#*heavy sigh* life is hard when you’re insane

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[coryosbaby]

—ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ‘ᴛɪʟʟ ɪ ᴘᴀꜱꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ !

(Luke Castellan x bimbo! Reader)

Content warning . Victory sex? Choking, size kink, dumbification, marking, Sub! Reader, Dom! Luke

“Baby!”

Luke’s excited voice echoes throughout your empty cabin. Your curious eyes look up at him, distracted by drawing on pink lipstick with a fine tipped brush. Your lovely boyfriend wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses you flat on the mouth.

“We won,” he says, grinning. “I took the flag.”

You smile excitedly, turning around to hug him.

“That’s so amazing, Luke!” You reply. “ I’m so happy for you!”

It’s true. Your lover may be the best fighter in camp, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get giddy everytime he wins (yet another) capture the flag game.

Not to mention he’s like, insanely hot afterwards. Taking note of him, he’s sweaty and flush with the thrill of battle, and you think this is his best look: when he’s claimed something for his own.

You guide him to your bed, checking him for any major cuts or bruises. He never has any, and that doesn’t change today. You drop to your knees regardless, and nuzzle your face against his thigh. It’s one of your favorite ways to show affection towards him at times like these, when he needs to calm down and let his body rest.

However, you can’t help but clench when his hand wraps around your hair and he pushes his hips towards you. He does it unknowingly, out of instinct, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing a kiss to the crotch of his jeans.

He pauses, a smirk forming on his face.

“Need something, baby?”

You nod, a small “mhm” leaving your lips.

His eyes are teasing as his fingers grasp your chin, directing you to look at him.

“Are you going to be good?” He asks, all serious and deep, and you smile up at him, doe eyes gleaming as you excitedly play with the zipper on his jeans.

“I’ll be so good, Luke. Promise.”

“That’s my girl.”

He thumbs over your bottom lip, watching your hands much tinier than his unzip his fly. You pull out his hard, aching cock, the tip pretty and pink. You watch a pearl of arousal slide down his shaft, watch as he looks down hungrily at you. Your mouth waters.

You kiss his cockhead, letting his stringy precum glaze your lips, before sticking out your tongue and gently licking him. He lets out a heavy breath, his hand falling into your hair.

“Fuck,” he groans, sighing. “Such a good little princess for me.”

You whine, beginning to guide him into the warm heat of your mouth. His smell, all sweaty and musky, makes your brain fuzzy. It’s disgusting really, how desperate you are for him after a tournament. Letting him fuck your throat after a game is almost tradition.

And he knows it, too, teases you as you take him all the way in the back of your throat and choke on him. He presses you further down and lets your nose rest against his pubic bone. Your eyes roll back.

“Mmm,” he groans. Tears leak out of your eyes and smear your mascara as your throat contracts. “ Does my dick taste good, baby? How’s it feel having the greatest swordsman in the entire camp fuckin’ your throat, huh? Y’like that?”

You can’t reply, and he knows that. But you let out a guttural moan, making Luke growl.

“Such a stupid little thing. I asked you a question, baby, I expect you to answer it.”

Your lips slide off of him with a loud pop, your lipstick smearing on the side of your cheek as you gasp for breath.

“Love it, Luke. Love your cock so so much, just wanna suck on it forever…”

He grins, then, lets out a little chuckle between his lips as he guides you back down on his cock.

“That’s better.”

You trace your tongue filthily along the vein on him, move your hand down to palm one of his balls. You’re almost dizzy with it as you suck him, and you think you can stay like this for the rest of your life with his hands in your hair and his cock down your throat.

Luke has a primal stare as he watches your lipstick coat his cock in pretty pink stains. His hips buck up, once, twice. He’s about to cum, so he pulls you off of him.

“Gorgeous girl,” he compliments softly, wiping your mouth with his thumb. Drool drips down your chin and neck. “Want you on your clothes off and you on your back, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You nod obediently. Your wobbly legs lift up and you begin to unzip your pink jacket, then your Bebe top underneath comes off with two perfectly manicured hands. You slide your skirt off, and unclip your bra. But before you can take off your heels, Luke tsks. Ever the gentleman (to you, at least), he puts your foot on his thigh and undoes the laces on them.

“Are these new?” He asks, genuinely curious, as if he isn’t about to fuck your pretty brains out.

You nod, heart racing as he smiles up at you.

“I like them,” he drawls, gently tickling your ankle. “They’re cute.”

“Cute?” You say, giggling. “My shoes are cute?”

“Of course they are. They’re stilletos.“

You smile at the fact that he’s remembering the type of shoe because of your many rants to him about clothes. You let him remove them for you before sliding your panties down your legs and crawling onto the bed. He gives your ass a teasing slap as you crawl over him to your fluffy pink pillows.

He towers over you, slipping his shirt off and revealing his bare torso. You almost blush like a school girl, and pinch one of this biceps.

“You’re getting so strong,” you say in awe, feeling the muscle underneath your hand. Luke laughs, kissing your jaw.

“Gotta get big to protect my girl, don’t I?”

You bite your lip, his words sending a throbbing sensation straight to your already dripping core. He pushes his jeans and underwear past his meaty thighs and hastily kicks them off before giving his cock a few heavy strokes. He brushes his tip up against your folds, teasing. You whine, burying your face into his shoulder.

“I need it,” you say against his ear, sugary and sweet. “I need you.”

And how can he resist that, when you’re so pretty and pliant underneath him? He groans, pressing himself into your tight entrance, his hands going to either side of your head as he splits you open. Your thighs spread of their own accord, inviting him in even further.

“Such a tight little slut,” he moans out, watching how your pussy lips practically choke his cock. Your back arches.

“All for you,” you whisper.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he punctuates each word in between thrusts, his pace increasing ferociously at the thought of owning you. “This little pussy? These tits? That fucking brain of yours, it’s all mine. Mine to toy with, mine to use… all of it.”

Your eyes roll back as he begins to mercilessly pound your pussy into the mattress. His big hand plays with your throat, then his fingers wrap around it and he squeezes. Your airflow is nearly cut off, and you gasp for breath as he presses harder. Your pussy gushes slick at the movement. Your lips press against the vein on his wrist, and you stick open mouthed kisses to the skin there. It isn’t long before you need to be let up; however, Luke’s grip on your neck doesn’t move. In fact, it tightens— you try to move it off, try to lift your head up to breathe, but Luke slams you back down into the pillows. Your hand grabs his much bigger one, a small, choked murmur of his name tumbling from your lips, begging, “Luke.. please”.

And that makes his hips stutter. He knows you want this, knows that this is something you’ve always liked. If he had actually hurt you, you would’ve said the safe word.

He shoots inside you with an animalistic growl, his cum coating your inner walls in thick white ropes, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Your legs shake and squeeze his hips as he empties himself into you, your clit still throbbing hotly. Luke isn’t a non giving lover, and while his softening cock rests inside your cunt he reaches down and rubs slow, deliberate circles into your clit.

“Cmon,” he breathes out, watching your pussy spasm. “Cmon, baby, give it to me. Let me see you cream on my fucking cock.”

You whimper loudly, your orgasm hitting you so intensely you fear you may pass out. Your back arches up into Luke’s touch as he helps you ride out your high. When you come down, shaking and sticky with release, Luke’s fingers leave you and he wraps you into your arms. He presses a kiss to your hair, and you sigh happily when he pulls you on top of his spent body.

“Luke?” You ask him. Your fingers play with the hand shaped bruise forming on your throat.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

@mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry

[theealbatross]

never not been mine (s.s)

Plot | Everyone wonders if you and Sebastian are together. Sebastian wonders when will everyone mind their own business.

Tags | fluff, cheesy pining, we're not together or are we, cranky!seb, slytherin!reader, curses, threats, prejudice, seeker!seb for the plot, established relationship (kinda), when you love her so much it drives you insane, seb and reader are shit seniors is my headcannon

[Disclaimer | I borrowed a scene from "no hard feelings" because it was trending on tiktok lol. Also a portion of this is heavily inspired by 'The Alchemy' by Taylor Swift'. Photos not mine.]

“Just one drink – butterbeers on me!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the eager nameless hopeful in front of you.

The wince from his two friends at the other edge of the common room was apparent at your periphery. You had to give it to him, he’s lasted longer than the others. Usually, most would be walking away with their egos bruised when greeted with your disinterest.

“Not like you have any … pending appointments, don’t you?” He tried to maintain his bravado, even taking a step closer to the loveseat you were sitting on by the fire.

Call it an instinct, a bond only kindred spirits that have tethered in-between life and death together would have, but you could almost feel him – not needing to see him to recognize the heavy steps on the stone stairs, the deep sigh as he impatiently scours the common room in search of you, and the inevitable crinkle that forms in-between his eyebrows when he sees someone else in your vicinity.

You smile.

“I have one,” you muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

His smirk faltered, eyebrows meeting, “A boyfriend?”

You shook your head.

“Pending appointments,” you grin.

His body comically cloaked the significantly shorter boy from behind.

“There you are.”

Sebastian barely glanced at the 6th year in front of you even when their shoulders bumped, making the student stumble. On instinct, you moved your legs to the side so Sebastian could curl up on the floor, his head finding comfort on the meat of your covered thigh, callused hands curling on your calf as he slumped into your lap.

His hair was still dripping sweat, the quidditch uniform he had on covered with muck and dirt and a spattering of blood, and yet here he was, shamelessly sharing his mess with your clothes. You can almost hear Ominis’ disapproving voice, ‘He's a spoiled dog!’.

Ah, but how could you not when he seemed to be cursed at being so good at everything and yet so miserable doing anything else but spending his time with you. Even you can’t be that heartless.

You ran your hands on his damp hair, making sure to press your fingers on his scalp, unable to stop the soft coos from coming out of your mouth. Sebastian had always needed extra attention after his drills with Imelda, the latter determined to tun him into her very own secret weapon of destruction for this upcoming Quidditch season.

This, in turn, had cut his time with you to his utter despair.

“Can we help you?” You were too busy tending to him that you hadn’t realized you still had an audience. Your pet wasn’t the friendliest, especially with strangers of the opposite sex that stares at you.

“N-No, I was just – we were having a conversa –”

Sebastian frowned, the boy took a step back, you place a halting hand on his shoulder.  

“I’ll,” you’re sure even this silly one knows of your Sebastian’s temperament. He wasn’t necessarily the type to be awarded as The Friendliest Senior of the Year.

(“You were nice to me the first time we met.” “Maybe I’m only nice to pretty witches.”)

“I’ll just talk to you later when you’re free.”

“Or not,” Sebastian deadpanned, his grip on your calf tightening, eyebrows meeting.

“Surely it couldn’t hurt–”

“Could hurt.”

“Sebastian.”

It was a pitiful sight but you’ve spared the boy a fate worse than a bruised pride as he muttered a clanky goodbye before turning his back the two of you. Sebastian still glowering at his fleeing back.

“Do you have to be so mean?” you half-heartedly admonished him, patting his freckled cheeks. He really is so handsome, easily the most eligible bachelor in your batch, biased opinion aside.

“Maybe I haven’t been mean enough if they still approach you,” he muttered, clearly still annoyed. His eyes shift from one boy to another accusatorially like if he stared long enough, he’ll catch them in the act of being interested after you and deliver the right sentence as an example.

After the events with Ranrok, high society quickly set its eyes on you. He thought he had nipped it in the bud, sending scathing letters back to prideful pureblood boys for their gall to direct formal letters of engagement to you, audaciously sticking by your side at all times, and severely punishing anyone who dared to even think of courting you. (One even tried to challenge him to a duel. It was barely entertaining, almost downright cruel. Sebastian hopes that the boy is enjoying Ilvermorny.)

Truly, he has his work cut out for him.

Your giggle pulled him out of his unpleasant thoughts, “You should go shower, it’s about to be dinner time.”

He hummed, “Can I use The Room? Hate the boy’s lavatory, ‘s a mess.”

You ignore the quick turning of heads of the students nearest you, trying not to laugh at their scandalized faces, aware of how bad it sounded. Instead, you let him stand and take your hand as he bitterly shared his hypothesis that Imelda was a dark wizard planted to torment him while he led you to the familiar steps toward the Room of Requirement.

On the other side of the room, the rejected boy glared at his sniggering friends.

“You told me they weren’t courting!” he accused.

“In my defense,” his friend shrugged, giggling at the spectacular explosion in front of her very eyes. Who would’ve thought Sebastian Sallow would catch the idiot in the act. “They aren’t but everyone knows they’re ... exclusive.”

“Exclusive?”

“We warned you! I warned you!” Their other friend, the more level-headed one was exasperated. “I’m so bloody terrified of Sallow I don’t even dare to look in her direction! Do you know there are rumors of him mastering forbidden spells? It’s why he had practically spent the entire half of 6th year serving a mysterious detention service for Professor Hecate.”

His other two friend looked at him in doubt. “I thought that was because he bombarda-ed the pants out of that Ravenclaw after he was challenged to a duel –”

“Regardless! He’s dangerous!”

“But are they dating or not?”

“No one knows, okay? That’s like in the Hogwarts top 3 mysteries.” The girl snipped.

“I may know someone who might know.”

Two heads swiveled to the boy who was already staring at a regal silhouette, sitting peacefully on the couch nearest the windows and furthest from any other person in the large common room – simultaneously seeming peaceful and brooding at the same time. As if feeling their gaze on him his unseeing eyes suddenly snapped in their direction, the boys physically flinched, the girl even covering her mouth to hide a gasp as they quickly vacated their spot before they truly tested their luck with the 7th-year Head Boy.

Ominis Gaunt.

The three sighed, resigned to leave that stone unturned.

“Guess we’ll never know.”

Sebastian flustered at the pretty boxes wrapped in silk, laces, and ribbons being shoved to his face, hand rubbing the back of his neck in a mix of embarrassment and honor.

He’s mostly gotten used to the numerous attention he receives but the abrupt surge of volume between his 6th and 7th year sometimes still gives him whiplash. It’s amazing what a growth spurt can do in your social standing.

“Thank you, ladies. I really appreciate it.” He flashed them a polite smile, genuinely flattered and touched at the thoughtful presents even if they are a bit overeager.

Swoons and giggles erupted from the small crowd, so dramatic yet so entertaining.

“Excuse me, Sebastian?”

From the middle of the crowd, Blaine Marune a fellow 7th year pushed herself to the front. She was a popular girl, sought after by many of his teammates. He cocked a brow at her Slytherin shirt when she was a Gryffindor, the team Sebastian was playing against. Was she dating someone on his team?

“Can you sign my shirt?”

Gasps scattered on the ground at her bold request, especially since she stretched out her shirt so the space by her chest was extended. He had to give it to these Gryffindors, they sure do live up to their name.

“Your girlfriend wouldn’t mind, would she?”

He frowned at the implication, suddenly hating the inquisitive eyes snapping between them, clearly curious as to his status. “That’s –”

“She’s here! Look!” A voice from behind the crowd gasped.

Sebastian swiftly turned his head, barely catching your eyes just as you slipped inside the tower that held the stairs to the bleachers up above. Mindlessly, he forgot all about the little scene that was unfolding between him and the Gryffindor and turned away from his gaggle of admirers to walk to the edge of the field, jumping on his broom to fly in front of you when you seemed to take a wrong turn to the other side of the bleachers.

“Wrong direction, darling. I saved you your seat,” he grinned even as you ignored him, walking a leisure pace as he floated beside you.

“I’m not sitting next to your admirers,” She quipped, still refusing to look at him, marching with a purpose. “Darling.”

She’s jealous. Sebastian beamed, flying closer so he could reach out an arm to stop her steps.

“Don’t be like that,” his words were soft yet the grin in his face couldn’t be tamed even if he did try. “You know I like it when I can see you at all times.”

Giggles and whispers were murmured from the seated crowd behind you.

“She’s here!” “The Felix Felicis is here!” “There’s no way those Gryffindor bastards will beat us now.”

The burn in your face doubled in intensity as you tried your hardest to ignore such embarrassing remarks.

It started with a silly coincidence.

In one of Sebastian’s first games last year, you had been running late, roped in a last-minute hunt for a large Ancient Magic hotspot that had abruptly appeared on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. When you entered the Quidditch Pitch the game was in full swing. However, your entrance had caught Sebastian’s attention which coincidentally also happened to be the moment the Snitch flew straight towards you. It was one of the shortest games in Hogwart’s centuries-long history as he had gotten a hold of it inches away from your face. The team included you in their celebration by throwing the two of you in the air.

From then on, it was duly noted that Sebastian’s performance remarkably improved every time you were in attendance. It didn’t help that the one time you didn’t attend one of his inter-school practice matches they had lost by a couple of points to Durmstrang.

Imelda had damn near made you swear on an Unbreakable Vow that you would watch every single one of their games from then on.

Hence, being Sebastian Sallow’s Felix Felicis became your position and moniker throughout the entirety of Quidditch Season, and as embarrassing as it was, it would seem your usually level-headed friend had either gotten roped in the ridiculous suspicion or was enjoying your obvious mortification a bit too much as he had taken every opportunity to snatch the same damn seat that practically showcased you to the rest of the crowd and in turn ensured he would be able to see you at all times.

“Sallow! We’re about to gather!” Imelda screamed in the middle of the field.

“Give me a second!” He turned to you. “Please, pet?”

Damn him and those brown eyes.

Harshly, you grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him till he was forced to maneuver his broom sideways, face an inch from yours.

“You better not embarrass me,” you threatened, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek before turning on the opposite direction, straight to the seat that had been unofficially yours. Lucky charms get special privileges after all. “I want a photo with that trophy, Sallow.”

Sebastian hovered in the air frozen, hand on his burning skin, until a ball hit him square in the back. “Today, lover boy.”

He gave Imelda an apologetic look before calling over an underclassman.

“You there, 5th year!” The boy was quick to jump out of his seat, heart hammering in his chest at the Seeker’s sudden attention. “Call over Head Boy Gaunt and tell him to make sure no one unpleasant sits in my section.”

The boy nodded, understanding. Everyone knows Sallow’s unofficial section where all his friends from different houses sit – every single one of them as intimidating as him. If he had gotten a galleon for every time a professor mentioned one of them either in praise or in warning on what not to do, he’d rival Ominis Gaunt in wealth.

Most importantly, she would be there. The lucky charm and Sallow’s dearest companion – though jury is still out whether they had been courting all this time or not.

From what he’d seen he’d bet on them getting married by graduation even with the lack of formal courting. They didn’t seem to be the type to care for convention. He had even heard suggestive rumors that they basically sleep in the same room every night, though that has yet to be proven.

“Yes, of course, Sallow!”

Sebastian watched the boy scamper down the stairs, no doubt to relay his message to his dear friend who won’t be too pleased of his misuse of Ominis’ position.

Oh well, all’s well that ends well.

He blows you one last provocative kiss as he departs the stands before he flies up to where the rest of his teammates are positioned, ready for the game to start, pleased with the fact you would be fuming from the attention his grand performance would bring.

A jealous darling would be bad luck after all.

And he had a trophy to win.

“And the Triwizard Champion is Sebastian Sallow from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, House Slytherin!”

Green confetti and fireworks exploded all over the stadium overwhelming Sebastian as he tried to catch his breath and not let his knees buckle under his weight when all the adrenaline left his body. He belatedly realized that the cold, golden trophy had been shoved in his hands not until he was lifted by fellow schoolmates up above their arms in celebration and was staring at his own gobsmacked reflection in the shiny hardware.

More familiar faces and deafening cheers accosted him as he was brought into the section where all Hogwarts students were gathered. Only when he was put back in the ground to be showered with pats, congratulations, and splashing of fizzing butterbeer did his brain finally catch up with the rest of his body.

Immediately, his head started swiveling, looking for the face he needed to see the most, his instincts screaming at him that she was near. She has to be. She promised.

From the back of the crowds – there she was. Her beaming face, humbly waving from behind as if she wasn’t the reason he had fought so hard for this victory – that it really should be in her name and it shall, for he will lay this victory on her feet, first of his many devotion for the rest of their lives.

In haste, he shoved the trophy to the nearest body, uncaring of who was able to grab it as he pushed and shoved anyone on his way to you. The rest of the world blurred. He cared not for the gasps, shrieks, or protests – not when he saw the beam in your smile as you jumped into his arms – the golden ring that was hanging off a simple chain on your neck clanged with the similar one hanging off his own when you jumped into his arms.

The wedding rings he had prepared, ready for the day the two of you turned into adults in the eyes of the law and were permitted to be married. It would be for mere formality, his heart after all had been tied to yours the moment your eyes met.

“I’m so proud of you.”

He’s never felt satisfaction as fulfilling as this moment.

Finally, he has earned it – has earned the right to say it.

“I love you.”

This love was finally his.

The papers were printed in a few days. Bold letters with a bolder headline:

Triwizard Champion and Hero of Hogwarts Secretly Betrothed!?

Right below such an accusatory headline was the photo of the two of you framed almost too perfectly in a café’s window, Sebastian pressing a kiss in the unmistakable diamond ring he had bought with his winnings while you beamed at him.

It has not been a kept secret that many noble families have vied and proposed for the heavy hand of the Hero but all were rebuffed. All but one. Sebastian Sallow, a promising orphan from a fallen house seemed to have Championed the heart of the lady just as he had conquered the challenges of the Triwizard Trials. As remarkable as it is, his distinct lack of proper lineage, colorful history of delinquency, and the whispers of his preference for obscure magic would truly prove to be a challenge he might not be able to slay quite as easily, especially for a bride as coveted as –

“I am going to fucking kill that wench!”

You slammed the newspaper on the table, making Grace choke on her tea just as Ominis winced at your colorful choice of words, quickly conjuring up a silencing charm around your table lest you make it harder for his lawyers if you actually do deliver the threat.

“I know you’re upset –”

You glare at Grace. Upset barely covers it.

Finding that you have not insulted it enough you crumble the bundle of paper in your hand, even going as far as to grab two that a couple of fourth years were reading before throwing them to the fire in a huff, screaming an Incendio on the fireplace just for the satisfaction of seeing it all turn into soot in a blink.

Ominis quickly sends an owl.

She should still be in Hogsmeade, your mind runs. You’ve heard that the unpleasant reporter had made a home in one of the apartments in Hogsmeade once the Tournament started.

