays with her food.”

You giggled and leaned in, rubbing your cheek affectionately against his cock like it was a plush toy. And then you leaned down and kissed it with over-the-top reverence, soft little “muah” sounds, little nose nuzzles. You really liked his cock, sure, it was the only one you’d ever seen in person, so you didn’t exactly have a reference point, but still… if you had to guess? It was the kind of cock a woman would want

He gave you that slow, dangerous smirk. “You gonna make out with him right in front of me, baby?”

You nodded solemnly. “Don’t be jealous, daddy. He deserves love too.”

Joel groaned like he was in pain, throwing his head back on the pillow. “Christ, you’re such a goddamn brat.”

You were driving him absolutely insane, on your knees, looking like a sweet little angel who’d fallen from heaven, your innocent little face nuzzling all over his cock, rubbing your cheek against it, pressing soft kisses… He wanted so badly to grab your hair, shove his cock down your throat and hold you there as he emptied his balls.

You kept flicking your tongue over his tip over and over again, watching as it began to leak more

“I’m your brat.”

“Damn right you are,” he said roughly, running a hand through your hair. “My sweet dumb baby. Givin’ daddy a heart attack every time she opens her mouth.”

“He missed me,” you whispered, tongue tracing around his tip. “He loves my mouth, doesn’t he?”

Joel’s voice dropped, rough and sweet and low. “Yeah, baby. He does. You got the best fuckin’ mouth. He wants you drooling all over him, don’t he?”

“Mhm.” You licked a fat stripe up the underside, then wrapped your lips around the head, making Joel moan, loud and unfiltered.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “You been practicin’ in your dreams or somethin’, baby girl?”

You smiled against him. “Just been thinkin’ about it,” you whispered. “Thinkin’ about makin’ you feel good.”

“Better just be that,” Joel groaned, “and not you practicin’ on any of those boys from round town.”

“Jooeeel,” you giggled, sweet and teasing, “you know I don’t want anyone else but daddy.”

He growled, and you let your lips close around the tip and sucked, hollowing your cheeks, going slow, shallow, just the tip, in and out, working your hand at the base to match like he'd taught you last time.

“Atta girl,” Joel groaned. “That’s it. Look at you. My good girl. My perfect little cockslut.” Joel’s hand came to rest on the back of your head, not pushing, just resting.

“Jesus, baby. You’re learnin’. Makin’ daddy feel so good…”

You moaned around him, and he twitched in your mouth, the vibrations were just adding to the intense pleasure you were already giving him.

“Fuck—yeah, do that again. Moan on it. Shit.”

You moaned and took him a little deeper, your throat felt tight, but you were determined, wanting to prove him you were a big girl, one that could take his entire cock in your mouth. You pulled back after you ran out of breath, and sucked softly on the tip, letting spit drip and smear down your fist.

He groaned loud. “Look at you,” he panted. “Look at this fuckin’ mouth, takin’ my cock so sweet. You were made for this, baby girl.”

You got bolder by his compliments, and licked down to the base and back up again. Let the head rest on your tongue and gazed up at him, eyes wide and wet, mouth full.

“Oh fuck, baby—don’t look at me like that, I swear to God—”

“You like that?” You asked, lips glossy with spit. “You like watchin’ me do it?”

“I love watchin’ you do it,” he growled. “You’re so good, baby. S’good for me. This mouth’s made for suckin’ daddy’s cock.”

You whimpered, and he caught your face in both hands, gently guiding you down again, rocking his hips just a little. He needed it, yes, he loved the gentle flicks of your tongue, the toying with his tip, but right now he needed to hit the back of your throat.

“You take what I give you,” he murmured. “Little bit deeper now. That’s it. Just like that. My good girl. Take him all the way. Show him how much you love him.”

You worked him with your mouth and hand together, taking breaks to lick, to suck, to breathe—and each time you paused, he praised you, whispered filth like you were doing him the biggest favor in the world.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so pretty like this… pretty mouth full of me…”

“Yeah, just like that, take your time… fuck, I ain’t gonna last…”

“You feel how hard I am for you? You know what you do to me, baby girl?”

You sucked him harder, hand twisting at the base, Joel groaned, full-bodied and deep. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “Ain’t gonna last another minute with you takin’ it like that.”

You whimpered around him, thighs squeezing together. Just his moans and those bold, filthy compliments were enough to get you wet and aching.

“Aw, baby’s gettin’ wet just suckin’ cock, huh? Poor little thing. Gonna need me later?”

You nodded, still bobbing, spit running down your chin. You pulled off just enough to murmur:

“He’s gettin’ twitchy.”

Joel grunted. “Yeah? You feel him startin’ to cum?”

“Warn me, daddy,” you said around him. “But I’m not stoppin’.”

You smiled and sucked him back into your mouth, sucking deep, and you didn’t let go until he was shaking, grunting, hips stuttering.

“F-Fuck… baby—daddy’s cummin’, he’s cummin’—fuck, right now—” Joel groaned, voice rough and desperate, his hips jerking up into you as the pleasure overtook him.

He came down your throat, hot and thick and salty, you liked the taste of it more than you did last time. You swallowed around him, let him ride it out in your mouth, his hands cradling the back of your head, thumbs stroking your cheeks like you were precious.

When you finally pulled off, he was panting, staring down at you like he didn’t know what hit him.

“Holy fuck, baby…”

You smiled, wiped the corner of your mouth. “Did I do good?”

Joel laughed, breathless. “You did perfect.” It was only the second time you’d sucked him, and you’d already outrun every other woman who’d ever been in his life.

He pulled you up onto his lap, arms tight around you. His thigh shifted beneath you, solid and warm, and you didn’t realize you were grinding down against it until he did.

“Ohh,” he said lowly, voice nearly a growl. “There she goes.”

You froze, a little ashamed by the fact that you were so horny you hadn’t even realized you were unconsciously humping his thigh, but Joel leaned in, lips brushing your cheek. “Don’t stop now, sweetheart. Keep ridin' me like that.”

Your eyes fluttered. “On… on your thigh?”

He nodded slowly, letting his hand drag up the curve of your back. “Mhm. That’s it. That’s what a sweet, shy girl like you needs. Nothin’ too scary. Just daddy’s thigh to start.”

“Joel,” you whispered, embarrassed and overwhelmed and aching so bad.

“S’just like dancin’, baby,” he cooed. “You know how to move your hips, don’t you?”

You nodded shyly, lashes still wet from sucking him, clutching at his shoulders. He adjusted your legs so you were straddling one thick, muscled thigh, your knees braced on either side of his, making you feel the corded muscle shift under you.

“Try movin’,” Joel whispered, voice all honeyed patience. “Rock your hips on me. Just a little to begin with. Just rub your sweet lil’ pussy on my thigh. Pretend it’s my cock if you want.”

You hesitated, but then rolled your hips forward, slowly dragging your clothed pussy over the ridge of his thigh, the friction made you gasp and clutch your fingers on his shirt.

“There we go,” Joel cooed. “See? That feel good? That’s what I’m gonna teach you to do all on your own. Go slow at first. Just lil’ rocks, baby.”

“Oh…”

“Atta girl. You’re doin’ so good. S’just like that.”

You moved again, the soft cotton of your panties growing damper with every pass. Joel watched you like a starving man, eyes hooded, hands staying right at your hips, guiding your movements.

Your breath came quicker as your clit caught on the firm pressure beneath you. The friction was perfect through your panties, rough enough to spark pleasure but safe enough not to scare you.

“Feel good, baby?”

You whimpered. “Y-yeah.”

“You ridin’ me now, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “Even if it’s just my thigh. So desperate to be a big girl, you just had to feel it, huh?”

You nodded, moving again, this time more confidently, moaning under your breath as the pressure hit just right.

“Aw, my poor baby,” he whispered, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “Look at you grindin’ all over me like you need it to breathe.”

Your cheeks burned, you buried your face in his neck as your hips rocked faster. “Feels so good, daddy…”

“I know it does. This is what happens when you trust me to teach you. I’ll show you everythin’, baby. Start you slow… get you used to it.”

You moaned into his skin, your clit catching just right on his thigh.

“Bet you’re gettin’ your pretty panties all wet, huh?”

You whimpered again in response.

“Yeah, I can feel it,” he growled. “Soakin’ through. You keep goin’, baby girl. Use me. Rub that little pussy right on me ‘til you cum.”

“God, Joel, it—feels so good—”

He nodded, hand sliding up your back. “I know it does, sweetheart. That’s your little pussy learnin’ how to get off. Keep goin’ for me

“Joel—”

“You need to cum,” he said, gently but firmly. “You need it, don’t you?”

“I—I think so—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Think real hard. Wanna cum for me, don’t you?”

You nodded desperately, now chasing every movement of your hips, the pressure was building and building, your clit throbbing against the strength of his thigh. He let you do your thing, just watched you unravel slowly, whispering praise like poison in your ear.

“That’s it. Just like that. Look at you—so sweet and dumb, so fuckin’ precious. Bet if I let you cum like this, you’ll be beggin’ me to show you what ridin’ my cock feels like next, huh?”

“I think—I think I’m gonna—Joel—”

You cried out, back arching, your thighs shaking as the orgasm hit. It was hot and dizzying and so much stronger than you expected just from grinding him, but you’d never done anything like this, never been talked through it like this, handled like this. You kept rocking even through it, drawn-out and needy, until Joel’s hands stilled you.

“Shh. That’s it. That’s enough, baby. I got you.”

Joel held you close through it, murmuring praise into your hair, arms wrapped around you like you were something breakable. When your breath finally slowed and your hips stilled, you whispered, “Joel…”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “Yeah, baby?”

You swallowed, voice small. “I think I’m ready.”

He stilled, blinking, breathing harder now.

“Yeah?” he said after a second, thumb still pressed to your mouth. “You sure, sweetheart? Don’t say it if you’re not. I can wait. I’ll fuckin’ wait forever for you.”

You nodded. “I want it to be you.”

Even though that orgasm had been mind-blowing, your body was still craving more. You were a little scared, but you knew Joel loved you, and that he’d take such good care of you in every step of the way.

Joel let out a shaky, wrecked sound and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your lips. He kissed you like you’d given him something holy. He felt so honored to be the one, the only one, to take that part of you. To be the first cock to stretch you open, to fill you up completely.

“Alright,” he rasped. “Alright, baby girl. We’ll go slow. Real slow. I got you.”

He laid you spread open on the bed, softly, like you were made out of glass. He kissed down your chest, your stomach, your thighs, murmuring as he went.

“I just…” You swallowed, cheeks burning. “I’m nervous. I don’t know what it’s gonna feel like.”

Joel exhaled softly, his voice dropped low.

“S’a stretch, baby. First time always is. You might hurt some. But I’ll be right here the whole time. I’ll help you through it. You just gotta listen to me, yeah?”

You nodded.

“Gonna be s’good for me,” he breathed. “You’ve been s’good for me already, haven’t you? Lettin’ me teach you. Lettin’ me touch you. And now you’re gonna let me take you all the way. That what you want, baby? Want daddy to take your little virgin pussy?”

Your thighs trembled. “Y-Yeah.”

Joel pulled back just long enough to wrap his hand around himself, hard, and heavy, all over again.

“Look at this cock, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You really think you’re ready for all this?”

Your eyes flicked to his cock, shy but sure, it was all you needed right now. “I want it.”

He groaned, moving between your thighs again. “Alright. Gonna give you just a little first, okay? Gotta stretch you open slow, baby. I ain’t lettin’ you hurt.”

His fingers stroked through your folds, slick and ready, spreading you for him, and then you felt the broad head of his cock, warm and insistent, pressing right at your entrance.

“Deep breath,” Joel said, his voice like velvet. “Just the tip first, like last time. Let daddy in.”

You exhaled, and he took that moment to push forward, just barely, just enough to breach you. You gasped, your whole body tightened around him instinctively, but Joel was already soothing you, already leaning over you with kisses and murmurs and praise.

You gasped—your hands flew to his arms, nails digging in. “Joel—oh—wait—”

“Shh, shh,” he soothed. “I know, baby. I know. It’s a lot. Daddy’s so sorry.”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. You were shaking, even if he wasn’t moving.

he whispered. “Too much?”

You shook your head quickly. “Just… hurts more than I thought.”

“I know, baby. I know it hurts. Just breathe f’me. You’re doin’ great.”

You tried to breathe through it, feeling the dull burn of being opened by something too big, too thick, but still, you wanted it, you wanted him.

“Shhh, baby, that’s it. You’re doin’ so good. Tight little thing, ain’t you? Gonna suck me in so sweet. I knew you’d be tight, but fuck—you’re squeezin’ me like you never wanna let go.”

You let out a shaky laugh that turned into a cry as he gave another slow push.

“It’s a lot, huh?” he whispered against your ear. “Big cock stretchin’ you for the first time. Feels full, don’t it?”

You nodded, jaw trembling. “So full.”

“Too much?”

“No. Keep going, daddy.”

His breath hitched. “Jesus. You’re so fuckin’ brave, baby girl.”

And then finally—finally—he was all the way in, buried to the hilt, making you gasp again. Joel froze, holding you tightly, his whole body shaking above yours.

“Christ,” he groaned. “You took all of me. First time and you’re takin’ me so goddamn deep. That pussy was made for me. You feel that?”

You could only nod. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes. Joel looked down, utterly wrecked by the sight of your pussy swallowing him whole, of that tight little hole stretched around him.

You could feel everything, every twitch, every throb, every part of him stretching you open in ways you’d never imagined. It hurt, he was so big, and your body was struggling to take it, but you knew the pain would fade, your just needed to give your body a minute to stretch, to get used to him, and once it passed, the good part would come.

Joel rocked gently, barely moving, just letting your body adjust. You whimpered at the pressure, at the fullness, at the intensity of it all.

Joel just babied you. “Such a sweet girl. So fuckin’ brave. You lettin’ me be your first, baby? Makin’ me feel honored.”

“Don’t move yet,” you whispered. “Just… stay.”

“I ain’t movin’,” Joel said. “You tell me when. This pussy belongs to you until you give me permission.”

Your heart ached by how sweet he was, you wrapped your arms around his neck, held on, breathed, and slowly, the pain dulled, the sting turned to heat, the fullness turned to need, you needed more, you desperatly needed friction.

“Okay,” you whispered. “You can move now.”

Joel pulled back, just a little, and then rolled his hips forward, slow and steady. And again, and again. Each stroke made you gasp, made you cling to his shoulders, the feeling of him sliding deep, hot and heavy and perfect, dragging against every tender, untouched nerve inside you.

Every thrust was shallow, slow, careful, but it still made your thighs tremble. The pain was a shadow now, replaced with a tight, delicious ache and something filthy blooming low in your belly.

“Good girl,” he kept whispering. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good. I knew you would. This sweet little pussy was just waitin’ for me, wasn’t it?”

You moaned so loud your throat felt sore. You would’ve been so embarrassed if you hadn’t been so completely lost in the overwhelming, electric pleasure coursing through your body.

He was trying to hold back, trying to stay gentle, because he knew how important a first time was, and you were his baby, you deserved for it to be nothing but soft and sweet. But in the back of his mind, he was already tasting the future, already imagining how he’d have you in all fours soon, when your body was ready to take more. He’d be rough then, fucking you deep and hard, just like he knew you’d want it once you got a real taste of him. But not now. Not yet.

“You wanted this cock,” he murmured. “You needed it. Wanted daddy to teach you how to take it. Fuck—look at you, baby girl, takin’ every inch. Buryin’ my cock all the way in this perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks, not quite from pain anymore, but from how full and overwhelmed you were. Joel kissed them away, he started to move faster, the heat built with every slow thrust, every slick grind of his hips against yours, and then his hand slid between you, thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts.

You arched under him, sobbing louder now, overwhelmed and shaking from how deep he was. It felt like he was in your stomach, stretching places you didn’t even know could feel pleasure.

“J-Joel, it’s so much,” you whimpered. “I—didn’t know it could feel like this.”

He groaned low, voice thick and wrecked.

“That’s right, baby. That’s me all the way up in there,” he murmured, pressing his palm flat against your lower belly, feeling the bulge where his cock reached so deep it made your eyes roll back.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock. Want this little pussy to milk me dry. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Y-Yes—yes—Joel—”

You didn’t even have to try, the tip of his cock found that perfect spot inside you, that sweet, aching place you didn’t even know could feel that good, and the moment he hit it you saw stars, and then he hit it again… and again… and again.

You came hard, it was all so new, so perfect. You clenched around him, voice breaking, and the spasms of your cunt made Joel snap. His thrusts got rougher, deeper, his hips stuttering as he groaned your name over and over again.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck—gonna fill you up, baby girl, give you every fuckin’ drop—mine, you hear me? This pussy’s mine.”

He spilled inside you, grinding deep, holding you to him as you both fell apart. You clung to him, trembling, panting, tears still slipping down your cheeks. It was strange, so strange, a sudden heat blooming inside you, you swore you could feel his thick and warm seed being spilled inside you, and then sliding back out, dripping from your sore, used hole, slick and messy between your thighs. You whimpered at the sensation, so sensitive now that even the slow trickle of it made you twitch.

“You did so good,” he whispered. “So goddamn good. You’re mine now, baby. Every part of you.”

Afterward, Joel gave a few slow, shallow thrusts to push his cum deeper inside you before going completely soft. Even as he pulled out with a low groan, he watched the last of his seed slowly drip from your hole.

“Fuck… look at that, baby,” he rasped, his voice still thick with lust and awe. “Can’t even keep it in. I filled you that good.”

You could barely speak, barely breathe. All you could do was lay there and feel his release leaking out of you in hot waves.

“Daddy made a mess in you,” he murmured, his thumb gently playing with the warm slickness, spreading it over your folds and making you flinch from the sudden sensitivity. “D’you want me to clean you up, baby?”

“Mmm, can I stay like this, daddy?” you whispered. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

It felt… nice. Comforting, even. Being this marked by him. Joel just nodded, he didn’t move away from you, he just stroked your face, your hair, kissed your cheeks and whispered how good you’d done, how proud he was, how much he loved you.

And even though your body ached, your legs were still trembling, and your thighs were sticky with him, you felt safer than you ever had in your life.

He kissed your face, your hair, your lips. You were still crying a little.

“You did so good, baby girl,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ good f’me. I’m so proud of you.”

You held onto him, safe in his arms, and whispered.

“…I love you.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than I ever thought I could.”

A/N: This definitely ended up being much longer than I intended, especially for pure porn without plot, lol

I’m so happy to see how much you liked the previous part I posted🥹 I immediately started writing this other one, and I hope you enjoy it just as much. If you do, please consider showing some support, it would mean the world to me🩷🩷

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[jellyfishsthings]

Interrupted Dates

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune 

Dick

The rooftop was aglow with fairy lights, strung haphazardly between a rusted chimney and a disused antenna. It gave the space a dreamy sort of charm—romantic if you squinted and ignored the faint smell of city smog.

You sat cross-legged on a blanket, sharing a plastic container of pasta salad with Dick. He was barefoot, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair ruffled by the breeze and the kind of smugly radiant that only came from retelling stories of childhood chaos.

“So then I yell, ‘Ta-da!’—naked, mind you—because I was four and thought I could fly,” Dick said, stabbing his fork into a piece of tomato like it had personally wronged him. “Bruce was mortified. Alfred just... nodded, like he’d seen worse.”

You snorted into your drink. “How are you not traumatized?”

“I am. But charmingly so.”

Meanwhile, twelve feet below, chaos brewed.

Behind a nearby billboard, a truly absurd stack of Batfamily members wobbled dangerously. Stephanie was on top, phone in hand and already live-streaming to a private group chat titled #OperationDickDates??!. Jason had the binoculars. Tim was beneath him, trying to triangulate audio with a dish he may or may not have stolen from the Batcave. Damian, at the bottom, bore the weight of them all with the bitter fury of a betrayed acrobat.

“This is a disgrace,” Damian hissed. “Grayson’s form is off. His landing on the blanket was a ten-degree deviation from optimal angle.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Tim whispered. “Not the fact that we’re spying on our grown brother having a date like we’re the Scooby-Doo gang on meth?”

Stephanie shushed them. “Shut up, I think she’s laughing. That’s like, third laugh. Fourth laugh is when I declare it true love.”

Jason adjusted the focus on his binoculars. “Is she feeding him? Bro. She just fed him a tomato. That’s a couple move. This is disgusting.”

“Why are you even here?” Damian growled.

“I was promised chaos and snacks. So far, I have neither.”

Above, Dick paused, brows knitting. “Do you… hear whispering?”

You tilted your head. “Maybe it’s wind?”

“No, that’s definitely someone whispering ‘move your elbow, I can’t see his dumb face.’” He squinted into the shadows. “Give me a sec.”

In one effortless flip, he vanished into the dark like some sort of spandex-clad raccoon. A loud yelp followed.

Moments later, Dick returned, dragging Jason Todd by the back of his leather jacket like a particularly mouthy duffel bag.

Jason looked entirely unrepentant. “Hi. Love what you’ve done with the vibe. Very ‘Pinterest meets crime alley.’”

You sighed. “Hi, guys.”

Stephanie popped up like an excited meerkat. “Hi! You’re really pretty, by the way.”

Tim climbed over next, holding what looked like a home-wired parabolic mic. “Please don’t hate us. I had nothing to do with this. Except the part where I helped rig the surveillance array.”

Damian dropped from the billboard last, landing in a perfect crouch. “This entire endeavor was idiotic. But I recorded Grayson’s subpar trapeze flip for future blackmail purposes.”

You blinked. “Wait—how long have you all been watching?”

Jason shrugged. “Since the pasta salad.”

Stephanie nodded. “She laughed four times. That’s how you know it’s real.”

Dick stared at all of them. “You built a totem pole. Behind a billboard. In a wind tunnel.”

Damian sniffed. “It was Tim’s idea.”

“Lies,” Tim said. “I organized it. There’s a difference.”

You glanced at Dick, who looked like he was oscillating between mild amusement and full-on big brother meltdown.

He sighed dramatically, then turned to you with a hand outstretched. “Would you care to join me in fleeing the scene of the crime?”

“With pleasure.”

As the two of you retreated—blanket in hand, pasta salad container tucked under your arm—you heard Stephanie whisper behind you:

“I’m giving this a nine out of ten. Docking one point for no kiss.”

Jason grunted. “Give it five minutes. They’re totally going to kiss on the next roof.”

 “So…should we… follow?” Tim whispered.

 “NO.”

Jason

You were tucked into the coziest corner of the bookstore café, the one with the overstuffed chair that made ominous creaking noises when you sat in it, but held firm like a trusted secret. The golden afternoon light pooled on the hardwood floor, catching the soft steam curling from your shared cappuccino. Jason sat beside you, strangely gentle today, his leather jacket shrugged off, sleeves rolled, as he thumbed through a battered paperback of Pablo Neruda.

He cleared his throat—gruff, a little self-conscious—and then looked at you like you were the only real thing in the world.

“‘I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,’” he read, voice low and slightly husky. Not quite polished—more like poetry scraped over gravel. Honest.

You smiled, fingers brushing his under the table, and he blinked like maybe he couldn’t believe he was allowed to have this—this calm, this softness, this weird, wonderful stillness.

Then—

“Is he blushing?” came a stage whisper from the bookshelf display to your right. You both froze.

From behind a rotating rack of pastel-covered romance novels, Dick and Tim peeked out, both wearing oversized, obviously fake glasses and pretending to browse.

Jason closed the book slowly.

Dick leaned sideways with all the stealth of a golden retriever trying to sneak a sandwich. “Look at him go. He’s quoting Neruda. Neruda, Tim. My angry cactus of a brother has feelings.”

“Do we have this on video?” Tim hissed, digging in his coat like he might’ve bugged the café.

Jason squinted. “Are they... wearing mustaches?”

Sure enough, both of them had slapped on wonky adhesive mustaches. Tim’s was starting to peel. Dick’s had migrated halfway up his cheek.

“They think they’re subtle,” you whispered.

Jason reached for the sugar packets, calmly selected one, then flicked his wrist like a sniper on a sugar-fueled vendetta. The packet arced cleanly over the romance display and smacked Tim right between the eyes.

“Ow!”

Dick choked on his latte.

Tim ducked behind the display, rubbing his forehead. “Did he just bean me mid-sonnet?”

You turned to Jason, impressed. “Did you seriously just assault your brother with sweetener while reading poetry?”

He grinned. “He deserved it.”

“Fair.”

From behind the shelf came Dick’s voice, unbothered and very much still spying. “Hey, we’re just trying to witness emotional growth.”

“And possibly blackmail material.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and called over his shoulder, “Get out before I start reading Yeats in a threatening tone.”

“Threatening Yeats?” Dick said. “You are in love.”

Tim emerged, dramatically clutching his sugar-packet injury. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in a tragic lab explosion. Murdered by Splenda™.”

“Get out,” Jason said, standing halfway. “Or I swear to God, I’ll recite sonnets until you sob.”

Dick raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, no need to traumatize the civilians.”

They backed out, knocking over a cardboard cutout of Jane Austen and leaving a half-eaten croissant on a poetry display. The barista glared. Someone in the back clapped.

When it was quiet again, Jason sat down with a long sigh and opened the book again. He didn’t look at you for a moment, just flipped a few pages like nothing had happened.

You leaned in, brushing his hair gently behind one ear. “You were blushing, by the way.”

He met your gaze, eyes warm and half-lidded, lips twitching. “Yeah, well... you’d blush too if you were reading love poems to someone you liked in front of two idiot brothers dressed like a community theater production of Sherlock Holmes.”

“True,” you admitted.

He found the page again, cleared his throat, and murmured, “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where…’”

And for once, no one interrupted.

(Not even when Dick and Tim snuck back disguised as a couple on a painfully awkward first date. But that’s another story.

Tim

  It was a clear night at Gotham’s old observatory—cold enough to see your breath, warm enough to be out without freezing, the kind of in-between that made you feel suspended in time. You were perched on a folding blanket with a thermos of hot chocolate between your knees, wrapped in one of Tim’s oversized hoodies, watching him fine-tune the telescope with all the reverence of someone handling a sacred artifact.

“This model’s based on the Cassegrain design,” he murmured, adjusting the focus ring, eyes narrowed in concentration. “The mirrors inside reflect the image back to a focal point—it’s more efficient for deep-sky observation. Which is perfect because Orion’s Nebula is peaking tonight, and you can see the whole trapezium cluster if—”

He stopped, mid-ramble.

“Too much?”

You grinned, sipping the hot chocolate. “Never. I like when you go full-nerd.”

Tim flushed just a little, half-hiding his face behind the telescope. “Right. Well. You’ll see it better if you look around there—” He gently guided your hands. “—past Rigel. That’s the blue supergiant. It’s—”

“—Eight-hundred sixty light years away,” you finished.

He looked at you like he might die a little from fondness. “I think I love you.”

A crunch echoed above you.

You froze. Tim’s shoulders tensed. Another crunch. Muffled whispering. Something—or someone—was shifting behind the dome’s inner wall.

Tim sighed, not even looking up. “They’re watching.”

You tilted your head. “Should we invite them down?”

He shook his head solemnly. “No. Let them suffer in their self-inflicted cringe.”

Inside the observatory’s mechanical guts, Damian muttered, “You’re breathing too loudly.”

Cass responded by flicking him on the head.

Steph hissed, “I told you to bring snacks. You said popcorn was ‘too loud,’ and now look where we are. Starving. Cold. Emotionally invested.”

“I am not emotionally invested,” Damian said with the conviction of someone absolutely emotionally invested.

A beat.

“They’re holding hands,” Steph whispered. “Look. Right there. Hand. On. Knee.”

Cass’s voice: “Aww.”

Damian gagged audibly.

Tim adjusted the telescope again. “Bruce is here too.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Tim just nodded toward the corner of the dome where, sure enough, Bruce stood in a trench coat and fedora like a noir film detective, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Possibly proud. Possibly plotting. Definitely out of place.

You whispered, “Why is he in a trench coat?”

Tim didn’t look up. “He thinks it’s ‘subtle.’”

Another creak. A hushed “Shhh!”

Five minutes passed in silence. Tim showed you the Andromeda Galaxy, soft-spoken and a little breathless as he described the gravitational pull between it and the Milky Way.

Then—

CRASH.

The trapdoor on the upper level flung open. Damian Wayne fell through it like a cat yeeted off a counter.

He hit the floor in a roll, popped up in a dramatic stance, and declared—very loudly—“That was intentional.”

Cass landed beside him a second later in a perfect superhero crouch. “We tripped.”

Damian hissed. “You tripped. I performed a tactical descent.”

Tim didn’t even blink. “Welcome. There’s cocoa in the thermos. Please keep the stalking to a minimum.”

Steph peeked her head down the ladder, grinning and holding her phone up. “I’ve been filming this whole time, by the way.”

Bruce descended the stairs silently like a disappointed cryptid.

You looked around at the chaos, then at Tim, who was now sitting with his head in his hands.

You gently patted his back. “You okay?”

“I was trying to explain redshift,” he muttered into his palms. “Now my little brother has announced his ‘tactical descent’ like he’s a D-list Avenger.”

From the floor, Damian snapped, “I heard that.”

Tim looked at you. “Please kill me.”

You offered him the cocoa instead.

“Same thing,” he mumbled.

Steph flopped onto the blanket beside you. “So... on a scale from one to tragically adorable, how serious is this?”

Cass stated calmly “Eleven.”

Damian made a face that would make the sun turn green as he stated that everything was disgusting. Bruce tried to argue that the kids were simply bonding, which resulted in Damian making yet another disgusted face at them.

You looked at Tim, smiling. “Want to get back to the stars?”

He nodded quickly, tugging you gently back toward the telescope, his hand slipping into yours like it belonged there. “Yes. Away from the goblins.”

“You love the goblins.”

Tim’s smile twitched. “No, I tolerate them. With... grudging affection.”

Behind you, Cass whispered, “He’s so in love.”

Steph whispered loudly  “Like... epic poem in love.”

“Please.”

Tim ignored them, realigned the telescope, and said softly, “Okay. Your turn. Let me show you something beautiful.”

And he did.

(The goblins mostly behaved. Until Damian tried to sabotage the cocoa supply. But that’s another story.)

Damian

It started with an invitation tucked beneath a hardcover book you’d left at the manor: On the Aesthetic History of Violence. Inside, in impossibly neat handwriting:

“You are cordially invited to a private tour of the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. After hours. Dress appropriately.”

Signed only: D.W.

You showed up in a black coat and clean boots. Damian arrived ten minutes early in a bespoke turtleneck and the kind of dark wool coat that whispered money and museum quiet. No cape, no scowl. Just a calm nod and a half smile when he saw you.

“You’re late,” he said, not unkindly.

“You’re early,” you countered.

His eyes softened like a secret.

The museum had shut its doors to the public at 6:00. By 7:15, it was yours alone. Echoing floors, tall ceilings, marble columns leading to hushed rooms, all flooded in warm golden light. Damian walked you through the Impressionists first. He spoke softly, almost reverently—about oil brushwork, the interplay of light and motion, how Manet weaponized color. There was something about hearing him—Damian Wayne, child of war and shadow—talk about atmospheric perspective like it was something holy.

“Look at the emotional architecture,” he murmured, pausing before a muted Chagall. “The structure of grief in the way the lines collapse toward the left. You can see the subject wants to leave the room, but the room will not let her.”

You turned toward him. “That one reminds me of you.”

He blinked. No quip. No snort. Just...stillness.

A breath. Then another.

You watched the silence settle into his shoulders, unsure if he was flattered or panicking. You were about to joke it off—when suddenly—

“HhhHKKk’CHHSHH!”

A violent sneeze echoed across the entire museum like a grenade in an empty cathedral.

You both turned slowly, as one.

From behind a marble bust in the Romanticism wing, a crackling voice came over the coms: “Sorry—allergies!”

“Stephanie,” Damian said in a voice usually reserved for supervillains and disappointed Shakespearean monologues. “This is why I don’t take them anywhere.”

You barely suppressed a laugh. “You knew they were here?”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hoped I was wrong.”

Down the east corridor, two distinct silhouettes peeked out from behind a 9-foot sculpture of Artemis. Jason was wearing a museum security badge upside down and holding a clipboard he was clearly using as a tray for takeout. Stephanie—crouched beside him in a trench coat and baseball cap—was whispering into a walkie-talkie with the stealth of a small rhino.

“I told you the mic was too close to your face,” Jason muttered.

Steph hissed back, “Sorry, I sneezed. It’s dusty in here!”

Back in the Impressionist gallery, Damian rubbed his temple like this was all personally offensive.

“And why,” he asked the universe, “is Todd carrying egg rolls in a museum?”

“Because,” came a crisp British voice from the main atrium, “someone has to maintain standards.”

You turned to see Alfred Pennyworth—immaculate in a faux security guard uniform—holding a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres like it was wartime Versailles.

“Would you care for a prosciutto puff?” he asked you, deadpan.

Damian looked like he wanted to dissolve through the floor.

Alfred added, with a glance toward Steph and Jason: “Miss Brown tried to bribe the actual docent with a Crunchwrap Supreme. I had to intervene.”

You took a puff pastry and tried not to laugh.

A voice from the shadows: “Pfft. Amateur.”

From behind a false wall, a gloved hand polished a modern sculpture. You blinked. “Is that... Dick?”

“Richard has infiltrated as a janitorial subcontractor,” Damian muttered, sounding so tired. “He insisted it was ‘part of the immersive experience.’”

“I’m wearing coveralls and everything,” Dick’s voice called proudly from behind a giant steel cube. “Museum chic.”

Damian turned to you, exhausted. “Please believe me when I say, I wanted this to be romantic.”

You looped your arm through his and smiled. “It still is.”

He paused. “Despite the surveillance?”

“Because of it,” you teased. “It’s very us.”

Damian blinked. Then—slowly, reluctantly—smiled. A real one. The kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but was still a rare and quiet thing.

“I loathe you,” he murmured to the empty air.

“Love you too, baby bird,” came Jason’s voice over the coms.

“I have no siblings,” Damian muttered, guiding you toward a post-modernist piece shaped like an unraveling staircase.

From behind the bust, Steph whispered: “Did he just blush?”

Dick whispered back: “I’m so proud.”

Jason: “I’m gonna cry. That’s our boy.”

Steph: “Wait—can we do a slow clap?”

Alfred: “If you start clapping, I am tasering everyone and leaving.”

Back in the gallery, Damian took your hand and placed it over his heart. “Ignore the interlopers. This painting reminds me of you. Bold color. Sharp lines. Impossible to look away from.”

You smiled, a little breathless. “Now you’re being romantic.”

He tilted his head. “You started it.”

Behind you, Steph sneezed again.

Damian didn’t even flinch. “I will burn this museum to the ground.”

[haostea]

enhypen bf headcanons

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: enhypen members as boyfriends

masterlist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ heeseung

you guys are practically married at this point, like you guys have your routine down, and it's the cutest most domestic thing ever

he's actually adorable, he would care about you so much!

i feel like he is a great listener, so he would always be there when you need to vent, and he would give good advice after

not that much into pda, but he wouldn't mind a quick hug or holding hands, in private i could see him inviting you to sit on his lap a lot, especially when he's gaming

speaking of gaming, he would love it if you played with him

he gets so giddy around you, immediately lights up every time you walk into a room

i think he would be shy to sing to you, or show you lyrics that he wrote about you

but the more you tell him you love it the more you catch him telling you he what he has been up to and wants to hear your thoughts

one his main love languages seems to be quality time, so you just being in the same room as him doing your own thing makes him really happy

he also expresses his love for you in his writing where he'll write some cheesy lyrics and cringe, but if you tell him how much you love it he will write even more

would absolutely love if you pulled him up to dance, especially when you start singing he would start singing too

the more times you do this the more he'll get comfortable dancing and singing around you, to the point where he's serenading you around the house, and pulling you up to dance all the time

overall 10/10 bf

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ jay

will always be hovering over you, not in a bad way, but in more of a protective way as he wants to make sure that you are okay

speaking of making sure that you are okay, he is for sure a caretaker

thinks that you are absolutely adorable, and only wants the best for you

you are always his first priority, no matter how busy he will always make time for you

and even when he can't physically be there, he is always calling and texting you little reminders to eat, take a break, sleep

he would also make food ahead of time, so you can just take it out of the fridge/freezer and heat it up

he treats you with such softness, where he would be extremely gentle with you, as he wants to make sure you can always go to him no matter what

also such a gentleman, would drive you anywhere, constantly hold doors open for you, carry your bags, and also open things for you

not because you can't do it, but why should you have to if he's right there?

he genuinely would put so much time and effort into your relationship, and he would make sure that you never go to bed mad

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ jake

he's such a cutie pie omg, he's the definition of head over heals

at this point you don't have a name, you are known as darling, sweetie, sweetheart, love, etc. because jake will literally call you every one of them under the sun

his pupils turn into hearts whenever your around, he literally lights up when you walk into a room, like one would think he ate the sun

doesn't even care that he's a "simp" according to ni-ki because he knows he is, i mean haven't you seen yourself? of course he is

he LOVES cuddles, like good luck trying to get up in the morning, this man will not let go

his accent is so cute, so obviously one would only want him to speak in english, and if you also speak english you guys would frequently have conversations in english

but if you don't he would love to teach you, he thinks it's adorable, and feels so special that you want him to teach you

layla would love you, his camera pretty much only consists of you two, and when you guys are together he is taking thousands of photos, because layla and you in the same picture? omg it's the most perfect thing

such a gentleman, loves kissing your hand, giving you his jacket, opening doors, holding bags for you, etc.

his dream is to definitely travel with you and take you to austrailia

would be so happy if you brought him to meet your family, or bring him to wherever you grew up/where your from

actually husband material

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥sunghoon

this man is aggressively endearing?

he will make sure that you eat and are okay

like he will force you to eat if you haven't and it's sweet because he is not afraid to spoon feed you if he has to

this relationship if definitely private, i could not see him wanting a public one

he's also very awkward, especially when you first started dating, he would be fidgeting and looking anywhere besides you because you're just so pretty and cool

overtime it's gotten better, but there are still occasions that make him blush and try to hide his face

he loves teasing you, which can be annoying, but he will never make you uncomfortable or go past your limit

very good with boundaries and will never pass them once they are set, unless you say otherwise

because he does love you so much and would never want you to hate him, so he knows when to back off

he knows when to be more serious and intimate, but it really only occurs in private in the privacy of your home where he can feel vulnerable

he does truly love you, it just takes him a little while to fully embody it

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ sunoo

he's the cutest and sweetest

so so so gentle with you, to the point where you think he's holding a piece of glass

loves holding your face and giving you kisses, and would love it if you would do it back as well

you're definitely his first priority over his members, like if you needed him for something he would drop whatever he was doing and go to you

loves receiving gifts and acts of service from you, like if you folded his clothes or bought him a new shirt, he is literally on the ground confessing his love for you and how you didn't need to do that

plans out dates and events to the last detail, he will not have anything go wrong, everything will be just how he planned

and since he only thinks you deserve the best he would go all out, buying balloons, bouquets, stuffed animals, even buying you an outfit

don't forget that there are of course going to be handwritten letters, that are at least a page because he could go on and on about how much he loves you

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ jungwon

such a sweetie

would be such a gentleman, where he would kneel down to tie your shoes for you, or would full on give you his shoes if it hurts to walk in yours

along with the headcanon above piggyback rides are also very frequent, not just because your feet hurt, but because he just thinks it's fun

would quite literally remember everything, like one day your walking through the mall and mention you liked a shirt, then its showing up on your bed the next day with a little love letter?

loves loves loves seeing you smile and laugh, would for sure do anything to see and hear it

he would love to just lay down in your lap and have you play with his hair, he thinks it's so relaxing and calming

i feel like he would act like he doesn't like physical affection, like kissing his cheek or ruffling his hair but he's lying, he does love it, just maybe not in public

i see him wanting a more private relationship just because he wants to keep you away from all of the hate and toxicity

overall very fun and loving, and he loves you to bits

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ ni-ki

this relationship is actually the best thing ever

it's such a young adult romance, where it's so playful and unserious, but you both know that you love each other so much

if your relationship was described it would be summed up with: teasing, playful, adorable, fun, loving

he would take you on such fun dates, like you really have no idea where he could take you, it could be to an aquarium, concert, café, amusement park etc.

i could also see him liking to stay home and just do an at home picnic type date just because it's a lot more intimate and would still be playful and fun

he would love dancing with you, especially teaching you new choreography, and if your a dancer too you guys would be constantly be making tiktoks together

we all know he tries to be nonchalant, but it's all a façade

he loves attention, especially from you, like i can stress how much he loves cuddles

and he is obsessed with you playing with his hair, like you'd be constantly find yourself sitting on the couch and he would be on the floor with you playing with his hair

would need someone who could match his energy, like when his is high you should be able to match it, because i feel like your relationship would originate from that

he does love you so bad, he really is such a golden retriever bf even if he may not let it out into the public, but in private that's your baby

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ

[date-everything-has-taken-over]

Hi hi hiii I wasnwondering if u could do a fic thing where reader is basically dating most dateables n one day they (the reader) basically ends up feeling extremely sick from not taling care of theirself properly, running around to fix stuff, starting a new part-time job, going out with new friends. Could some of the characters included be dorian, eddie & volt, hector and whoever else? Pls and thank uu!!

Gonna add Barry and Betty because I think they'd fit in very well with this case (And they're my babygirls)

Dorian🚪

● One of the first to notice something was off

●After losing your job at Valdivian, you had gotten two part-time jobs to make up for it, and it was beginning to take its toll

●He was the kne to see you before you walked through the front Dorian. Before you would take a deep breath and put on your best, "everything's okay" face

●He'd try his best to convince you to give yourself a break and get some well needed rest, but you kept reassuring him you'd be fine

●Well, he was right. After one too many overtime shifts combined with coming home to help everyone with their problems resulting in many sleepless nights, you come home and practically collapsed in the front hallway

●"Right, that's it. You're taking a couple days off work and resting"

●Unfortunately, he's still the front door, so he can't take you to bed himself, but bedroom Dorian will take things from there

●If you thought he was like a bouncer before, you haven't seen anything yet.

●A dateable wants to see you. "Are you on the list?" "What do you need with them?" "You're not gonna cause a fuss are ya?"