It should be easy, you try to suppress your maniacal grin as you turn, marching straight into the stairs that should lead you to the nearest floo, ignoring how quickly the other students parted for you as your head ran all types of scenarios on how you can absolutely gut that waste of space. She had unfairly targeted Sebastian from the start of the games, pointing out flaws on his runs even when he had won the stage, cruelly bringing up his 'upbringing' in Feldcroft, and even bringing up how he wouldn't be able to give it his all while still grieving his twin sister and should be replaced.

That fucking wench.

You’ve had enough practice breaking and entering through the many locks in Hogsmeade to be able to sneak into her abode. A simple hex would be child’s play, maybe you should curse her to lose one finger every time she writes a bad word against your beloved or maybe a limb or you should just do the wizarding world another favor and make her illiterate.

Once you were on the grounds you summoned your broom.

The punishment should fit the crime.

“Levioso.”

Before you could fly you found yourself already levitating up the air, from below Sebastian was way too pleased at your shrieks and foul mood.

“Let me down, Sebastian!” you kicked.

“I would but I would rather we not spend our lives running away from the ministry if you kill that journalist, my love.”

So, he has read it. The fact that he was able to see those vile words made your blood boil harder. Sensing your temper and the fact that you were about to break out of his spell he plays dirty.

“Accio.”

You shriek at the speed but the comfort of his arms was almost enough to quell the itch in your hands to curse that bloody witch into a pulp.

Almost.

He tightens his hug, playfully pulling you off the ground with a grunt and swaying the two of you gently. “Still upset?”

You push your blunt nails on his back and he chuckles. “It doesn’t bother me, you know.”

“It should!” you snap, a blast of your ancient magic smashing a statue to pieces that he quickly fixes with a ‘repairo’ without so much as a glance at the shrieking fifth years that had nearly gotten blasted with it. “It bothers me.”

That they think so lowly of him – him! A man worth ten –  if not hundreds – of those pompous pricks from noble houses who offers nothing but their ‘pure’ blood and rotting riches like it was enough, like it could buy your heart and pride.

If they knew –

If they knew it was him who cleaned your blood and licked the jagged wounds in your spirit in the quiet of your lowest nights, that it was this boy who pulled out the rubble of a girl after the war – carefully piecing it together until you felt like a person and not a hollow husk filled only by nightmares, that it was this lowly orphan they sneer at who had become your chain to your sanity – your family.

Would they still look down at him if they knew it was only his kindness, and his love, and him who stopped you from giving up on them? That if someone as beautiful as him could exist in the wizarding world then it was a world worth saving.

Sebastian frowns at your upset. Ominis had grossly underestimated how the article had affected you, he would be touched if he wasn't so angry.

“It shouldn’t,” he gently carries you like a bride – his bride – under the largest tree by the Beasts Class classroom, away from the prying eyes of a crowd, overlooking the lake. The songs of the breeze and birds were the perfect soothing balm along with his soft coos. “They can write about me all they want at the end of the day it is me who is coming home with you.”

He’s sure you’re aware that his overly sweet words are all to calm you down but you fall for it anyway, smiling on the skin of his neck. “I should have her tongue.”

He shushes you, pressing his fingers on your waist till it tickled, he smiles on your hair when you slap his shoulder. “Don’t you think you’ve terrified the freshmen enough with that mouth of yours.”

It doesn’t escape you that the other students have transferred their fear of Sebastian’s murky past to your present wicker-short temper. You are aware that it is only because of your impeccable grades, immeasurable talent and a sprinkle of Fig’s legacy that the headmaster has not suspended or expelled you for your insolence.

His palms run a soothing patten on your spine, letting you continue to bury your head on the crook of his neck to lull you into a calm.

You suddenly pull yourself away, looking straight at him. “Are you sure you don’t care? I promise I won’t get caught.”

He chuckles at that, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head before leaning back on the trunk of the tree, pulling you closer to him.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled. “As long as you still plan on marrying me nothing will ever bother me at all.”

“I reckon she's calmed down?”

Sebastian doesn’t bother to mask his stormy expression now that you have fallen into a nap, sparing Ominis a glance as he sits on one of the empty wooden crates.

“I was sure I’d catch the two of you digging up a shallow grave by now.”

Sebastian glances down at you, shaking his head. “Haven't you heard? I’m a changed man.”

Ominis chuckles at that. “Well, their vile words shouldn’t matter anyhow,” Ominis sighs, grateful at least that this betrothal had managed to calm at least one of his dearest friends down. “She’s yours now.”

The boy’s words made Sebastian think.

Think back to the first time he met you: the curiosity, the anticipation, the instant tug on his soul the first time your voice had pulled him out of his own head and you stood in front of him while the growing foreboding feeling that meeting in that room, in front of the fire was meant to be, bloomed in his chest.

He was young enough not to recognize love for what it was but not stupid enough to not act upon it. Monopolizing you and your attention, wrapping his being around you until people could no longer separate the two of you as individuals, guarding his precious hoard ferociously from wolves and thieves until he grew into the man who could claim it.

She’s yours now.

When he really, really, thinks about it, it almost makes him laugh. He always thought he'd lead a simple life. Get a decent job, marry a modest girl, and settle down into a humble life. Grand delusions weren't for him, that was more Anne's forte and he wasn't destined for a greater purpose, that was for Ominis.

And he was satisfied with that, honestly and truly thankful for it. He thrived in the shadows, after all.

But he met you and damned himself by falling in love with the one person he shouldn't have -- the one person he could never deserve even if he lived the rest of his life as a saint.

He loved a grand adventure personified and in a lickety-split threw away all of his dreams of a quiet life -- jumping straight into a den of goblins and trolls and certain death. Hit the ground running in a race between bachelors to get to you, to earn the honor of deserving your love. And even mercilessly overwhelmed any contender to your hand until it was uncontested that it was only him who could stand beside you.

It was only he who earned it.

She’s yours now.

In quiet moments he sometimes couldn't quite believe just what happened to his life in two years.

Because he never thought he'd fall in love with a brilliant witch vied by the world or that, out of all hands stretched out to her, she would hold his, that she would love him back.

She’s yours now.

Sebastian would beg to disagree.

It was fate. (He made it so.)

It was written. (He rewrote it.)

She’s always been mine.

[lovebugism]

Steddie get a little rough with you (because you beg for it) and then give you really good aftercare 💙💙

thanks for your request lovely! this focuses more on the aftercare rather than smut so i hope you like it!! — the one where you ask your boys to fuck you like they hate you but they can't help but love on you after (18+, smut, 1.2k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

You’re sprawled out in the center of an unmade king-sized bed, lightheaded and sticky with cum — only some of it’s yours.

You’ve never felt this used before, this loved. You think it must be insane to feel so adored after being so barbarously fucked within an inch of your life, but you do anyway. 

You can still feel the shape of their hands in the bruises they left on your hips. You can still feel their wet mouths in the lovebites sprinkled across your burning skin. You can still feel their hard cocks drilling into you in the cum that seeps from your pulsating pussy. 

You can still feel the racing beats of their hearts from where their chests were so intently pressed against your own, pounding in time with yours. It was a piece of them you always knew you had, but one you can suddenly feel. Their hearts have crawled behind your ribcage and nestled on either side of your own.

That must be why your chest feels so strangely tight, you figure — why it’s equally as light and sparkling with golden sunshine.

“Did so good for us, baby,” Eddie coos to you even though he knows you can’t really hear him. 

He sits on the edge of the bed beside your body and rubs a wide palm up and down your inner thigh. Your skin is damp with sweat, slick, and cum. “Such a good girl…”

Steve returns from the bathroom with a wet washcloth balled in his fist. His lower half is covered in briefs that leave little to the imagination, though his lean torso is fuzzy and bare. 

His heavy, honey eyes go wide at the sight of you — still squirming softly on the sheets as though you were lying on a cloud.

He’s seen you in subspace before, but never this long.

His gaze flits to Eddie. The boy has pulled on a pair of plaid boxers and tied back his sweaty hair. Steve can feel his chest warm at the sight of both of you in his bed, so effortlessly looking the way you do. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he’d get hard all over again.

“She still out of it?”

“Yeah. She’s coming down, though… I think.”

They turn to look down at you simultaneously.

Your eyes have long fluttered shut. Your naked body twists in the aftershocks of your orgasm — all five of them.

One leg is straight out on the mattress and the other is bent, leaning into Eddie as he curls his hand around the inside of it. You’ve got one hand underneath the pillow and the other lazing absentmindedly on the pudge of your stomach.

You have no idea how beautiful you look, all bare and glowing and blissed out.

Still a bit dizzy and not all there, you can vaguely hear a conversation going on around you. The voices are muffled, as though you were hearing them from underwater. They come from every which direction, as far away as outer space. 

You couldn’t understand them if you tried.

When Steve settles onto the mattress on your other side, it dips beneath his weight. It feels like he’s softly jostled the cloud you’re lying on. One hand props himself up and the other settles over yours on your stomach. His long fingers engulf your smaller fingers. He gives you a gentle squeeze you hardly feel.

“You okay, babe?”

Not yet equipped to answer him verbally, you only hum in response. It sounds like a soft moan. You sigh through your nose and arch your back for a moment.

Steve’s plush lips quirk in a crooked smile. 

He’s always distantly feeling a sense of inadequacy even though he’s been with you for so long.  He’s scared of being bullshit. Bullshit at being your boyfriend, at being Eddie’s boyfriend, and especially in the bedroom. He often needs verbal approval that he’s made you feel good. 

It’s not so necessary anymore, though, and the thought makes his chest swell with pride.

“Can you give me a color, baby?”

You’re the one smiling now. It feels like you’re beaming, though in reality, it’s only vaguely hinting at your mouth.

He’d been so rough with you earlier — both him and Eddie. You told them to fuck you like they hated you and they did just that, leaving you in a useless puddle on an unmade bed. And even though you never once questioned that they actually hated you, it was nice to be verbally reassured that they still cared for you.

“M’okay…” you slur with a smile, eyes still closed. “M’green. M’so green. Bright green.”

“Broccoli green?” Eddie teases. 

Even though you can’t see him, you can picture his wild hair and glimmering eyes and pink lips spread in a wide grin. 

His hand squeezes your knee and you hum, nodding softly against the pillow.

“Like a pepper… Or a lime…”

“You heard her, Harrington. Our girl’s hungry. Go get in that kitchen.”

You hear the familiar sound of Eddie’s boyish laughter and Steve’s amused snort.

“I’m gonna clean you up first,” the latter boy tells you. “Is that okay?”

You nod.

Even though you’re distantly prepared for it, you still jerk when the rough rag meets your sensitive cunt. The warmth of it has gone cold with time.

“I know… I’m sorry, baby…” Steve murmurs sympathetically to you, using the gentlest touch he can muster as he wipes around your thighs and the outsides of your still quivering pussy.

Eddie lays down beside you. One hand props his head up and the other settles further down your thigh. “What do you want, huh, babe? Say the word, and Stevie’ll make it for you.”

The boy in question scoffs in return — not because he wouldn’t, but because he’s being volunteered for something he’s obviously not as good at. 

Eddie was the cook between the three of you — a borderline chef at that. Steve often joked that was what made him fall in love after he swore he’d never catch feelings.

“Mm… A shower…” you answer finally.

Steve huffs out a laugh and tosses the balled-up rag on the other side of the bed. It dampens the cotton sheets, but you did that first, so he figures it really doesn’t matter.

“Uh, news flash, babe — you can’t eat a shower,” Eddie jokes with a teasing inflection.

Steve’s hand smooths over your jaw. You lean into his touch like a cat.

“I’ll start the water for you, okay? Then you can rest, and Eddie’ll fix whatever you want.”

You vaguely hear a slapping sound coming from over you. A smile tugs at your lips, knowing the honey-brunette boy was getting shoved for volunteering the other — even though Eddie had done it before.

You can slowly fill yourself descending from the clouds, still floating a little as you come back down from your high. Your bones are heavy with exhaustion — an utterly pleasant, faraway feeling you know is bound to ache come sunrise.

But you feel good now, pampered as Steve and Eddie continue to caress you while they argue back and forth. 

After so thoroughly fucking you and taking you apart, they effortlessly put you back together again.

It didn’t matter how rough and cruel they pretended to be with you and your body. They hold all their love for you in their hands, and you feel it every time they touch you. 

It’s like being basked in sunlight.

[natalievoncatte]

Lena didn’t have time for traffic. She looked up from her phone and glared at the back of her driver’s head.

“Frank, why is it taking so long?”

“I’m not Frank, Ma’am. He called out this morning.”

Lena sighed. “And your name?”

“Vincent, ma’am.”

“Vincent, why is this taking so long?”

He signed. “Traffic, ma’am. Sounds like there’s a few blocks downtown closed. Supergirl is fighting some monster or alien or something.”

Lena stopped herself from smiling softly. “Ah, well then. Anyway, might as well see if you can find us a way around. I just don’t like to stand still.”

The driver nodded.

“What do you think about Supergirl, ma’am?”

Lena sighed. “Forgive me, Vincent, but I do have some work to concentrate on, here. I’m not usually one for chitchat. I hope you don’t mind.”

She sank back into her seat and flicked to the next email. There were a lot of fires to put out. Upcoming product launches, grant applications, university partnerships, charity events, plus her own work. She was becoming so strained lately that she was seriously considering stepping down from the direct CEO role so she could spend more time in the lab, where her real passion was.

Sometimes she almost sympathized with Lex; the life of a CEO could easily drive someone insane. Lena would rather spend her days in a labcoat or doing charity work than listening to another entitled silver spoon-

“You’re going the wrong way,” Lena said, sharply.

“I’m finding a way around,” said the driver. “You know, you never answered my question, before. What do you think of Supergirl?”

Lena stuffed her phone in her pocket and thrust her hand in her jacket, freeing the concealed revolver she carried in a shoulder holster under her left arm. The partition was already going up, sealing her in.

“What are you doing?”

“Answer my question,” the driver said, through a speaker.

Lena swallowed hard. “I think she’s a hero but I don’t fully trust her. I work with her when I feel it will help people. That’s all.”

“That’s not what your mother thinks.”

“Isn’t it?” said Lena. “What does she think?”

“Are you fucking her?”

Lena barked out a laugh. “Are you serious? That’s her question?”

“Are you fucking her like you debased yourself with that little tart in boarding school?”

There was silent beat.

“She told me to say that. She made me practice saying ‘tart’.”

He sounded almost bored.

“Fuck you,” Lena snapped. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it.”

“Nothing personal,” said the driver.

Lena sighed, almost annoyed at the hiss as a thin, chemical smelling gas hissed into the car, rising around her. She forced herself to stay calm, stoic, even her pulse raced.

“I’m not afraid of you, or her,” said Lena.

She coughed twice as the world irises shut around her, dragging her down into a cold, dreamless sleep.

When she snapped awake, she was alone. The partition was open, but the gun was gone from her holster. She felt around for it, then decided to clamber into the front seat, rolling over the seats facing her. The driver was gone, of course. Heavy chains were padlocked around the car, pinning the front doors shut.

There was a tape recorder sitting on the front seat. Lena ignored it as she looked around. The car was surrounded by metal walls, and a creep sense of dread rose up Lena’s spine. She fought the panic down, dropping into the driver’s seat.

Placing the tape deck on the dash, she pushed the okay button.

“Hello, Lena,” Lilian said, in her smooth, posh tones. Lena could hear that smarmy smirk forming around her words.

“You’re probably expecting an ultimatum or an offer. There will be none. I’m through trying to bring my husband’s wayward bastard back into the fold. When you betrayed Lex again, you burned your last chance. It’s time to take out the trash, Lena. I wish I could have throttled you in the cradle, but I didn’t know about you and your mother until it was too late. It’s time to correct that. It’s too bad we won’t be there to watch.”

Watch what?

Lena sat and waited. Whoever was sent to murder her had no sense of dramatic timing. She began rifling through the car, trying to take stock of what she had, what she could use to effect an escape. Breaking the-

A sharp shriek of metal cut through her thoughts. The side walls inched forward with a screech of metal, and Lena froze, terror piercing through her like an icy spike.

Oh.

Oh God.

The walls moved slightly more, and the rear view mirrors on both sides of the car exploded. The mechanism pushing the walls strained and groaned, and that was the only mercy she had.

She was in a car crusher. In the car.

The armored structure of her town car was too heavy for the machine to simply crush, but she had minutes at most. Metal groaned in protest, shrieking around her, and the glass quivered in the doors.

Oh God. Oh God.

She wasn’t going to panic. She wasn’t going to panic. She ripped open every single compartment and cubby she could find, but found only monogrammed glassware and a bottle of champagne. There was nothing.

A random, forgotten Lexosuit would be really useful right about now.

With a sudden shriek, the car began to collapse. The bulletproof glass buckled and shattered, pelting the front seat as she rolled into the back, and the doors buckled in, tearing loose from their hinges as the floor and roof began to fold.

A sudden, ringing, frankly stupid thought came into her head, but it was her best play.

Lena Luthor filled her lungs. She took in the biggest, deepest breath of her life, a breath worthy of a championship deep diver, and screamed at the top of her lungs, until it hurt.

“SUPERGIRL!”

She had to scramble into the back seat as the engine began pushing through the dashboard, ripping apart plastic and leather, splintering buried wood. Lena ducked as the roof crumpled and dove in, like the roof of a dragon’s mouth crushing down to pulp her. She closed her eyes and curled in on herself, hoping it would at least be over fast.

A single ringing thought bit through the fear.

Oh God. Kara’s waiting for me at the restaurant.

Around her metal shrieked, and she heard the vast clang of rending machinery. The inexorable crushing stopped, the bucking limousine going still. Lena opened her eyes, peering through her fingers like a terrified child, and watched in awe as one of the crushed plates tore loose from its moorings and went flying off into the afternoon air.

Hands, strangely delicate, punched through armor plating as if it were cobwebs and ripped the broken shell of Lena’s limo apart, spreading it in every direction.

Lena had never seen Supergirl so panicked. Her eyes were too wide with abject terror, and she seized Lena in her arms, winding her cape around her, and rocketed loose from the car.

Lena’s words were lost to the wind. Supergirl was blasting into the air, flying incredibly fast- too fast. Helpless, she clung to the hero for dear life, feeling woozy as the blood drained from her skull.

She thought, oh, come on, as she passed out again.

When her eyes drifted open, Lena was lying on the ground. Groaning, she sat up slowly, feeling every movement, and realized she’d been lying on a spread red blanket with her suit jacket piled up under her head for a pillow, and she was in the woods. The sun had yielded to the sky, and someone had started a roaring fire a few feet away.

Grateful for the warmth, Lena edged closer. As she did, she realized that she was sitting not on a blanket but on Supergirl’s cape.

Blinking, she looked around.

Supergirl had her back to a tree, curled up on herself with her head hanging between her knees, arms wrapped around to cover her face, and she was sobbing quietly. Lena stared, open-mouthed.

“Supergirl?” she breathed.

Supergirl didn’t respond. Lena rose to her feet, wobbling, and discarded her heels before walking across a bed of soft leaves. She crouched in front of the weeping Kryptonian, stunned when the other woman flinched.

“Supergirl?”

“Lena?”

Her voice was small and soft, all the bravado and righteous authority gone. She sounded strangely human.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“I think I am,” said Lena. “What about you? Are you hurt?”

“No,” she sniffed. “A Tauraxian hit me in the head with a greyhound bus. Tuesday afternoon at the office.”

Lena laughed softly, and sat down. “I’m sure. What just happened?”

Supergirl swallowed hard as she looked up. “I panicked. I saw what was happening and I lost control. I’m lucky I didn’t hurt you.”

Lena put a tentative hand in on her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“More than you realize,” Supergirl sighed.

“I’m here,” said Lena.

She sat down. Supergirl looked away from her, staring I to the fire a few feet away. In starlight, with the firelight caressing her delicate features and sparkling in her blue eyes, it was impossible to miss how hauntingly beautiful she was… and how haunted herself. Supergirl looked older than her years, a deep sorrow in her eyes that Lena had never seen before.

“I’m claustrophobic,” Supergirl explained. “Not the kind of thing that you advertise.”

“We all have our fears. I have some of my own.”

Lena pushed down thoughts of a pale hand sliding beneath churning black water and shuddered.

With teary eyes, Supergirl looked at her.

“I can’t. I can’t have fears. I’m Supergirl. I have to be perfect, set an example, all that crap. I’m the perfect woman who came from the sky to do only good.”

The perfect woman, Lena thought, consuming the firelit beauty before her. No one would debate that.

Well, Lena would, maybe. There was someone more perfect, someone soft and kind with a devastating smile and laughing eyes tinged with strange sorrow. She hoped Kara wasn’t worrying about her.

It was funny how Lena always thought of Kara when Supergirl was around. Guilt, maybe. Foolish guilt; Kara was a far shore that Lena would never reach, even if she’d gladly sink in the attempt.

“Before I came to Earth, I drifted in the phantom zone in my pod. There were things outside. The pod was the size of a coffin, a tiny space to spend all that time. The phantoms would claw and slash at the canopy and the walls. I was awake for days hearing them trying to get in. Sometimes there were bigger things out there, wrapping arms around it and trying to crush their way in.”

Lena nodded. “That sounds beyond terrible. It’s okay for you to be scared after that.”

Supergirl nodded. “I can barely handle elevators sometimes.”

A jolt went through Lena, something familiar, like a word on the tip of her brain.

“I get scared when other people are enclosed, too,” said Supergirl. “When I saw something trying to crush you, I just lost it. It’s different when it’s you.”

Lena swallowed hard, trying to suppress the shiver that coursed through her body and made the small hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Back in high school, the other girls used to bully me,” said Supergirl. Once, they locked me in a closet in the locker room. I screamed and screamed until until someone let me out. Alex was furious, she…”

Supergirl went quiet, trailing off. Her eyes went wide and she jolted back.

Lena sat there for a second, unsure why…

Wait.

Alex?

High school? Supergirl went to high school?

With Alex? Alex Danvers?

Lena choked down a gasp, the wheels whirling in her head. She looked over and met Supergirl’s eyes, studying them. Her. The way the light played across her soft features, her honey hair, the little scar above her eye.

“Hi, Lena.”

“Hi, Kara,” Lena whispered.

Neither of them moved. Lena wondered briefly if Kara had ever planned to tell her, how she might have planned it. Probably not like this. Her throat bobbed.

Lena shifted closer, until they were hip to hip in a seated hug, Kara crying softly on Lena’s shoulder, powerful arms wrapped around her.

“I was scared,” said Lena. “I was afraid I was going to die and you’d be sitting at the table at the restaurant waiting for me.”