●He even contemplates moving the hanks downstairs. Sure, they're usually in your room, but they're so loud. He gives them a stern warning (which scares them just a bit) and let's them stay

●He makes sure the house is safe and that your room is the pinical of peace

●"Autherized personal only" Dorian blocks anyone trying to get in, but especially the more rowdy members of the house

●"Darling, you never believe what I heard about Hoove!" Scandalabra tries yelling through Dorian, which was followed by a suspicious thud (I'm sure it's nothing to worry abt)

●Until he sees you're 100% better, Dorian doesn't let you out of his sight (not that he does that anyway). Going to the kitchen for chicken soup? He's got an eye on you just in case

●When you actually do recover, he's making sure you don't get yourself in the same issue and makes you promise not to push yourself

●"It's not just my job to keep you safe from the outside world, love." He holds you close to him, enveloping you in a warm hug. "I will always be there to keep you safe from all danger"

●Even after you're better and going back to work, he's checking on you every chance he gets, reminding you to eat and sleep at a reasonable time

●He may not woo with words as much as other dateables, but he shows how much he loves you every day by being a safe and reliable presence for you

Eddie & Volt⚡️

●Work was short-staffed, and with it being busy season, you were picking up extra shifts almost every day

● They know overworked when they see it, so when you show up to the club, noticeably tired, they clock you right away

●Volt takes a seat next to you, placing his lips on the side of you head

"You know we're always happy to see you, live wire-"

Eddie cuts him off

"-But you look dead tired, go to bed"

● Volt chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his lap

"Our live wire doesn't need to leave to rest, do they?" He brings you closer. "You can relax right here, live wire"

●After that night, Eddie stopped letting you help out around the club

"Don't worry about it, alright? You look like you're about to fall over anyway"

●Eddie acts tough, but he's checking on you and bringing you water every time you visit the Breaker Box after work

●When everything catches up to you and you actually do end up getting sick enough to take a couple of days off work while stuck in bed, they're both worried (and a little pissed)

●They've seen you running around the house helping everyone, fixing things around the house, settling arguments between other members of the house so they have a pretty good idea of how you ended up like this

●They check on you every day to make sure you're doing alright

●If you're not awake when they come by, you'll wake up to find a glass of water, Nyquill, and a note

'Rest well, live wire -E&V

●After a couple of days of bedrest, you return to the club, and they're happy to see you doing well

●They've both accepted you're too nice to say no to helping everyone in the house, so how do they remedy this?

●By practically keeping you hostage in the club for the next couple of days (Can't get exhausted again if they just keep you at the Breaker Box)

●Eddie still refuses to let you help out even if you insist

"And you get on me for not taking a break," he sets a glass in front of you. "Little hypocritical, don't ya think?"

●He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head, keeping close for a moment before going to the back to do maintenance

●They may be busy running the club, but never too busy for you, and they make sure to remind you

Hector💨

●Also, very quick to notice

●He was very worried when he noticed how much slower you seemed lately

●Asks how you're doing multiple times a day. Never believes you when you say you're fine but he doesn't wanna push it and upset you

●Fully panics when he sees you collapse after walking through front Dorian

●The temperature spikes for a moment until he calms down

●He doesn't leave your side for a moment

●Takes extra care to keep the temperature at a comfortable level for you

●You don't even have to say anything. Ate you pulling the blanket closer to you? Heat up. Are you kicking away the sheets? Air on.

●He so badly wants to be there with you. To hold you and comfort you. But he's still terrified to leave the vents

●He's slightly soothed knowing Betty is taking very good care of you (but also kinda jealous)

●In the middle of the night, when he's sure everyone is asleep, he sits beside your bed, watching as your breath rises and falls

● He brushes your hair aside, admiring your beautiful face (even though it's sick and sweaty, he doesn't care)

●Before leaving, he gives your forehead a kiss. "Feel better soon, my love."

● If someone tried disturbing you or kept you awake, he'd turn the heat up in the room they're in to be petty

●When you're well enough to get out of bed, he's overcome with both joy and anxiety

●Joy because you're well enough to see him in the attic now. He can hold you again (and you can watch him turn bright red as you kiss his face)

● But anxious because, what if this happens again? What if the human keeps pushing themselves? What if it's WORSE next time?!

●He begs you to slow down and not push yourself too hard. To give yourself more free time and rest more often

●The look he gives you is like a kicked puppy, and you just can't help but hold him close and promise to take care of yourself better

●He clings to you for a bit before you leave the attic to go to bed "Rest well, my love."

● When you finally go back to work, he anxiously waits for your return, watching Timmy just a little too closely

●When you finally return, he observes your every move to see if you look tired or overwhelmed

●If not, good. But if you look any kind of distressed, he's whisking you away to the attic to cuddle, then practically dragging you to bed at the end of the day

●You're honestly a little surprised since he's normally not this bold face-to-face

●Even long after recovery, it becomes a new routine. If you come home tired, he's attaching himself to you koala style

Barry💄

● Well, technically, he noticed pretty quickly when he'd see you so exhausted every morning, buuuuut then he forgot and would notice all over again each morning

●Feels terrible when you come home sick and remain bedridden for days

●He's almost too nervous to visit you, scared you'd be mad at him

●"Are you feeling alright, darling?" He peeks into your room, "Anything I can do to help?"

●When you tell him you'd just like to hear his voice and that you love it when he goes on little rants about whatever he's obsessed with at the moment, his whole face turns red

●"Oh! W-well, that's, um, very n-nice, darling." He laughs nervously. He takes a moment to compose himself. "I 'm-I'm glad you enjoy hearing me talk. I'm happy to keep you company, darling."

●Since you're stuck in bed with nothing to do, Baeey is happy to keep you company while you recover

● He'll talk about just about anything that interests him at the time. Makeup, toucans, history, lions, movies. He's also happy to listen if you have anything to yap about

● If you're not able to shower, he'll brush your hair so it doesn't get too knotted while you're sick, taking care to be extra gentle.

●It's so soothing you send up falling asleep. He brings the covers over your body and turns the lights off, letting you sleep peacefully

●Before leaving, he leans down to kiss your cheek "Goodnight, darling."

● You may or may not have woken up with a lipstick smudge on your cheek, but you certainly didn't mind

●When you're feeling better, Barry helps you through your post-sick self-care routine. Warm bath, skin care, hair care

●Helps you with your bath so you don't fall asleep, definitely not because he wants to rub your soapy body noooo definitely not

Betty🛌

●She noticed right away. You've barely been sleeping and even when you do, you toss and turn all night.

●She tries to get you to come to bed early, but you're busy helping around the house. Then she tried getting you to sleep in, but you got called into work early.

●This repeated a couple of times until you stumbled into your room and fell onto her.

●She's happy to be able to spend so much time with you, but she wishes it weren't under such conditions.

●She holds you close, your head just under her chin and your face against her chest (awooga). She's somehow the perfect temperature for when you're cold or overheating.

●She'll gently stroke your head and hum softly until you fall asleep.

● When you wake up, she looks down at you and brings a hand to your cheek. "Good morning, lover." She presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I'm afraid I can't let you go anywhere until I'm sure you're better." Her gentle voice makes it seem like a joke, but you know she's serious.

● You wouldn't have thought to leave anyway, you could barely move, and your whole body felt achy but more importly Betty was just so damn sweet and comfortable.

●Ngl it's mostly sleeping and cuddleng with you and occasanaly getting food

●When you finally felt better, she convinced you to take an extra rest day with her "just in case"

Sorry, Betty's is so short! I couldn't think of much for her

[idle-vapourings]

This is so real.

for myself, I've just had to realize when I'm talking to someone who has no desire to understand me.

because yeah, ableist people be ableist, bigots be bigots, selfish people be selfish, and it will be a losing game every time trying to make them come around.

i had this happen with a friend who had hurt my feelings. I kept it very short and polite because I didn't want to be angry with her or make her feel bad. and then she interpreted that negatively and had a lot of questions for me about my feelings. so i tried to take that in good faith, and explained myself in more detail. I tried to be both empathetic but clear, but really explain and answer her questions. she kept asking me to explain my feelings and at some point I felt that I was being asked to justify having an emotion, which I explained why that hurt. She wasn't getting it, so I explained with more words in an attempt to be clear while being honest how what was happening was frustrating and hurtful to me. she took that as aggression and an unwillingness to work things out with her (the precise thing I was attempting to do). and then she blocked me.

that stung and for a while i thought, hm did i fuck up. but the thing is, no i didn't. really, what it was about is that she refused to accept that she had done something hurtful. so the issue wasn't how i was communicating. it was that she refused to accept a world where she hurt my feelings - even if I had told her it was okay and that I know she didn't mean harm and that I had moved on. Instead, she needed to dissect why I was hurt to begin with and challenge it, rather than accepting that she was a human being who made a mistake. that person wasn't interested in my feelings or my take on the situation. they were interested in being right. and when they couldn't find a path to that with me, they just bounced.

I've also had this happen when requesting disability accommodations after getting a job offer. I requested clarity. I got obtuse replies. I gave more clarity. I got more obtuse replies. That was interpreted as me not wanting to participate in a good faith process. The reality was, the process was not good faith, and it never would have been, no matter what I said.

This feeling of no matter what you say it being wrong can be crushing and frustrating. because at least for me, I feel my autistic brain is really set on there being a solution, a right way to say something to get through to someone or to bridge a connection. and a sincere desire and deep need to be understood and heard. what I've had to come around to is that... sometimes people do not want to hear me. and if they don't, yeah, no matter what I choose, it results in misunderstanding.

I give it a genuine good go once or twice but if they're still interpreting me in the worst faith way possible or choosing to not really hear me then, yanno, time to not bother talking to someone who isn't listening and go talk to someone else worthwhile. I just try to remember that the failure is not mine, here. Someone who doesn't want to listen will never hear me. And people who don't actually want to hear me are never, ever worth my energy in the long run.

The people who really want to listen are out there. I say my thing, I be myself, and I see what the other person does with it.

I LOVE being autistic and trying to communicate because every time it’s

[slutzforbueckers]

Hii!! Can you do one where Paige is taking care of sick reader? Thank you sm!

STILL THE PRETTIEST

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: none

♡— synopsis: paige is in love and can’t help but take care of you wherever you’re sick.

♡— a/n: sorry this took so long, enjoy!!

you were curled up in bed with all the covers wrapped around you like you were a burrito. paige hadn’t left your side since she first came in 30 minutes ago. she had left to get you the soup you had been begging for but as soon as she presented it to you, you claimed the smell made you nauseous. 

you hadn’t gotten out of bed since yesterday morning when you started feeling bad. paige didn’t mind catering to your every need but you were starting to not smell so pleasant and she was desperate to wash the sheets and covers. 

“come on, baby, please? just let me give you a bath or something, it’ll make you feel better.” she spoke softly as she pulled the blanket down enough to see your whole face. you whined because of the new light shining in your face and tried to pull the blanket up again, paige kept a strong grip on it so you couldn’t. 

“no, m’cold.” you pouted, blinking open your eyes to look at her. she smiled softly at the sight of your eyes opening but she still didn’t let up about you getting out of bed. 

“and you know what’ll warm you up? a nice, long bath.” paige ran her hand over your forehead and pushed away the stray hairs clinging to your skin. you were back and forth with being cold and hot but you never stopped sweating. paige checked your temperature when she came in and she gave you some meds—which took 15 minutes for you to even take. 

the more you thought about it— through your sick-fogged mind—the more a bath sounded nice. you knew you wouldn’t even really have to do anything, paige would do it all because she loved you and taking care of you had to be one of her favorite things to do. 

paige saw the thought flicker in your eyes and she already knew you had made up your mind—even though you hadn’t said it out loud. she leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “i’ll get the water running.” 

“thank you.” you whispered, voice low and raspy from all the coughing you’d been doing. paige’s lips twitched in an almost smile and she stood from the bed. you watched her move around the room, picking out clothes for you to wear and making sure to grab your favorite pair of fluffy socks—she even grabbed your lavender candle to light. 

you watched her with a thankful look on your face because you knew she didn’t have to do any of these things for you, especially not when she was probably exhausted herself, but she did and she did it without complaining. it was one of the things you admired and hated about her. she was always making sure to take care of others before she took care of herself. you always told her she needed to learn to be selfish sometimes but in reality you knew it was one of the things that made her the person she is now. 

after a few minutes she reappeared from the bathroom and took a seat on the edge of the bed beside you. your head was pounding and your body felt weak but still you managed to push the covers down and try to sit up. 

“easy,” paige’s hand shot out to help you sit up. she didn’t necessarily want you moving around too much—it was almost funny really, how fragile and precious you were in her mind. she helped you swing your legs off the side of the bed and she stood up first so she could help you properly. “there you go, i got you.” 

you wrapped your arm around her waist and leaned into her side when you stood up, scrunching your face up because standing up only made your head spin and not in a good way. paige’s eyes never left you as she steadied you by her side. “my body feels like jello.” 

paige let out a soft laugh and held you a little tighter, she took small steps forward as she directed you to the bathroom. the candle was already lit and sitting on the edge of the counter, only one of the lights were on which made it darker but more comfortable, and she had made sure to use your peppermint bubble bath—you smelt it as soon as you walked in and the little detail made you smile. 

she ran her hands over your sides as you pulled away from her and lifted your arms. her fingers found the hem of your oversized shirt and she started to tug it over your head. getting you undressed was fairly easy since you hadn’t been wearing a lot, just an oversized tee and a pair of pink panties. 

when you stepped into the water you immediately let out a soft sigh—and then an even louder one when you sat down and let the warm water consume you. your eyes fluttered shut and you felt the best you had in a couple days. the sting of peppermint filled you senses each time you inhaled but your sinuses were opening and you could finally breathe. paige kneeled beside you and rested her arms on the side of the tub, watching you visibly relax. 

it was the most relaxed she’d seen you in days and she genuinely felt her chest swarm with love. she reached out and ran her hand from your hair to cupping your cheek, you leaned into her hand and opened your eyes. “i love you, y’know.”  

you couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face because no matter how many times she told you, you always loved hearing it. you pressed your head into her hand a bit and scrunched your face up in the way she always thought was cute. “maybe too much.” 

“there's no such thing.” paige rolled her eyes but she still had that love sick smile on her face. to paige there really was no such thing as loving you too much, she loved you so much sometimes she thought her heart really was going to explode. 

“please, i look the worst right now and you still probably think i’m the prettiest girl in the world.” you chuckled as you reached your hand down into the water and collected some bubbles on your palm before gently coaxing them onto her cheek. 

she crunched up her face but her answer came immediately, like there was no thinking about it—because there wasn’t. 

“i do.” 

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Mark Grayson x chubby male reader. I know that man loves them plump and chunky (confirmed in the comics 🙏) 100% a soft dom and yeah.

Again, got lost in the sauce. Think this is the last one. Crazy how I went from obsessing over Jason Duval to Mark, wonder who's next, find out in a couple of weeks

I'll see y'all in a month. Enjoy!

Mark loves everything about you: your wonderful personality and your chubby body. So, when your mind starts blabbering about him not loving you, telling you that, why would a man like him be with someone like you, or he's just with you out of pity, Mark shuts that down. He always reassures you that he's in love with you and that nothing is gonna change his mind about it.

Cuddles, sex, and words of affirmation usually work. He'll eliminate those negative thoughts and replace them with positive ones.

You were optimistic in the morning, much better than you were a couple of days ago. It made Mark's body fill with joy as he watched you being you. So, he decided to take you out, let you choose wherever you wanted to go.

...

"This is where you wanted to go?" Mark asked, standing in front of the entrance to the high-end lingerie boutique. It made him wonder what you'll look like wearing sexy pieces of lingerie, or even a thong. The thoughts made his core warm with arousal.

"I'm just curious. Just to browse," you replied, pulling Mark into the boutique.

The boutique itself was lavish; it smelled faintly of rosewater and vanilla, and soft jazz music was playing in the background, with golden lights spilling and shimmering across the satin display. Lacy bras, lingerie sets, and thongs hung delicately on hangers while mannequins were in the center of the store, posing with pieces that were popular to buy.

You began to regret your decision, but decided to push that down and just browse. Mark, on the other hand, was like a kid in a candy store, picking and looking at different pieces of lingerie, especially thongs. Mark thinks you would look stunning in these pieces.

"Come on, babe, you'll look amazing in this!" Mark said as he held out a thong, stretching the piece of fabric with his fingers.

"Mark, my ass will literally fall out, its not made for that," you mumbled, playing the hem of your hoodie as your face was red from the thought of wearing that.

"It is most definitely made for this," Mark said, pulling you closer to his body. His hand rests on your hips, rubbing circles into them as he plays with the thong, his eyes shamelessly roam your body as he already imagines you wearing it. Heat blooms in your body, shifting in Mark's touch as he gives that handsome grin.

"Fine..."

"Yes! We're getting this. And the mesh one. And the red and black set over there." Mark said, pressing a kiss on your forehead before going all over the boutique to find whatever would look good.

Back home, you started to try out the pieces Mark brought. You stood in front of the mirror, examining yourself. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your stomach. The thong clung to your hips, showing every curve and crevice. Negative thoughts began flooding your head, telling you that this was meant for someone else. Someone better. Someone slimmer.

You couldn't look at yourself anymore. It felt disgusting. You squeezed your love handles, you looked at your pudgy stomach sticking out like a sore thumb, and your man boobs flopping on both sides. How could Mark like this? Wouldn't he want someone better? Maybe Eve? She is slim and beautiful, and they're always together.

"Are you done? I wanna see... hey, hey, why are you crying?" Mark said as he stepped into your room, you jumped as your gaze met his in the mirror. There was concern in Mark's voice as he stood beside, pulling you into his arms. You momentarily forgot about everything. It was nice being in Mark's arms... so warm and comforting, but it came back.

"I look... weird. Too much skin is showing, and this extra... meat," you mumbled, as a tear prickled your eyes, your lips quivering. You gestured towards your love handles, squeezing them.

"You think I don't love that? You don't get it, do you?" Mark mumbled as he leaned down and pressed his lips on your shoulder, his other hand moving down to your waist.

"Get what?"

"You don't get how absolutely obsessed I am with you. This body... Your hips, thighs, and ass... everything about you makes me love you more." Mark groans as he gropes and kneads your flesh. His kisses got more persistent as he intended to worship your body, wipe out any negative thoughts.

"Why would you think I was lying, babe? To me, you don't realize how hot you are, and that's only half of what makes me obsessed with you." Mark said wholeheartedly as he continued his ministrations, turning you around and lifting you, it was easy, you weighed nothing to him. He tossed you on the bed after giving some light kisses.

"And before you say it, there is no one else. There's only you." Mark said as he didn't want to hear you degrade yourself more. He cupped your face, pressing his lips against yours. He needed you to feel every ounce of love and affection.

taglist: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @starboye @boypied @sleep-0-deprived @cronasluvr

Author's note: I got lost in the sauce. Why must all this quick writing come when I'm writing drabbles, but not when I'm writing my requests? Anyway, there might be a part two with smut.

[darkmatilda]

𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the weight of distance presses heavier with each passing day, the ache of absence stitched together only by hour-long phone calls like a fragile sutures on a wound that refuses to close. so you choose his birthday — the perfect day to cross the miles in silence and secrecy, and surprise spencer on his special day.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: glasses!reid x baufemale!reader, long distance relationship, early seasons team, so our queen elle is here, lots of team interactions overall, both reader and spencer's pov, height difference, kissing until his glasses fog up xx

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5k

𝐚/𝐧: literally started writing this over two months ago so i hope the first half doesnt differ too much in quality from the second one :/ the soul who’s the first to catch the tiny subtle mr darcy reference gets a cookie!

You admitted it without a trace of embarrassment – every time you called your long-distance boyfriend, you waited for him to pick up with your forehead almost glued to the screen and your lips frozen in a half-smile, ready to bloom across half your face the moment you saw his face.

Automatically.

The word nonchalance wasn’t foreign to you, but you deeply despised it. You had no intention of pretending it didn’t matter whether he picked up or not, or that you hadn’t rearranged half of your quite busy day for that shared moment. You weren’t going to pretend that hearing his voice meant any less to you than it actually did, just to maintain some kind of image or out of fear of being too much.

No, that definitely wasn’t your case.

If anything, you leaned toward paranoia — that you weren’t doing enough to take care of your relationship stretched across nearly 4000 miles and separated by the Pacific. That you weren’t trying hard enough. You had a set time for one call a day; usually, by then, you were already comfortably tucked under the covers and reporting in for duty (though duty was a very poor comparison—unless we’re talking about the duty of petting small fluffy puppies. yes. kissing the heads of twenty fluffy puppies was almost exactly like your daily call with Spencer).

But that one daily call usually wasn’t the only one. You reached out to each other spontaneously throughout the day, depending on your schedules and the plans of that particular day. On weekends, you watched movies together, he read a book aloud and you exchanged thoughts only when his calm voice reached the end of a chapter, or you played chess online. The bare minimum to fill the void left behind by the distance.

A void that was, however, ravenous—and seemed to deepen with every passing day. It wasn’t a graph line with rises and dips. It kept steadily taking up more and more space inside you.

And that’s how you came to the conclusion that even hundreds of books read aloud by Spencer wouldn’t be enough to dissolve it.

Not when his voice came through a phone speaker.

Not when it wasn’t followed by his breath, tickling your ear.

And that realization pushed you toward a certain…spontaneous decision.

But more on that later.

Your call was finally answered, and a premature, involuntary soft smile curled your lips before his face even appeared on your screen.

“Hey, handsome…” you began with your usual line, fully prepared to relish the blush that would bloom on his cheeks like cupcakes with sweet cherries on top—

but instead of your favorite treat, you were met with something entirely different.

Seeing Derek’s face, clumsily close to the front-facing camera and moving in a way that strongly suggested he was fiercely struggling to keep hold of the phone, snapped you back to attention like an athlete catching their footing.

“Hello, conventionally handsome man, long time no see. Anyway, where’s my handsome man?”

“Morgan, I’m serious, give me—”

“Hey, kid, how many times have I told you women don’t like possessive men? Let me talk to her for a sec…”

“I’m not possessive, I just…”

“You’re right, long time no see,” Derek cut in, completely ignoring his friend—his words, his attempts to wrestle the phone back from his hand. You kept your gaze fixed on the corner of the screen where a part of Spencer’s face occasionally slipped into the frame. Your lips were still curved in a smile, but shifting your focus to Morgan took effort. “What’s up, former-new girl? Don’t look too happy to see me.”

“Oh, I’m very happy to see you. In fact, the sight of you has turned this rainy Amsterdam day well, not exactly sunny, but let’s say we’ve moved from a downpour to a drizzle.”

“You’re welcome—that’s what friends are for. So? You in the mood for a quick chat with me?”

“Morgan.”

“Hmm, gladly,” you replied, tapping your free lip in mock thoughtfulness. “Let me just check my schedule to see when I might be available. How about next Friday?”

“Next Friday?”

“Morgan, I swear—”

“Oh my God, stop torturing them already,” cut in a woman’s voice you recognized instantly, and almost in the same moment, the phone moved from Morgan’s hand to your friend Elle’s.

She gave you a smile—a fleeting one, just a flash of sincerity—before replacing it with her trademark bossy expression. “Another second and they’ll both shrivel up from longing. Here you go.” She handed the phone back to its rightful owner. The first thing you saw were his eyes behind the glasses, aimed at her, full of grateful warmth. “You both owe me one. But since one of you is currently unavailable and clearly unable to repay it, you owe me two favors, Reid.”

A nod.

 “Goes without saying.”

You just managed to catch Morgan’s disappointed sigh at having his thoroughly entertaining game cut short, before you found yourself finally, completely one-on-one with your boyfriend.

He was watching the two of them—presumably leaving—until, at last, his gaze shifted to you. That tiny smile of yours finally bloomed into something fuller.

“Okay, I feel like I was interrupted earlier and I need to say this again, properly,” you said before he could get a word out. You took a breath, like you were about to cast a spell. “Good morning, handsome.”

You loved that kind of smile on his lips—the one that came with an involuntary tilt of the head, like its weight shifted evenly and pulled just enough to cause that barely noticeable movement.

“Finally. Good morning, angel.”

It warmed you every single time he used that phrase with you, and you couldn’t help but blink a little faster at the thought of hearing it in person after such a long time apart. But that was still the future, a vision. For now, there was the present, reality.

“Please, tell Morgan I didn’t brush him off because I didn’t want to talk to him,” you said. “But I literally have fifteen minutes before I have to leave and just wanted to call you real quick, because I won’t be very available later. I have a seminar.”

Spencer nodded because, of course, he remembered. But still, his brown eyes clouded slightly.

“You mentioned it. And well, of course I’ll tell Morgan you brushed him off because you didn’t want to talk to him.”

You almost snorted, but held it back.

“Hey, being my boyfriend doesn’t give you permission to use me for your personal revenge.”

“It doesn’t?” he asked with a face of innocence, fake curiosity, like he’d just come across a tiny footnote at the bottom of a page, an unknown piece of information.

“Well, usually no, but there are exceptions to that rule. For example, when the personal revenge might bring satisfaction to both of us. The second is when you ask nicely. Just please, don’t abuse that option.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’d make you pinky-promise, but that wouldn’t really work in our current situation,” you said, glancing at your own raised pinkie, the corners of your mouth tugging downward.

Then suddenly, they parted, struck by a thought. “Oh, right. I just remembered. What are you planning to do tomorrow?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly.

“The usual, I guess? Go to work…”

“For your birthday, silly.”

This time, it was his lips that parted with a soft, dawning hiss of realization. You looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t even tell me you forgot your own birthday.”

Spencer shook his head distractedly.

“No, it’s not that I completely forgot. But if you think about it, it wouldn’t be that weird if I had. I don’t have any plans anyway, and it’s just going to be…you know, a totally normal day.”

You watched him for a moment in silence. You rarely faked emotions around him. But this time, you had to summon a thick mask of exaggerated disappointment—couldn’t let even the tiniest flicker of stinging excitement slip through.

“I wish I could be there for you so badly.”

That part didn’t need faking. The sincerity in those words rang clear. You saw your boyfriend’s jaw tighten slightly, and you wished you could reach out and rest your hand against it, letting your thumb brush toward his lips.

The silence that followed suddenly felt especially heavy. You knew Spencer was masking his sadness so you wouldn’t feel bad about not being there. He didn’t expect you to feel guilty—but he anticipated it. And, well, he’d be right. You would feel bad.

You forced a smile onto your lips—only because you wanted to see how, eyes fixed on your face, he’d unconsciously mirror the gesture. You’d learned that trick a long, long time ago.

“I have to run,” you announced with a sigh. “Seriously, I have to run. technically, I should already be out the door.”

“Don’t forget your umbrella.”

“It’s not raining anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to start again right around the time you’ll be heading home. And there’s a cold front coming in from the North Sea, so maybe wear something warmer under your coat. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Spencer knew the weather in your city—on another continent—better than you did.

A moment of silence to let that fact settle. Thank you.

“If you’re right, I love you,” you said. “If you’re wrong, I still love you, but I’m also mad I had to lug around an umbrella all day.”

For a fleeting moment, he dipped his head, eyes squinting just slightly, a small smile on his lips.

“I love you too.”

*

Spencer had never been particularly fond of celebrating his birthday.

To him, birthdays were simply another way of measuring time like years, months, weeks, and days—only a little more brutal. They were like a mirror you woke up in front of one day, a moment of realization and reckoning—not so much with time moving forward, but with everything that had been left behind. The new year reflected what you had achieved and who you had become. Birthdays, on the other hand, felt like a celebration of missed chances, honored with the addition of yet another digit to your age.

Twenty-six. He could’ve done something far more impressive by now—and he didn’t mean that just as self-criticism. He was being objective. At twenty-six, Einstein had his Annus Mirabilis, his miraculous year, the year he developed the theory of mass–energy equivalence. With that knowledge in mind, Spencer had every right to feel a certain pressure.

But beyond all that, that day…he just wasn’t in the mood.

He had just been wondering what to eat for dinner when his phone started ringing.

A long-distance relationship had trained him to reach for it the exact second the ringtone sounded—and to experience that brief flicker of disappointment when the name on the screen wasn’t the one he was hoping for. Just like this time.

“Oh, Reid, how wonderful that you picked up so fast,” came Penelope’s voice on the other end.

“Garcia, hey. Something’s wrong?”

“Yes. I mean—no. I need you to drop by for a moment, is that okay? I mean, even if it’s not okay, it’s still probably better if you come. Not that I’m forcing you, but—ugh, just come over.”

Spencer was standing in his kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, and as her explanation spilled out, a suspicion started blooming in him. He considered himself a fairly perceptive person—and Penelope a very open book. So it was no surprise that, almost immediately, he had a pretty good idea of what was going on. He leaned his lower back against one of the cabinets, folding his free arm across his chest.

 “I’m not sure I can make it,” he said despite knowing full well that he could, and that he had the time. But he also knew that, on the other end, Garcia was probably exchanging panicked looks with the rest of the team, arguing about where exactly to hang the balloons in her apartment. And the image was amusing enough to drag out the moment. “For what?”

“I need your help. With something.”

“With what exactly?”

His friend let out something between a hum and a sigh—both thoughtful and panicked.

Meanwhile, Spencer waited patiently, smiling to himself and saying nothing.

“What am I supposed to tell him?!”Penelope’s voice came faintly from the speaker, as if she’d lowered the phone away from her mouth probably thinking that would keep him from hearing. It didn’t.

“I don’t know, make something up!” came a reply Spencer recognized instantly—Derek. A finger snap. “Lightbulb in the bathroom went out.”

“Oh, great! I love when your brain is the same size as your biceps.” She turned her attention back to the phone, voice suddenly loud and confident with her freshly invented excuse  “The lightbulb in my bathroom blew.”

Spencer wasn’t about to let it slide that easily.

“What wattage?”

“What?”

“What wattage is the bulb? LED or halogen?”

“Normal. It’s a normal lightbulb, Reid.”

“Are you sure it’s burnt out? Could be a wiring issue. Might be better to call a specialist to take a look. I’d rather not end up electrocuted. Especially on my birthday.”

“Jeez, tell him to stop being such a child.”

Penelope pulled the phone away again.

 “I can’t, then he won’t come at all!”

“I have an idea,” Spencer said suddenly, forcing her to scramble back to the call.

“Why don’t you ask Morgan to change it for you, since he’s already there?”

Garcia squeaked in panic. Then immediately broke into a cough, trying to mask the sound.

“There is no Derek Morgan here! Where would you even get that idea?” she squealed in a high voice. At the same time, a distinct snort of laughter echoed in the background. “That? That’s just the TV. Just…some dumb show with an annoying host. Ugh, I should really turn it off…”

The snort that echoed in the background this time didn’t belong to Morgan. It belonged to Elle. A quiet, distant argument broke out between all three of them, and Spencer didn’t understand a single word of it. He cut in at the moment he considered most appropriate.

“I’ll be at your place in 30 minutes.”

Complete silence.

“You’re coming? Seriously? Guys, he says that— I mean, ymm, great! See you!”

Before she hung up, he still managed to hear her deep sigh of relief that the conversation, in which she had to show off her conspiracy skills, was finally over.

Spencer slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, remaining for a moment in the silence that followed. Of course he had intended to show up from the very beginning. He might not have felt excited at the thought of his birthday, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the surprise his friends had put effort into preparing. It wasn’t his dream way of spending the day, but there was a reason that dream scenario remained in the realm of dreams—its realization was simply physically impossible. But a not-so-surprising surprise party ranked high on that list.

He hesitated over what to wear. In the end, his gaze settled on the shirt he'd gotten from no one other than you. You liked how that soft, muted pink color both slightly contrasted with his wardrobe and still somehow fit perfectly into it. You also used to say it brightened his face.

Spencer pulled it on, tied his tie, and sent you a photo. He wanted you to know that even though you were far away, he was still wearing your favorite clothes.mHe didn’t expect you to reply right away.You’d already had the birthday call, during which you gave him wishes you’d been crafting for two weeks. You delivered them at machine-gun speed with all your enthusiasm, then repeated them more slowly so he’d have a chance to actually understand anything.

Your reply came just as he was leaving his apartment.

my boyfriend sending me an outfit check??? never thought I’d live to see that day

He was just turning the key in the lock, the light from his phone casting a glow onto his face, letting the gentle smile on his lips break through the darkness slowly wrapping around the stairwell. He pressed the handle again to check whether being distracted had made him forget to lock it. Then he dropped the key into his pocket and slowly started down the stairs. 

Not quite an outfit check. Just tangible or well, virtual, proof that I really like this shirt and I’m not wearing it just because you told me to. The team’s throwing me a surprise party and I figured it’d be perfect…

here his fingers slowed

…it’s your favorite, and in its own not-quite-explainable way, it makes me feel like you’re here.

The reply probably came in before you even finished reading the whole message.

so an outfit check?

wait what kind of surprise party is it if you know about it??

u’re so sweet. also you look so good in that color.

He wanted to text back, to explain how he even knew about this surprise party, but another message came in.

sorry cant really text rn just getting off the tram :( hope u have fun at the party kisses call u later

He was a little surprised, since you usually took the later tram home, but maybe you just had your own reason for coming back earlier. Maybe he’d ask about it later, when the two of you called. Spencer hoped he wouldn’t be too tired after the party to talk to you.

So he replied simply

Got it. Please, be safe.

The way to Penelope’s apartment passed very quickly for him. It occurred to him that he didn’t really know who would even be there. Definitely Morgan, Elle, possibly JJ, but he doubted that everyone had shown up—like, everyone everyone.

And if it turned out he was right, he didn’t intend to be even slightly offended—after all, it was understandable they might’ve wanted to spend the evening in a different way. He knocked on the door and didn’t even call out to come in, even though as he was approaching them, he had clearly heard voices coming from inside, which suddenly, as if by magic, fell silent.

He felt like rolling his eyes—in a positive sense. It was predictable. Of course it was. But it also filled him with a certain warm feeling.

He opened the door and stepped into Garcia’s apartment, heading for the living room. And that’s exactly what he did when he saw the entire team gathered there. He rolled his eyes, though that warm feeling grew stronger and made the decision on its own to stretch his lips into a broad, broader smile when he realized they really were all there.

They were silent, eyes fixed on him, Elle and JJ both holding a tray with a birthday cake with lit candles, but for some reason not bringing it any closer to him.

“Sorry, but I have to say this,” he began. “You’re so predictable.”

“Are we?” came a voice directly behind his back.

He didn’t exactly freeze in place, like he’d been hit with liquid nitrogen. His body transitioned into that state gradually — starting with his shoulder blades instinctively drawing together, long before his mind fully processed the situation or registered that voice.

That voice.

The voice he heard every single day through his phone or laptop speaker, desecrated by the quality of the device — which, even if it were the most cutting-edge machine built by NASA, wouldn’t be able to truly convey the tone of her voice, let alone force him to feel the kind of emotions that now crashed into him like a wave, drowning him.

Water filling his ears.

No, that couldn’t be — they had literally exchanged texts just moments ago!

His eyes locked ahead, all the team’s gazes fixed on him, waiting, expectant. Penelope, her hands tightly clasped together, resting just beneath her chin.

Spencer, not breathing, turned around — and only then drew in a deep, vital breath.

Vital, because he knew he was about to pull her into an embrace so tight neither of them would get a taste of air for a very long time.

Your eyes locked onto each other like two powerful magnets, desperately seeking one another — an instant click. Another instant click when both your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, lifting her feet off the ground. Click when his hands gripped your waist firmly, steadying you. Click when his face found its place in the curve of your neck, burying itself there completely, disappearing, hiding, drawing the curtains so no one else could interrupt this moment.

Click, because you were together.

Spencer drew in a shaky breath, entirely filled with your scent — a scent he seemed to rediscover after months apart — occupying his mind so completely that the words he had intended to say slipped away from him entirely. You took over the role of speaker instead.

“Happy birthday,” you announced tearfully, sniffling and pulling your head away from his shoulder so the tear rolling down your cheek wouldn’t stain his shirt.

The pale pink shirt. Your favorite shirt.

You pouted your bottom lip, trying to hold it together, but you couldn’t. Now that you were finally with him, the full weight of maintaining a long-distance relationship — the weight you had been pushing away to avoid sinking into sadness — crashed down on you all at once. But it was wild, unrestrained, and yet instantly found comfort in his arms, his scent, his presence.

You felt his chest cave slightly as he took in a breath and lifted his head to look at you. In the process, his glasses had been pressed all the way up his nose from where they'd been crushed between your neck and his face — the frames practically touching his eyelids — but neither of you thought about how ridiculous that must've looked.

His eyes immediately locked onto the tear that had slipped from yours. He wanted to wipe it away, but he didn’t want to let go of you either, so he settled for pressing a fleeting kiss to your cheek, brushing it away with his lips instead.

It earned a muffled, quiet laugh from you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a hushed voice.

You blinked and dipped your head slightly, letting the tears pool without falling, then tilted it back up so you could focus on his face. Immediately, you had the impulse to adjust his glasses, which you did.

“Attending my boyfriend’s surprise birthday party,” you replied, sliding your hand down his chest and rising onto your toes to kiss him — briefly, because you could feel the eyes of all your friends on you, patiently silent and giving you time.

It wasn’t a good idea. The moment your lips brushed his, Spencer froze for a second, only to lean in for more right after. You barely managed to pull away, ignoring his disgruntled hum of protest.

“But I guess I’m the only element of this whole thing that was actually a surprise…”

You shot a meaningful look at Penelope, fully aware Spencer had known about some kind of party happening. The blonde defensively waved her hands in front of her, brushing off the implied accusation.

“Oh, you don’t get it. I let it slip on purpose so your entrance would be more spectacular! Our genius boy thought he had outsmarted our whole plan and then…” she gestured between the two of you, still tangled together.

This time, it was Spencer who shot her a look, full of disbelief at her words and amused pity. And, as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one — well over half of the people present mirrored his reaction.

To shake off all the attention suddenly weighing on her, Penelope snapped her fingers in the direction of Elle and JJ, who were holding the birthday cake.

"Those candles are practically melting! Don’t forget your wish, loverboy."

Your lips twitched the moment you heard that nickname, and you gave Spencer a light, urging pat on the arm still wrapped around you. You could still feel his hand gently tightening around your waist for a fleeting moment before he let go — his fingers performing a subtle flex before falling back to rest — and leaned down over the cake to blow out the candles shaped like the numbers 2 and 6.

He immediately tried to pull you back into his embrace, but you forced yourself to slip away, letting him get swept into the whirlwind of bear hugs from everyone else.

You stayed back, just slightly to the side, knowing you'd have time for just the two of you later. Your gaze lingered on his softly glowing brown eyes behind his glasses and the faint squint from the smile that simply refused to leave his face. The sounds of the room gradually faded away around you.

Surprisingly, you didn’t feel the slightest exhaustion after the long, connecting flights. And even if any fatigue dared creep its way into your body, it was instantly drowned out by what now burned in your chest — that warm, joyful feeling.

“Why did I even stress so much over picking a gift for him?” you heard from your left , Gideon muttering under his breath, but still loud enough for you to catch. He was staring in the same direction. “No matter what I gave him, the only thing he’ll remember from today is you.”

You exchanged a glance with him — the smile lingering only on your lips, but you could tell he shared it.

For the rest of the party, you and Spencer stayed within arm’s reach, always side by side, finally able to allow yourselves that closeness after so many months apart. Even later, as you made your way back to his apartment at night, hauling gift bags and a single box between you, he carried them all on one arm just so he could keep the other wrapped around you.

You clung to his pink shirt, occasionally rising onto your toes to press a kiss to his jaw or a smile, only to pull away again quickly — careful not to crash into a trash can or a lamp post along your path.

Clinging tightly to his side wasn’t exactly making it easier for either of you to walk. But Spencer didn’t complain. Even despite the fact that you were moving at the pace of a drunken turtle.

When his apartment building finally appeared within sight, you tilted your head back for a moment, breathing slower, more consciously.

“Tonight’s stars are so beautiful,” you remarked, staring at the faint, barely visible dots in the sky.

Spencer slowed his steps, lifting his gaze toward the sky, only to fully shift his attention to your face.

“Setting aside the fact that those are the same stars on the same day,” he started, in that scientific yet soft way of speaking of his, “which I’m quite sure you know…no, they’re not beautiful. Look again. You can barely see them.”

“They’re still beautiful,” you insisted.

You were two adults, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, loaded with birthday gift bags, arguing whether or not the stars were beautiful. Spencer stood firmly on the no side of that debate.

“Absolutely not. Artificial light sources in the city generate light pollution, which makes astronomical observation of the night sky difficult. If we were somewhere less urbanized—”

“But we’re here,” you cut in softly, your face still tilted toward the sky. “We’re here together, which makes them beautiful to me. Besides, beauty is a relative concept. Which I’m quite sure you know.”

His quiet sigh, the gesture of surrender. Instead of trying to convince you of something he simply couldn’t convince you of, he just pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Fine, you win, my little relative concept.”

Already on the staircase, your melancholic mood vanished entirely as you pulled him into a kiss he couldn’t escape from. Not that he wanted to, but he had to — if he actually wanted to dig the key out of his pocket and let you both inside. So while your hands clung to the back of his neck, his fumbled through his pockets — the same ones, because he was far too distracted to remember which ones he’d already checked and which he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

“Can’t—”

“Find—”

“The key—”

Slipped from his lips in the few short moments they weren’t covered by yours. You couldn’t care less about his key struggles — you’d been away from him for months, and you fully intended to kiss him for every single time you’d wanted nothing more than exactly that, but had an ocean between you instead.

Eventually, Spencer gave up and fell silent, returning your kiss with his entire being, both of his hands cradling your cheeks perfectly. You wished your skin was made of plaster, able to preserve the shape of them on you forever. You heard his short, muffled whimper and cracked your eyes open, just enough to notice that his glasses were completely fogged up.

His glasses fogged white, his cheeks flushed pink.

You giggled at the sight, making his face match the color palette of his shirt even more. One of his hands slid down from your cheek and drifted toward the small pocket on his chest. “Found the key,” he announced.

It immediately slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a clatter.

His sigh, your next giggle, and both of you bending down at the same time.

A head collision and two groans.

You burst into open laughter and took full advantage of the fact that he was bent down, reaching for the key, to press a soft kiss to his hair—the very spot where you’d bumped heads. You left a trail of kisses along his head, wandering across his forehead, brushing the tip of his nose, slowly claiming his lips.

Meanwhile, he blindly fumbled with the key, trying to aim it at the lock without breaking the kiss for even a second.

You weren’t sure there’d be enough hours in the night to fully make up for all the time you’d been apart. Especially since you yourself still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. That you were seeing him again. Kissing him again.

Finally, after what felt like real, dragging hours and simultaneously exactly 4.24 light-years traveled in mere minutes—the sound of the lock turning.

[a99jazzybean]

HIIIII! I just binge read your date everything fics and I love them! May i ask for yet another Chance fic, where y/n is familiar with g&g and used to play with their friends from time to time - using his dice of course! And... y/n used to kiss the piece for the "lucky shot", doesn't matter if it worked or not. So now, with Skylars help, y/n can speak with him and even play a session or two and it is so much fun! But she is completely oblivious to the fact that he remembers every time y/ns lips touched his dice-y form and each time he silently yearns for her lips to touch him once again... The rest is up to you, lots of love!

I love this prompt so much! Thank you for the request!