“Never,” said Kara. “I’ll always protect you.”

“And I’ll always protect you. Nobody is ever going to shove my Kara in a closet ever again.”

Kara let out a little gasp.

“Can we stay here for a while? Talk? Just you and me?”

Kara nodded. She stood and gathered up her cape as Lena moved close to the fire, and sat down, wrapping it around them both. Lena let her head fall on Kara’s shoulder.

“This makes a nice blanket.”

“It is a blanket. My cousin was swaddled in it when he came to Earth. Don’t worry, I washed it.”

Lena laughed softly, awkwardly trying to decide where to put her hands. She settled on being bold, and put her arm around Kara’s waist. Kara slipped her arms around her shoulder and pulled her in, and Lena hugged her back, tucking herself into Kara’s shoulder.

They sat for a while as the fire burned down low. It was full dark and the fire was nothing but coals.

“I was going to tell you. I wanted to.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” Kara sighed.

Lena swallowed hard, trying not to feel her blood rushing in her ears.

“You know,” she said. “You could kiss me right now, if you wanted. That seems like the kind of thing the hero does after saving the girl.”

“I could?” said Kara.

“You could.”

“Like this?”

Kara was trying to be smooth, and it made it hard for Lena not to giggle. She tipped Lena’s chin up with soft fingers and guided herself in, bringing their lips together. Kara kissed her softly, tentatively. Lena kissed her back just as softly, afraid this moment would shatter if she pressed too hard.

It was easy to shift herself into Kara’s lap, even before Kara lifted her there. Lena knew she was strong but not Kryptonian strong, and it it sent a thrill through her. She liked it.

She liked touching Kara, too. Liked feeling the bunching muscles flex under under hands, the softness of her hair, the way she gasped when she felt Lena’s lips on her throat.

“Never have I wished so badly for a tent and sleeping bags,” said Lena.

“And marshmallows to toast!” said Kara.

“Do you ever stop thinking about food?” Lena giggled.

Kara looked at her intently, and Lena shivered, not from the cold. She’d longed for Kara to see her like that, look at her like that.

“Sometimes,” Kara whispered. “Sometimes I think about other things.”

“We should probably go back,” said Lena. “We have people who are probably looking for us.”

Kara nodded.

“Do you want this to be… do you want us to be?”

“Kara,” said Lena, “I would have asked you out a year ago if I thought I had a chance. I thought you just wanted to be friends.”

Kara swallowed. “Are you saying you want to be my girlfriend?”

Lena smiled softly. “Yes.”

Kara rose and clasped her cape to her shoulders, then gently brought Lena to her feet and lifted her from the ground, holding her close.

“Not so fast this time, okay?”

“Okay,” said Kara, lifting them back into the sky.

[1d1195]

Protection Extra IV

Read Protection here | ~1.8k words

From me: I really got to thinking about this idea from 🎶-ask. It is short, but hopefully it's enough. I've missed them loads. This is back within the first year of their official dating. I mentioned I would be jumping time frames a bit with these extras, so here it is.

Warnings: a little angsty. But fluffy overtones. Harry's just a protective guy. Also, the tiniest bit of smut but you have to squint and read between the lines. Mostly heavy making out and a little bit of touching.

Summary: Harry might not work for DSS anymore in the same way he used to. He doesn't guard her life because it's his job. He guards it because it's his life; her entire being is his and he would lose his mind (worse) if something happened to her.

She does not care to the same capacity as him. (But she does feel bad about it at least.)

“You said I could,” he frowned. The little scrunch between his eyebrows appeared when he concentrated. She loved it endlessly. Even if what he was asking was ridiculous. So as much as she loved that little furrow between his eyebrows, she was not going to cave. Instead, she smoothed her fingers on the bunch of skin and cupped his cheek with her hand. He turned into her hand and kissed her palm.

“Like as a joke, Harry,” she rolled her eyes she dropped her hand and returned to her previous position. She couldn’t see his face. But it didn’t matter. She already knew what faces he made any time she annoyed him anyway.

It was insane they were even having this conversation. Harry broached it so casually too. They were snuggled on the sofa, her body resting in his embrace. His knees bent around either side of her body and she laid across his torso. She fit so warmly against him it was hard to believe he was even asking her such a thing because the idea she would ever leave the circle of his arms was ridiculous.

“Okay,” he sighed. It was obvious he was frustrated by the decision. Her head was close enough to his mouth that he could kiss the top of her hair, so he did. He ran one hand up and down her arm sitting in the quiet while he held her safely in his arms. It was his favorite part of the day, holding her close to him where he knew nothing bad was going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

Obviously, she took his silence as plotting to convince her. Which he could never. He knew that. He knew he would have an easier time convincing a fish to walk than telling her what to do. “I literally have my phone on me all the time and now you know about my shoe trick.”

He sighed. “But y’didn't have y'phone,” he reminded her. “No shoes either.”

There was that; she would allow him that much. “Well, there's no more threat, so I don't need—”

"Kitten," he sighed rubbing a hand over his face. He was exasperated. “I don’t want t’talk ‘bout this anymore,” he mumbled.

She frowned feeling bad she upset him. But he was thinking way too far over the top. “No one is even going to remember me anymore,” she whispered quietly. “He’s in jail for a really long time,” she reminded him. He didn’t answer her. “Harry,” she whispered. “Talk to me.”

“I already said I don’t want t’talk ‘bout it anymore.”

Her frown deepened and she sighed; feeling like the worst girlfriend in the world because she wouldn’t put a tracking device in her arm. “I have the scrunchie, too; for when you’re away,” she reminded him. He nodded, still silent. “Harry,” she sat up on her knees, so she could look at him. He was so pretty, all soft skin and angular. He was so handsome it made her swoon on a regular basis, and he was all hers. But she had to stand her ground.

His eyes looked sad, tired. Too sad. “M’not trying t’be controlling.”

“Of course not, Harry. I know—”

“Honey,” he interrupted.

Her heart skipped a beat because for whatever reason, when he called her honey, it made her lose all rational thought. It seemed like the conversation was far more serious than when he called her kitten, love, or even Miss Wildflower. She felt like she was nothing more than a container of the very sweet goop he called her. “I talked ‘bout this with m’therapist and we... I know m’being... crazy,” he frowned. He cupped the side of her face as he spoke so softly. Like all of this was a secret. “But... I was insanely lucky,” he reminded her. “Y’were brilliant,” he complimented. “I told you ‘bout a fail safe in passing and y’had been planning all along. I was completely blindsided by y’departure. Every step you had planned was perfect. But if y’didn’t have an AirTag, I wouldn’t have found you,” he admitted. She didn’t speak because his compliment was too nice. She didn’t think about it all that much. Mainly because she didn’t like thinking about betraying Harry the way she did. It was nearly a year ago and he was still worried. It probably killed him to admit that out loud. Because it was his job at the time, and he wouldn’t have been able to find her. But it wasn’t just his job. He loved her so completely.

If something happened to her, she really believed Harry wouldn’t survive the guilt. He barely forgave himself for her injured leg and she wasn’t convinced he fully forgave himself for that either.

She turned toward his palm in the same way he had and kissed his hand softly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “You don’t need t’apologize, kitten. Y’didn’t do anything wrong.”

She took a deep breath. She had her own therapist and they had also discussed a lot about her hyper-independence. Even with someone like Harry to rely on because she could, and he wouldn’t ever judge her. “I’m not...” she swallowed. “I had people follow me around for years, Harry,” she reminded him.

“I know—”

She pressed a finger to his lips gently. “I couldn’t do what I wanted ninety percent of my life, Harry,” she reminded him. “Do you know what it’s like to want to go to the mall to get new jeans because yours ripped and someone tells you that you can’t? Or that you want to go to a new frozen yogurt place with friends, but you’re not allowed to? If I forgot a vegetable for dinner, I couldn’t run to the store and back without it being a production,” he didn’t know what any of that felt like; not really. He only knew it from the end of production. The part of it all she didn’t like. So, he stayed quiet. “If you texted me every five minutes for the rest of our lives, asking where I was, I would tell you every. Single. Time,” she assured him locking her gaze with his. He felt it in his stomach, the way she looked at him. She meant every word she spoke. “If you put a tracking device in me it’ll... it’ll just feel like the rest of my life. Unable to make decisions on my own. Unable to live freely,” she told him. “You have my location through my phone. I am more than willing to have that scrunchie on my wrist and in my hair when you’re not within a couple hours of me,” she promised thinking about the weekend he spent with his mom. She wondered how long he stared at the little blipping dot that told him she was safe and in her house for most of the time he was gone. “Those AirTags saved my life because you told me I needed a failsafe, Harry. You saved me.”

His gaze dropped from hers and they were quiet. Harry didn’t like the compliment. He felt like he didn’t do a good job because she nearly drowned and had a scar on her thigh that made him want to smack his head on the wall for letting those things happen to her. Silently, she settled back into his arms, her ear resting so she had the perfect sound of his heart thudding against her.

“Harry?” She whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

He smiled, kissed the top of her head. “I love you, too,” his head dropped back against the arm of the sofa and he squeezed her. He thought of all those days she studied on the ground and how they were always this close to snuggling this way. “M’sorry m’so nervous,” he mumbled. “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself,” he pressed his nose just behind her ear, like he was tracing the outline of her hair behind it.

“I think if I had a tracking device, you wouldn’t enjoy your life. Wouldn’t take your eyes off it.”

He thought of visiting his mother back in March and how the anxiety built and fell over and over as he looked at the little blip telling him where her scrunchie was. She was right. He would have it on every screen he owned if he knew her exact location. “You’re right.”

“Oh, that had to have hurt,” she giggled and kissed his throat.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a genius, kitten. M’happy t’say you’re right.” It was embarrassing how those words turned her on. A shiver rippled through her. No one loved her as much as Harry. No one trusted her instinct, her intelligence, or judgement as much as he did. But it was more than that. Because Harry knew people didn’t believe her for years. People misjudged her abilities because of her father and circumstance. They didn’t believe in her. So it was like he had complimented how pretty she looked (which she did) when he said she was right. It wasn’t an ego thing. “Did y’like that, honey?” He hummed his lips nipping at her earlobe as he spoke.

Harry knew exactly how much she liked that.

“Off,” she ordered shoving his shirt up his torso. It didn’t matter than she had seen him without a shirt hundreds of times since the day they warmed up in his car after the icy dip in the water when he saved her life a second time in one week. She liked to feel the hard ripples of his stomach and he had promised she could look as much as she wanted once she was warm.

Well now she was warm. “Yes, ma’am,” he pulled it off the rest of the way and pulled her in to kiss her as deeply as he could before he pushed her back to the opposite end of the couch and settled between her legs. “Say it,” he whispered, not quite begging. But he wanted to hear it. Because it made him feel better. It made him worry less about all the thoughts they had discussed in the last hour. He carefully shifted her leg as if he was worried it was the very same day she nearly bled out. He slipped his hand between their bodies feeling her through her leggings.

She moaned softly while he kissed the length of her throat and brushed his lips against the swell of her chest as she tried to maintain enough air to speak before she was lost in Harry and all his perfection.

She had no problem saying it. Because it was true. Truer than most anything she believed in her life. Harry was hers and he was going to protect her in any way he could even if she wasn't willing to put a tracking device in her body. “I’m all yours,” she promised breathlessly.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @madstyles3204

@angeldavis777

Protection taglist: @youcouldstartacult @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @luxiorchive @ameerakane20 @be-with-me-so-happily

@cherryshouse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @cherrystyle @kaiohnsa @snwells

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

[eevees-hobbies]

What Happens at Ume's Summer Bash, Stays at Ume's Summer Bash! - NSFW

Author’s Note: Well, here it is. I didn’t mean to make the title as long as an old Panic! At the Disco song. God, when I was writing Togame, I had myself feeling a certain type of way. Idk if I’m leading us into a potential Sakura x Togame x Reader threesome or what. Help. Anyway, I’m never beating the Haruka Sakura simp allegations! Giving the people what they didn’t ask for, shit-talking, dominant Sakura.

Synopsis: You’re invited to Umemiya’s Annual Summer BBQ Bash! Pull up a chair, pour yourself a drink, and have some fun with old friends! I hope you can avoid temptation from Togame; he’s kind of into you! But as a good girlfriend, you only have eyes for your boyfriend, Haruka Sakura. Wait…what are you doing on that bed? 

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Haruka Sakura. Mention of alcohol and bodyshots. This may or may not be the same Togame that saw your nudes in Sext Me Like You Mean It. Brief mention of sharing, but not explicit. Aggressive flirting, jealousy, shit-talking, dirty-talking Sakura, teasing but not too mean, fucking where you shouldn’t, fem!reader receiving oral, squirting. Tis smut. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 3.4K

Dividers by Saradika. Invitation by me

They say there are very few things in life that are guaranteed. Yes, taxes and death are undoubtedly imminent, but the other life-altering event that should be added to that list is Umemiya’s Annual Summer BBQ Bash!

Every Summer, Umemiya invites his closest friends to his home in hopes of hosting a space where you all can exist without the stresses of day-to-day life. 

You and Sakura are excited to attend, but who can blame you? Umemiya’s Summer BBQ Bash is always memorable; this year will be no exception.

The parties can get relatively wild as the alcohol tends to flow freely, and it isn’t unusual for the lines to blur between friendship, one-night stands, and sharing of partners. Plus, the food smacks! Bofurin alums and Jo Togame, who has always felt like an honorary member of the friend group, make up the attendee list.

It isn’t long before libations in shot glasses and red cups make their way around the party, and all the popular Summer hits blast through the stereo speakers loud enough to break a few city ordinances.

You’ve long since abandoned Sakura, who still sits at the table, to dance with Kotoha. Sakura can’t take his eyes off you as you bend over, place your palms against your knees and gyrate your hips to the beat as Kotoha delivers a heavy smack to your ass. It takes every fiber in his being to look away. 

He needs to avert his eyes, not because he’s embarrassed, but because if he doesn’t look away, his head might just pop.

He knew he was going to have a hard time today when you emerged from the bedroom in your outfit: jean shorts that stop barely stopped above mid-thigh, a black band tee that is cropped at the bottom and exposes some of your tummy when you raise your arms even slightly, and low-top black and white chucks. It may be a simple ensemble for you, but it’s a wet dream for him. 

Togame slips into the chair next to Sakura, letting out a deep sigh, “Your girlfriend is insanely hot. Just my type.”

Sakura’s fists clench instinctively, and he has to remind himself that while Togame seemingly has a crush on you, it has been harmless thus far. 

And Sakura isn’t delusional; he knows how attractive you are. He can practically see it now as you and Kotoha dance together. You’re sexy, uninhibited by the judgment of others, and radiating with confidence, all things he admires, and that doesn’t go unnoticed by other men—even some of his friends. 

“You think I don’t know that?”

“It's been a couple of years for you two, right?” Togame continues as he does the mental math, remembering the first time he saw you holding hands with Sakura and mentally berating himself for not being the first to make a move.

“Been together this long and still haven’t put a ring on it or knocked her up? Dangerous game, my man. Women don’t like to wait. Someone else might snatch her up.”

Fuck off sits on the tip of Sakura’s tongue, but despite his annoyance, he can silently admit that what Togame is saying has consumed his thoughts as of late.

The idea of making a baby with you is enough to push him into cardiac arrest, so he tries to think less of that and more of asking you to marry him. 

Baby steps!

And if fear of rejection didn’t cause him immense paralysis, the engagement ring tucked snuggly away in his underwear drawer would already be on your finger.

Their eyes snap back to you as you turn to Sakura and cup your hands around your mouth in an attempt to be heard over the speakers, “Haruka! Come dance with me!”

Sakura shakes his head. You should know better than to ask him to dance outside the safety of your shared living room.

Togame’s eyes light up, however. Your request and your boyfriend's refusal opening an opportune window for him. “I'll dance with her.” 

Before Sakura can protest, Togame’s already pushing himself out of the chair and striding over to you. He can’t hear what Togame says to you over the music, but whatever he says makes you offer a smile and take his hand.

As Togame pulls you flush against his body, you can’t help but feel the pang of disappointment in your chest that it isn’t Sakura coming to dance with you. “I’m going to guess that you didn’t ask Sakura for his permission to dance with me?”

Togame looks down at you, his leer making you shudder from under the immense pressure of it. “I need to ask permission from your handler to dance with you? Didn’t know you were into that, lamb.”

Laaaaaaaaaamb?! If you’re the lamb in this dynamic, Togame is the wolf, licking his pointed fangs as he sizes you up and expands his jaw, ready to bite.

You’re trying not to wilt at his given nickname for you, but Togame knows precisely what he’s doing. 

You aren’t naive to the fact that he’s hot—all 187 centimeters is dripping liquid sex appeal, and he obviously desires you. Still, you don’t take too kindly to being hunted, especially when you’re already smitten, head over heels, and obsessed with a certain cat-eyed hot-head. 

Togame’s hands find refuge on your hips. His grip is solid and arrogant, as though you and he have danced this way before, and it’s a regular occurrence. He’s ducking down between you both so his hair, which has grown longer over the Summer, brushes against your forehead. 

“What would you do if I kissed those pretty glossed lips of yours?”

You crane your neck to look at him, making direct eye contact and challenging his stare so your message is clear: “I’d smack the taste out of your mouth.”

Your response earns a deep purr from Togame’s throat; he loves how firey you are, and it only stokes his desire for you. You can feel his hands snaking around your hips, his fingers pressing firmly into the exposed skin of your midriff until they rest dangerously close to the top of your ass.

“Sakura’s lucky he got to you first because in any other situation where he hadn’t, you’d be my girl.”

“There’s not an alternate reality in which I wouldn’t be Sakura’s girl,” you pause as you hear familiar heavy footfalls. “And if it keeps you up at night, which I desperately hope it does, I pursued him.”

“Of course you did. Because you take what you want.” Togame’s jaw clenches, not in anger, but in something more primal, and his eyes don’t betray everything he wants to say and do to you at that moment, but he’s interrupted when Sakura places a hand on his shoulder.

“You heard my girl.” The way Sakura says “my girl” makes you shiver; his voice is low, offering an unspoken threat to his friend.

Togame steps aside, that predatory look in his eye dissipated as he shoots you both a half smile. His absence allows Sakura to take his place, hands resting on your hips.

Hiragi sighs, finally dropping the water hose he was fully ready to unleash on Togame and yourself. “Why does this party always make people act like they’re in heat?”

Umemiya chuckles as he pours himself some punch, “Good question! But, hey, at least you haven’t had to use the water hose this time…yet!”

You beam up at Sakura, your stomach practically executing Olympic-level summersaults as you lean into his frame—close proximity and PDA all subsets of a love language that you so desperately crave from him.

“He is obsessed with you.” His cheeks are tinted red, more than likely from the combination of your affection, the interaction he had witnessed between you and Togame, and the beers he has ingested 

“Hadn’t noticed. Hey, I have to go to the bathroom. Come with me?”

“You need my help in the…bathroom? Ok.” You’ve certainly had stranger requests, but he refuses to leave an opening for Togame to corner you again. 

As you enter Umemiya’s home, you immediately pull Sakura into the room closest to the left, which also happens to be Ume’s bedroom. The master bedroom is simple and minimalist, but it benefits from an extensive amount of natural light from the sliding glass door that leads out to the backyard. You can see your friends, and they presumably could see you if they came close enough and weren’t so distracted by taking body shots off Tsugeura’s body.

“Wha??? This isn’t the bathroom.”

“Sakura, that was an obvious cover. I wanted some alone time with you.” 

A crimson blush crawls from his neck to the tips of his ears. “In here?”

The silken sheets of Umemiya’s bed smell freshly washed, somehow still warm from the dryer as you pull them back and sink into them.

Sakura bites his lip as you hold out a hand. You are temptation personified in your jean shorts, with the skin of your tummy peaking out and beckoning to him. 

You’re going to be the death of him.

He climbs on top of you, already making quick work of the button to your pants. “A-are we about to fuck in Umemiya’s bed?” Your voice is shakey, but your eyes are unblinking and mischievous as you stare at him. 

“I don’t want to think about it.” As he tosses your shorts—and underwear soon after–aside, he disappears under the covers. You let out a gasp as his tongue pokes at your pussy, pulling each labia into his mouth and sucking hungrily. If you two intended for a quick romp beneath the sheets of Umemiya’s bed, that’s now suddenly out of the window.

It isn’t long before Sakura is eating you out like it has been too long without his favorite meal, delivering gentle nips of your folds in between intense suckles to your clit that make you buck your hips. He lets out a growl and wraps muscled arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to him so that his mouth is suctioned against your clit.

Your moans are uncharacteristically soft and tempered out of fear that if anyone were to enter the house, they’d be able to hear you. But it’s hard to contain yourself as Sakura fucks you with his tongue, loud, messy, wet lapping sounds as your essence dribbles onto his tongue.

He briefly pulls away from your drooling cunt, “Oh, don’t try to be quiet now.” Then he’s back to burying his face in your heat, shaking his head from side to side, swiping his tongue against your clit. As he devours you, slurping and his needy moans fill your ears. Your eyes flutter closed, and you can’t help but take in the scent around you. It smells exactly like Umemiya and makes you feel like he’s in bed with you both. You cover your face with your arm as the thought has you clench around Sakura’s tongue.

“Mmm, that’s my girl..”

The continuous, unrelenting licking and slurping contribute to the intense buildup of flutters deep within your abdomen until you finally release, warm and thick in Sakura’s mouth. He moans, swallowing happily, enjoying his much-deserved reward. 

You’re lightheaded, but you still crave more. Mental gymnastics have you thinking that if you haven’t been found by a party attendee yet, why not take a chance on some extra fun? 

“Sakura, fuck me, please. I need you.”

Sakura raises himself from between your thighs, bringing the bedsheet with him so you’re both trapped in the confines of it, and despite there being so little light, your eyes quickly adjust to the smirk on his face.

“Yeah? Say that again.”

“Sakura, I’m not going to beg for it.”

“You sure about that?” You can feel him dragging the fat tip of his dick against your folds, pressing the leaking head against your entrance with so little pressure that it feels cruel.

Ok, maybe you could beg for it a little.

You raise your hand to his face, dragging a thumb against his bottom lip, which is still saturated with your cum.

“Baby, please, I am literally begging you to fuck me.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. His pretty girl asking ever so nicely for his cock. The power play turns him on—hearing you, his queen, treating his dick as a much-needed commodity. 