With a Taste of Your Lips...

synop: You and Chance decide to play another session of G&G. Little do you know, a special tradition of yours has him feeling all sorts of hot and bothered. i.e. You discover Chance can feel when you kiss his die.

words: 4.7K

includes: chancexfem!reader, ttrpg playing, making out, fondling an object?, cumming untouched kinda, smut

a/n: I might make a part 2 to this one, thoughts? Also, its got smut. No minors!

“You feel yourself growing weaker. The spell the lich cast on you drains your life force. All of your comrades are downed. You are their final hope.” Your GM stares you down, brow raised. “What would you like to do?”

Looking around the table you see all of your friends' faces are grim. All eyes are on you. Taking a look at the battlemap before you, your eyes widened. 

“Past the cliff, it’s the Abysmal Pit, correct?” You asked the GM. 

“Correct.”

“And anyone who falls in is erased from existence, right?

“Correct.”

“No!” Sam shouted. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t do it!”

You give her a solemn look, eyes filled with sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” You pick up your red D20. “But you can’t stop me. I’m going for a grapple on the lich, then I’m dragging him over the edge with me.” 

A chorus of gasps erupts from your party members. Some are getting teary-eyed. 

Two years of a campaign filled with adventure, friendship, romance, and tears. This is how it ends. Perhaps it was destined to be. 

“Make your roll.” Your GM feels tears prick in their own eyes. Not knowing whether they want you to succeed on this or not. 

As is tradition on major rolls, you bring your trusty die to your lips. Pecking it softly, you pray that this works. 

“Lucky shot,” you hear Sam say under their breath. 

Cupping the die in your hands, you give a good shake. Then you release it onto the table. Everyone in the room is holding their breath as it rolls. Finally, it stops. Natural 20. 

Normally, the table would erupt with cheers. This time, it wasn’t proper to celebrate. 

“Prim,” your GM took in a shaky breath as he spoke your character’s name. Trying to hold back tears. “You muster up the final dregs of strength within you. Pulling yourself up with a groan. Everything hurts, but your mind has been made up. Pushing through it all, you start to run. Taking one final look at your fallen teammates. This is the last time you will see them. Tell me how this ends.” Their voice wavered. 

“As I run toward the lich, I let out a final ‘goodbye’. I grab it around the waist, then throw both of us off of the ledge. No matter what it does I keep ahold of it. It’s coming with me.” Your own eyes fill with tears. 

“As you fall, the lich tries to get you off of it, but to no avail. For a brief moment you can see a flash of its past humanity. Fear filling its face as it realizes the one thing that it tried to run from has finally arrived. Death in the shape of a half-elf rogue who risked it all to defeat it.”

Chance sighed dreamily, remembering your great sacrifice. Seemed like you frequently played characters that laid their life on the line. No wonder he was absolutely smitten.

While you weren’t able to see his personified form at the moment, he was able to see you. Back hunched over as you typed on Mac. The computer feeling pretty good about themselves as you cranked out your latest self-insert fanfic. What else were you supposed to do when an AI took over your job? 

Chance wasn’t able to see what you were writing, but could see Mac occasionally blush and chuckle at the words you were typing onto them. 

“Care to share?” He asked the computer. 

Mac glanced over at him, then back to one of the screens in front of them. 

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. She’s kind of mortified that I’ve even read this stuff.” Mac turned back to read what you had just typed out, red blooming on their face. “Yeah, no. You don’t need to know about this.” 

Chance grumbled to himself. It didn’t feel fair that Mac got to see the sexiest innermost thoughts of yours. Actually, he was kind of jealous of many of your objects. Betty slept with you every night, witnessing the limited sexual exploits of yours. Johnny, he wouldn’t talk about it, too much of a gentleman. But the massage setting on his shower head? He might have alluded to activities you had accomplished with that. 

It was frustrating to say the least. Seeing how much better the other beings in the home got to know you intimately. All Chance wanted was a taste of that knowledge. 

He hoped you’d put your Dateviators back on again. Now that you had been able to see him, all he wanted was your attention. It didn’t help that you enthusiastically offered to play G&G with him. Only feeding into the ever-growing obsession with you. 

It didn’t start when you put those glasses on, no. It started when you came up with that damned tradition. Kissing the 20 side of his die body. You didn’t know, couldn’t know, really. But he felt it, every single time. It was special, something you only did when making a major roll. And you always picked him. Your “lucky shot” for your “lucky die”. 

The thing was, you hadn’t ended that tradition. When you began playing with Chance, you continued to make your lucky shots. Not realizing that although the personified version was sitting in front of you, Chance was still very much connected to the object he was. He would have you roll on something difficult, and as if it were instinct, you pressed your soft lips right on the20 side. Thankfully, Chance had been able to maintain his composure as you watched the die roll. However, it was beginning to become too much. 

Each press of your lips to the die had him falling for you harder and harder. 

With a sigh, you pushed away from your computer. Eyeing the die beside you with a smirk. Tapping on the desk, your gaze flitted over to your glasses. It had been a few hours since you had them on, couldn’t hurt to say hi to your office. And there might have been a specific object that held your affections.

“You know. I can feel you looking at me, right?” You teased the die before putting on the Dateviators. 

Chance’s face was ruddy when you looked at him, caught red handed. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, he gave you an apologetic look.

“What can I say? You’re nice to look at.” 

Now it was your turn to blush. The damned man always seemed to fluster you in such innocuous ways. Somehow always polite with his flirting. 

There were times he could be fairly forward, but he never pushed. It was sweet. 

Thinking about it, you could go for something sweet now. But nothing that was consumable. 

“Do you have a session prepped?” You asked.

Immediately, he perked up. A bright smile on his face complimented by an enthused flush. 

“Of course! Ever since you’ve come along, I’m like ten sessions ahead!” He leaned toward you, bouncing on his toes. 

“I’m glad that you’ve been so inspired. I love your stories.” You gave him a soft smile. 

His eyes widen, practically sparkling at your words.

“Y-you love my stories?” He held his hand to his heart, feeling the muscle pump faster at your compliment.

“Why do you think I want to play with you so often?” You pulled his die over with a finger, rolling it around. “I have a lot of fun with you.” 

“We could have more fun.” He raised a brow suggestively, looking over his glasses at you.

Red in the face, you waved him off with a giggle.

“Do you have time to play now?”

“I always have time for you.” 

You were sure you heard Timothy scoff somewhere in the distance. That was no matter though, for now you had the full attention of your favorite die. 

“Shall we play, then?” 

Chance nodded enthusiastically, then proceeded to get his GM station set up. When his screen and notes were all in place, he gave an approved nod. Looking up, he beamed at you again. Feeling his heart squeeze at the content smile on your face as you sat on the other end of the table from him. Oh how he wished to always keep you happy. He would play forever with you just to make sure that smile never fell from your lips. 

“Alright, where did we leave off?” He glanced over his notes.

“I managed to talk myself out of being eaten by a giant.” You had your own notes pulled out. 

Chance felt his heart swell again. You took notes! Oh, you truly were the perfect player. 

“That’s right! My charismatic girl!” He chuckled as your face grew red. 

He was glad that he managed to make you as flustered as you made him. Equal opportunity flirting to make the other squirm. Again, perfect. 

“You’ve gotten away from the giant, but you still have yet to find the gilded egg laying hen.” 

“Thankfully, you have quite the wise girl as well!” You let out a satisfied huff. “Can I make a perception check to see where the chicken is?” 

“You may.” He motioned for you to continue.

Shaking the die in your hands you urged it to roll well. 

“C’mon D20, show me what you’re made of!” 

You released the die, it clattered into your dice tray. After a moment of circling, it landed on a 16. 

“Nice! And that’s a plus four to my perception!” 

“Wonderful!” He cleared his throat, continuing his tale. “As you look around the foyer of the giant’s castle, you aren’t finding any indications of where a hen might be roosting. However, after a moment of hearing silence, there’s a new sound filtering down the hallway to the north.”

“What’s the sound?” You ask with a knowing smirk.

“It’s soft harp music, almost dreamlike.” 

After your previous character died valiantly saving a village from a dragon, Chance asked if you would mind experimenting with a fairytale themed game. Of course, you agreed, excited to see what he would come up with. While some of the quests you have been on so far were a bit predictable, he had many twists and turns added in. 

Like Cinderella’s slipper turning out to be a baby mimic. When you had managed to aid the prince in finding his lost love, the mimic revealed itself, chomping down on her foot. However, she didn’t scream. It turned out, Cinderella’s ballgown had already consumed her and was using her head and limbs to blend in. The fairy godmother revealed herself as a demon looking to collect on the souls of the kingdom. All she needed was the prince to disappear so she could take his place. 

It was a lovely twist that ended with a fairly hard battle. Thankfully the prince that accompanied you turned out to be part of the bloodline of very powerful sorcerers, so he was able to aid in the defeat of the fairy godmother. 

The prince tried asking for your hand in marriage, but you had other adventures to go on. Instead, you left with a hefty amount of gold. A token of appreciation for saving the kingdom. The engagement ring hidden amongst the coins didn’t go unnoticed, Chance giving you a cheeky wink when he mentioned it. 

You had noticed the man had been throwing romance options at you throughout each of the fairy tales. Many of them were love stories, sure, but it seemed like he really wanted you to get with someone. Little Red Riding Hood, growing smitten with you after you saved her from the belly of a wolf. A huntsman asking for your hand after you aided him in saving the kingdom from a corrupt king. Snow White practically begged you to marry her after you turned out to be her “true love's kiss”. He was laying it on pretty thick, so to speak.  

Truthfully, the reason why you never accepted was because you wanted Chance to stop hiding his affections behind characters in your game. The two of you had constant flirty banter, but it felt like he could only speak through innuendo when hinting at wanting anything more. While it was endearing, it was starting to become tiring. 

Though admittedly, you were a coward too. It would be hypocritical to judge the man considering you couldn’t muster up the courage to do anything either. Instead, you sat in a flirtatious purgatory. Something that could be viewed as a comfortable platonic relationship, but in reality had very, very heavy overtones of desire. 

Neither you or Chance could be subtle. There were times where you could feel the hunger in his eyes as he ran your game. Usually when you did something quite clever. 

That time when you answered his Latin riddle? The man was very glad he had baggy pants on. 

Then there was you. Easily bending to his dominating whims when he was GMing. Something about him having that kind of authority over you often had you clenching your thighs and squirming in your chair. And don’t even get started on the villain monologues. He pulled one of those out, you left the gaming table with your panties soaked. Giving Betty quite the show when you couldn’t get to sleep. 

Back to your current game, Chance asked for your next move.

“I follow the sound of the harp.”

“You feel almost entranced at the music. Your steps pulling you to the north hallway. After about an hour of walking (remember, this is a GIANT’S castle) you made it to the room the music was coming from. Peering inside, you see a giant sitting on a bed. She appears to be much shorter than the one you first encountered, but still clearly a giant. You can tell she is related to the other giant, both sporting the same nose shape. The giant girl is playing the harp, her fingers delicately plucking at the strings. You look across from her and see what you’ve been looking for. A hen nestled in a nest of straw. Its body swaying side to side with the music. Below it you see a peek of gold. What would you like to do?”

“I’m not going to try and hide.”

Chance looked at you with wide eyes, surprised at your blatant move.

“I handled the other giant with my words, I can easily do the same again.”

Oh, he loved your confidence. Your willingness to dive in despite the consequences. He just hoped that it wouldn’t end with your bones ground up to make bread. Quite the horrific way to depart this mortal realm.

“If you say so. You stride inside with confidence. Hyping yourself up from your previous encounter with a giant.” He rolled a die, giving a grimace. “The giant girl doesn’t appear to see you. She’s looking right at the hen, swaying side to side as she continues to play the harp.”

“I try to catch her attention by clearing my throat loudly.” 

“You clear your throat, and she stops playing. A sour look grows on her face as she looks for the source of the sound. Looking down, she finally spots you. Crossing her arms, she gives you a pout.”

“You know, it’s quite rude to interrupt a performance.” Chance put on the voice of a little girl, making you chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Chance, you know that wasn’t in-game.” You gave him a stern look. 

“I know, I’m just messin. Anyways… she looks at you, waiting for you to respond.”

“I apologize, your music is lovely.” 

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

“Well, I have some important matters to discuss.”

“Important matters? What’s important is that Bailey gets her proper rest.” Chance returns to his normal voice. “You follow her gaze to the hen in the nest.”

“Is Bailey your hen?” 

“Obviously!” The character voice returned. “And she won’t lay eggs unless I play for her.” 

“I see.” You ponder on that information for a moment, then ask. “Is the harp huge?”

“It’s giant, so is the hen.”

“Didn’t the asshole who hired me say he had been here before? Why send me up if there’s no way to bring the items down?” You huffed in frustration at the quest-giver.

“Who said there wasn’t a way to bring them down?” He clicked his tongue at you, admonishingly.

“Hmmm. I think I'll talk to the girl some more.” He motioned for you to continue. “I’m sure Bailey loves your music.”

“She does, she always lays an egg when I play! My daddy says I’m gettin just as good as my mama!” Chance goes back to narrating. “After she says that she goes quiet. Her eyes widening as if she’s just realized you were here. There’s a darkness in them that surprises you for a girl so young.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” You bit your lip nervously.

“You’re a human. Humans aren’t allowed here!”

“Um, you’re dad let me go. At least I think it was your dad.” You give Chance a nervous glance.

“Roll on persuasion.”

Shaking the dice, you let it drop. Watching in fear as it lands on a three. Chance’s gaze grows dark.

“You only think you know? How can I know if you’re telling the truth?” Chance narrates again. “The giant girl stands up, towering high over you. A glare on her face as her eyes narrow. But you spot something odd, her eyes are watering.” The little girl voice is put back on. “All humans lie! I bet you’re no different!”

“I decide to stay quiet, letting her speak.” You say to Chance. Again, he’s surprised at your action.

“Your people killed my mom!” He switches back to normal. “You now see tears falling from her eyes. She’s going to reach for you.” He rolls a die, eyeing you expectantly. “Would you like to do anything to stop it?”

“No. I let her.” 

“A large hand grabs you with a crushing squeeze. You feel the air forced out of your body by the strong grip of her hand. She lifts you to her head.” He clears his throat, going back to the girl voice. “I should just eat you, show you how it feels.” He gives you another expectant look. “Are you going to try and do anything?”

“Nope. I’m gonna close my eyes and accept my fate.” 

Impressed, Chance sits back with his arms crossed. Pondering on what to do next. While you had managed to talk your way out of the last giant encounter, he thought you would at least try to fight your way out of this one. The giant child’s stat block was something that you could manage on your own. 

“Okay. I want you to roll persuasion, and I’ll be nice and give you advantage for what you’ve managed to do so far.”

Pumping your fist in the air, you reached for the die. This time, you brought the D20 to your lips, giving it a light peck. This was a roll that was gonna need it. 

“C’mon lucky shot, don’t let me down now.” 

The first roll landed on a 6. Again, you brought the die to your lips. The kiss to the dice slightly lingering, just for good luck. You shook it in your hand and released, crossing your fingers for a good roll. Slowly, it spun to land on a 20.

“Nat 20 babee! Let’s gooooo!” You stood up and cheered, your character saved.

Chance remained seated, face beet red. His breathing had become labored. For some reason, he couldn’t get himself to calm down. Maybe it was the fact that you had kissed the die in succession. Something he could feel burning through his body. 

Coming down from your high, you realized Chance hadn’t continued. Turning, you gave him a concerned look. Walking over, you eyed the state he was in. Face still extremely flushed. 

“Are you okay?” You leaned toward him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“I-I’m fine. We can continue!” He rubbed his neck nervously.

“Are you sure? Your face is really red.”

“What did you expect after kissing me like that!” He clamped his hands over his mouth, face turning another shade darker. 

“What? I didn’t kiss…” You looked over to the die, feeling a heat crawl up your neck. “C-can you feel that?”

Hands still over his mouth, he nodded. You realized you had been performing your luck ritual the entire time you had been playing with Chance. He could feel it. Every. Single. Time. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You felt terrible, doing that to him without asking.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He said softly.

“But then I kept making you uncomfortable! Kissing you without your consent, ugh. I’m so sorry, Chance.” You gave him a sad look that pierced his heart. That wasn’t what he meant at all!

“I never said I was uncomfortable.” He composed himself somewhat.

“Huh?” 

“I might have liked it…” He trailed quietly. 

“What was that?” You couldn’t make out what he said.

“I like it!” He blurted. “I really like it when you kiss me.” His face grew red again as he waited for your response.

“Y-you do?” 

He nodded sheepishly. 

“Yeah. It feels… nice. Really nice.” He bit his lip nervously. “You’re always so soft and sweet.” 

“Oh.” Your face was burning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He gave you an apologetic look. 

“Chance…” This time you were nervous.

“Yes?” 

You leaned down toward his face. Arms planted on the headrest of his chair.

“Can I actually kiss you?”

“I-I mean technically you are ‘actually’ kissing me…” He stuttered out, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips.

You gave him an unamused pout.

“You know what I mean. How’s about this? Can I give you a reciprocated kiss? One that you also participate in?”

“Yes. Please.” 

With that, you pressed your lips to his. Chance froze up at first, eyes wide at the fact that this was happening. Leaning into the kiss, his eyes fluttered shut. You let out a content sigh at the feel of his lips against yours. Soft and plush, perfectly meldable with your own. 

With your tongue, you teased at his bottom lip. Gladly, he slightly opened his mouth for your tongues to intertwine. A low groan left him as he tasted you. So fucking perfect.

The man pushed the chair away from the table, letting you sink onto his lap. Your hand trailed up his neck, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. He moaned against you at the action. His own hands trailed over your body, mapping out your slopes and curves. Ultimately they landed on your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. You giggled against his lips, pulling away to get a good look at him.

Face still flushed with kiss bitten lips and blown out pupils. He stared up at you like you were a goddess that was granting him a blessing. That was sure how this encounter was feeling. Something that he had only dreamed of. 

“You’re so handsome.” You pressed kisses against his jaw and down his throat, making him shiver. 

“And you’re beautiful. So perfect.” He pressed a kiss to your lips. 

Leaning your forehead against his, you smiled. Then an idea came to you. Biting your lip, you wondered if the man beneath you would oblige to your whims. 

“Chance…”

“Hmm?”

“When I kiss your die, where do you feel it?”

“Oh, um, I guess on my face? Like a whisper against my cheeks and the corner of my lips.” He let out an awkward chuckle. 

You shifted off of him to grab the die, then returned to his lap. Holding the die in front of you, you looked over the numbers.

“So what would happen if I kissed the other numbers?” You asked, gaze hungry.

Oh, oh, this was hot. So fucking hot. Chance thought just kissing you was a dream come true. You wanting more from him? That was merely a fantasy.

“I suppose I would feel you kissing me on other parts of my body.” He answered. Truthfully, he had no idea what would happen. You only ever kissed the 20.

“So if I kiss the one.” You brought the dice to your lips, pecking the side.

Chance giggled at the feeling. Right on the bottom of his foot. 

“I take it that was your foot?”

He nodded, excited to see where this was going. Already feeling himself growing semi-hard in his pants as  he watched you in anticipation.

You pressed a kiss to the five, eyeing Chance’s response. He twitched under you with a whimper. 

“Where was that?”

“My left thigh.” 

Okay, so if five was the left thigh then… you pressed a kiss to the six.

“R-right thigh.” He groaned out. Having your lips on him like this was something else. 

It was probably a good thing you never kissed the other numbers. He was sure you would make him cum from just kissing him alone. 

“So if six is your other thigh then that must mean seven or eight is likely your-”

“What if we avoided that area?” He cut you off, a nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Why’s that?” You leaned in, giving him a deep kiss.

“I-I just…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“Chance, would me kissing the dice equivalent of your crotch make you cum?” Wow, just right out with it. 

“Y-yeah, yeah. It would. I’m gonna be honest. With the way that you’re already going at it, I’d probably cum just from you kissing me.” 

“Really?” You sat upright, eyes sparkling. 

He nodded, blushing furiously. 

“Could we try it?” You bit your lip. 

The thought of having the man fall apart just from you kissing him had you riled up. You could feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. Seeing him squirm from your kisses before coming undone. Oh, that was very appealing. 

“You want to?” He was surprised.

“Yeah, I do. Only if you want to.” 

“You don’t have to ask twice.” He wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled with each other as you moaned. 

Pulling away, you brought the dice back up to your face. Eyeing the numbers, you decided to go for the 19. You gave it a slow kiss, watching Chance as he shivered and moaned. The feeling reached a sweet spot on his neck that had him keening. He was pretty sure he was addicted to your lips now. 

You continued to press kisses to various numbers. Loving every whimper and moan you managed to get out of the man. Occasionally you would lean back in to give him a proper kiss on the lips, only to return to tease him with the die. 

Chance could tell you were avoiding the seven and eight. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“P-please.” He groaned through gritted teeth as he felt your lips on his chest. “I need you…”

“Need me to what?” You teased with a smirk.

“Kiss the seven and eight. Please.” He begged, squirming beneath you.

“Hmm. Good boy.” Oh fuck. That had his dick throbbing. 

Slowly, you brought the die to your lips. You pecked all over it, then finally pressed a kiss to the seven. Chance cried out at the feeling. Your lips right where he needed them. Feeling them press against his throbbing length. He was sure the next one would be the last he needed. You gave another slow kiss to the eight. It was his undoing. Cock twitching in his pants, releasing a sticky load into his boxers. His hands gripped at your hips as he rutted against the feeling of your lips. 

“Oh f-fuck.” He stuttered out. 

You pressed your lips to his, then kissed all over his face. The man melting into your affection. 

“How was that?” You asked softly.

“Amazing. Perfect. Wonderful. Perfect. Did I mention perfect?” He chuckled.