But he thinks you can do a little more begging.

He grips his cock and delivers harsh smacks against your sopping wet hole, reveling in the buttery, sharp wet sounds it makes. 

“Sakura,” you growl, “if you don’t put it in-“

His eyes snap up to meet yours. They’re narrowed and intense, almost setting off your fight, flight, or freeze response. “You’ll fuckin’ what?” 

Oh.

Oh.

Fuuuuuck.

You swallow thickly, realizing that maybe you misjudged which Sakura had joined you in Umemiya’s bed today—shy, blushing Sakura was probably still at the table outside. You were under the covers with ex-Bofurin leader Haruka Sakura, the Sakura that likes to fold you like a pretzel and fuck you raw until you’re weak and out of commission for a few days.

Bedroom dynamics are funny like that. 

So, you, ordinarily headstrong and unfaltering, now speak to him in a softer and pleading voice. 

“P-please, Haru.”

He snorts, grabbing one hand of your plush thighs and pushing it up so it’s pressed against your stomach. “Glad you fixed the attitude, brat.” 

As Sakura sinks into you, he can’t help but look down at where your bodies meet, the length of his cock disappearing into the mess of you. He lets out a shaky breath to steady himself and not cum in you before he can leave his mark. As his eyes return to your face, he can’t help but grin, delighted by your blissed-out face. 

“Feels good, yeah?” He asks as though he can’t deduce the answer from how you’re already gripping him.

“Soooo good, baby!”

“That’s all it takes to calm you down? Good dick?”

You would literally build an altar in his name and pray for absolution if it meant access to his dick, so yes, But words are hard when your cunt is stuffed to the brim of the aforementioned good dick, so you simply give him an enthusiastic nod.

“Tell me how you want it, pretty girl.” Once again, he knows the answer. He can feel it the way you desperately choke his cock with your walls, but he wants to hear you say it.

“Hard. So fucking hard, Kitten.”

The only indication that Sakura planned on slamming his cock into your cervix is the sudden way he pressed the tips of his fingers into your thighs, but it was so instantaneous that your brain hardly had time to register the act. The alarming nature of not having a warning or much time to adjust almost made you clamp your legs shut around him, but a low growl and a “No.” keeps you wide open for him.

You gasp and wiggle against him, panting; the sound of shifting linens and his drumming into you roar in your ears as the sheets around you create an echo chamber. He’s fucking you like you belong to him. As though he has the god-given right to mold a path in your cunt. 

“Gonna make you squirt.”

Oh, and you absolutely believe him because you can feel it looming over you like a creeping, ominous shadow. 

“B-but, Ume’s bed-”

“Oh, Haruka, what about Ume’s bed???” he mocks you in the same whiny tone you’re using, then shifts back to speaking normally. 

“You should have thought about that before you were begging for cock.”

Your stomach muscles tighten. His words are so harsh, so aggressive, so good. Your eyes roll back as the unmistakable feeling of a spring so tightly wound up finally uncoiling. Absolute pleasure shoots through you, and a flood of hot fluid coats Sakura’s pubic hair and Umemiya’s sheets. 

“Theeeeere you go,” he praises. Still, he doesn’t stop the abuse of your pussy, fucking you with the added saturation of your cum, making him throw his head back, dual-colored eyes closing, and silently praising whatever god is listening. 

As another orgasm crashes into you, Sakura chuckles and flips you over, so now you’re straddling him, shaking as he holds you flush against his body with fingers wrapped around the back of your neck. “Tapping out already? I’m not even close to being done.” 

His cock doesn’t miss a beat, continuing to fuck at your hole with desperation, trying to prove that his cock is better suited for you than Jo Togame’s. 

“Fuuuuck, Haruka!” 

While you would never encourage the flirtatious behavior of others to incur Sakura’s jealousy, feeling him use you like a cock-sleeve will not garner any complaints from you. You latch your mouth onto one of his nipples, earning a whimper from him.

“G-gonna cum if you do that again.”

You grunt as it hardens against your tongue, amused that his words were meant to deter you.

You both freeze as the sliding glass door to Umemiya’s bedroom opens. Sakura’s pistoning of his hips comes to a halt immediately, and you both cover the other's mouth with a palm.

Kotoha sighs at the sight in front of her: clothes strewn across the floor and the bed unmade with the blankets bunched up into a large mound. She doesn’t attempt to pay attention to the ladies' underwear on the floor, not wanting to think about Umemiya’s extracurriculars too much. 

“You could have cleaned up your bedroom before inviting us over! Now, where did you say your wallet was?” she calls over her shoulder to Umemiya.

Umemiya, too busy flipping burgers in the air with the practiced precision of a grill master, shouts back, “My room is clean, Koooootoooohaaaaaa! My wallet should be on my nightstand!”

You and Sakura are staring into each other's eyes, panic-stricken as Kotoha rummages through the drawers closest to your heads. 

Your mind can’t help but wander as you imagine her pulling back the sheets and finding Sakura’s balls plastered to your slit, messy love-making evident under the puddle of saliva and cum soaked into the sheets beneath you.

Your cunt twitches erratically, still wrapped around the base of Sakura’s cock.

Sakura glares at you, in disbelief at your depravity but not too shocked because he knows you. His eyes seemingly scream, “Pervert! Pervert! Pervert!”

“Here it is!” the sound of footsteps receding and the sliding glass door closing, quieting the voices and sounds of the party, allows you both to relax.

Sakura pulls his hand off your mouth, “Were you seriously squeezing my dick at the idea of being caught!?”

“Couldn’t help it,” you whine as you wiggle against him.

“You love the idea of someone watching me fuck you, huh? That’s fucking filthy.” his hands return to the top of your ass as he gives you a few upward thrusts.

“Fuck, you’re wetter now than when we started. You want me to go get all our friends, let them watch me fuck this pussy?”

“Y-you would never,” you say through moans.

“You don’t have a clue what I think about at night. Heh, how about we grab Togame? I know he’d love to see you spread open.”

“Baby, I’m going to-”

“Then fucking cum.”

A rapturous, otherworldly, blissful orgasm rips through your body, and Sakura follows soon after. Your mouths crash into one another in a messy and loud kiss as you exchange groans and moans. 

Sakura’s half-lidded eyes open as he looks at you, “what should we do with the sheets?”

“Hope they dry on their own? I mean, it’s probably not that bad, right?”

After you and Sakura get dressed, you pulled back the sheets and cringed at the sight of wet stains covering the expanse of his sheets. 

“I hope he has a mattress protector on.” Sakura slowly turns to you with a raised eyebrow as if this is your fault!

“Shutup, shutup!” You push him out of the room, hoping the sunlight shooting in through the sliding glass doors can dry the linens. 

As you enter your shared bedroom, Sakura quickly closes his underwear drawer and turns to you with a blush on his face.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to look at your naughty magazines. Ume just texted me.”

“I dont HAVE naughty magazines!” He registers what you just said and shoots you a look. “Texted you…?” 

“He said that there was a spare bedroom that we were more than welcome to use if we had just asked.”

[yanderenightmare]

JJK ! The Itadoris

TW: poverty, drugs, family trauma

Thinking about the Itadori twins, all their baby brothers, and their older brother Choso – who, after their parents and grandfather died, has been their sole caregiver.

Which has in no way been any easy task. 

It’s like Shameless up in their house. Stuff’s either broken or crudely fixed with superglue and duck tape. The bills are piled in a wobbly stack in the kitchen, and everyone who can walk is expected to chip in. The walls are riddled with mold, and the bathroom looks like it hasn’t been washed in, well, ever.

But somehow, they make it seem like the most loving household on the block.

Yuji and Sukuna share a room, even though they hate one another and have fought each other with fists and kicks ever since they first learned how to. They'll fight over the smallest things, having always needed to share all their clothes and toys with one another – always up in the other's business as though they're living in each other head. They’re always riddled with cuts and strips, their knuckles wrapped tight in bandages they have to boil and reuse.

Sukuna is more troubled, and Choso has often made the decision to throw him out on the street, but the unwanted cretin always crawls back to crash on the couch when he has nowhere else to go – riddled with unwashed wounds, looking so beaten and starved, the older brother can’t help but take pity on him. Sighing heavily when carrying him up to his room, even when the urchin growls at him to piss off.

Yuuji has always tried steering his twin in a better direction – making him go to class, signing him up for college after high school, getting him a job – but Sukuna has always been in love with the streets and doesn’t want to partake in any pesky conformist rituals like his brothers are sworn on doing. He speaks loudly about it when he’s drunk or on other stuff – how they’re delusional sheep for thinking they could ever simply smile their way into another life – that being slumdogs is what they were meant to be ever since their parents decided to fuck off.

It's a shame… because you can tell he’s actually very smart. Smarter than Yuuji, who by no means tries very hard at school but always comes home with a C+ letter marking his assignments. You’re sure he’d get higher if he applied himself a little harder instead of goofing off in silly after-school clubs. And as for Sukuna, you’re sure he could be valedictorian if he bothered.

Sometimes, he’ll show up in class. Almost always with a new tattoo on his face or arm – from what you can see – you’re sure there’s a lot under his shirt you can’t. He's such a punk, lighting up a smoke in class before the teacher comes in, his muddy sneakers propped up on a poor sucker’s desk.

He smells of liquor and smoke when he swaggers passed you on his way out after the teacher barked at him to go to detention. He never goes, and you wonder why he would even bother coming – but you understand when you see him parole the hallways like he’s some tyrant king overseeing his domain – and you understand it even more when you see him dealing.

It's insane how different the twins are. You know twins often compliment each other, but Yuuji and Sukuna straight-up reject one other. Because Yuuji is the sweetest, most thoughtful person you’ve ever met, and despite humble beginnings, he’s always proudly boasting about all his younger brothers and older brother Choso – and though he rarely ever mentions Sukuna, you can tell how he’s troubled for his twin’s sake.

You admire Choso. He’s as old a brother as older brothers come. Doing everything for the sake of the younger ones. Packing lunches, helping with homework, drawing baths, and washing clothes. Yuuji helps with a lot of it, but still, the brunt of the decisions rests on Choso’s shoulders.

But despite the heavy bags beneath his tired eyes, he’s always got a lazy smile on his lips. So much love when he tucks all his kid brothers in at night, kissing their foreheads before crashing on the couch at the end of the day – a cold beer and a slim rolled joint in his hands as a little treat.

He always stays up and waits for Sukuna to come home – getting a little antsy if it starts to rain outside, hoping he’s not got himself caught up in some dumb gang again.

He rubs his face, hair disheveled in two top-knots – the TV on low so as not to wake the entire house. But Yuuji comes down the stairs after a while anyway, saying something like, “I’ll go look for him; I think I know where he is…”

And he’s almost always, always, at the graveyard with a bottle of vodka, sitting in just a thin shirt and soaked cargo pants in the pouring rain, all his cigarettes a mushy mess in the mud as he leans his head and back against the cold tombstone of their parents.

“D’you plan om sleeping out here?” Yuuji calls out through the storm, and Sukuna peels his eyes open with a scowl.

The alcohol has made him warm, but still, he’s so cold he can’t feel anything at all. He’s so pale he’s turning blue, and the markings he’d played off as tattoos run down his cheeks in blackish streaks.

Yuuji sighed at the lack of response, crouching down with a hand reached out. “Come on; you’re driving big-bro insane with this bullshit-”

“Fuck off.” He grunts back – his voice is so hoarse and so weak, Yuuji wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t expected it.

Still, it riles him up. “If you die, I’m not burying you here. Only family deserves a slot-”

Sukuna growls, staggering into a leap, he tackles Yuuji down in the mud – gracelessly crawling on top of him with his hands around his neck.

But he’s been drinking, and the cold has made him weak, and Yuuji easily turns it around on him – pinning him beneath himself with fists wringing his shirt.

“Jeez, bro- let’s just go home, okay?” He sighs, dismissing the attack. It’s not like it was anything new.

“If I step one foot inside that hellhole, I’m gonna burn it down- with you and everyone in it,” Sukuna mutters back, laying still in the sludge of wilted flowers and downtrodden grass.

Red lines his eyes – and Yuuji can tell, even in the rain…

“Yourself included?” He asks.

His eyes ease up from a narrowed scowl into simple weariness, looking off to the side. “It’s bullshit…” He mumbles. “To fuck us up only to leave…”

“D’you want ‘em to drag us down with ‘em?” Yuuji purposes, his fists loosening their grip.

Sukuna frowns in thought, bitterly accepting his brother’s point. In all his dim glory… Yuuji has always been smarter when it comes to matters of the heart.

“Curse them.” Sukuna grumbles under his breath, and Yuuji gives him a smile.

In all his shitty glory… his twin brother is pretty cute when he pouts after all. 

“Wanna piss on their grave?” He quirks through his smile.

Sukuna doesn’t answer, but accepts the hand reached down to him after Yuuji jumped to his feet.

And as they stand there in silence, the rain stops, and the warmth of their piss hitting the cold stone slab makes dew rise along with the morning sun on the horizon.

“There.” Yuuji shakes despite being soaked through and through. “Now let’s go home.” 

[pitchsidestories]

eras of us (2) II Ona Batlle x Reader

part 1 I masterlist I word count: 2662

a/n: the second and final part to eras of us with the promised happy ending, enjoy. <3

Barcelona had changed since Onas departure. Or at least it felt like it. She had been such an integral part of your daily life that you constantly found yourself longing for her presence in every situation. Every time you went to training, you were painfully reminded that you were without your best friend.

Time and time again, you tried to convince yourself that this was a decision that every football player would have to make at some point in their career. Still, you could not shake the weird mix of feelings that her transfer had created.

Of course, your team mates noticed that your mood had changed.

After a particular hard training in the Catalonian sun, Leila took you aside before you could disappear into the dressing room: “Ona… she misses you.“

You frowned at her, not sure where the conversation about Ona had come from. “Oh, sure. I think Ona seems very happy on the recent pictures she’s been posting.“, you replied and tried to push past Leila.

Mapi passed the two of you and gave you a wink: “Looks can be deceiving.“

“Listen to her. She’s got that tattooed.“, Leila grinned.

You rolled your eyes. As if anyone could miss the tattoo on Mapis throat.

“Yeah, I know what I’m talking about.“, Mapi laughed, stopping right next to you.

Shaking your head about your two team mates, you heaved a deep sigh: “But what am I supposed to do?“

A mischievous smirk appeared on Leilas face as she reached into the pocket of her warm-up jacket. She handed you a small envelope.

“No worries. Here is your ticket to Manchester and your return ticket to Barcelona.“

Speechless, you just stared at her and Mapi for a few seconds. How long had they planned that?

“You girls are insane!“, you finally exclaimed.

“No, we’re the best.“, Mapi corrected you.

“Thank you!“ You hugged both of them quickly, an inexplicable smile on your lips.

“Yeah, just remember to names us as team mates of the year.“, Leila joked.

You laughed: “I promise I will.“

“But now go before you miss your flight.“, Leila said, moving out of your way.

“Okay, got it. See you two soon!“, you called, hurrying into the dressing room to take a quick shower and race home to pack your suitcase.

“Good luck!“, Mapi shouted after you.

Smiling, Leila watched you disappear into the dressing room while wiping away an imaginary tear: “Our children grow up so fast.“

Alexia who had suddenly appeared next to Mapi, shook her head: “Leila, not all the gays in the team are your children.“

“It feels like they are.“

A few hours later you were at your best friend’s new home in England. Quickly you went up the stairs, feeling slightly breathless once you reached the right floor before you ringed the bell next to her surname plate.

Onas’s jaw dropped when she opened the door to her appartement in Manchester to see you standing there in flesh and bone:” Hello?”

“Oni, hi.”, you greeted her back, feeling your heart pound heavy against your chest at the familiar sight of her.

Still stunned she blinked: “You.”

“Yes, it’s me.”, you replied, running one hand through your hair, the other rested on the suitcase.

“What are you doing here?”, the defender furrowed her brows.

“I’m sorry how I reacted when you were saying you’d leave.”, you apologized, while looking guiltily down to your feet.

Hearing these words, Ona clenched her teeth:” It doesn’t matter.” But you could tell from her reaction that this was a lie.

“And Leila said you missed me.”, you added biting your lip as you spoke.

 “Maybe I did. You’re my best friend.”, she confessed. Lifting your head to face her again, you realized that the English weather made her look paler, but the freckles were still there.

Rather childish you responded: “Still? You seem pretty happy in Manchester now.”

Before answering your question, the United player showed you the old friendship bracelet you’ve made for her all those years ago and she was wearing even now although it did look old: “Still. And I’m happy here. The team and the coaches trust me.”

“That’s great. I’m glad they recognize your talent, you deserve it, Oni.”, you told her in an honest tone.

“Thank you. Uhm.. do you want to come in?”, Ona asked you, tousling shily through her bun.

“Sure.”, you nodded nervously while entering her appartement.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting a visitor.”, she blushed as you were taking in the view.

“It’s fine. Really.”, you reassured her. Glancing at the framed pictures which were not hanging up, yet you pointed to them:” Do you want to hang up the pictures?”

“Actually, yes.”

Meanwhile you were holding the first photo in your hands, you couldn’t help but to smile at the young girls which were pictured, celebrating a team win:” I love this one.”

“Oh, me too.”, the defender admitted.

“We all look so small on it, well Aitana still is.”, you commented grinning.

Seeming relaxed, Ona showed you another picture: “Yes, we do but this one is my favourite.”

You knew the photo well, it was taken after your first game for the Barcelona senior team and you spotted your best friend in the stands and went in to hug her, this moment forever being captured by the photographer on the pitch for which you were both grateful:” Mine too, you paused for a second before continuing seriously, we share a lot of memories together, hopefully to many more.”

2023

You could hardly explain to yourself how quickly the time had passed. One moment you spontaneously flew over to Manchester, the next you already found yourself in Australia at the tournament that you had anticipated for so long.

Playing in the World Cup was one thing, but you would never have dreamed of winning the trophy. It still felt surreal. You had just won the World Cup Final against England.You saw Ona walking towards you with a wide grin on her face.

“Ona, we won!“, you cheered.

She wrapped her arms around you: “We did.“

“I can’t believe it yet.“ You escaped her embrace and took in the atmosphere of the stadium and the celebration of your team mates.

Ona stood beside you. “It’s insane, right?“

“Definitely.“

The words hung between you for a few seconds as you watched on.

Ona shook her head suddenly, smiling to herself like she had just realized what had happened in the previous ninety minutes: “We’re World Champions.“

“Oh yes. Remember when…“, you started.

Aitana joined you, placing one arm around each of you and finished your sentence: “We pretended we won the World Cup? Yes.“ With smirk she added: “Do you still know the choreo?“

Onas face dropped: “You’re not going to do that at the actual World Cup!“

“Come on, Tana, we’ll do it.“, you said decisively, pulling the midfielder with you.

There was a small routine of dance moves that you had practiced when you had still played at La Masia together and the actual World Cup felt like millions of years away. Sometimes those dance moves would come out to celebrate a particularly special goal but mostly, they were reserved for exactly this moment.

“Coming!“, Aitana joined you while Ona just shook her head.

Olga elbowed the defender in the side, watching you and Aitana dance in synchrony: “Ona, what are they doing?“

“Being idiots.“, she laughed.

At the same time, Aitana managed to pull her phone from somewhere to capture the moment in a selfie.

“Come on, the photo isn’t complete without you!“, you called over to her.

Ona rolled her eyes with smile: “Ugh, fine. But only for one photo.“

“Perfect.“, Aitana commented as Ona appeared between the two of you.

“Did it turn out cute?“, Ona asked, leaning over to see her team mates phone screen.

“It did.“

The celebrations continued the whole night. There was the initial celebration at the pitch which was then moved to the dressing room and lastly to the hotel. You had no idea what time it was or how many drinks you had but you were clinking your glass with the other players and yelling over the sound of the music: “Cheers, everyone!“

“Cheers, children.“, Alexia laughed, taking her sip from her own drink. She seemed way too sober for your liking.

“Ale, others are the children now.“, you explained to her with the most seriousness you could muster.

Jenni took a shot, grimaced and then said: “You’re still our children.“

“Exactly, nothing will ever change that.“, Alexia said with a gently smile.

“That’s embarrassing.”, Onas’s cheeks turning redder than before.

You were sitting in her lap and hid your face in her chest:” Agreed.”

“What are you doing?”, your friend asked giggling.

“Hiding from embarrassment.”, you mumbled into her shirt.

“So cute.”, Jenni hummed, who didn’t stop looking at you two.

“Let us alone!”, Ona begged the older woman.

She shook her head decisively:” No.”

“Please.”, you tuned in.

Clearing her throat Alexia got up from her seat:” Jen, time to leave the young lovers alone.”

“Fine.”, Jenni responded with a groan but nonetheless listened to what the younger midfielder said.  

“Come on.”, the Barcelona player winked at the dark-haired woman.

For a moment you and your best friend watched them leaving, before you turned around to question her, wearing a mischievous smile on your lips:” What do we do now with them gone, Oni?”

“Celebrate?”, the defender replied grinning.

“Yes!”, you nodded excitedly.

“But you had enough to drink.”, she noted with a laugh.

“Rude!”, you protested.

“It’s true.”, Ona observed.

Smiling mildly at you Aitana came to help her argument:”It’s.”

“See?”

“You two are no fun.”, you grumbled.

“I mean it’s a once in a lifetime thing.”, Ona remarked as she watched you joining the rest of players who were still dancing despite the exhausting final.

Amused Aitana was taking a seat next to the defender:” How does y/n still have the energy to dance though.”

“It’s the alcohol.”, she replied with an eyeroll.

“Definitely. Wanna bet she’s sleepy in like ten minutes?”, the midfielder asked smiling.

“Oh definitely.”, Ona nodded. She couldn’t keep her eyes off you. The soon to be Barcelona player was astonished at how effortlessly and elegant your dance moves despite your tipsiness.

Aitana’s prediction turned out to be true. With a little bit of help from Ona you reached the hotel room you two were sharing. Your eyes were already closed when your head hit the pillow:” I’m not tired yet.”

“Oh sure, I can tell. Good night, y/n.”, she chuckled.

“You too, love you.”, you replied about to fall asleep.

Suddenly Onas’s heart felt pounding hard against her chest when the defender pressed a kiss on your forehead:” I love you too.” She often told you how much she loved you but this time the words hit differently. It dawned on the player that she didn’t want you like a best friend. No the woman felt the urge to be your lover.

2024

“Aitana, I fell in love with my best friend.”, Ona confessed to Aitana with a heavy air of meaning.

A small smile was forming on the midfielder’s lips: “I know.”

“What do you mean you know?”, she glanced at her confused.

“There were so many moments in the past.”, Aitana began.

Still shocked Ona interrupted her:” I only realized it during the world cup final.”       

“In that case you’re very late to the party.”, the friend answered, her face couldn’t hide her amusement.

Bewildered, Ona exclaimed: “Tana!“

The midfielder just shrugged casually: “It’s true.“

“Oh, is it?“, Ona raised an eyebrow at her.

“Ask Ale and Jenni… and Mapi… and Leila. You could literally ask anyone in the team.“, Aitana chuckled.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.“

Aitana eyed her team mate carefully: “It does matter.“

Ona shook her head with a deep sigh: “No, you don’t get it. She told Ale that she doesn’t fancy me and wouldn’t go for her best friend.“

“Wasn’t that forever ago?“, Aitana asked, seemingly unimpressed.

“It was after our training… I feel so stupid…“

“She didn’t have an easy time here when you were in Manchester, Ona.“

“It wasn’t easy for me either.“, the defender admitted.

Aitana looked at her thoughtfully: “Maybe it’s time to talk to each other.“

Ona was quite for a moment before she nodded: “You’re right. Y/n and I need to talk.“

“You should.“

She pulled her friend into a quick hug. “Goodbye, Tana.“

“Bye, Ona.“

Of course, you were paired with Ona to share a room at Barcelonas next away game. Something must have conspired against you. Or Alexia had a hand in this. Ona and you hadn’t exchanged a single word since Alexias intervention after training a few days ago.

Of course, the silence in the hotel room was obnoxious. But you had no interest in changing that.

Ona was the first one to give in, sitting on the bed on her side of the room: “Y/n, stop ignoring me, please.“

“Bold coming from the person who ran away.“, you retorted. You refused to even look at her and instead focused on putting away your clothes.

“I didn’t run away!“

Slowly, you turned to her: “Yes, you did. When Ale talked to me about us.“

You expected her to object but she just looked at you with pleading eyes: “Please, can you just listen to me?“

You sighed reluctantly: “Alright.“

“Thanks.“

“So?“, you prompted her impatiently as soon as she stopped talking.

“Y/n…“

“Yes?“

You could tell that Ona struggled to get the words out but the suspense was almost killing you.

“I like you.“, she finally said.

“More than a best friend?“, you asked, surprised by how hoarse your voice sounded.

“Yes.“, Ona nodded.

You shook your head. Your gaze directed towards the ground, you whispered: “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.“

Ona had gotten up from the bed and bridged the gap between you two. Her hand gently found your cheek, forcing you to meet her eyes. She was so close, you could count the freckles on her face.

“Can it really ruin our friendship if we both want it?“, she asked quietly.

You slowly shook your head: “No, probably not…“

“I think we should try it.“

For the first time, your brain was silent. There was no counterargument you could think of. There was just your heart hammering in your chest.

“Agreed.“, you breathed.

And before you knew it, your lips were on your best friends. Ona hummed into the kiss, pushing harder against you and parting your lips with her tongue.

It knocked you off balance. You landed on your bed, Ona on top of you. You both giggled but refused to remove your lips from each others.

“Oh. My. God. Finally!“, Mapis voice called out, startling you.

“Mapi!“, you yelled at the exact same time, looking at your team mate who had just stumbled into your room.

She flashed you an innocent grin: “Sorry.“

“What do you want anyway?“, Ona asked, a slight hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Uhm… I was about to tell you that we’re starting to have dinner?“ There was no sign of remorse on Mapis face, just pure amazement at what she had just walked into.

“We’ll be there soon.“, Ona replied politely.

“Just give us a few more seconds.“, you added.

Mapi smirked: “You two know that Ale will sense it immediately?“

Ona nodded: “We do.“

“That’s why we need time to prepare ourselves for it.“, you joked.

“Okay, See you later.“ She disappeared through the door with a wink.

The two of you were alone again.

Ona bit her lip to hide a smile: “We don’t need time to prepare ourselves, we need time to make out. That’s what you meant right?“

“Yeah, I did.“, you admitted with a laugh.

Dinner could wait. Kissing all of your girlfriends freckles could definitely not.

[novamariestark]

Can I get a Dean Winchesterx reader using prompts 9 and 10 off list one and prompt 46 off list two, please?

Summary: A quiet date night with Dean gets interrupted.

Warnings: proofread but there's always a mistake after posting 🤣

Word count: 1229

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Prompts: “LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS ILLEGAL!” “Did you just... agree with me?” “I'm actually going to kill you”

[A/N] hope you like 😁

How did we even get here? Sometimes, life takes a strange turn, almost as if the universe decides to have a little fun with you—except you’re not laughing. The night had started so differently. It was supposed to be simple—normal even. Sam had dropped the two of you off at that tiny, run-down bar a few miles outside town, giving you some space for your long-awaited “date night.” You were supposed to have a quiet evening, maybe a few drinks, some laughs. No monsters. No hunts.

But, because some idiot stumbled into the bar, raving about a “monster” they’d seen outside town that meant date night was over. You’d barely finished your drink before you were dragged out, headed straight for where the alleged sighting had taken place. The kicker? Sam had taken the Impala to pick up some supplies, promising to come back later. So here you were, stranded without Baby, crouched behind a row of garbage bins like a couple of amateurs. This is not how you imagined your alone time with Dean would go. You had hoped for something more... normal.

Dean was in front of you, so at least you had something nice to look at. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t look good, but seriously? This was the worst idea he’d had all week—and that was saying something. At first you thought you had heard him wrong but oh no. You had heard him right.

You glanced at him, unable to believe what was coming out of his mouth. “Are you seriously suggesting we rob a cop car?” you asked, trying to keep your voice calm, even though you were two seconds away from smacking some sense into him.

Dean turned to you with that infuriatingly casual grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Borrow,” he corrected, like that made it better. “It’s not illegal if we give it back.”

You stared at him for a moment, your brain struggling to comprehend the sheer level of Dean Winchester logic you were dealing with right now. He had to be joking. But he wasn’t. He was dead serious.

“Okay,” you shot back, your voice dripping with so much sarcasm that it could be visible, “maybe next we can walk into the nearest bank and help ourselves to the entirety of the vault. You know, for funsies.” Dean’s only response was to roll his eyes, still not seeing the problem. You took a deep breath as you waved your hands around for emphasis. “LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS ILLEGAL!”

Honestly, you weren’t sure whether to laugh or scream. You were a hunter—a damn good one. You could handle ghosts, demons, and all manner of monsters that most people couldn’t even fathom. And yet, here you were, stuck with this idiot, debating grand theft auto like it was something minute like, who’s turn it was to wash the dishes.

You gave him the deadliest deadpan look you could muster, hoping he’d catch a hint of how ridiculous he sounded. “I’m actually going to kill you.”

Dean’s grin only widened, those green eyes glimmering in the dim light. “But you’ll look good doing it.”

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the faint heat creeping up your neck. His charm was both your kryptonite and your fuel—it was hard to stay mad when he looked at you like that, but then again, it also made you want to throw something at him. Preferably something heavy.

Glancing back at the cop car, you sighed. This was ridiculous. Utterly insane. The rational part of your brain screamed at you to shut this down, to come up with a better plan. But the other part—the part that had been on countless hunts with Dean, the part that trusted him more than anyone else—knew you were probably going to go along with it anyway.

“Fine,” you sighed, the word leaving your lips before you even knew you thought it.

The second it slipped out, you mentally kicked yourself. Seriously? Fine? Fine? Really? That’s all it took? One look from him, and you were ready to throw common sense out the window? You weren’t fine. Yet somehow, here you were, agreeing to what had to be the stupidest plan Dean Winchester had ever come up with. And that was a long list.

Dean’s voice cut through your spiralling thoughts, pulling you back to the present. “Did you just... agree with me?” His tone was laced with mock disbelief, but that smirk—oh, that damn smirk—said it all. He was enjoying this way too much, and it didn’t help that the glint in his eyes practically sparkled.

You hated that look. The one that always made your stomach do flips, like a rollercoaster you swore you’d never ride again, but kept getting back on anyway. It wasn’t just the smirk. It was Dean. He had this magnetic pull, and no matter how much your brain screamed No!, your heart—and apparently your mouth—tended to betray you in his presence.

“Don’t get used to it,” you muttered, crossing your arms, trying to regain some control over the situation. You weren’t completely rolling over here. You’d follow him into the fire, sure—but you’d still give him hell for it.

Dean winked, already turning his attention back to the car, pulling out his lock-picking tools and started to unlock the car, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered, shooting you another wink and that cheeky smirk of his that sometimes you wanted to smack and others, kiss until you both looked like smurfs.

Your heart fluttered in spite of itself as you tried to ignore the way he seemed so damn... charming while committing a felony. His words floated around your head. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.” Oh, you knew exactly what he was implying. Your lips twitched involuntarily. Damn him.

You crossed your arms, glaring at the back of his head, “What? My criminal record?”

Dean finally got the lock to pop, a click breaking the silence. He stood up, turning back to you with that grin, “See? Easy as pie.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” he said, with the cocky tone in his voice because he knew he wasn’t wrong. You hated how much he knew it, how much he knew you.

You took a step closer to him, eyes narrowing as you shot him a pointed look. “Just get in the damn car, Winchester.”

Dean chuckled as he pulled the door open, “After you, sweetheart,” he said, gesturing to the passenger seat.

You climbed into the car, the faint smell of cheap air freshener and coffee mixing with the cool air of the night. Dean slid in beside you, looking far too pleased with himself. The engine roared to life, and as the tires crunched over gravel, you couldn’t help but shoot him another sideways glance.

“So, what’s the plan, genius?” you asked, crossing your arms as if that might protect you.

Dean shrugged, “Find the monster, kill the monster, return the car—no harm, no foul.”

“If we end up in jail, you’re explaining this to Sam.” You said, leaning back into the seat, propping your elbow on the door, and resting your chin on your palm.

[midnightsapphire]

Break My Heart

Masterlist ~ Hoodie (Part One)

𝕊𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤 : Betrayal. An ugly feeling.

It was the only thing (Y/N) could feel after she had sworn her heart had belonged to the dreamwalker. All the promises, the shared touches, every whisper burned in the depths of her mind. She couldn’t shake the last words he had spoken to her, refusing to let him break her a second time.

Feedback is appreciated c:

A/N- a special mention to @aonungsmate who practically witnessed my insanity making this

—

I will not forget

All the wonderful things you've done

And I have no regrets

Done everything except for one

(Y/N) forced herself out of the link pod when she had known the avatar was safe, away from the prying eyes of the natives and creatures alike as she took heavy breaths to calm herself. Max had rushed to her side, practically clutching her shaking body as she collapsed into his arms.

He had known better than to make any jokes, knowing how hard she had worked, how much she had wanted this for the sake of her and Jake’s relationship. His hand rubbed languidly at her back as her shaking ceased into breathy gasps, wiping her eyes as she pulled herself away from his grip.

“Wait, we have to make sure you’re okay for the next time!” Max called out for (Y/N) as she slipped on her own coat, the warmth no longer hugging her as she glanced at the man from over her shoulder.

(Y/N) thought back, the happiness draped across Jake’s face, the firmness in his stance as he held his mate’s hand, Neytiri’s hands clasped tightly into his as they stood in front of the Tsahik, the entire Omaticaya clan. It was humiliating, how much she yearned for his affections when he practically had a life without her in it this entire time.

“Trust me. There won’t be a next time.”

It's like a test, it's like a game

To see how much I can take

I'm curious to live and learn

“What happened out there? One second she was so excited to get linked in and now she won’t even speak to us.” Max sighed as he saw Jake disconnect from his own, following the dreamwalker as he had wheeled himself through the maze of desks and equipment littered across the lab.

Jake felt his heart weigh down on his chest knowing the sweater she had cherished was back with his own avatar, clutched tightly in his embrace as he ran the entire duration of eclipse to look for her, to catch any sign that he was simply imagining what he had caused, calling out her name like his life depended on it.

Because to him, it meant that and so much more.

He saw her, faintly out of the corner of his eye dashing wildly to her lab, papers clutched to her chest. She had turned into a blur in his eyes, everything fading around him as his hands moved on their own, mouth parting to call her name as she jumped in her own skin. He had sworn his heart cracked further at the tenseness of her muscles, how she avoided even turning around to give him those large doe-eyes that he had grown to love so much.

The papers fell from her grasp as she bumped her hip against one of the tables, cursing under her breath as she reached for them, every paper haphazardly laying across the floor of the lab.

Warmth. It flooded her senses.

Only now it burned at her skin as Jake’s fingertips grazed her own as they reached for the same document strewn in between them. She had seen his wheelchair first, coming into her view before she dared to look into his eyes.

“Clumsy as ever, huh?” Jake whispered lightheartedly, craning his head to meet her eyes, almost begging for her to look at him. It had only been hours since he had accidentally stumbled upon her presence. But to him, it felt like it had been eternities. She wasn’t there to greet him, to chastise him for being so reckless, to give him water and food to ensure he was at his best.

He was more than taken aback when he saw the coldness of her gaze, how frighteningly empty her irises look when met with his own. Of course, he expected nothing less, but he noticed the spark- the light- no longer reflected in her eyes the longer he held their stare. He blinked to himself when she had ripped the papers from his grasp, his fingertips chasing her touch as he grasped her wrist, nearly falling off his wheelchair as she barely glanced at him over her shoulder.

“What did I do? Talk to me, sweetheart.” Jake nearly begged, forehead scrunched as stress lines grew on his face, his hands nearly sweating in fear as she ripped her hand from his grasp, letting him stumble to catch his balance as Max hurried to grab his shoulder. Jake’s chest caved in as his breath labored, glancing at the floor in disbelief as she pulled several chairs and boxes in his way, preventing from following her without at least some resistance.

“Go back to your mate, Sully. You don’t belong here.”

So light me up and let me burn

“The days are starting to blur together. The language is a pain but you know it’s like field-stripping a weapon. Just repetition, repetition. Neytiri calls me skxawng, it means moron-”

The video log was quickly shut off, (Y/N)’s reflection glaring back at her as she ran her hands through her hair in frustration. It was pathetic, how this was the only time she could face Jake without bursting out into tears at the sight of him. Her hands clenched against her chest, breath heaving into heavy pants as she rewinded the video log, closing her eyes as she listened to his husky voice drone on and on about his experiences.

“Don’t think too much, big guy. I can feel the steam coming off your head.” (Y/N)’s laugh rang throughout the log, her form wrapping her arms around Jake’s shoulders as she affectionately rubbed their cheeks together. The sight brought a crooked smile onto (Y/N)’s actual face, her fingertips ghosting over the holographic screen as it paused momentarily on their own smiles.

If she could have frozen that moment, she would have.

“I use this old thing more than you think, sweetheart.” Jake joked, hands reaching up to cradle her hands that were placed firmly on his chest. (Y/N) scoffed, rolling her eyes as her hands ran themselves through what was left of his buzzed hair, pulling away slightly to look at him, the back of her fingertips brushing against his cheek.

“And what do you use it for? Certainly not for the link.”

“For you.” Jake whispered, pulling her onto his lap with a squeal leaving her lips as her arms found purchase on his shoulders, intertwining with themselves to keep her upright. Their laughter rang around the room, hands covering each other’s mouths as they tried to silence themselves, something that clearly didn’t work in their favor as kisses were placed on the palm of each other’s hands, playful bites were exchanged along the tips of their fingers, foreheads pressed together as they evened out their breaths.

“Kiss me.” Jake whispered, eyes gazing into hers as (Y/N) didn’t hesitate, molding their lips together, shifting onto his lap as she pressed their chests together. Jake’s hand aimlessly felt around, his eyes narrowing at the corner of his eyes as messily pulled away from (Y/N), her lips chasing the skin of his jaw down to his neck as he smirked, fingers hitting the button as the log faded to black.

(Y/N) met her own reflection once again, wiping off the tears that fell down her cheeks as her fingers danced along the keyboard, harshly hitting several buttons as her head fell in her hands, her shoulders shaking as loud sobs wracked her body.

File Deleted.

Tell me you've never loved me

Tell me that it wasn't real

Just say you've found somebody else

I wanna know the way it feels

“Ma’Jake, you seem too distracted.” Neytiri whispered, her hand clutching his five fingered hand tightly as he narrowly hid the IPad behind his back, his eyes softening at the woman before him she looked up at him in worry.

“I’m fine, really.” He started, but felt his shoulders droop lower at the (Y/N)’s frozen face on his lockscreen. “Actually-” Jake sighed, resting his head against Neytiri’s shoulder.

“Are we doing the right thing?” He whispered under his breath as Neytiri brushed a few stray braids away from his face, her features softening as she saw the tears building up at the base of his waterline.

“It is for the people, Ma’Jake.” She whispered, placing a kiss on his forehead before standing up from their spot on the ground before rejoining her place among the clan, greeting them respectfully.

Jake’s eyes never left the screen in his hands, almost foreign against his blue fingers as it dwarfed in size compared to his stature now. He aimlessly played another clip, the volume reverberating along the empty forest around him as he replayed the same clip over and over, his own reflection burning daggers at him as it ended once again, reminding him of how much he was a failure.

How much he failed you.

Tell me you've never loved me

Tell me it was just a lie

I wanna feel the pain

“Don’t you want to go back? It’s been days, (Y/N).” Norm pleaded, peeking his head into the room of the woman’s lab, wincing at the scattered papers, the empty trays and bags of food that littered the floor. It was horrible.

“What’s the point?” (Y/N) scoffed, brushing herself off as she peeled the sheets off from her body, fixing the makeshift bed she had made for herself in the corner of the lab as she glared holes into the fabric. Norm only rolled his eyes, pushing his way through and praying to Ewya- or any higher being, really- that she wouldn’t kill him on his way.

“You’re going. Your avatar is probably out there, starving, dehydrated. That is supposed to be your baby.” Norm scolded with a newfound confidence, dragging her out of the cramped room as she hissed at the new sudden glint of lights burned at her eyes. She followed regardless, knowing he was right.

She neglected her duties, her avatar, her own health at the expense of Jake Sully. Even the name brought distaste on her tongue as she neared the link pods. Norm ensured they stayed far away from Jake’s, now residing in the corner as (Y/N) sighed, laying back onto the gel-like bedding of the pod.

“Empty thoughts, (Y/N).”

–

(Y/N) gasped, sitting up quickly as she looked at her unfamiliar surroundings. She tested her motor skills, rolling her fingers, wrists, ankles, ensuring everything was intact before she had sat up, not yet trusting her wobbly legs. Her eyebrows furrowed together as she looked down at the various folded leaves surrounding her, dipping her fingers in a freshly lain one as she noticed someone had been leaving water for her.

But nobody knew where she had rested herself.

Her eyes glanced over her figure, warmth resting on her lap as she looked down, ripping the hoodie off her own body as she threw it aside, not caring where it had landed. Her skin felt disgusting, searing at the thought of Jake Sully taking care of her body, at least grateful she was hydrated, but not exactly thankful that he was the reason for it.

She shakily stood up, clutching the trunk of the tree nearest to her as she stabilized herself, making sure she was okay to walk before ducking through the several large leaves obscuring her view. Her ears twitched as she listened to the chirps of various animals, inhaling the sweet scent of the air before a twig snapping briefly caught her attention.

(Y/N) reached to her side, bringing out the pocketknife she had tucked into the pocket of her shorts for emergencies as she held it out in front of her, almost screeching when an arrow pierced the bark next to her head.

Her eyes widened as she glanced down the arrow, noting the vibrant feathers as the end as another arrow poked in between her shoulder blades. “Turn around. Demon.” A female voice hissed in her ear as (Y/N) listened, slowly putting her hands behind her head as she turned around, meeting the amber eyes of a female Na’vi she had known too well from Jake’s stories, the very reason she high-tailed and ran from the village.

Neytiri.

(Y/N) wanted to feel resentful towards the woman, wanted to feel anger, wanted to scream in her face. But nothing had come out, for (Y/N) couldn’t hate someone who had done nothing wrong except be guilty for the same thing she had been. The woman was in love, and for that she couldn’t fault her.

Neytiri faltered, recognizing the features on the woman, knowing how much Jake tried to hide his human devices, Neytiri was keen enough to catch glimpses of the woman. Though her features were more familiar on a smaller body than the dreamwalker in front of her.

“You are JakeSully’s person.” Neytiri whispered in disbelief, watching the somber look in the woman’s eyes when their eyes crossed. She watched the woman’s face drop, shaking her head as she spoke in broken Na’vi.

“No, not his. His.. you.” (Y/N) whispered, the woman’s ears perking as she tilted her head, slowly lowering the tip of her bow as Neytiri looked at her in confusion.

“He has not told you?”

I wanna see the light

“(Y/N), (Y/N), can you stop for a fucking second, please.” Jake pleaded, wrapping his arms tightly around (Y/N)’s figure, burying his nose into the crook of her neck as he tried to burn her natural scent into his mind, wishing- no, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time he could experience it. His chest pressed tightly against her back, forehead moving to rest against her shoulder as she thrashed in his arms.

“Fucking let me go, Sully.”

“No. Don’t call me that, please. Call me jar-head, a moron, anything else.” Jake whispered into her skin, leaving gentle kisses as (Y/N) finally stopped resisting his touch, faintly feeling the weight of her head lean against his.

“Neytiri-”

“Neytiri nothing, sweetheart. The sky people- our people.. They’ll kill the entire village. I thought.. giving myself to the Na’vi would make them stop- would keep them away for as long as I could knowing I was still here, until I could actually prepare myself and them. I was wrong, baby I was so wrong.” Jake pleaded, his arms tightening around her as he kissed at the skin trailing up her neck, burying his nose into her cheek as he felt the stickiness of tears, no longer knowing if they were hers or his own.

“That was a stupid reason, even you know that Jake. You lied to me. You-You mated with her.”

“For show, (Y/N). How are the RDA supposed to know the difference? I swear to you.” Jake spoke desperately, circling around the woman as he held her hands tightly against his, angling his amber eyes to meet his own as he held their intertwined hands against his chest.