“I’m glad I could give you that.” You picked up the die again, giving it a peck on the 20. 

“Guess I’ll be keeping my lucky shot tradition for our other games.” You gave him a sweet smile. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Chance pulled you back to him, “did you think playtime was over?”

[jinhyun]

—heart fluttering.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader, ft. lee chaeryeong x kim seungmin

genre: fluff, humor, college au, established relationship, slice of life

word count: 4.5k

summary: who would’ve thought that an unattended romance book on your coffee table would lead to a whole argument with your friends about the technicalities of pinning someone up against the wall. good thing your boyfriend was eager to help you reenact such a controversial scene and—not really—prove your point.

a/n: well hello there, it’s been a while hehe. i’m just here to post this story for my mother hen @taikapavunvarsi’s birthday, as i’ve been doing every single year now. couldn’t lose the tradition. i fucked up the time zones for this post and you’re probably sleeping rn, but i still hope you had the greatest of days and got lots of love from your loved ones, you deserve nothing but the best things in life ♡ i also hope that you enjoy this little one shot i wrote for you. i haven’t written at all in like two months so forgive my rustiness. anyway, you said you wanted ‘booktok boyfriend challenge’ and maybe reversed, and also after some digging on my end (aka going all the way up on our chat 💀) i realised that you said ‘the watercolors’ when you sent that video to me, so the watercolors you get. and also it’s not really a tiktok challenge they’re doing in this piece bc i kinda twisted it as always lol but i hope you still like it<3

and well, since i wrote this for the watercolor couple, i thought fuck it i’m posting it here. if anyone else reads it, i hope you all enjoy~

“That’s impossible” Seungmin’s final statement earned a side eye from you, which was nothing compared to the way Chae whipped her head in his direction—just like that, letting him know she was taking full offense in his confident words.

“No, it’s not?!” Chaeryeong beat you to it, just as you were opening your mouth to let out the exact same words.

“Babe, I’m telling you, it’s not possible”.

“Yes, it is!” You backed your friend up this time.

Given the intensity each of your statements carried, any outsider would think you were discussing a life or death situation. Especially after the over dramatic roll of eyes Seungmin gave you after contradicting him.

In reality, what got the three of you so heated up was whether a specific paragraph from the book Cherry was currently reading—and which you had already read and lent it to her in the first place—was actually possible or not.

“Give me the book,” Seungmin asked his girlfriend, holding his palm open for her to comply. Once she did, he traced his index finger under the words as he read them out loud: “He shoved her up against the wall, his height towering over her, and then with one hand pinning both of her wrists above her head”.

“What’s so unrealistic about it?” You wondered when he finished with a rather amused scoff.

“So, he pushes her against the wall, then he towers over her, meaning he’s like, extremely close to her, and then with one hand he grabs both her wrists and pulls them up over her head?”

“I don’t get you…” Chaeryeong frowned, visibly trying to understand her boyfriend’s point.

“Wouldn’t her arms be stiff when he pulls them both up at the same time?” He pointed out. “There wouldn’t be space for him to pull them up, since he needs to hold them together, probably in the middle, and then pull them up. He either should’ve done that before coming closer to her or should’ve used both hands so they could go up from her sides and not from the middle”.

You and Chaeryeong stayed silent, exchanging troubled looks as you simultaneously tried to picture the point he was making and to come up with different ways for the narration to work out.

Truth be told, you didn’t really care that much about the physical technicalities when it came to romance books. As long as you could picture what the writer was trying to portray, even if it wasn’t exactly what they had in mind, you were okay with it.

As long as the words in it made you feel something, you could look past a couple of mistakes.

Seungmin, on the other hand, who had only read that one page when Cherry left the book unattended to go to the restroom a few minutes ago, could not look past the ‘poor’—as he had so dismissively called it—wording of that particular paragraph.

“It doesn’t say that they’re extremely close, though?” You argued. “Maybe there is enough space for him to do that”.

“There isn’t” he was fast to reply.

“How would you know that?” Chaeryeong frowned.

“When us guys shove someone against the wall we instinctively corner them right away, that’s the whole point. You don’t just push them and stand there like an idiot before doing anything else”.

“Oof, speaking from experience now?” You taunted him, laughing proudly when you got flipped off right away. “Maybe this one guy did just stand there for a bit and therefore there was enough space between them”.

Chaeryeong nodded rapidly, strongly agreeing with you before Seungmin shook his head in disagreement.

“It literally says he was towering over her”.

“And the meaning of that is up for interpretation,” his girlfriend argued back once again.

“What’s up for interpretation?” Hyunjin asked, entering the living room holding a big bowl of popcorn, after having excused himself to go make himself a quick snack earlier.

“The paragraph from a book” you answered him.

“The one you lent Cherry?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe as he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, for a moment there forgetting you were in the middle of an argument. “Yes. There’s this one line that Seungmin swears is not possible”.

“It’s not, though” Seungmin argued once more, and you knew right then he was now only trying to provoke you and his girlfriend.

The glare you threw his way must’ve been one of a kind, for it had Hyunjin chuckling in a heartbeat.

“I thought you guys were fighting for real from the bits and pieces I heard from the kitchen”.

“Oh, we’re close to” Cherry folded her arms over her chest.

It was funny to think this was what your Friday nights had come to after a year of you dating Hyunjin, and of Cherry dating Seungmin.

With you and Chaeryeong being best friends and also roommates, and the same being Hyunjin and Seungmin’s situation, it was inevitable for the four of you to stick together among your larger group of friends. It was unspoken, even.

Since you and Seungmin were done earlier with your last class on Fridays, you would head over to the dance practice room together, where Chaeryeong and Hyunjin would be, as always, mastering their respective routines. You would wait for them to finish, catch up a bit in the meantime, and then all four of you would head over to either your or their dorm, and just hang out there if you didn’t have any particular couple activities planned out with your respective partners. Usually, it was yours, so you wouldn’t bother Changbin if he happened to be at their place—you had already been called out one too many times for making him fifth wheel.

Today, it was no different.

It was supposed to be a peaceful evening, just chatting in the living room all four of you until it was time for Chae and Seungmin to leave, since they were going to the movies later that night. Although, to be fair, no evening could ever be completely peaceful when both your dramatic boyfriend and her tsundere one were together.

Maybe if Chaeryeong hadn’t left your book on the coffee table the night before, you could’ve accomplished an almost peaceful one, because then Seungmin wouldn’t have caught a glance of it after she left his side and he found himself looking for another eye-catching sight around your place, and maybe then he wouldn’t have read that infamous line that got the three of you arguing like your lives depended on it.

Hyunjin would probably have agreed with Seungmin, had he been in the room with you when all hell broke loose. Their experience pinning people against a wall was probably over half of yours—which was nonexistent—after all. But, he wasn’t there for it. So, your eyes lit up when you looked at him and an idea came to your mind.

Watching him place the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table as he munched on another handful of them, you stood up before he could take a seat next to you like he intended.

“Jinnie, come here” you called him, having him follow you to the wall next to the sofa where you had been sitting. When he was in front of you and his rather confused eyes were silently asking you what you wanted, you said: “Pin me up against the wall”.

And maybe you should’ve known better than to make such a request to him all of a sudden, because next thing you knew, confusion was replaced by lust in the way he looked at you, and his hands on both sides of your hips were pulling you closer to him.

“Here in front of our friends?” He mumbled, smiling against your lips and sending shivers down your spine.

Sadly, he didn’t get to steal a kiss from your mouth like he was dying to. Not because of the giggle that had just escaped it—as you couldn’t help but get shy even after all the times you had kissed in front of your friends and vice versa—but because of the pillow Seungmin didn’t hesitate to throw at his head as soon as he realised what was about to go down in front of them.

“Boo, you hoe!” he called your boyfriend out.

Hyunjin threw his head lightly back, biting his lip as he tried to conceal the amused—yet frustrated—smile already parting his lips. Still, he didn’t hesitate to grab the pillow from off the floor and throw it right back to Minnie.

“So,” Hyunjin began after successfully hitting his friend, pulling you closer to him again. “Do I pin you up against the wall or not?”

“Yes, but not like that” Chaeryeong answered for you, causing a laugh to escape your lips.

“Wait, but don’t tell him how, we’re trying to prove a point here” you reminded them, looking for confirmation from both of them before your eyes went back to your boyfriend. “Just, pin me up against the wall”.

“Like, forcefully or…”

“Um…” you hesitated.

“It does say ‘shove’ against the wall here, so yeah, forcefully” Seungmin said.

“And then pull her hands above her head” Cherry added.

“What the hell are you guys on about?” He frowned, not really knowing whether he should be worried or not.

“Just do it” you laughed.

“Okay, so…” his uncertain eyes fixed on yours, looking for consent to push you against the wall.

With a silent nod, you let him know to go for it. And so, his hands went up to your ribcage, missing your breasts by an inch, and he pushed you to the wall. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt you, but just enough for a thud to be heard at the impact.

Before you could process whether you had liked it or not, he was already grabbing your hands and pulling them up above your head.

You found out right then that you did indeed like it. Maybe a little too much. Enough to only focus on his plump lips nearly touching yours, and, therefore, to miss the way he had used both hands to pin yours up.

“Told you!” Seungmin managed to break the sexual tension already taking over the two of you. “You need both hands for that”.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t use only one, though?” You argued, unconsciously resting your hands on Hyunjin’s chest.

“Oh, you wanted me to use only one?” He asked you, then looking at your friends. “I can do that”.

“Let’s see it,” Seungmin said, grabbing the bowl of popcorn and leaning back on the sofa.

“What are you, a judge?” Hyunjin scoffed.

“Oh, hush. Just do it”.

Rolling his eyes, he took a step away from you, so he could reenact the scene right from the start.

This time, however, instead of shoving you up against the wall right away, he grabbed your right wrist and then brought it up to your left one before he pulled them up above your head. It was only when your hands were about to reach the top of your head, that his free hand went up to your waist and he pushed you against the wall—almost as if he’d heard Seungmin’s previous argument—cornering you right away.

It was fair to say, whether he had just proved Seungmin’s point or not, you were enjoying this whole argument way too much.

“See?” Seungmin looked at Chaeryeong with a proud smirk.

���We haven’t seen the way the book describes it yet, though” she refused to give it up, reaching for the book on the coffee table and looking for the controversial paragraph.

“Is this really what our Friday nights have come to?” You asked in utter disbelief.

“I’m not really complaining” Hyunjin confessed—a breathy laugh escaping his mouth as he lovingly bumped your nose with his own.

“I mean, it could be possible,” Seungmin stood up, deliberately ignoring the PDA going on in front of him and walking over to you—watching the reenactment from the couch not being enough anymore. “But it’d be too inconvenient, like, if you’re that close and you hold both wr—”

“You are not shoving my girlfriend up against the wall” Hyunjin warned him when he tried to shove him aside in order to take his place, unconsciously grabbing your hand and pulling you to him.

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “I’m not, I’m just trying to make a point here”.

“Go make your point with Chaeryeong over there”.

“Hold on, I’m looking for the line” she absentmindedly replied as she scanned the page.

You snorted, leaning your head against your boyfriend’s shoulder. You didn’t know whether she was unaware or simply unfazed—either of them being just as funny to you.

“Okay, I got it,” Cherry announced, going up to you as well. “So, what you have to do is, shove her up against the wall,” she looked up to Hyunjin, waiting for him to do so—which he did, only gently this time, as the four of you seemed to be more into the technicality of it all rather than into the reenactment. “Tower over her,” she read, and that he did as well, making your heart race when he took it one step further by tilting your chin up with his fingers, so he could lean in to faintly touch your mouth with his lips.

“Keep it professional, dude” Seungmin called him out—justice being made for you when he was the one to get flipped off now by your boyfriend.

“And now,” Chaeryeong resumed. “With one hand, hold both of hers up”.

You knew Seungmin was right—as if the two previous tries hadn’t already been proof enough—when you saw your boyfriend hesitate, only then realising how close he had come to you by simply being told to tower over you.

Hyunjin knew something was off right away, having to take a few seconds to figure out how to pull your hands up in between the little to nonexistent space between your bodies.

In the end, the safest choice was to take a step back in order to do so, coming right back to tower over you as soon as he got your hands pinned to the wall. Just like that, proving that, although possible, it would turn out clumsy enough—not to say ‘inconvenient’, like Seungmin had claimed—to mess with the heat of the moment.

“Told you,” Seungmin smiled proudly once again. “Inconvenient”.

“Whatever” Chaeryeong shrugged, closing the book and carefully throwing it on the couch as she finally admitted defeat. “All I got from this is that you two share the same braincell. Luke clearly left enough space between them”.

“Luke,” he mockingly repeated the character’s name he had just learned. “Was clearly written by a woman who’s never pinned anyone against a wall”.

“And that’s why he’s way better than you two”.

You couldn’t help the throaty laugh that escaped your mouth at her bitter remark. While Seungmin’s jaw fell open, desperately looking for a clap back for that yet coming up with nothing, a quite offended Hyunjin nudged you, for your friend’s insult had involved him too and you were laughing.

Chaeryeong, on the other hand, was unable to hold back a laugh of her own at the sight of her baffled boyfriend—pulling the now pouty guy into a hug. “Okay, I’m sorry” she apologised with a peck to his lips, knowing she was forgiven when his hands rested on her waist and his thumbs drew small circles on it. “But, honestly, just read the damn book and you’ll get why we don’t really care about technicalities”.

“If it’s so good they’ll probably make a movie of it, so I’ll just wait for that” he smiled cynically.

Chaeryeong rolled her eyes with a smile, only for it to be erased the next second when realisation hit her. “Wait, the movie!”

Seungmin’s face was quick to match her panicked one.

Being too immersed in the rather entertaining argument, neither of them had remembered the movie they had got tickets for earlier that week, and which they should’ve left for a while ago now.

“Shit, what time is it?” Seungmin asked, rushing to get his things.

“Eight thirty” Hyunjin let him know as he checked his phone.

“Fuck, we only have fifteen minutes”.

“Let’s go” Cherry hurried him up, putting on her shoes and grabbing her coat by the entrance.

“Coming” Seungmin announced from the couch, shoving his phone into his pocket and running to put on his shoes as well, as Chaeryeong held the door open while waiting for him. “Okay, see you guys later, bye!”

Chuckling over the entire situation after hearing them slam the door shut, and feeling the silence take over the room now that your friends were gone, you looked up to Hyunjin. Although the both of you were resting your backs against the wall now, as he had leaned on it in order to watch your friends rushing out of your place, he didn’t waste another second to corner you again—getting the perfect opportunity to tilt your chin up and to finally press his mouth to yours, like he had been dying to ever since you asked him to pin you up against the wall earlier that night.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his own snaked around your waist, pulling you so close to his body that you found yourself laughing breathily at the lack of oxygen you were getting after a few seconds.

“So those are the kind of books you’re always reading?” He smirked over your lips, slightly loosening his hold on you—just enough for you to catch your breath.

“God forbid a girl wants to read some heart fluttering stories” you couldn’t help but sound defensive, gently letting your palms slide down to his chest.

He chuckled, gently nuzzling your neck. “I’m not shaming you or anything, it’s just interesting”.

“What is?”

“That those kinds of things make your heart flutter”.

“Those kinds of things?” You asked.

“Pinning you up against the wall?” He cocked a teasing eyebrow.

“As if you didn’t know that already” you rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t” he chuckled, teasingly pinching your sides before he pulled you closer and kissed you once more.

Sure, he had pinned you up against the wall a couple of times—maybe more than a couple in the time you had been together—but never forcefully, or at least not enough to make the impact of your body against it to actually make a sound, like it had today.

He had only now discovered that you enjoyed it. And he was surely loving this newfound liking of yours.

“If you ever got pinned up against a wall like that, you’d get the hype” you defended yourself.

“Well, you could always show me” he shrugged, unable to hide the smirk that was already curving up his lips.

“Me?”

“Aren’t you my girlfriend? Who else would pin me up against a wall if not you?”

“The height difference won’t help, though”.

“I’ll cooperate” he promised, earning a light laugh from you. “You need to do the whole thing, though. I want my arms pinned above my head and all”.

“You’re delusional,” you laughed.

“For knowing what I want?” He said over dramatically.

“Ah, what did I get myself into” you amusedly lamented, but gave in regardless.

Letting go of each other and switching sides, being now him the one turning his back to the wall while you faced him, you couldn’t help but hesitate, just like he had done before pushing you for the first time.

Turned out, it was actually mind wrecking not knowing how much force to put into shoving the person you loved in order not to hurt them. Not like you could actually push him that hard if you wanted, but still.

“I’m waiting~” he teased you.

At that, knowing well enough he would tease you even harder if you took any longer, you just pushed him without a second thought—only to panic as soon as you heard his back hit the wall.

“Was that okay?” You asked him right away.

He dramatically clutched his chest. “My heart’s nearly beating out of my chest”.

“Oh, shut up” you rolled your eyes, deciding to just get it over with and grab both his wrists in order to pull them above his head.

Since you had already pushed him and there was enough space between the two of you, given that you forgot to corner him against the wall right after—you could almost hear Seungmin calling you an idiot—your stubbornness told you to only use one hand to do so.

Now, the problem was, that you forgot how big Hyunjin’s hands actually were, and therefore why it was so easy for him to grab both your wrists with only one of them—as opposed to you, who were already struggling with the task.

Hyunjin was enjoying it one hell of a lot, though. He couldn’t hold back a giggle as he watched you struggle for a few seconds to secure his wrists in your hand, and then he completely lost it when you finally managed to pull them up over his head, only for you not to be able to reach all the way up and just leave them hanging there midway.

“Yah, you said you’d cooperate!” You whined.

“I’m slouching, I’m slouching” he defended himself in between laughs as he did so.

However, hearing your laugh only made him laugh harder, to the point he gave up on slouching at all and ended up kneeling down instead, letting his face rest on your abdomen and holding onto the curve of your back as he looked for some kind of support.

“You’re so annoying” you half laughed, half whined again; trying to help him stand back up.

“You’re so cute,” he cooed.

Letting out one last throaty laugh and finally managing to catch his breath, he let you help him up, smiling lovingly when you cupped his face and wiped the tears of joy that had rolled down his cheeks.

“So, pinning you up against the wall is a no-go to make your heart flutter” you nodded your head.

“It did flutter though, but just because you’re too adorable and I love you” he admitted, and it was your heart the one to flutter at that.

“What can I do to truly make your heart go all mushy then?”

“Honestly?” He asked.

You nodded.

“I love it when you play with my hair”.

You smiled, as it was no news. He had been very vocal about it after the first time you played with his hair while you cuddled on his couch, even way before being a couple.

It was always nice to hear how much he actually loved it, though.

“I was thinking more of a book-ish thing to do…” you confessed.

“Book-ish?” He poked fun at you.

“Yeah, you know, cliché things characters in romance books do” you looked around as you tried to think of something. “Like when they grab your face and make you look at them when you’re not paying attention, like—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he was already grabbing your chin and making you look up at him.

“Like this?” He mumbled against your lips.

You felt your cheeks burn embarrassingly fast, having to look to the side in a poor attempt to play it cool—only to have him playfully make you look at him again.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” you warned him, unknowingly making his heart race at the sound of the lower register you had just used.

“Yes, baby?”

“You’re not supposed to make me flustered, I was about to make a move there”.

He laughed under his breath. “Let’s be honest now, if you were to do that right now, with us standing up, I’d probably just end up looking to the wall”.

Your jaw fell open in full offense. “If I grab your face and turn it in my direction, you’re supposed to look at me even if I’m shorter than you. It’s common courtesy”.

“You’re the one manhandling me, you’re supposed to make me look at you”.

“And that’s what—I give up” you held your hands up in defeat. “I could never be the man of this relationship”.

“Good,” he said, grabbing your waist and turning both of you around, so that he was once again the one cornering you against the wall and leaning down so close to you that you could feel your breathings mix. “Just leave the manhandling to me, hm?”

You bit your lip, in a hopeless attempt to conceal the smile already curving up your lips. He chuckled against your mouth, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to it.

You would be a fool to turn down his offer.

“I want to make your heart flutter too, though” you pouted nevertheless.

“And you always do that without even trying”.

“I do?”

“Mhm…” he lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Like I said, when you play with my hair, or when you lean your head on my shoulder, also when you call me baby… when you use that lower tone of yours to talk to me, and when you doodle literally anything while we talk and then gift it to me…” his eyes softened at the memories. “Do I keep going?”

You softly shook your head no—your heart already feeling warm enough because of his words. “I believe that’s good en—”

“Oh, I love it when you wear my clothes!” He cut you off, eyes lighting up over the sudden train of thought. “Fuck, especially when you only wear one of my t-shirts to sleep and I get to admire your pretty thighs while you walk around my room”.

You chuckled at his last addition, feeling your cheeks burn all over again. “You’re getting a bit carried away now, aren’t you, baby?”

He bit his lip, remaining silent yet not finding it in him to feel the least bit embarrassed. You were all his after all, he was allowed to admire your beauty in all its splendor and gush about it all he wanted.

“I’ll make sure to do all that more often then” you quietly added with a smile, reaching up to sweetly catch his bottom lip in between yours.

“There are a few of my t-shirts in your closet, so how about doing that one now?” He proposed, temptingly brushing his lips against yours.

“If that’s what it takes to make your heart flutter…” you quietly taunted him.

He agreed with a small nod, pressing his lips to yours and teasingly grabbing a hold of your wrists. “I’ll make sure yours does too by pinning you up against your bedroom wall while we’re at it”.