“My heart, it beats for you and only you. I can’t.. I can’t imagine myself being with anyone but you, sweetheart. You’re the air I breathe, the first and last thought in my mind every waking second. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, I’m sorry I was such a fucking idiot that I didn’t show you- didn’t treat you like i should have.” He whispered, bringing their hands towards his lips as he laid soft kisses along her fingertips.

“But I see you, sweetheart. I love you.” He confessed, his heart hammering in his chest as (Y/N) craned her head to glance up into his pleading eyes.

“I don’t believe you.”

Break my heart

---

Taglist : @cleverzonkwombatsludge ; @whenercolorfulrainbowlol ; @arminsgfloll ; @ellabellabus07​ ; @jakesullysupporter​ ; @kitkat1690​ ; @fanboyluvr​ ; @an0th3rsss​ ; @sweetllamaparadise​ ; @netherklutz​ ; @bewbz2110​ ; @ohshititsfenharel​ ; @hot15936​ ; @perfectprofessorloverapricot​ ; @bucky12345 ; @ki-h06 ; @perseny​ ; @itssomeonereading ;

Crossed out means it didn’t let me tag :c

[theladyofmanyfandomsafterhours]

The Captain’s Cup.

Buggy x Reader

Explicit | NSFW | 18+ only

Warnings: Very heavy smut under the cut. It’s insanely filthy and wild without plot.

A/n: Probably the most unhinged thing I’ve written in my life.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

“Shanks would never…”

Three words were all it took for the Pirate Captain to send away his crew for an entire week just to put you in your place by fucking you senseless. Which, secretly is what you had wanted.

Said place was currently on the large spinning wheel in the centre of the circus ring. The idea had been toyed with for a long time but neither of you had worked up the courage to see it through - until today.

Arms splayed wide and strapped comfortably. You waited with spread legs and absolutely no clothing as Buggy finished the ties around your ankles.

Secured to the wheel, the captain stood up, smiled and then and spun you until you were upside down. A part of you was thankful that you had practice on the circus mechanism otherwise you would have thrown up.

At his mercy, you saw Buggy approach. His chest at level with your exposed entrance. His fingers stroked the sensitive nub before they carefully tugged the slippery folds apart. The pirate leaned forward, humming.

“You’re looking a little empty.” He said. “We should fix that.”

Buggy detached the only part of his body that was capable of fitting perfectly. He brought himself over and let the tip touch your entrance. You moaned softly, biting back as much as you could. Buggy tilt his head curiously as his powers pressed down firmly and watched as the tip was swallowed by your body. You cried out his name sinfully. If you had any movement in your hands, you’d have grabbed him but Buggy was an expert with restraints. All you had now was your voice.

Holding steady, Buggy wriggled it slightly pressing in a little harder now. One-third squeezed through. Your panting grew heavier as more of his length filled you. Buggy was halfway now and struggling.

“Fuck. Buggy…” You called out. Not from pain. You hated how slow he was doing this.

“You’re just so tight.” Buggy growled through his teeth. After tonight, he promised that you’d be stretched out properly. “I hope you remember this next time you run your mouth.”

With some additional pressure, Buggy watched your mouth gape as the remaining half filled you so perfectly to the hilt. He let you adjust to the girth and heard the comfortable sigh. Then he proceeded with his usual routine until his hot spend burst and filled you up. Buggy slowly pulled his hard length up as more ropes gushed out so you would act as his personal cup. You could feel it too. Filled to the brim. Warm and full.

When Buggy pulled out completely, his length reattached itself but his eyes were fixed on the exposed hole. No longer empty. His creamy white spend filling every crevice all the way to the top. You sighed in content and a drop rolled off the surface trailing a sticky path down your abdomen. Buggy brought his palm to your soft flesh below your navel. He hummed and then pushed against it, watching his seed squeeze through your stretched hole curving into a dome. Like overflowing cup, his seed spilled over your folds. It trickled down a path to your bellybutton and you felt it lose its warmth.

Buggy reached forward and carefully pulled the folds apart once more to see how much had been lost.

“What a shame.” He said. “I’ll need to restart.”

Without warning, his fingers stretched your folds wider sending a small jolt of surprise. His hands detached and Buggy used his foot to turn the wheel upright. Now the right way up, you felt his liquid ropes drip out of the hole that was being propped open. Buggy’s eyes watched deviously as some of it ran down your thighs but the vast majority fell out in thick sticky globs. Your head lulled forward at the sensation of leaking out and your body tried to clench to hold some in. Buggy growled when he felt the resistance against his fingers. One hand released itself and placed the palm under your navel. As if to help empty your body, Buggy pushed gently - like he was squeezing a prize out.

“I need it empty.” He scolded.

“Buggy, I don’t think…” you whispered.

Buggy looked up at you. He pressed a chaste kiss on your lips before pulling back. “I think you’re going to have to flush it out.”

Still detached, your eyes widened in surprise at Buggy’s length hard again. His second hand moved away from your entrance and you received five seconds to feel normal before the length of Buggy’s length kissed the wet slit and paused.

Looking at you, Buggy’s eyes flickered with something like love.

“Tell me how you want this next part to go.” He offered. You were still catching your breath but today, you had an insatiable appetite for him.

“Drill it out as hard and fast as you want.” You whispered.

A wicked gleam replaced the love and Buggy’s floating hands found their mark. His fingers slipped into your body, tugging your folds and entrance as far apart as your body would allow.

They held everything open when his thick, hard length plunged into the gaping hole and began hammering in and out at a pace that made you cry out in wild pleasure. Buggy’s mouth peppered kisses along your body as it heaved up and down against the wooden surface in sync with the pace. The air was hot, sweat riddled both of your bodies. And then, after the fourth minute of raw animalistic fucking, you screamed into the tent. Your coil snapped so intensely that your spend was released. Buggy’s length removed itself and it spilled like a wave, washing out Buggy’s seed from earlier.

Your breath was heavy, you were exhausted. But you were proud. You held on much longer than you thought and Buggy was as brutal as you had requested. By the seas did you love him.

Once he was satisfied, Buggy’s hands let you go and reattached to him. He placed a hand against the side of the wheel.

“Now, let’s try that again. For every drop spilled, I’ll empty you out just like this and start again.”

As you discovered, Buggy was a pirate of his word because he fucked you empty and refilled your body the entire night when you ‘accidentally’ spilled his personal cup.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

[minisugakoobies]

Paradise | JJK - Thirteen

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: smut, neighbors to lovers (not quite friends but not quite strangers), slow burn, love triangle, Stripper!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: new pov 👀, grinding, fingering, oral sex (m + f receiving), hand job, shower fun, mentions of roleplaying, mentions of biting (always get consent!), a bit of exhibitionism, lots of teasing, texting dirty photos, dirty talk, deepthroating, cum eating, but also a lot of cuddling because Jungkook is pretty whipped y'all and so is reader, Jungkook has to deal with a nasty drunk customer, 2021 AMAs Jungkook is the wedding visual

Word Count: 9.5k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!

A/N: Fuck, it’s been a while since I updated, huh? Sorry about that! I got busy with holiday fics, and then my life kinda fell apart for a while and writing was the last thing I had time for. And then I had a difficult time with this chapter because I’d decided the story was only going to be 15 chapters and I was trying too hard to wrap things up too quickly… so guess what? Paradise is not ending with chapter 15! I hope you’re still enjoying the story, because it’s gonna go on a bit longer. How long? I don’t know! We’ll find out together! 💕

Song lyrics are from "Notice Me" by SZA

Thanks to @minttangerines for taking a look at this one! Please don’t be a silent reader, I’d love to hear from you! Taglist is open. 💕

Previous Chapter ♦️ Paradise Masterlist ♦️ Next Chapter

************************************************************************

Alarm clocks are such a cruel invention. 

There’s little worse than a tiny machine whose only purpose is to violently jar you from peaceful sleep by means of unholy bleating and throw you directly into your day. Really, whoever invented the alarm clock had to be a sociopath.

These are the sleepy thoughts that run through Jungkook’s head as your alarm clock tears him from his sleep Friday morning. Eyes still closed, he feels you shifting beside him, and then there’s a slapping sound and the annoying beeping ceases. Your heavy sigh makes him smile. 

“You know, I’ve always hated your alarm, too,” he mumbles, remembering your confession about his alarm the other night. 

“It did not occur to me until this moment that you can hear that every day,” you admit, and he laughs, opening his eyes. 

He presses himself forward against your back, burying his face in the nape of your neck to breathe you in. He can smell the faded sweat from last night’s multiple rounds where it still clings to your soft skin. It’s insane to him, how everything about you is wonderful, down to even the smell of your sweat. He hears you sigh again, a happy sound that makes his heart beat faster, and you scoot closer, threading your fingers through his. 

“Mmmhmm,” Jungkook hums. “S’okay, I usually just fall back asleep. But I really hate it today, because it means you’re getting up, right?” Obviously you have to go to work. Or login or whatever it is you do with a work from home gig. He tightens his grip when you start to pull away, whining into your skin. “Noooo, don’t leave me.” 

“Kookie!” you huff amusedly. He gives up when you persist, twisting yourself onto your side so you can peer at him while he pouts. Your fingers pinch his bottom lip playfully as you eye him, an exuberant grin on your face, and he wants to roll you onto your back and cover your face in kisses until you’re breathless with laughter.

You sigh again. “Does anyone ever say ‘no’ to this face?” 

“Nope,” he lies gleefully, lips turning up in a smirk as your arms loop around his neck. “Don’t tell me you’re about to try. You can’t.” 

“Actually, I was about to tell you that I hit the snooze button, so you’ve got me for at least another five minutes.” Lightly, you kiss him. He follows your mouth when you pull away to speak, so that you end up breathing the words onto his lips. “Better make them count.” 

The delighted giggle you let out when he swiftly rolls you onto your back sends him to the moon. He brings himself back down to earth by covering your mouth and body with his own, his hands reaching for your thighs, prompting you to wrap your legs around him and keep him close. 

He feels you start to squirm against him and takes the hint, easily flipping the two of you over so that you’re on top. “Shit, jagi,” he hisses as you roll your hips, grinding your core against his. He can feel how wet you are through where your cunt drags against his naked cock. You’re always so wet for him. He’s definitely getting a big head about it. 

That damn alarm clock of yours goes off again, and you groan, sliding from Jungkook’s lap to reach for the machine. Jungkook remains tangled up in your sheets, one arm behind his head as you climb off the bed. 

“You, uh, you don’t have to get up now, if you don’t want to. I know it’s early for you. I don’t mind if you want to sleep a little more here.”

He watches as you hurriedly drape yourself in a big t-shirt before turning back to face him. You’re so cute like this, when you get shy in front of him, as if he hasn’t seen every inch of you by now. As if he doesn’t want to see every inch of you. There’s nothing you need to hide from him. 

But you seem a little more nervous than usual. Is it because he slept over? He hadn’t intended to, but after the third round last night, you’d fallen asleep on him yet again, this time literally, draped across him, with your head tucked against his neck, and he’d been too enamored to move you. Your soft breathing must’ve lulled him to sleep. 

The offer to let him stay and sleep in is sweet, but he’s wide awake now. “Nah, I’m up.” 

“Okay. Um, just take your time getting up, I guess.” 

Jungkook can’t help but appreciate how awkward you’re being right now. Makes him feel better about his own clumsiness with stuff like this. He always over thinks things when it comes to relationships. Not that this is a relationship. Unless it is, but only if that’s what you want, too. 

Shit. Prime example right there. 

You’re slowly backing towards the door. Jungkook’s not sure if that’s because you don’t want to leave him or because you’re still trying to keep him from seeing your naked ass under that shirt. Seriously, how are you so cute? 

“I’m gonna go shower.” 

He can’t help himself. “Want some company?” 

You bite your lip, contemplating, and he smirks. He’s not a betting man but he’s pretty sure he knows what your answer is going to be, so he rises from the bed, hard cock slapping against his stomach as he crosses the room. Once his arms are around you again, you sigh. “I’m gonna be late, aren’t I?”

Jungkook grins cheekily. “Depends on how you want it.” His hands roam over your backside, squeezing the soft flesh there. It’s an understatement to say he’s a fan of your ass. He drops a smack on one cheek and you let out a cross between a yelp and a laugh. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Jeon Jungkook.” 

Stealing your giggles away with a kiss, he shuffles the two of you towards your bathroom, only allowing you to break away long enough to turn on the water. Under the spray, he reclaims your mouth again with needy lips. An electric current runs through him every time you moan, and soon he has you pressing your palms into the tiled wall as he slides his fingers into you from behind.

Jungkook’s shy, but he’s not chaste. He’s never had trouble finding someone on the nights when he’s needed to lose himself in someone else. Especially once he started working at Paradise. At first, he’d tried to resist fucking his patrons. Didn’t want the lines to blur too much. But eventually, he caved, too easily flattered by the women throwing themselves at him - literally, some nights - too easily tempted by the pleasures they promised. 

He’d go home with them and then slip out in the morning, before they woke. Never wanting more than just a memory. He lived this way for the longest time. It was easy, especially for someone like him, someone who used his onstage cockiness to hide his shyness. Required no real thought, no real effort - beyond, of course, what he gave in the bedroom. Or the shower. Or, more than once, in the car. He always made sure they were satisfied. 

So he doesn’t lack experience. But being with you is like nothing he’s ever felt before. Maybe it’s the newness of this physical connection between you that is driving the way he wants you all the time. Like all the time. Or maybe it’s something else. 

Whatever it is, he wants more than the memory of a wild night. 

These thoughts swirl through his mind as he slams a hand on the wall right above yours, steading himself so he can thrust his other hand into you harder, faster. He tries to shut down the thinking part of his brain as he focuses on the moment, letting the sensations take over.

Slick skin slides against slick skin. The warm water rushing over you both gets in his eyes, his mouth as he drops to his knees, but he doesn’t care. 

“Fuck, Kookie.” 

Your words reverberate in the resonant space, a chorus of praise that fills the room. He’s the one kneeling, worshipping, but you’re the one praying. All he feels is you.

“Come on, baby, I know you’re close. Just let go.” He grabs at your waist, making you arch your back a little so your ass sticks out. Once you’re in the right position, he tilts his face up and licks along the wet slit where his fingers just were. 

Jungkook loves eating pussy. He could spend hours between your legs, face buried in your sweetness, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you. It makes him feel almost powerful, knowing he can make you come apart so quickly. Confident, in a way he’s rarely known off the stage.

He feels that way now, even though he’s in a rather vulnerable position, crouching in your crowded little bathtub with your thighs on either side of his head. You could crush him with those, so easily. And he’d use his last gasping breath to thank you. 

“Kookie, goddamn, that’s - ah - oh, that’s so good!” You press your cheek into the wall, trying to keep your balance as you push your hips back, seeking more of his hot mouth. “Please, oh fuck, please don’t stop!” 

There’s no way he’d stop now. He hums into you, loving the way you shudder in response. As your hips begin to rock, dragging your cunt over his eager tongue, he brings his tattooed hand up to press into your clit, tracing tiny circles into the throbbing nub like he’s drawing a bullseye, aiming oh so carefully for the center.

You cry out so loudly when your climax hits. Jungkook feels his dick twitch just from the way you say his name. Before he’s finished licking you clean, you’re reaching for him, pulling him up to join you. He rises obediently as you wrap your hand around his aching cock and begin to stroke. 

“Jagi,” he grunts, hips jerking erratically into your hand. His eyes fall shut. His mouth blindly finds yours, kissing you desperately as you twist and tug and then he’s painting both your stomachs with his hot seed before the warm water splashing over you washes it away. 

He’s content to let you take the lead when you kiss him this time. Your hands slide into his hair, nails scraping the nape of his neck, and he groans, pulling you closer. He knows you should probably get moving or you’ll be late, but he doesn’t want to stop holding you, and it doesn’t seem like you want to let go, either.

Eventually, though, you climb out, handing Jungkook a towel while wrapping one around yourself. He wrings the water from his long locks before knotting the soft cotton around his waist as he follows you back into your bedroom. When you turn to look at him, something in your eyes makes his pulse race. 

“What are your plans for today?”

Jungkook pulls his sweats back on as you throw on a loose shirt and some shorts. “Don’t really have any, other than work tonight.” He’d traded shifts with Bang Chan so he could have tomorrow night off to attend your friend’s wedding with you. Something he’s equally excited and nervous about, though he’s doing his damnedest trying not to show it. 

He can tell from your stories and from the few times he’s seen you with your friends that you’re incredibly close. And he gets the vibe that your friends are pretty protective of you. Especially Jisoo. Jungkook finds her pretty intimidating. Even if both Taehyung and Jimin swear she’s a sweet little kitten. Hard to trust their judgment when they’re both so lovesick. 

You’re still looking at him, though you seem deep in thought. Finally, you nod. “Okay. I’m taking today off, too.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, fuck it, I need a break from that place. And yesterday was so nice…” you shrug, playing with the drawstrings at your waist. “Maybe we could hang out again? Since you’re free?” 

Jungkook’s starting to worry about the effect you have on his heart. Right now, it feels like it might just float straight out of his body and through the ceiling. 

“I mean, if that’s what you want…” he replies, hoping his tone sounds calmer than he feels. How’s he supposed to play it cool when such a simple question makes him so happy like this? 

You slide off the wall, stepping closer until you place your hands on his chest. “It’s what I want,” you confirm, brushing your lips against his. He feels you smile as he tries to deepen the kiss, but you dance away from his grasp. “Let me email my boss quick, and then I’m all yours.” 

It’s amazing how much he wants that to be true. Jungkook watches you walk away, hips swaying, and it hits him suddenly - he’s fallen so, so hard for you. 

Fuck. Whatever he does now, he can’t mess this up. Like he always does. 

“Do you want some breakfast?” Your voice calls to him from your kitchen and he snaps out of his thoughts.He finds you rummaging through your cupboard, grabbing bowls and a box of cereal. 

He munches away happily while you take a seat at your desk. “So you like working from home?” Jungkook loves dancing at Paradise, but he’s thought about camming a few times. It’d be nice to skip the commute. And the grabby customers.

“I fucking love it,” you answer, making him laugh. “I hate it when I have to go into the office. Everyone’s so loud there, all hopped up on stale coffee from the break room. Plus, I really hate having to abide by the dress code. I work better in joggers and comfy t-shirts, but some people aka my boss think that’s unacceptable.” You roll your eyes, scrolling through your email. “Ugh, I need to follow up on some of these. Shouldn’t take long.”

Jungkook tries to picture what you must look like at your office. He imagines you sitting behind a large desk, dressed in a smart suit, something like what he’s seen someone wearing in a movie, with a sharply tailored jacket clinging to your curves and a tight pencil skirt, maybe a little tighter than strictly necessary, and then his reverie shifts. Now you’re standing in front of your desk, palms pressing into the shiny surface as you bend over in that tight little skirt, and - 

Wow, he needs to get a hold of himself. He lowers his bowl a little to cover the half-chub he’s sporting, and remembers something relating to suits. “Hey, for the wedding tomorrow - is it black tie?”

“Shit, I’m sorry, I really haven’t said much about the wedding, have I?” You twist in your chair to glance at him. “It’s not a super fancy ceremony. You can just wear, like, a nice suit, if you have one?”

“All my suits are tearaways.” 

“Oh. Oh.” You blink as you realize what he means, and then he laughs. With your eyes wide like that, you kind of resemble a deer in headlights - an expression he’s come to adore, since he sees it frequently. 

“That was a joke. I have normal suits.” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it. “It’s really too easy sometimes.” Flustering you is his favorite new hobby. He’s kinda proud of how good he is at it. 

“Shut up.” You press your lips together in what looks like annoyance, but he knows you’re fighting back a laugh. He grabs your empty bowl, heading for the kitchen. “Anyway, about tomorrow, I’m gonna get ready with Jennie and the other girls, so I’ll meet you at the hotel before the ceremony. I did tell you where the wedding is, right?” 

“You did. The Black Swan.” 

Another reason Jungkook is rather nervous about tomorrow. The Black Swan is an expensive, high-end luxury hotel in the heart of downtown Seoul. Clearly your friends are doing pretty well if they can afford to get married at the hotel’s famous rooftop venue, overlooking the entire city. He bets they all have prestigious jobs or something, like lawyers and professors and doctors. 

“Right! Okay, good, at least I told you that much. Sorry, my brain’s just been all over the place lately.” 

He just hums sympathetically, lost in his own messy mind. Thinking about the rooftop makes him think of that night at Dionysus, when he’d gotten too drunk, sulking over the fact that you were on a date with someone else…

Oh shit. Jungkook pauses mid-pour of a second bowl of cereal. Are you still seeing that guy? It’s been a while since you’ve said anything about him. Seokjin. Kim Seokjin, the super successful chef. Jungkook had checked out his YouTube channel after seeing the two of you in the hallway that one time. The guy seemed to have it all - talent, good looks, and you in his arms. 

But does he still have you? Does Jungkook, for that matter? Maybe he shouldn’t think in such terms. How can anyone really “have” anyone, anyway? 

It’d be okay for him to ask you about Seokjin. Right? There was that whole competition or whatever… He closes his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts. Relax, dude, you’re spiraling. 

“Oh shit!”

Jungkook pops his head out of the kitchen at your shout. “What? Is there another spider?” 

“You’re not gonna let me live that down, are you?” 

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ before chomping down on another spoonful, crossing the space to stand beside you. 

“Well, it’s nothing bad. My friend Wendy, the one I told you about, that I used to work with? She said someone quit unexpectedly and her company needs to hire someone immediately for some sort of new project, so she wants to know if I would be interested in coming in for an interview!” 

You beam up at him, and he’s honestly not sure if it’s the sugar rush or just you, but he feels a little lightheaded as he grins back. 

“Jagi! That’s great!”

“Yeah! It’s kinda amazing, actually. I feel like Wendy’s thrown me a life preserver.” You fall silent as you reread the email. Jungkook swallows as quietly as he can, not wanting to disturb your concentration. He notes your brow furrowing as the silence stretches on.

“Everything okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah! This is great! I just…” you trail off, still reading. He waits. “They want me to interview next week, which is… a little quick.” 

“Ah,” he hums. 

Could you be nervous? Although you’ve told him that you’re sick of your company, you strike him as someone who is incredibly surefooted when it comes to your career. It’s honestly pretty sexy. (As if everything about you isn’t sexy, right down to the way your fingers lightly caress the wheel of your mouse and goddamn it, he really needs to stop thinking with his cock.)

But then you bite your lip as your gaze meets his and he realizes that yes, you are nervous. And it’s a feeling he can understand. 

“It doesn’t give me a lot of time to get myself ready. I mean, I’m thrilled that Wendy recommended me for the position, and I’m sure I could handle it, from what she’s saying, but... it’s been ages since I last interviewed for anything.” 

Jungkook nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You glance at the computer screen again, and he’s overcome with the urge to do whatever he can to ease your mind. “I know it’s not the same, but when I was preparing for my audition at Paradise, I had Taehyung helping me out. Maybe I could do the same for you?” He lifts a shoulder. “Ask you some questions? Help you ease back into it.” 

“Like… a fake interview or something?”

He nods. “If that would help.” 

“Really?” Your tone is hopeful, making his heart buoyant again. “You wouldn’t mind?” 

He’d have to search the internet for examples of things to ask you, since he doesn’t know the first thing about financial advising or whatever, but Jungkook feels pretty sure that he can do this for you. If you want him to. “Not at all.” 

“That would… be really great, Kookie. Thank you.” This time when you smile, it’s a shy thing, and before he can think he’s bending down to kiss you gently. You giggle into it, eyelashes fluttering when he pulls away. “What was that for?” 

He shrugs again, painfully aware that the tips of his ears are warming, turning red. “Nothing. How many more emails do you need to answer?” 

“Um…” you stare at your laptop. “Let me just respond to Wendy and then I’m done.”

“Cool.” Jungkook stretches. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes roam over his bare torso as he does so. He smirks, enjoying when you look away, knowing you’ve been caught. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he lowers his mouth to your ear. “I’m gonna go home and take off these dirty clothes. Come find me when you’re done. I’ll be waiting.” 

“Fuck,” is your breathy response. He laughs. You’re really too good for his ego. But before you can say or do anything else to inflate his head a little more, your phone rings. 

Be still, my heaaaaart…

“Oh god, I bet that’s my boss, wanting to talk me out of taking off.” You frown as you check the screen. “Shit, it’s Jisoo. I gotta take this.” 

Jungkook carries his bowl back into the kitchen, an excuse to give you a little privacy to talk to your friend. But he can still hear your half of the conversation anyway. 

“Ji! What’s going on? Wait, what’s that sound? Is that Jennie? Is she crying?” A brief pause. “Okay, okay, I’m coming over! No, I’m not working today, I - it’s a long story, I’ll explain when I get there.” 

Jungkook reemerges from the kitchen when he hears you say goodbye. “Is everything okay?” he asks again. 

You shake your head. “I don’t know. Jisoo’s at Jennie’s, I need to get over there.” You move hurriedly down the hallway to your room. “I could hear Jennie crying in the background.”

“Jisoo didn’t say what happened?” Jungkook watches you dress, feeling helpless. You’re radiating with a nervous energy that makes him tap his fingers agitatedly against his thigh.

“No, all she said was that Jennie needs me.” You frown, staring into your closet. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t know what you’re apologizing to him for. “It’s all right. Your friends need you.” He grins when you put on his hoodie. It really does look better on you than him. “Don’t worry about me. Just text me later.” 

“I will.” You give him a playful smile as his fingers grip at your hip, drawing you closer to him. “I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long.” 

“Better not,” Jungkook murmurs, other hand clutching your chin to bring your mouth towards his. 

************************************************************************

You stay on my mind, I can't regret no times spent with you

And I still wonder if you notice me, yes

Jungkook tips his head, staring at the canvas in front of him. Music blares from his stereo and he sings along to it without thinking. It’s like breathing for him sometimes. 

The portrait he’s working on is nearly finished, finally. It’s taken him a bit longer to do this one than usual. He’d like to blame that on being busy the last few weeks, but the truth is that he was having a hard time with the photo his patron provided. It’s not that he can’t paint from a static shot, but he prefers live models or being out in nature. He needs movement, light, even the sounds his subject makes help him to better capture them. 

But he’s pretty happy with his progress on this one. He dips his brush into the mix of yellows on his palette, a sort of sunny shade that he’s using for highlights in the woman’s hair. The gentle tap-tap of his paintbrush against the canvas triggers a tingling sensation down the back of his scalp. 

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been working until his phone buzzes and he glances at the screen. It’s a spam text, so he ignores it, but he’s shocked to see that it’s already past noon. It’s not completely surprising that he lost track of time - that’s usually what happens when he’s in the zone. Everything around him falls away until there’s nothing left but him and the canvas. He learned a long time ago to set timers for himself on the days he has work or other plans or else he’d never stop. 

But it is a little surprising that he managed to stop thinking about you for a few hours. Not because he’s obsessed with you or anything, but because after he left your apartment this morning, he was too excited at the thought of another full day with you to do anything but think about you. 

And as always, his excitement triggered an avalanche of questions. Just like this morning. What should the two of you do today? There was a new gallery on the east side of town that he’d been meaning to check out - would you want to go with him? He’d love to spend an afternoon just walking around with you, talking about art - or anything, really. Or maybe you’d rather just hang out at your place? 

Or maybe you’d have wedding stuff you’d need to do? He remembered you said that you were the maid of honor. He didn’t quite know what that entailed but figured it was important. Your friend Jennie must really trust you. Made sense to him. You and him had only been doing this… dating… whatever that you had going on only for a short while and yet he felt like he could trust you with anything. 

And speaking of dating, what about Seokjin? Were you still seeing him? You hadn’t mentioned him in a while. Jungkook wasn’t sure if that was because he had won the little competition, or if you just didn’t want to talk about Seokjin with him. He should probably ask. 

Although… there was the other night, in the hallway at Paradise. When you’d asked him for a dance. Fuck, he wished he’d could’ve danced for you. He’d been working on a routine just for you… but that night, you’d pulled him close and confessed that you only wanted him. He wanted to believe it wasn’t the alcohol talking. That you’d meant it. But the thought of asking terrified him a little. What if you didn’t remember your own words? 

His thoughts looped back around to the wedding again. There was this burning desire to impress your friends that was starting to worry him. He already knew which suit he was going to wear tomorrow, wanting to dress to kill. Maybe he’d ask Jimin to do his makeup - Jimin usually did his makeup at Paradise. 

Any time Jungkook’s brain would get overwhelmed, he would slip into what his friends refer to as his “buffering mode.” He’d freeze in place, eyes wide but unseeing as he struggled to sort out his thoughts. This morning, Jungkook realized he’d gone into this mode again when smoke began to sting his nose and he snapped back to reality to discover that he’d burnt the fuck out of his kimchi eggs. Cursing, he threw the ruined second breakfast in the trash, and decided to put on some music and focus on his painting before he burnt down his apartment. 

It worked. All those questions and worries melted away as he’d picked up his brush. But now the day’s half over and he hasn’t heard anything from you. He hopes that doesn’t mean anything bad.

His phone is still in his hand, staring up at him impassively. He debates for a few minutes, the desire to talk to you warring with the fear that he’ll come across as impatient or worse, needy, before finally putting the phone down. 

He can keep waiting. The truth is, he’ll wait as long as it takes. 

So he makes lunch. Checks his mail. Does a load of laundry. The time ticks by.

Until finally, his phone buzzes. He lunges across the pile of boxers he’s folding to grab it.

Jagiya (3:01): Kookie I’m so sorry!

Jagiya (3:01): I completely lost track of time

(3:02): it’s ok jagi

(3:02): everything all right?

It’s a few minutes before the dots on his screen disappear. 

Jagiya (3:04): Yes but no but yes? 

He has no idea what that’s supposed to mean.

Jagiya (3:04): I’ll tell you everything later, but right now, Jennie needs me

Jagiya (3:05): So I’m gonna be here a bit longer. Through dinner, at least

His heart sinks. Those little dots reappear.

Jagiya (3:06): I know we were gonna hang out. Can you forgive me?

(3:06): nothing to forgive

(3:07): do what you gotta do

His reply makes him cringe. It reads back as indifferent. What he meant to say was, you don’t need to apologize for being there for your friends. He understands. He panics a little, thumbs flying, wanting to show that he cares.

(3:07): is there anything i can do?

Jagiya (3:08): You’re so sweet 😘

His heart rebounds a little.

Jagiya (3:08): We’re okay here, thanks

Jagiya (3:09): But I guess I won’t see you before you leave for work 

Jagiya (3:09): 😞

He can picture you wearing the same expression as the emoji you send. A sad little pout. He wants to kiss it away. 

(3:10): it’s ok

(3:10): you’ll have me all day tomorrow

Jagiya (3:10): And all night?

Jagiya (3:11): 😙

(3:11): for as long as you want me, jagi

He hopes you understand just what he means. 

************************************************************************

Like it is any other Friday, Paradise is packed. The club is always stuffed full on weekend nights with patrons wanting to toss off the stress of a hard week and slip into a world of fantasy. And it’s Jungkook’s job to give that to them. After finishing his second stage performance of the night, he makes his way back to the bar, where Jimin slides him a glass of water. Taehyung joins him.

“Two more Dick Suckers, please, Min.” Taehyung sets his tray on the bar. “Nice job with that last lapdance, Kook. Poor thing asked me what her name was when she got back to her seat.” A boxy smile splits his face. “Not my name, her name.” 

Jungkook grins back. He’d been tapped to dance for a woman celebrating her divorce being finalized. At first, she’d refused to get up, but her friend, who had paid for it, had insisted that she needed to embrace her new freedom. Once on stage, she’d sat silently, slack-jawed, with her hands clasped tightly over her chest, until Jungkook finally took them and placed them on his ass. At which point she’d shrieked so loudly, he thought he’d ruptured an eardrum. After that, she didn’t stop screaming for a second.

“Thanks. Been choreographing that one for a while. Guess it works.” Jungkook tips back the rest of his water, wiping his forehead with his tattooed arm. “Is the air busted again? It’s hotter than fuck in here.” His entire torso is dripping with sweat, from the exertion of his performance, and the room feels stifling around him. 

“It’s probably just Hoseok-hyung trying to save a buck again. I’ll talk to him,” Jimin replies, placing two bright blue drinks on Taehyung’s tray. “So what time do you want to stop by tomorrow?” 

“What are you two doing?” Taehyung inquires.

“Nothing involving you,” Jimin shoots back. Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. “Taehyung’s not invited over to my place any more.”

“I said I was sorry,” the other man drawls. “I mean it.”

“Sure you do.” Jimin runs a hand through his pink hair as he rolls his eyes. 

“Do I want to know?” Jungkook asks. 

Taehyung sighs. “After work last night, Jisoo and the two of us were hanging out at Jimin’s and someone,” he flicks his dark eyes towards the bartender, “didn’t appreciate my commitment to the scene we were playing.” 

“The scene you were… ah, shit, is this some roleplaying stuff?” Jungkook knows his friends are into roleplaying. Mostly because they spend a large amount of time working out the details of said scenes. Usually in the form of very annoying arguments.

“Look, I can’t help it if I get too deep into character, okay? That’s what you’re supposed to do! Make it feel real!” 

“Vampires aren’t real, Tae!” Jimin hisses. “But the bite you left on my ass sure is!” He looks at Jungkook. “I’m going to go find Hoseok. Watch the bar, will you? And just text me tomorrow, I’ll be home all morning.” He glares at Taehyung. “Alone!” 

Taehyung sniffs as Jimin disappears towards the back of the club. “He’s just jealous because my vamp was more believable than his werewolf.” 

Jungkook slips behind the bar, shaking his head. “He seems pretty mad, hyung.” 

“He’ll get over it. He usually likes biting. I think my choice of location caught him by surprise.” 

Taehyung wanders off to deliver the drinks to his waiting patrons. The bar gets a little busy while he’s gone, with Jungkook struggling a bit to keep up with the orders coming in. When Taehyung returns, he heads straight for the other side of the bar, to give Jungkook a hand. 

“So what are you and Jimin doing tomorrow? I thought you were going to the wedding with YN.” 

“I am. He’s just helping me get ready, that’s all.”

Taehyung smiles at a patron as he hands her an Adios Motherfucker. “Careful with that, sweetheart, it’s strong.” He looks at Jungkook. “Hair and makeup?” 

“Yeah.” With the smooth flick of a wrist, Jungkook finishes another drink, handing it off with a wink. The DJ calls Namjoon to the stage and the crowd at the bar disperses as another performance begins. Jungkook grabs a towel and starts mopping the counter. He’s a serviceable bartender but he’s pretty messy. 

“Mmm.” Taehyung leans back, watching Jungkook clean. He folds his arms over his bare chest. “Kook-ah. There’s no reason to be nervous.” 

Jungkook doesn’t even ask how he knows, replacing some bottles on the wall behind the bar. “I just want to make a good impression.” 

“You think you won’t?”

Jungkook gazes at the mirror behind the racks of bottles. Wide eyes stare back. He can’t put his fears into words, struggling as usual to communicate what has him so worried. It’s just a feeling, one that’s been growing all day, the more he thinks about the wedding. That you and your friends are from another world, one where everyone is self-assured and in control of their lives. And he’s just out here, barely floating by.

“I’m just making sure I do.” He pauses, finally looking at Taehyung. He sees Jimin approaching out of the corner of his eye. “I really like her, hyung. I-I think this could be something.” 

“Awww, Jungkook-ah!” Jimin coos, pinching Jungkook’s cheeks. “Our little Jungkookie’s in love!” 

“Hyung, stop.” Jungkook smacks his hands away. As the youngest of his group of friends, Jungkook’s used to being babied by his friends. He hates it.  “I didn’t say - it’s not - “

“Kook-ah.” Taehyung places a hand on both of Jungkook’s shoulders, turning him to face him. “What am I always telling you?”

Jungkook sucks in a deep breath, huffs it back out. “Confidence.” He feels a little ridiculous doing this here, behind the bar where patrons can see him getting a motivational speech from his hyungs. But sometimes he needs it. 

“That’s right.” Taehyung squeezes his shoulders reassuringly. “Just be confident. You know who you are. And who you are is amazing.”

“Hyung….” Jungkook is thankful that the pink lighting of the bar hides the deepening blush of his cheeks. Taehyung has been trying to bolster his confidence since the day they met, all those years ago in art school. He always appreciates it, but sometimes the man can get a little cheesy.

“Hey pretty boy!” 

A loud voice disrupts the moment. All three men turn to find a woman leaning over the bar. She’s clearly drunk, head propped on her hand as she smiles at Jungkook. Her head bobs a little as she sways. 

Jungkook recognizes her. The divorcée from earlier. “Can I help you, ahjumma?” 

She curls her finger, beckoning him closer. He leans towards her, careful to still maintain his distance. Drunken patrons have been known to try to get handsy with the dancers. 

“I wan’ a private dance,” she demands, words slurring a bit. 

Jungkook glances at Taehyung and Jimin. They appear to be on the same page as he is, based on their furrowed brows and pursed lips. She’s too drunk. Where is her friend? 

“I believe all of our private rooms are busy at the moment. Can I get you some water while you wait?” Jimin doesn’t wait for an answer as he places a glass in front of her. She just waves him off. 

“Not talking to you. Talking to him.” She points at Jungkook, grinning. Her smile turns Jungkook’s stomach a little. It’s cold. “I want a private dance. If I can’t have it here, maybe I could have it later? At my place?” 

Jungkook’s own smile feels tight. “I’m sorry, I don’t do private dances outside of the club.” 

She tilts forward, and Jungkook can smell the alcohol wafting off her. “Come on, pretty boy, I’ll pay. I have,” she hiccups, covering her mouth, “I have so much money.”

“It’s not a matter of money.” Jungkook scans the floor behind her. Seriously, where the hell is this woman’s friend? Should they call her a ride? 

The woman scoffs at Jungkook’s response. “Oh, come on, of course it is! That’s why you’re here, right? You dance, I give you money. It’s your job, honey.” 

Jimin and Taehyung are having a hushed conversation next to him, but Jungkook isn’t listening. He knows it’s pointless to try to reason with this customer, and yet he keeps trying. 

“It’s not my job. My job is to dance here. Not in private.” He knows what she wants, but he’s not for sale. He used to give it away for free, but he never took money or gifts. But even if he did sex work, he’s not going home with her. Especially not if she refuses to accept it when he says no. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll call you a ride? We’ll make sure you get home safely.” 

She seems to finally realize that she’s not going to get her way, and her demeanor changes, countenance warping into an ugly sneer. “Don’t you con-condescend to me! You’re just a pretty boy with a hot body. Good for nothing but a quick fuck.” 

Even though it’s obvious that this woman is totally wasted, her words sting anyway, like a slap in the face. Jungkook recoils slightly, drawing back from the bar. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Taehyung announces, sliding out from under the bar. “Let’s sit down, shall we?” But as he moves towards the woman, they hear another voice calling out.

“Oh my god, there you are!” It’s the woman’s friend, looking frazzled as she runs up to the bar. “I’m sorry, I thought she’d be okay while I ran to the bathroom. I got back to our table and people next to me said she’d stolen some shots from their table and wandered off!” 

“Well, that explains it,” Taehyung frowns. “I think you should take your friend home.” 

“I will. I’m so sorry, I hope she hasn’t been any trouble. She hasn’t been this drunk in years!” She wraps an arm around the divorcée’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you home.” 

The three men watch silently as the woman’s friend steers her towards the door, taking a wobbly path due to her friend’s intoxication. After a moment, Jungkook feels his friends’ eyes on him, but he keeps focused on the two women until they reach the entrance. 

“She was drunk, Kook,” Taehyung murmurs. Again, Jungkook doesn’t even need to ask how he knows what he was thinking. 

“I know.” 

“Don’t let her get to you,” Jimin says in a gentle tone. He lightly pats Jungkook’s arm. “I’ve got the bar covered. Why don’t you go take a break?” 

The locker room is empty when Jungkook enters. He pauses in front of a mirror for a moment, taking the time to wipe away where his eye makeup has smudged from the humidity in the club. He knows that woman was drunk. He knows this. And yet, her words have fed directly into his fears. 

What if he’s not enough? What if all he’s good for is, as those words rattling around in his head angrily declare, “a quick fuck?” 

The drunken woman’s expression while he’d danced for her reminded him of the night he’d danced for your friend Jennie. The way you’d looked at him, like you were seeing him for the first time. How he’d liked it. How, when he told his friends that the neighbor he’d been crushing on for months had shown up, he’d been encouraged to try and make a move. Ugh, that clumsy first attempt at flirting, using your shower - the memory makes his ears turn red. He’d stolen that idea from some cheesy movie he’d seen. But it worked, hadn’t it? It led to here. To whatever the two of you were now. 

If only he knew what that was. 

Suddenly, he needs to talk to you. He rummages through his bag until he finds his phone, grinning when he sees there’s a message waiting for him.

Jagiya (11:05): Hope you’re having a good night 😚

(11:53): it’s better now

(11:53): you still up?

He doesn’t have to wait long. 

Jagiya (11:54): I’m here

He presses the call button. 

“Hey Kookie.” Your voice is so warm, equal parts sleepy and surprised. He imagines you’re lying in bed, can picture the way you looked this morning. Wishes he were there. 

“Hey Jagi.” He leans back against his locker, closing his eyes. “Is it okay that I called?”

“Of course,” you laugh. “What’s up?” 

“Not much. I just… wanted to hear your voice.” He didn’t mean to say that. But it’s the truth. 

You hum, this sweet, soft sound that fills his chest with a happy buzzing. “You okay?”

“I’m okay. Just a long night.” He’ll tell you another time about what happened. He’d rather not relive it right now. “Is everything all right for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Jennie’s good, and everything’s still set for the wedding. I really can’t wait, it’s gonna be amazing.”

“I can’t wait, either,” Jungkook admits. 

There’s nothing but the gentle sound of your breathing on the other end of the line for a few seconds, and then you ask, “Do you, um, want a sneak peek at my outfit for tomorrow? I took a picture earlier when I was trying it on.” 

“Sure.” He’s not going to turn down the chance to see your beautiful smile right now. 

The image that you send him a few seconds later takes his breath away. 

There’s no bridesmaid gown in sight. Instead, sheer white lace covers your body, the delicate fabric flowing from your breasts down your torso to your hips in a tight-fitting strapless one-piece. Around your waist is a snug garter belt, straps extending down your thighs to where they fasten to silk stockings. And the expression on your face nearly makes him whimper. You’ve one of your hands raised to your mouth, pointer finger dragging your bottom lip down as the edge of your pink tongue licks the tip.

All the blood in his body rushes south. As he stares at his phone, unable to blink, Jungkook exhales loudly. 

“Fuck.” 

You laugh again. “Do you like it?” 

“Jagi, I - “ Words fail him. You’re gorgeous, every inch of you. “I love it. Fuck, you’re so sexy.” 

More giggles. “Noooo, I’m not, stop. I wasn’t planning on wearing this under my dress originally, but I remembered I’d bought it months ago when Jisoo and I were out day drinking and shopping and I - I don’t know.” The words come out in a rush, like you’re embarrassed. “I just want to look good for you, Kookie.” 

Fuck. Why’s he gotta be at work right now? He palms over his erection, wondering if he has the time to lock himself in a bathroom stall and take care of it. While telling you exactly what he wants to do to you in that lingerie tomorrow. 

“You always look so good, baby,” he groans, voice a little husky. “I can’t wait to see this in person. Was it expensive?” 

“No, I don’t think so? I don’t really remember. Did I mention the drunkenness?” 

“Good. Then you don’t mind if it gets a little ripped?” Jungkook grins at your tiny inhale at his words. “Because after the wedding, I’m gonna-”

“Hey Kook-ah, you in here?” Hoseok pokes his head into the locker room. “Ah, there you are. Come on, you and Taehyung are up.”

“Be out in a minute, hyung,” Jungkook nods and the other man leaves. He sighs into the phone. “Shit. I’m sorry, jagiya, but I gotta get back out there.” 

“Wait! Aren’t you going to finish your thought? You can’t leave me hanging like this!” There’s a playfulness to your tone that makes his already hard cock ache. He’s going to have to go stand under an ice-cold shower for a minute before getting back into costume for his double routine with Taehyung. 

“Oh, baby, trust me, you don’t have to worry. You’ll be taken care of. When I see you tomorrow.” Jungkook smirks at his reflection when you whine in his ear.

“Fine.” You sound wounded. “Guess I’ll see you.” 

“You will. Night, jagi.” 

“G’night, Kookie.” With a final exasperated sigh, you hang up. 

Before he puts his phone back into his bag, it buzzes again. Another photo of you, this time just your face, wearing the saddest pout. The message makes him laugh. 