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 10

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 9

Your power’s been strange since that day you heard the melody. You haven't had the joyous occasion of it coming back into your life and your ears, but your heart still yearns for it, calls for it. You try not to dwell on it. That want, that need, takes backstage for the oddities that have been popping up since it first whispered in your ear.

Like now. You know Miss Hunter’s in danger even before the alarm attached to the earrings you gave her go off. You feel the dread in your heart, feel it fill your empty and lonely soul. The sheer volume of that feeling jolts you awake.

Sylus slumbers beside you. He insisted, worry lacing his voice and his hand gently brushing your cheek when he asked you to stay. The look in his eyes is what pushed you to do so. They were inquiring about your relationship, about where you stand after all that's happened.

You should’ve put your foot down. You should’ve kept your distance. Your mind told you so. Your heart didn’t listen, once again.

So you two share a bed again, entangled in each other’s embrace. Sylus’ fast heartbeat syncs to yours. His every breath is the most comforting soundtrack you’ve ever experienced.

Or, it used to be. Nothing could compare to the sound of your beloved being fast asleep until your heard that piece. That song of the stars, that hymn of the universe, is the best thing that’s ever had graced your ears. You hunger to hear it again.

And maybe that selfish wish is why you rush out of bed. You long to hear it again. Because that time, enveloped in that beat, is probably the only time in your life you’ve ever been at true peace. The only time you’ve ever truly belonged.

Miss Hunter is the key to that, and you haven’t seen her in some time, making room for her to bond with Sylus. You’ve pushed both of them into each other’s arms (ironic given that you still let yourself sleep in Sylus’).

That’s what you’ve assumed, anyway. Neither of them have told you anything of the sort. Sylus just spends more time in Linkon and Miss Hunter talks about him in a better light when you two text.

Feels like a husband trying to hide a mistress from his wife with the way they sneak around. And said mistress is her friend.

The mere thought makes you want to vomit. To expel that thought and all others that could follow from both your mind and stomach.

Stop it, you tell yourself as you unceremoniously wiggle your way out of a sleeping Sylus’ embrace. There’s nothing between you two, and everything is right between them.

Your rush, oddly enough, isn’t what wakes your boss. He eyes only shoot open the moment your warmth completely leaves his.

“Where…?” His voice cracks a bit, and he constantly blinks his eyes in the struggle to keep them open.

You wonder, in this moment, what you would do if two really were together. If he really was your husband like so many assume. If he really was yours and not someone else’s.

Would he coax you back into his arms, kissing the back of your neck and mumbling nonsense? Would you two play a game of back and forth, to see who will get up or who will go back to sleep? Or would he simply just wrap his arms around your waist like at the gala a few weeks ago, kissing you everywhere in order to wake himself?

Just the idea flusters you. So flustered that your first attempt on putting on a shirt is one that’s inside out and backwards. You quickly remedy this, glancing back at Sylus as you put the shirt back on right.

He doesn’t even flinch at the brief sight of your bare back. Understandable. You’ve seen him practically naked (except for a towel he haphazardly put on). He’s seen almost every inch of you, bandaging and stitching you back together in more ways than one.

What I wouldn’t give for him to take me apart in the best way possible?

Everything is so very, very hot again.

“Go back to sleep, Morana,” you whisper to him, not going back near the bed in fear you’d do something stupid like kiss him. “Something came up. I’ll handle it, and you call you after I do.”

“Alright,” he yawns. “Come back to me soon.”

You almost cry at his words.

“Be sure to tell the boys. You know how they worry about you.”

You nod, sending a quick text to your group chat with Luke and Kieran (the two menaces named it “When Mom Needs to Shit Talk Dad”) before you head out to your motorcycle.

You don’t check your phone for her location. Something tells you Skyhaven is the place. And another thing tells you that your world is about turn upside down.

As you drive, you soon don’t even need instinct for the former of your ideas. Because Miss Hunter’s thread appears, like the red guiding light in some video game. You know it’s hers because the stories it weaves are hers. The explosion. Her entry into the N109 zone. And some childhood memories she’s told you about.

But this isn’t Sylus’ connection to her that’s leading you. It’s someone else. A boy who’s been by her side for ages. A boy whose death drove her into your life and Sylus’.

You don’t quite see who this boy—man—is. Or maybe you and even Miss Hunter’s very soul are blocking him out. His blurry image conjures confusion, anxiety, betrayal, and layers upon layers pain.

You drive faster.

—

It’s surprisingly easy to find Miss Hunter. Pulling a few (sometimes literal) strings with members of The Fleet, a nice smile here, and a bit of manipulation there, and you find her. She appears to be in a nurse’s uniform, something that gives you pause. What makes you unpause is the aggressive man whose hands are on her.

His appearance flickers, much like Sylus’ did on that fateful day you first met him. Except his doesn’t bounce between dragon and human. No. For this man, you sometimes see a black bandage cover his eyes, and gold running down his body. Said body also becomes engulfed in black machine parts, and you hear them turn even when you’re some distance away.

He looks so much like Alex did that day years ago. Gold instead of silver runs across his metallic body and he lacks the powerful weapon they clutched in their hand. But the same emptiness is there. That same blank slate that hums with a power you want nothing to do with is there.

The difference between this man and Alex though is that he is still alone. He’s still someone’s pawn, and is willing to stay that way for the sake of the woman he loves.

Alex would never be in this position. Their family situation may be complicated, but Kai will never stand for it to escalate. She never allows her spouse’s family to have their way.

The man with cold violet eyes doesn’t have that. He stands a bastion between Miss Hunter and a horrific fate you don’t even want to think about. He stands between her and an evil that you can see in his thread.

Ever.

You hoped to never hear that name again. To never remember the scientists that poked and prodded at you when no sign of a soulmate came in at the expected age. You wonder if they told him about you. You wonder if you’re going to get dragged back into the strange rooms with the strange devices again.

You wonder if your rescue mission is about to become a failed one.

You call out Miss Hunter’s first name. She turns to you, and the military man finally acknowledges your presence. She runs to you, and you shuttle her behind you.

Calm yourself.

You take deep breaths, watching his thread like a hawk, dissecting each little notch and every little twist to find something to exploit. You don’t want to be near this man that represents everything that makes your skin crawl any longer than you have to.

“Apologizes, ummm?” You trail off, laughing at yourself. “I’m sorry, what’s your name? My friend here didn’t mention you in her report.”

“Report?” Is all that comes out of his mouth. His words are devoid of anything. No inflection. No feelings. Nothing.

Your blood runs cold. Miss Hunter hands begin to grip the back of your shirt. She trembles.

“Yes, yes. Her report. The Hunter Association did send her to investigate some things, correct?” The man makes a notion for you continue. “When she submitted it, it was decided by her boss that I’d come and pick her up.”

“The Fleet wasn’t informed about any such development.”

You figured as much.

“I didn’t think the retrieval of one hunter needed to be told to them. The Fleet is busy enough as it is. Adding more paper work and things to sign for us to get one of our own seems foolish, does it not?”

You hate staring at those dead eyes of his. But it’s the only way to get his attention. The only way for him to believe your words and let the two of you go.

But you can hardly focus on getting your words out. There’s something wrong with this man, something mechanical. Something that’s burrowed so deep within him that it messes with him on a fundamental level.

It’s not enough to change his soul, thankfully. You can still see his worry, even if it’s not on his face. You can still see his love for Miss Hunter, even if he doesn’t show it.

So you keep your eyes on his, and hope to the universe that your abilities and your voice are enough to get away.

“Than may I ask why the Association needs her, given the state she’s in and the fact that you didn’t inform us she was to be sent back to Linkon so early?”

“I’m afraid a stranger isn’t privy to such information.”

“Colonel Caleb Xia,” he sticks his hand out for you to shake it.

You take it, and give him your name.

“Now that we’re not strangers, answer my question.”

His attitude is grinding your gears. His attitude, the fear he's giving Miss Hunter, and just the wrongness about him makes you snap inside.

“Well, Colonel,” you’re more harsh with your tone now. “I don’t see why I should. You did not inform the Association of her injuries. You did not inform us that she would be taken on a private airship, forced against her will for treatment, and then hunted down like an animal when she made the reasonable assumption you wouldn’t let her leave and try to escape. I don’t owe a brute like you jack-shit, let alone answers.”

You stick out an arm to further shield Miss Hunter. This seems to rattle the Colonel a bit. So you push further.

“The way you speak to me gives me the impression that you’re suspicious of me. Which is ironic coming from a man that’s meant to be dead.”

Miss Hunter flinches at your words. You use your other hand to soothe her, and even your powers brush against her very soul to calm her. You hate to shake her so much. But using these words, using his own guilt against him, is probably the best chance you have of leaving here.

“Some things came up. Things that you don’t need to know.”

He steps closer to you.

“Ah. So we both have our secrets, don’t we?” You get in his face. “Only mine doesn’t cause my friends great distress.”

His emotionless mask finally cracks a little. Just a smidge. But his thread tells you of mountains and mountains of guilt. Of how it hurts to see the woman he loves so scared of him.

You don’t give a shit. Sure, you almost pity him a bit. But Miss Hunter’s shaky hands on your back, and the reminder of the love you know she deserves from Sylus kills that pity in seconds.

If anything, his cruelty is just another reason you’ll make sure he never has her. It’s just another reason for you to drive her into Sylus’ arms and break your heart again.

“It’s just a misunderstanding.”

The cliche words make you want to strangle him.

“I’d hate to know what kind of misunderstandings you’ve had in the past, Colonel, to think that any of what you’ve done is acceptable.”

“And what exactly is it that you think I’ve done? You just got here, Miss,” the way he says your name makes you all the angrier.

“I have eyes, Colonel. I know a terrified woman trying to escape from a domineering man when I see one.”

You hope flat-out calling him an abuser will get Caleb to back down. Because you know he’s doing all this with good intentions. He doesn’t want to hurt Miss Hunter. He doesn’t want to scare her.

Too bad the pathway to hell is paved with good intentions. Too bad he’s one of those people who refuse to see and acknowledge when they’re wrong.

“How did you find us?” He ignores your comments altogether.

Fine. I’ll play your game.

“By asking around. People are surprisingly agreeable to what you want when you’re not demanding or controlling. Right, Colonel?”

His face scrunches at your implications.

“I wouldn’t know. My job is to command or listen to orders. I do not ask for permission.”

“You know, every word out of your mouth makes me wish you stayed dead.”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. You don’t really mean them. Not truly. Any family or goodness for Miss Hunter is something you’ll celebrate.

Even if Caleb is something that somehow falls into those categories. Even if the man you'll never allow her to truly be with is one of those people.

He’s caused so much pain. So much anguish in her threads and turmoil in her mind. The normally confident and headstrong hunter is silent behind you. Her soul begs for her to run.

You want to turn around and hug her. Give her a shoulder to cry on. To ease her mind while you plot with Sylus how to fuck up the lives of anyone who’s ever hurt her. You want to save her, protect her.

And the more these emotions boil, the more you wonder. Is this the influence of that song? Or is this just what it means to be so beloved by the universe? That even someone like you is drawn into her orbit, ready to give up the man you love for her in a heartbeat?

Once again, your selfish heart wonders if she and all the love the world wants to give her, is the reason you have no love at all.

“Harsh words from someone who just met me,” the Colonel’s quip drags you out from the depths of your self-hatred.

“You’ve just made that bad of a first impression on me.”

“What did I do to do that?”

“You do not want me to answer that.”

The Colonel and you say nothing to each for some time, just staring the other down.

“We really must get going. We have things to attend to, as I’m sure you do as well.”

You turn to try and leave, guiding Miss Hunter to walk in front of you, but Caleb grabs your wrist.

“Unhand me this second, or so help me, Colonel I will make you wish you stayed dead and buried.”

He lets go. You and Miss Hunter return to your old stance of her behind you while you face her childhood friend.

“She’s injured.”

“I’m aware.”

“She can’t work like this.”

“I’m also aware of that. I’ll treat her once we’re back in Linkon and she’s in a comfortable space.”

“She needs rest.”

“And she’ll get it. Away from you. Believe or not, there are others that care for her as well and can do so without violating her autonomy.”

“Why do you need her specifically?”

His change of topic doesn't go unnoticed by any of you. Once again, you play along.

“As I said before, it’s none of your business, so I won’t go into the details. All I will tell you is that her resonance Evol is needed for some investigative work.”

You pause, staring deeper into those cold eyes and his frantic thread.

“And, she has a capable partner that will look after her during this process. She won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“You?”

You almost snort. While you may have cynically thought of joining the Hunter's Association out of spite, you'd never truly consider it. Too... perfect for someone as broken as you. Too bright, too kind, too messy, too secretive, too—

It's just too much. Too much for you and your bloodstained hands and soon-to-be broken heart.

“Oh heavens, no. Not me. I’m not the fighting type,” you can hear Sylus and the twins cackle in your mind as you say this.

You may not like fighting, but everyone in Onychinus knows you can be deadly in one if need be. And some of your opposition actually fears you more than Sylus because of that. Because Sylus’ power is tangible, you can see his energy Evol as it snuffs a life out.

But no one can see it when you pull a thread out of someone’s heart. Or twist their very soul into oblivion. Or choke the life out of them with their own connection to their soulmate.

Your mystery is your greatest weapon. And it’s another reason you tell yourself not to divulge your secret ever again.

“Than how can I trust this mysterious partner if they don’t have the decency to show up themselves?”

Shit.

You gather yourself quickly. You need to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Your trust in my words are irrelevant. I don’t need your permission to take her anywhere, I’m just giving her childhood friend who’s worried about her well-being the curtesy of being told such information. I’m not leaving you in the dark.”

Caleb’s mask once again wavers, so you push more.

“I’m not leaving you frightened of the unknown and nor am I strong-arming you into doing what I want with my authority. I’m having a conversation with you in hopes you’ll see things from my point of view. And I’m not ignoring your clear discomfort nor your fears.”

“And what is it you think I’m afraid of?”

“That you’ll lose her again. Or they’ll get their hands on her.”

You know that’s the right thing to say when the Colonel’s hand begins to hover over his waist, where you assume his gun is. His eyes go dead again. Cold. Bottomless. All consuming.

Just where you want him.

“You think you two are the only ones they’re hunting? You think she’s the only one they’ve ever obsessed over?”

You hate yourself for this. For putting this information into his hands, their hands, again. Because you became a ghost once you entered the N109 zone. You disappeared from their grasp because the old man in charge of the Zion Hunt knows better than to blab about you.

It was your wish from him when you won his little competetion during your first year with Sylus. It was the wish and deal you made with him, his very soul the price should he ever break it. Whether it was you or Sylus that would come to collect, you hope to never know.

Because you were dead to Ever. And it was supposed to stay that way. But for her, and for Sylus, you’ll come back. You’ll put yourself back under their radar in hopes they’ll chase you and not her.

And while you’re at it, maybe you can save the Colonel as well. You may hate who he is right now, but you're curious about the boy he used to be. The boy Miss Hunter loves like family. The boy he was before Ever broke him like they broke you.

“You aren’t,” you continue. “In fact, I think the Professor loved me most of all before I left him.”

“Why?”

He’s still tense. Still ready to end your life and forcibly take Miss Hunter away. But you know where to strike. You know because his thread tells you he’s heard about you. About the strange little girl with no soulmate but with the power to see others, to touch others, to manipulate others.

Seems the Professor still remembers me.

You still remember him. You still remember how him and Josaphine and all the others treated you. You still remember the many tests, the files you read, and all the injections they gave you before your family sent you off to school that same day like nothing happened.

You still remember the adrenaline and joy that coursed through your veins the day you finally ran from it all. That same adrenaline pumps now at the thought of going back.

But you’d do it for her. For them. And hopefully, they’ll all forgive you for it.

“Because I turn everything we’ve ever known about humanity and love upside down.”

Bullseye.

Caleb lowers his hand to his side, no longer ready to shoot you. Because now he realizes you’re just like him, just like Miss Hunter. Another one of the Professor’s runaway “children”. Another one of his pawns that never wants to see him again.

“And do you know what my parents told me each time they took me to him?”

“What?” He asks the question breathily, shaken to his core despite how the chip in his head tries to stop him from feeling.

You pull at his literal heartstrings, at his soul, to bypass the machine. The power of universe itself is far more potent and compelling than some man-made computer.

“That it was for my own good,” that hits Caleb harder than any of your other words, and you scoff when you say it. “Selfish words by selfish people who refuse to admit when they’re wrong. When they refuse to see how they hurt the people they claim to love.”

Miss Hunter burrows deeper into your back. You twine your power into her threads to soothe her, since you can’t physically do it right now.

Her friend Caleb, on the other hand, seems to have been shattered. As if the weight of his actions has hit him. He doesn’t show it on his face or in his eyes, but in his thread. In the thread tied to the very woman who he scared so much.

“You love her, don’t you?”

No response.

“So why continue to hurt her as you do? Why continue to be like my parents and do something that she clearly doesn’t want and is only causing harm?”

“Because it’s a misunderstanding.”

“We already went over this, Colonel,” you’re gentle with your tone now, empathy bleeding into every fiber of your being.

I’ll get you out next, you tell yourself. I’ll get you and all the rest away from that man I should’ve killed years ago.

“But how about I put it another way? How do you expect me to believe you, who disappeared from her life once already and is now back and causing her pain, to be a better place for recovery than a place where everyone loves her and respects her ability to take care of herself?”

Once again, the Colonel doesn’t show how much of a gut punch your words are. You are a stranger, after all. And he’s been literally programmed to suppress how he feels.

So you tug at the string only you can. You tug on the connection on you can feel and twist and exploit. And he starts to feel it all. His guilt. His piles and piles of insecurity. And how maybe, just maybe, all you’ve been saying is right.

It’s a bit gross to you, to do this to a man who’s already been through so much. But he isn’t your priority. She is. The young woman who cowers behind you. The young woman who put her faith in you.

The young woman that will make the man you love feel whole again. She’s who you came for. She’s who you’ll help. Caleb will have to wait his turn.

“Think about what you’re asking me to do, Colonel, from my perspective. My friend, who I’ve seen be consumed by grief, finally has gets the green light to work again after losing the only parental figure she remembers and the only family she had as well as her home.”

You pause to look his in the eyes and play with his thread more before continuing.

“She goes on said mission, gets heavily injured, and I come to pick her up only to find her on the run from said family member who’s supposed to be dead, and she’s disguised as a nurse as she tries to free herself from him. Would you trust you in my shoes?”

He has no response again, so you deliver what you hope to be the killing blow, “She’s been through so much. Do you really want to make matters worse?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, Colonel,” you don’t know what compels you to do so, but you lay a hand on his mechanical arm; it takes him by surprise, but since he doesn’t immediately retreat from your touch (and instead leans into it) you count that as a win. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I thought you were here to pick her up for a mission. How does my presence impact that?”

Got you.

While your words may sound like a slip up, you meant it. You meant for him to catch the underlying meanings of your words and press. You meant to reveal this “truth”.

“Alright, you caught me. There’s no mission. She called me directly because she was scared.”

You can feel the panic from Miss Hunter. You squeeze her hand, both to reassure her and as a promise to tell her everything later. Poor girl’s been lied to her entire life. And you understand that confusion and pain from being deceived by so many better than anyone.

The last thing you want is to become another person in that long list for her.

You take a deep, dramatic, breath. “You see, you never quite know how safe you are in this job. Whether it be Wanderers or rival organizations, danger’s around the corner for us Hunters. The explosion at your house made that all the more obvious.”

You pause, squeezing Miss Hunter’s hand again, making sure Caleb saw the turmoil and pain in your eyes. “So I came up with this system for me and her. A way to call each other discreetly and to be sure we’ll get back up from a trusted friend. Regardless of where we were of whether we had our Hunter’s watches. A way for us to protect one another while still respecting each other’s space.”

You don’t quite know what it is this time that gets Caleb to see the light. But something flashes across his eyes, and he finally backs down. You almost let out a sigh of relief. But your professionalism makes you choke it back down.

Don’t waver. You’re not in the clear yet. Not until she’s home and safe.

“I see…” his voice carries the most emotion you’ve heard from him.

You sneakily curl a finger around his thread, tapping into that heart of his that you know still sleeps in his chest. No machine, no stupid little chip, will keep you from reaching it.

So you rub the thread between your fingers. You rub it and make him see the pain he’s causing, the suffering on the woman he loves’ face. You force him to see that feeling and come face to face with the realization that he caused it.

Something shifts in the Colonel. You words coupled with you literally touching his soul get to him in ways he didn’t think possible.

“I see…” he says again, this time, with pain in it.

You finally relax.

“I’ll escort you out.”

Your stomach drops at the mere idea. “No need. I happen to have quite the memory, and can get us out safely on my own.”

“I insist.”

Please don’t.

“Haven’t you done enough damage with your “insisting” already?”

A low blow. But nothing is too low for you to get him to back off. To get away from this man that makes your friend tremble and you uncomfortable.

You don’t know if it’s the machine in his head, the emotionless landscape of his past life, or the way that history of his reminds you of your missing friend Alex. Any one of those could be what ultimately makes you not want to be in his presence.

The Colonel opens his mouth, probably to push his point again, but another voice interrupts him before he can.

“Colonel Xia. What the fuck are you doing?”

The voice comes from behind you and Miss Hunter. It’s female, and a bit scratchy. From disuse or just a natural undertone to it, you don’t know. But something about it compels you to keep your gaze forward. For whatever reason, you can’t bring yourself to turn around.

Miss Hunter can’t either, judging by how she buries her face into your back.

The steps of your savior are anything but comforting. A pit forms in your stomach. A pit that’s familiar.

Death approaches.

Every part of you wants to fight. To fight against what your lizard brain sees as a foe but what your logical one sees as an ally. It’s a confusing storm of emotions. One that gets worse once you see the woman.

She flickers. Just like Alex and Caleb. Just like Kai. Exactly like Sylus, given how her changes are that of horns and a tail.

She’s a fiend.

It’s the first time you’ve seen similar past lives. You’ve seen Lemurians. You’ve seen cyborgs. You’ve seen beings made of flowers and sand. But never two of the same.

Another fiend isn’t something you thought you’d ever see. Another fiend shouldn’t be possible, given that you know Sylus was the only of his kind (a dragon that's too human, and a human that's too much of a monster). Another fiend like him shakes everything you thought you knew.

Who is she?

Caleb, as if hearing your thoughts, answers for you, ���Undertaker Rafia. What are you doing here, ma’am?”

The amount of respect he gives this woman shocks you somewhat. The same man who tried to force his own soulmate into compliance, who frightens even you, is on edge by the appearance of one woman.

A woman of tall stature. A bulky, muscular woman. A woman with pitch black hair and the palest skin you’ve ever seen. A woman who was once a fiend.

That same woman stands between you and Caleb, her back still turned to you.

“Why I’m here is irrelevant. You have a ceremony to get to, and if you don’t get your ass in gear, it’ll be your funeral I’m planning next.”

“Ma’am, I—“

“Get to it, Caleb. Before you piss me off more.”

Caleb seems to weigh his options for a second. Before he salutes her and walks off. The tension in your body finally releases. You can breathe now. You can exist now without the weight of the Colonel’s eyes and voice on your shoulder.

“I’ll escort the two of you out. You shouldn’t have any more problems.”

Despite the primal fear her appearance first gave you, you’re grateful. She turns to you, and you open your mouth to tell her thank you, but something makes all words catch in your throat. And you stare.

You stare at Undertaker Rafia, even as Miss Hunter’s hold on you becomes a death grip on you. Not because you’re grateful. Not because you’re in shock.

No. You stare for a reason you never thought possible. You stare because the sight before you shouldn’t be real.

She has no soulmate.

Undertaker Rafia has no soulmate thread. Just. Like. You.

—

You’re 7 and in love with your best friend, the son of mother’s own best friend.

You sit on the couch in the game room of his house, picking at the fraying knitted blanket. Your crush sits next to you, eyes more focused on the pause screen of his video game than you. You don’t mind though. His dedication to his games is one of the reasons you like him.

He’s so excited about them, rambling to you about them with wild gestures while you just sit and listen. He could fill up an entire conversation for you two. You don’t need to say a word. You don’t need to force yourself into the awkwardness of trying to find the right words.

You could just be there with him.

”Sam says you like me.”

You nod.

”So… you do?”

You nod again, still unable to utter a word. Maybe because speaking will make this all too real? Maybe because speaking will make him laugh at you?

You chase that stupid thought away. He’d never laugh at you. He’s always kind with you, offering you his blanket when he’s clearly cold, opening doors for you, listening to your opinions on the rare occasion you can your mouth to form actual sentences.

Your friend treats you so preciously. And it makes you hope and pray you’ll be lucky enough to discover that he’s your soulmate.

”But I’m not your soulmate.”

Your friend tilts his head at you. Your heart falls with the motion. And you force your mouth to move and for words to come out.

You can’t lose him.

”You don’t know that,” you barely manage to mumble.

He takes your hand, toothy grin on his face. A grin that you love and makes you flush and makes you smile the biggest smile in your little life.

”I guess we’ll find out.”

You could cheer.

That all goes away in a few days. Your love? Tossed aside. Your happiness? Dashed. The friendship and the new relationship with a boy you thought like-liked you? Gone.

One day, you’re happy and the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. The next, he’s dumping you.

”I like someone else now,” he says kindly, as if that’ll make the blow hurt any less.

Your mind races. What did you do wrong? What have you done to make him like this, to make him no longer like-like you? Tears gather in your eyes as your chest aches.

You clutch at it. The pain is unbearable. You think your heart is literally breaking, shattering. Thump, thump, thump, it goes steadily. But, the pain, oh the pain, makes you believe otherwise. How else could you explain the piercing stabs in your chest?

You can’t look at your friend. Can’t look at him with his apologetic eyes and sweet voice that tries to calm you down. Can’t look at him with his soft hands that rub your back and familiar clothes that you think look cute on him.

All there is for you is pain. Pain in your chest as you sob and sob and sob. The one person, your person, is leaving you. Abandoning you. When you thought he’d be the only person to ever stay with you.

He’s the only one who sees you in your silence. Where your family teases you and tells you to take a joke, he gives you comforting reassurance of your feelings. Where others tell you to speak up, he gives you space to find your voice. Where the world tell you your heart is too tender and too soft, he tells you it’s a gift to care so much.

He is your rock in the storm. Your everything. The one pillar in your life that makes the house of you stand strong. And now, he’s knocking it down without a care.

And with that, your sorrow turns to rage. At his betrayal. At his abandonment. At anything and everything about him and the embarrassment he’s causing you on this stupid couch you confessed on.

When you look at him, at his chest he’s trying to suffocate you in because the stupid boy thinks that’ll comfort you and mend your heart, you see it. You see this odd red string that shimmers. You push him away. You blink. All sounds are quiet.

The string is still there. Still shimmering, still floating, still making waves from his heart. You're as enchanted by it as you are lost by it. Why is it here? How is it here? What is it?

You just stare. Your friend’s hands still rub your back in vain. Your chest is still on fire. Your eyes still produce tears despite how much it hurts to, despite how much they make you choke and spit and cough.

You cling to the string instead of him. You cling to this mystery. Because every mystery has a solution according to your teachers. Every puzzle has an answer, one that makes sense.

What sense is there to be found in your friend? What sense is there to be found in your own heart?

As if knowing what’s going through your mind, the string calls out to you louder. It compels you stronger. To listen. To touch it. To experience it. So, in your confused and broken heart, you do.

And you see her. An unassuming girl. A girl who didn’t know your friend like you did. A girl who would never give a nerd like him the time of day because all that matters is popularity and talking and peopling and all these other things that just isn’t your friend.

”Is it her? Is she your soulmate?”

The other question slips out before you can stop it. Her name follows shortly after. 

You don’t even need to look at your friend to know the answer. The string tells you. It’s taken his place as your place of comfort. You grasp it in your hands.

Will this leave me too? you wonder.

”What are you doing?” Your friend asks; you barely hear him because no words out of his mouth matter more than this moment.

But his stupid words do tell you something. They tell you he can’t see them.

Am I the only one who can?

Maybe the string is secret you’ve been entrusted with? Maybe it’s your apology from the universe for your broken heart? Maybe it can be your new friend?

Excitement and glee unlike any you've ever felt flood your chest. The strings are yours. They're something no joke, no call to speak up, and no adult can take from you.

It doesn’t vanish when you touch it. It doesn’t leave once you have it in your grasp like your friend is doing now. It sits with you. It speaks with you. And you speak what it tells you.

”You two share dreams, right?” You don’t give your friend time to answer. “Started yesterday, you fell asleep beneath our special tree. She wasn’t at school that day. Fever.”

Your friend has nothing to say, so you continue, “You should give her the blue Jolly Ranchers the next time you two share. She knows they’re your favorite, so she lies and says she doesn’t like them. She also hates the watermelon, you know. But your smile is worth choking them down.”

The more you learn, the more the tears fall from your eyes. Guilt begins to replace your hurt. Your chest still sings with a blaze you can’t put out.

”She actually loves chess and checkers. Guess you have someone new to play with.”

One sob you can’t hold back interrupts you. Image after image that illustrates how perfect she is for him and how perfect you aren't enter your mind. Each one stabs a new hole in your heart.

”She’s perfect for you. So, so perfect.”

You break. You scream. You throw pillows around and toss the blanket that the two of were sharing at a window.

”Why? Why, why, why, why, why?!”

Footsteps rush up the stairs. Their family dog is barking. Your throat hurts. Your voice is scratchy. When was the last time you raised it? Ever?

As your family comes to your side, asking what’s wrong, and your friend looks at you with horrified eyes, you finally whisper, “Why couldn’t it been me?”

The ride home is a blur. Your family’s attempts at comfort are a blur. Everything but your final words to your friend is a blur.

Why? Why couldn’t it been me?

That’s the only thought is your head until you finally fall asleep. As well as when you get to school and spot your friend and his soulmate feeding each other those stupid blue Jolly Ranchers to each other, laughing.

He doesn’t spare you glance. He doesn’t reach out. He doesn’t talk to you. And you, with your new friend in the strings, let him.

Your teacher, however, doesn’t. She pulls you aside after class.

”Did you and,” she says your friend’s name, “get into a fight?”

You nod your head, not looking her in the eyes. Eyes are scary to you. They should say too much according to the books you’ve read. But to you, they say too little.

Now, you have your strings. You have these things no one else can see, but everyone seems to possess. Even your teacher.

Worry makes waves in her sting. Worry and exhaustion. So you cut straight to the point, even as your body begs you to just shut down and wait it out like usual.

”Yes. He broke my heart because he found his soulmate.”

Surprise colors your teacher’s string. After all, you’re a quiet child. One who keeps her eyes glued to the floor and voice barely above a whisper. One who—in some case, quite literally—runs from conflict and the rest of the world.

You don't talk to adults. They never listen anyway, so you stopped a long time ago. So you understand why hearing your voice so clearly and so directly is strange to your teacher.

You await her response, hoping and praying for something good. While you may still hurt from your friend’s abandonment, you got the strings out of it. Maybe an adult will listen and help you for once because of them?

”Oh honey,” anticipation builds within you. “You should be happy for him! He found his one true love… you two were never going to last long anyways.”

The world collapses again. Tears build in your eyes again. But you don’t let yourself cry. You don’t let yourself beg or scream or wail because that didn’t help you the first time. Why would it be different now?

Why did I even hope?

So you turn to her string. You turn to her love because yours is so meaningless and empty and a waste and nothing—

”You get glimpses of your soulmate when you paint, right?”

You just start talking before you can think. Again.

”The color purple comes in pretty often. That, and dolphins. It’s because it’s Mrs. Smith, the math teacher. Did you know she does opera on the weekends because singing gives her glimpses of you?”

Your teacher’s jaw is on the ground. You shuffle away as she tries to recover from what you just said. You wait for your family to pick you up, more hopeless than ever.

The next day, news spreads that your teacher and Mrs. Smith are together. It gets around that a pair of soulmates found each other miraculously after years of unknowingly working together for years. Your teacher tells her, your, story. And the world finally begins to listen to you.

You begin to speak. With so many eyes turning to you, wondering about where you got your information, you tell. You tell them about the threads and what they whisper to you. What they say about others, about their soulmates, about their pasts, and about their loves.

One of your classmates gives you a look. A look you know all too well. A look that resonants in their own thread, which tells you they don’t believe you.

You aren’t even surprised anymore.

But another classmate approaches you after class. Asks about their thread and their other half. And you tell them. To go to a cafe with their parents on a specific day at a specific time. There, they will bump into their other half and be able to share their thoughts with them.

They do so. And another success falls into your lap.

After that, more and more people approach you. Some kids. Some adults. Some old people. Some from school. Some from apparently the other side of the world. All hearing stories and rumors from those you’ve helped.

You tell every time. Despite their clear caution. Despite the glances you now get in the hallway. Despite how the loneliness piles and piles on top of the grave of your old love.

But the final nail in your coffin comes from your friend again. Or rather, from his family. Yours and his are trying to make you two talk again. To make everyone friends again and “keep the peace” as the adults are saying.

You don’t budge. His useless apologies and meaningless sorries bounce right off your ears. Because all you can see is his thread and his memories with her. All you can see is your broken love and his blossoming new one.

So you turn to another thread. Not your family’s because you know them far too well. But his mother’s, the only one who seems to understand you. And you’re floored again.

”Your husband is not your soulmate.”

For the third time, your mind can’t stop your mouth.

”Your bonds are both similar, so you just assumed as much. When you sleep at night, you get your other half’s memories, right? Well, you each got the wrong sibling.”

Chaos ensues. You’re being screamed at by all: your friend, his family, your family, and even yourself. You just retreat into your mind, and into the threads. It’s the one place that can never hurt you.

You family doesn’t hear from your friend and his family for some time. Your own family has been distant from you. You no longer care. All you need are the threads. They’re the only truly loyal thing in your life.

When you do hear from your friend and his family again, you’re greeted by warmth. By joy. By tears of absolute happiness.

”Thank you,” they all say. “Thank you for making us all whole.”

You wonder why. According to everyone, you broke up a family. And according to what you know, that should be bad. So why are you being praised? Why are you being thanked?

Your friend begins to hang out with you again. He becomes your voice again. He gives you snacks and blankets and pillows again. He looks at you with happiness again.

Than it all falls into place when you see him with her. When you see your teachers together. When you see the two new couples that form your friend's family.

Who cares who or what a soulmate’s love hurts? Everything is nothing compared to it.

You think this as you watch your friend play video games with his other half, smiling while you watch with your own wavering grin, heart stitched together by your own resilience and refusal to hurt again.

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

2nd Author's Note: This has honestly been the most emotional and personal Ikigai chapter for me to write, since I based part of Reader's past emotional trauma on my own (it's the easiest for me to write and works as therapy, so win-win). I mentioned early on there would be flashbacks, and I wanted to showcase some of her young life and where her mindset came from. I have one more planned—which is coming next chapter—but let me know if you'd like more!

3rd Author's Note: If I wrote and published an acutal novel, would anyone here read it? Because I had a fiction workshop class and I'm so invested with the story I cooked up there!

4th Author's Note: What's your ideal date? I need ideas for a future scene in this series, and would love some more input.

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano, @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[borkunlimited]

This brings me back when my friends and I were going over old newspapers clippings of our University paper dated from all the way back to 1920s.

The language was in Spanish then but good thing my friends can speak and understand so who would have thought we will stumble upon a fanfic written in their version of a Feature section?

It was an interesting read. Everyone tried their best to translate it and we all wonder what happened to the writer who has such command with words.

(We have a feeling he enlisted to become a soldier as his work was published pre-WW2.)

I supposed what I am getting at is sometimes as writers there are instances we want a response when we throw our ideas out here, to be able to talk about these ideas to someone and there's nothing wrong with that. It is very fun to have someone to share the world you carefully built and it takes courage to put it out there so I understand the feeling all too well when no one seemed to read it (It is no one's fault as well. The internet is very vast and there is so much things going on that we can only do so much even if we want to give more.)

I hope I am not stepping on anyone's toes as I am not good with words but I try my best as someone who enjoys reading and writing niche topics.

To you who is reading this, I hope this inspires you to continue writing, even if sometimes it feels like it is a shot in the dark.

Don't be pressured to write something you may not enjoy writing.

Always remember that it takes some time but what matters is you put it out here and someone out there has already picked it up, enjoying what you have written.

[jaiwritez]

Phantom Pickpocket Part 2

You would think with all the cameras around that it would be easier for him to find ‘Bat Bait’ or BB as him and his eldest siblings have been calling him. After the kid turned invisible and ran off with the tires. He thought he was going to be able to be just track down the tires back to the kid’s little hideout but it seems the little ankle biter had critical thinking skills.

He tracked down the tires only for them to be on the roof top of an abandoned building. He checked the building from basement to attic for any signs of a kid or kids staying there. There was no signs of life. Its like the kid vanished without a trace……literally and figuratively.

Jason sighed as he kept checking his phone for oracle updates. He was sitting in a local coffee shop. Owned by an old Italian lesbian couple. They always made the best iced coffee after all nighters. Always throwing him and the local kids cookies on the house. Plus he always felt calmer in here.

There weren’t many people here today as it was raining outside. However that was fine by him as he was currently trying to unwind with a new book to get his mind and the pit off the kid. However given he’s been sitting there for 30 mins and hasn’t gotten past the second page, it wasn’t working. The pit was telling him something but he couldn’t decipher.

“Hun what’s wrong? I left yah a coffee cake on the table and you haven’t even noticed it.” Elena said walking over, throwing her towel over her shoulder. She was wearing a lightly opened white button up tucked into blue jeans. Her black curly hair was held up in her red bandana that matched her lipstick.

“Im telling yah. It’s that red head boy. If he dumped yah. I know a guy. We can have him sleepin in tha hahbar by mornin.” Her wife Cecilia called from the kitchen before coming out. She had her long brown hair tyed in a messy bun, wearing jeans, a black tank top and a white apron. Her hands and wrist were covered in flour.

He laughed at that. He was surprised that they even remembered Roy. He had only brought him by once. “No, it’s not about Roy. Who even said me and Roy were dating?” He said raising an eyebrow at the two women, who looked at each other then looked back to him.

“Honey you barely took your eyes off him.” Elena said sweetly.

“You were staring at his ass when he went to the bathroom.” Cecilia said bluntly causing her wife to laugh. “Listen kid I get it, he’s built well but let’s not lie.”

He could barely contain his blush at being caught out like that but smiled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Me and Roy aren’t dating…. YET, but, I’m working on it.” He replied.

“I’m sure yah are. So if it’s not him. What’s eating yah.” Cecilia said walking over and bumping her wife in the rib at her joke. Elena smiled and rolled her eyes but looked back to him with the same questioning look. He felt the feeling of the pit pulling at him again. He sighed.

“Honestly. I’m worried about this kid. He stole the wheels off my bike and ran off. I’m just worried about him getting caught up in the wrong crowd. It also brought up old memories.” He replied.

“Ah. A fellow thief. Serves you right. I remember when you used to steal our metal spoons.” Elena said with no real bite. She looked up as if she was remembering the day with a smile.

“That was only one time.” He tried to defend himself.

“Three times and the last time you took fork. However I do remember you sneaking in and leaving a large wad of cash. After you got adopted.” Cecilia said crossing her arms and leaning on the counter. All he could do is chuckle.

“What does the kid look like? Maybe we can give you a clue or keep an eye out for him.” Elena said taking out a notepad from her pocket.

“Well. He’s not too tall. Very skinny for his age by the looks of it. He has jet black hair and almost unnatural icey shade of blue eyes. He was wearing a black hoodie but it looked like he had a scar on-“

“Hey I finished washing the dishes. Do you have anything else for me to do?”

THE KID?!!?

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 (pending)

[crustyfloor]

Mizi's narration throughout Karma is so packed, I'd like to focus specifically on the part where Mizi is addressing HyunA and revealing her secret about Sua for a moment...

The part of this sequence that gets to me the most is Sua secretly giving Mizi more of her own lines to sing, it's actually so calculated, I want to throw up. Even though they were aiming to get a tie, this re-establishes that Sua knew for certain that wouldn't happen, didn't tell Mizi a thing about it, and made it so that Mizi would definitely get more points for stage presence rather than Sua. Mizi directly admits that she knew what Sua was up to, that she was essentially orchestrating her own death, yet didn't say anything about it, and continued to act as oblivious as Sua thought she was

Mizi's narration in this section reiterates the facade, her guilt, and her distorted image of herself. In The True Face comic, Mizi's own guilt manifested and admonished her for these very actions, for this very willful ignorance that allowed Sua to write her own doom, Mizi convinced herself that she was a selfish person who led all of her friends to their deaths because she didn't care for them enough, and I think this line of thinking in her monologue reflects that. But once again, even though Mizi didn't act, it's not as if she truly didn't care about Sua enough

It's essential to acknowledge that the nature of every character is different and unique to them. Sua didn't value her own life, to her, Mizi was her world, the only reason she could be happy in this world, and she would do anything to keep that safe haven, Sua was willing to give everything, even her life so that she wouldn't have to suffer without Mizi by her side.

She addresses HyunA in this line- "I know my love was different from yours." It's her comparing HyunA's selfless, self-sacrificial love to Mizi's own perceived selfishness. HyunA is willing to put her life on the line for Luka. HyunA would even persevere for others, but Mizi couldn't do the same. But that doesn't make her love for Sua insincere, that's for certain. Sometimes human love can't be measured by their actions alone; noble love is often romanticized, but humans will be selfish. Mizi wasn't willing to sabotage Sua's plan to avoid her death because -("If you had seen the look on her face too, you wouldn't be able to judge me either") in that scene where Sua saved Mizi from dying, Mizi could understand that if she sacrificed herself in the future, if she did die in that moment, Sua would be devastated living in grief.

The thing is, Mizi wanted to die, but the moment she saw Sua's face break when she caught her before she could fall, her despair at the prospect that she could've lost Mizi just like that, she knew Sua wouldn't be able to bear it. So Mizi couldn't bring herself to do that to her. That much convinced Mizi to not go through with it. And because of this, she turned a blind eye to what Sua was doing behind her back, even if it meant Sua would die. Mizi being willing to do that doesn't mean she didn't love Sua enough, doesn't mean she didn't care. It's so twisted- I think they cared so much for each other in ways that kept themselves at peace that they were blinded by it, they deceive each other into a false sense of security to keep the other close and safe, not wanting to take the risk of upsetting/changing the other in fear of changing the connection between them and ultimately losing each other-- the only comfort and solace they could cling to in that world. It's akin to a selfish sense of self-preservation and care, for Mizi to keep quiet and follow Sua's lead despite what she knows, and how much she truly worries and wanted to do something, just so that Sua wouldn't have to live that visceral fear, maybe on the off-chance that they could both survive round 1 like they dreamed, they could avoid it. Yet that fear of loneliness and pain they shared, that they were trying to escape from in each other, was given back to Mizi after Sua's death, while doing the very thing she wanted to do to keep Sua from suffering