Jagiya (12:04): You’re such a tease

He fires off a response, then heads towards the showers, chuckling to himself the whole time 

(12:04): i know

(12:04): sweet dreams

************************************************************************

There’s not a single cloud in the sky as Jungkook steers his motorcycle down the busy city streets Saturday afternoon. He can see the Black Swan towering over the other highrises as he draws nearer. He tries to ignore the nerves in his stomach, but the swirling is impossible to ignore the closer he gets. 

By the time he’s in the elevator, rising to where the ceremony is being held, the swirling has become a maelstrom. He breathes through his mouth, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It’s gonna be fine. He just needs to walk out there with confidence, like Taehyung said. He can do this. Just pretend like he’s on stage. Too bad there won’t be any actual dancing until the reception. That’s when he feels the most at ease. 

The elevator dings as it arrives at the rooftop. When the doors part, his eyes widen, taking in the gorgeous scenery before him. The elevator opens directly into a lush garden, with flowering bushes and potted maple trees dotting the grounds. To his right, a mirrored wall reflects the greenery, making the open space feel even larger. The reception venue is on the other side of the mirrored wall, but the ceremony will be held in the gardens. 

Chairs have been arranged in rows on either side of a strip of green grass, cut low for the bridal party to walk down. At the end of the green pathway is an arch-shaped trellis covered with flowering vines and tiny string lights. And as his eyes adjust to the brilliant sunlight, he recognizes the group of women talking in front of the arch.

Your dress is identical to the ones worn by the three women standing by you, but he barely acknowledges this fact, too busy focusing on you and you alone. The lavender-colored silk hugs your curves, a small slit cut right at your left knee to reveal the stockings beneath. He tries not to think about what’s holding those stockings up. The straps of the dress rest just off your shoulders, snug against the soft skin there. 

You’ve opted for a fresh-faced natural look, with light makeup just highlighting your features. There’s a pink mugunghwa flower tucked behind your right ear, matching the simple bouquet in your hands. You’re a summer dream, blinding Jungkook with your radiant beauty. 

The tumult in his stomach stills more the longer he admires you. 

He pauses at the edge of the pathway, unsure if he should disturb you and your friends. But Jisoo makes the decision for him, as she turns and catches him watching you. She purses her lips, a loud wolf whistle piercing the air. 

“Holy shit, Bambi’s looking fine!” 

The rest of the group jumps as she grins, pointing to Jungkook. When your gaze meets his, he feels a jolt of electricity. He smirks, emboldened by your eyes on him, and strikes a pose, one hand in the pocket of his charcoal grey suit, cinched tight at his waist with a thick belt. Jimin had swept Jungkook’s hair off his face, showing off his eyebrow piercing, and did an impeccable job with his makeup. Jungkook knows he looks good. 

The expression on your face confirms it. 

As the other girls start whooping in agreement with Jisoo, he takes the opportunity to tease you a little, strutting down the grass pathway like he’s working the stage. He can tell it’s working when you glance away from the heat of his gaze, biting your lip to suppress a grin, before giving in and beaming widely at him. 

“Hey,” you say. 

“Hey,” he replies, matching your smile. “You look beautiful, jagi.” 

There’s some cackling from the other girls, but he ignores it, lost in your eyes. Until Jisoo’s hand appears in front of his face, snapping her fingers. 

“Hi, hello, you two can continue this after the ceremony, okay? Jennie will kill you if we start late because you were too busy eye-fucking at the altar.”

“Ji!” you hiss as the other girls continue to giggle. “Koo- uh, Jungkook, you remember Jisoo, I’m sure.” He nods, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter. “And this is Lisa and Rosé.” 

“Nice to see you again,” Rosé greets him.

“Thanks, you too,” he replies, and then his mind goes blank. Thankfully, you save him from having to make small talk, looping your arm through his. You hand your bouquet to Lisa. 

“Have you seen the setup for the reception? It’s incredible.” And you start to tug him down the pathway, away from your friends.

“Remember, we’re starting in half an hour!” Lisa calls after you. 

Jungkook can’t quite make out what Jisoo says next, but it has the others laughing loudly, and he hears you mumble something about “unhinged freaks,” under your breath. You lead him through the double doors in the mirrored wall, into the rooftop restaurant that’s been converted into a reception space. But before he can get a good look at the room, you’re guiding him out of it and down a hallway. 

“Uh… wasn’t that the room?” 

“Oh, that was just to get you away from my friends before they said or did anything else to humiliate me.” You glance at him, and his heart skips a beat when he sees the heat in your eyes. “I’ve got something else in mind.” 

You stop in front of a door, ushering him inside. The men’s room, he quickly realizes, fingers locked in yours as you pull him into a stall. 

“Jagi? What - “ 

That’s as much as he gets out before you throw your arms around his neck and crush his mouth to yours. There’s an urgent hunger in your kiss that he immediately responds to, sliding his hands along the smooth silk of your dress to hold you close. But just as suddenly as you kissed him, you’re breaking away, dropping to your knees. 

Oh shit. He goes from half-mast and confused to fully erect and excited in a matter of seconds, staring down at you as your fingers make short work of his button and fly. 

“I missed you last night,” you inform him, swiftly yanking his pants down. 

“Jagi,” he breathes, almost lightheaded with want as you nuzzle your face against the outline of his cock through his boxer briefs. It’s strangely sweet and filthy all at once. “Missed you too.” 

“And even though you left me so… unsatisfied… last night,” you continue, fingernails lightly scratching up his thighs, sending a shiver down his spine, “and you are the one who promised me that I’d be taken care of today, seeing you in this suit…” As you trail off, you slide Jungkook’s boxers to the ground. He springs forth, bobbing so close to your mouth that he can feel your hot breath. 

“You like the suit?” he blurts out, earning himself a sweet giggle. Fuck, how are you being so cute right now while you’re this close to his dick? You stare up at him, all innocent doe eyes and angelic smile, and Jungkook thinks that he’d give you the world right now if you asked him to. 

“Can I show you how much I like it?” 

He nods vigorously, and you curl a hand around his cock as you suck the tip into your mouth. 

“Mmmmph,” he moans, pressing his lips together to stifle the sound. Anyone could walk in here at any moment. Even though you’ve hiked your gown up, clutching the hem in one hand to keep it from trailing out of the stall and getting dirty, it’s pretty fucking obvious that there’s someone on their knees in here, sucking the life out of Jungkook’s dick. 

Your mouth is perfect, so warm and wet and tight around his thick length. His hips jerk forward when you hollow your cheeks. He’s going to come embarrassingly fast, he just knows it.

“Baby,” he rasps when you swirl your tongue around the head, coating him in more saliva. His own tongue pokes through his teeth as he tries his best not to whine loudly. “Fuck, you’re making such a mess.” 

You pop off him to inspect his cock. It’s covered in your lipstick. “Oops. Sorry about that.” You swallow him back down, mouth working in tandem with your hand to stroke him off. 

“S’okay,” he murmurs, left hand clutching the top of the stall wall so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. “I-I like it messy.” 

He twitches in your mouth when you hum at his words. Shit, he’s definitely going to come. 

“Jagi, I can’t hold out, ‘m gonna, ah shit!” You take him as deep as you can, choking around him, and he understands what you’re telling him, that it’s okay, that you want him to come down your throat, and with that realization he’s gone, flooding your mouth as he bites down on his tattooed hand to muffle his contented groan. 

You take everything he has to give, gulping it down so lewdly that he grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet so he can kiss you fervently, not caring if he can taste himself on your tongue. 

“You’re amazing,” he whispers against your lips, cupping your face with both hands. You merely sigh, high and sweet, mouth brushing his, laughing as you gently push him away. 

“I better get back out there,” you say, straightening your dress. The flower behind your ear has slipped a little, and Jungkook reaches out to fix it for you. You smile gratefully, pressing one last peck to his cheek. “Give it a few minutes before you come out, okay?”

He nods, but stops you before you can unlock the stall. “I’m still going to take care of you later, you know.”

“I know,” you grin, and then you slip out the door. 

Jungkook takes a minute to clean himself up. It almost seems a shame to wash the lipstick off, but he decides he’ll just ask you to put more on later. God, he can’t wait to get you alone tonight. 

Before he leaves the bathroom, he checks the mirror to make sure he doesn’t look as wrecked as he feels. His earlier jitters have completely disappeared. He feels as confident as he looks. He can do this. 

And then Jungkook emerges from the bathroom, and his world tilts a bit. Because there, standing at the other end, with his arms slung around your back, is Kim Seokjin. 

************************************************************************

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[toomiieimagiines]

hi hi there! sooooo, how about some Tsukasa cuddling headcanons? Feel free to ignore if you’ve got better ones! Have a super awesome day! >:D

YOU ALL ARE A BUNCH OF DIRTY DIRTY TSUKASA LOVERS!! WHAT IS WITH HIM THAT YOU LOVE SO MUCH! ToT love a good cuddle hc…. was honestly excited to see it… (can we address how he dresses sometime? what a cutie pie…. honestly, i didn’t really favor kasa before i started writing for him!! he’s so darling!!!>_<) AND SORRY FOR THE MINI HIATUS!! life’s been kinda hard recently!! ^_^||| sorry for it being kinda short!

EDIT: i forgot to add tags like a scatterbrain…. -.- i hope people can still see this…

Tsukasa Tenma cuddling hc’s (+ more!)

Too hot to handle… (LITERALLY)

So so warm, an actual walking furnace, YET HES FREEZING!

“Honey, it’s so so cold please…” (whiny (HOW SURPRISING))

“‘Kasa, baby, I’m sweating…”

LOVES and I mean LOVES to cuddle

Who would believe me if I told them he’d pounce on you at any given opportunity? (OMG wuttt??? that’s soooo unlike him!!)

“Sweeetheart, I just miss you!”

“Honey, please when do I ever ask you for anything??”

Trust if he’s sick he makes it your problem too, like pls unsick me!!

Smells like shortbread

You honestly don’t know why because the only time he wears cologne is if he’s going somewhere fancy, and it’s never sweet

Maybe it’s Sakis weird love for baking, maybe it’s a little fairy who likes to sprinkle him with it while he sleeps, he doesn’t really know.

Favorite positions are ones where you’re facing eachother

Doesn’t really like spooning, he doesn’t find it as satisfying

ALSO VERY PARTIAL TO HIM LAYING HIS HEAD ON YOUR CHEST

He likes your heartbeat!!! Is that a crime?

Will genuinely NEVER let you get back up after

He will fight you… Its infuriating

WRAPS HIS ARMS SO TIGHT AROUND YOU, HES LIKE A TON OF BRICKS

Didn’t know I signed up for cuddling sheetmetal, thanks for the warning!

Honestly, he’s so boyfriend tho it’s insane…. like yes yes of course you’re my boyfriend!

AGHHHA HES SO CUTIEEE!!! i enjoy leaving these drabbles after my hcs!! it makes me feel like i actually did something! keep requesting, sorry if i haven’t gotten to yours yet!! there’s been so many! thank you so much!^w^

Rehearsal sucks, anyone who’s ever done anything knows it, and so does Tsukasa. He’s exhausted, and he knows the one thing that’ll recharge him.

You.

He sends you a text akin to “please let me come over before I die and it’ll be your fault”, and who could say no to that!? That’s how you ended up with a mildly sweaty Tsukasa laying on top of your previously perfectly made bed…

“You’re too warm! I can lay with you, but this is ridiculous!” You squirm, trying to pry the boy off of you. When did he get so heavy?! It’s like a bag of bricks is holding you down!

“Please sweetheart, when do I ever ask you for anything?!” He whines, wrapping his arms even tighter around you.

“Five minutes ago you asked me to scratch your back, you asked me for a drink from the vending machine because you didn’t wanna get your wallet-“

“Never mind!” He cuts you off, covering your mouth. “It’s the last time, I swear! I promise that I won’t ever again!-”

You look up at him, unimpressed.

“For the..” he looks away dejectedly, taking his hand off your mouth, “rest of the time I’m here…”

You snicker at his sudden sheepishness, “what happened to the passion, ‘Kasa?” Your fingers run through his blonde hair, twisting it around your fingers.

“You put the fire out… If you could see my eyes right now, you’d see they’re gray and dull….”

You smack his head playfully, “don’t bite the hands that scratch your back.”

He just sighs, burying his head deeper into your neck. He’s warm, REALLY warm, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind anymore. It really is times like these that make you appreciate him the most. He’s not performing, he’s not playing, he’s just kinda there, and you’re kinda there too. Everything can be so much, but life feels mundane and boring when you two are like this - in a good way! It feels domestic.

“I love you, Tsukasa. Y’know that?” You lift his head up, looking into his eyes. Damnit, he’s looks kinda sweet. It almost makes you feel bad for teasing him… Almost.

He leans into the touch, eyes closing again. His voice is uncharacteristically soft when he replies, “I do. I love you too, a lot.”

A beat passes,

“I’m aloud to fall asleep, right?”

“Tsukasa!”

[rrxnjun]

two people ;; mark lee

pairing: mark lee x fem! reader genre: wedding planner! mark, fiancé! jeno, strangers to lovers au | slice of life, slowburn, angst, hurt/comfort word count: 16.8k warnings: swearing, a break up a/n: i broke my own heart with this one. also, the blue monday series is finally over, after more than a year passing since i started it haha <3 sorry it took so long, but im happy to finally have a series that i managed to complete :) thank you for everyone that read the series, all of the fics are insanely special and to me and i hold them very dear to my heart. hope you like a painful hurt/comfort as our last stop!

synopsis: two people under bedsheets: one suffocating lover, one fool in a wedding gown. in other words, where you find the courage to get over your guilt and break free from your own promise, all becasue, in true irony, your wedding planner.

blue monday series | playlist

TWO PEOPLE UNDER BEDSHEETS, ONE SHIVERING WITH COLD FEET

You’re quite certain you’ve rethought your decision more times than you can count.

When your body hits the cold sheets of your bed, stumbling to your side of the mattress, you wonder if the heater broke again and you’re going to spend another night alone, shivering until the tiredness doesn’t make your thoughts turn off and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Dressed in your usual pajamas and staring out of the window, watching the stars shyly glimmer, the moon kisses your cheeks in a solemn feeling of a weird nostalgia you can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard you try. The feeling is quite uncomfy. It makes your bones itch, it makes you wonder what is wrong and why you’re suddenly so deep in your thoughts, wondering about all the different paths you could’ve taken. You try to battle the feeling, but there’s no use– it’s too strong and you’re too weak; too tired to keep fighting.

A huff lands into your ear, a muffled sigh that makes you slightly open your eyes and still in your movements, wondering if you’ve woken him up. Feeling momentarily bad, you get ready to mumble a whispered apology for going to bed so late when you know that he has to wake up early for work tomorrow, acknowledging the fact that your arrival to bed always startles him and makes him wake up in the middle of the night, when a strong arm slings itself over your middle, engulfing you in a tight back-hug.

His body grows closer to you, shuffling himself to stick himself as close to your body as possible, a heavy breath reaching your ear. Your hand automatically reaches for his one laying on your stomach, looking over at him to see his eyes still closed, noticing his breathing being steady. You haven’t woken him up, you sigh in relief, eyes traveling along his face for some time, studying his features as if this was the first time he’s so close to you. 

His eyelashes kiss his cheekbones, sharp edges of his face making him perhaps one of the most handsome people you’ve ever seen. You remember all the girls in university being jealous of you, for you’ve managed to catch Lee Jeno– the Lee Jeno everyone had been pining over ever since before you enrolled, feeling pride for how long your relationship has lasted. The shape of his lips is now a familiar sight to you– you bet you could recognise his mouth even with your eyes closed, knowing his warmth and his mannerisms while kissing you by heart now, for it’s happened more times than you can count; more times than you can remember. 

Looking back over to the window, eyes briefly catching the time glimmering on the alarm clock sitting on your bedside table, you bite down on your lips and try to battle the weird feeling starting to dangerously spread across your insides again. His body pressing itself into your back is warm, trying hard to provide you with a sense of home and safety.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you fight the sigh that desires to come out of your chest.

Shimmering in the cold– because your body doesn’t let you absorb the hotness of his love anymore– you nervously play with the silver on your ring finger, twirling it around and feeling for the little pedant in the middle.

Almost like every other day, not being able to fall asleep, you’re quite certain you’ve rethought your decision more times than you can count.

Heels clicking on the shiny white floor, you walk through the narrow hall of the building in the very center of your hometown, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. As you near the service you’re supposed to visit today, your heart starts doing little tumbles and turns, your hands shaky as you think of the appointment right in front of you. Taking a deep breath in and out, you run your hand through your hair, trying to calm yourself down for the last time as you open the door and step inside of the room, telling yourself that there’s no turning back now and you’re in it for good.

The bell above the door rings, making you cautiously look around the room, noticing the whole store decorated in white and nude tones, plants and flowers potted everywhere across the spacious room. In the corner of the whole store, you see a little light wooden desk with three cushioned chairs, a desktop computer in the corner, various catalogs scattered across the surface with some more in a little white IKEA bookshelf right behind it all. 

Admiring everything, you almost don’t notice the man peeking his head out of the door on the right, a hesitant look playing with his features. 

“Good morning,” he says, bowing to you out of politeness.

Caught off-guard for no reason at all, you turn your lips into a tight-lipped smile, greeting him. “Good morning! I’m… uh… I’m supposed to have an appointment today,” you say, playing with your fingers as you clasp your hands together at your waist.

“Oh,” he nods, finally coming out of the room, furrowed eyebrows and all, “Ms… and Mr Lee?” he asks, confirming, earning himself a hurried nod.

“Yeah,” you say, “I’m- I’m Ms Lee to-be,” you clarify, licking your lips in nerves.

The man in front of you nods, ushering you towards the little station in the corner, leading you to the chair and inviting you to sit down. “And Mr Lee is…?”

“At work,” you mutter, putting your hair behind your ear, “he’s- he’s quite busy with work, usually, so he wasn’t able to come and I didn’t just want to cancel it, so I figured I can come alone, but- but he’ll be here the next time, I promise!” you hurriedly explain, suddenly feeling shy under the stranger’s gaze, not wanting to be judged by, who you assume is, your wedding planner.

His smile is gentle and reassuring, nodding as he stares into your eyes. “No worries! It’s okay, it’s just… unusual to come alone to a wedding planning, but I suppose we can work with only you today, then,” he says, his voice calm and sending shivers down your spine.

Clearing your throat, you take your eyes off the stranger in front of you, letting them travel all across the room, desiring to find something to put your attention towards. The whole situation feels weird and awkward. Who even comes to plan their wedding alone? It’s not like it’s only your wedding– there’s two of you that are getting married, and it’s only expected for you two to do it all together. And that’s how it was supposed to go anyway– the appointment at the wedding salon was scheduled a little over a few weeks ago, with Jeno reassuring you that he’s free that day; but when the day came and he told you he has work, you wanted to cancel it and come some other day. He refused, though, telling you that you can start on it alone and he’ll just compromise with you and follow what you’ve chosen.

It all feels like it’s supposed to be about you, but when your own wedding is the thing on line, it almost looks as if your own fiancé isn’t even interested in being a part of it. 

“My name is Mark Lee, by the way,” the man says after clearing his throat, catching your attention again and offering you his hand to shake, “I’m the person in charge of your wedding, it seems! I hope you find working with me on this important day fun and that we can arrange something you two have always dreamt of,” he smiles as you take his hand and shake it, noticing the warmness of his touch.

Mark Lee doesn’t seem like your typical wedding planner. The ones you see in the movies are almost always female, with long acrylic nails and blonde hair pinned up into a funky hair-do, with bright eyes and smile lines imprinted into their face. Mark Lee, on the other hand, is a male– which is unusual, to say the least– and he also seems nothing like the movies. He’s calm and gentle, although still excited to work with you on the day of your dreams, with a shy smile and honest eyes that are slightly covered by the fringe of his chocolate hair falling into them, making him look young and lively.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, “my name’s ______ ______,” you introduce yourself with your first and last name, not taking Jeno’s just yet and shuffling a little in your seat.

“Okay, so,” Mark says as he takes out a notepad and types in the password into the computer that’s sitting in the corner of the desk, “I suppose we can start brainstorming today? Maybe tell me your main ideas, what you want for the wedding and what you don’t, how you want it to be decorated, just- just the general idea, nothing too detailed. We can move further when your fiancé is here as well, to make sure your ideas align and stuff. Sounds okay?”

Humming in approval, you watch him click around for a bit, opening some documents, while also twirling his pen in his other hand, the movement of it through his fingers fascinating you. The steady motions of the blue plastic of the pen catch your eye and make you zone out for a few seconds, completely making you forget about the task at hand and clearing your head out.

“So, anything you have in mind?” Mark perks up your attention again, making you swiftly take your eyes off the pen in his hand and instead look into his eyes again, finding yourself having a hard time maintaining eye contact with his deep brown eyes.

“I- I…” you stumble over your words, trailing off as you get lost in your thoughts. Wondering what your ideal wedding should look like, you chew on your bottom lip and try to imagine the day playing out right in front of your eyes. Your imagination tends to be crazy and wild, completely vivid, but for some reason, in this moment, you can’t seem to see the scene materialize in front of your eyes no matter how hard you try, all moments of it in your brain turning out blurry and hazy, making you sigh in frustration.

What do you even want your wedding to look like? How do you want it to play out? The questions run through your brain in a rush, not letting you focus and come up with answers, making the man in front of you silently clear his throat to get your attention. 

Noticing that you’re probably wasting his time with this, your cheeks feel hot as you point your eyes towards your shoes, sighing. “I’m- I’m sorry. I think… I… I don’t- I don’t really think I have an idea of how the wedding is supposed to look like?” you mumble out, sounding more like a question than a firm answer.

“I see,” Mark answers, nodding in acknowledgement, “you have all the time you need, don’t worry. We’re here to make it perfect,” he says, smiling at you.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you realize you’ve never really fantasized about your wedding. You remember all your classmates at school sighing and gasping about the idea of a big wedding, marrying the love of their life; but you surely don’t remember ever engaging in those conversations. It’s like you never really cared to get married, you never really wondered how it would feel to kiss your loved one at the altar, you never really thought of it as a big deal. And now, when the day is supposed to come that those imaginations are to come true, you find yourself torn and confused, because how do you even chase a dream that was never there in the first place? How do you fulfill expectations you don’t have?

“To be honest, I have no idea about what I want, I just- I kind of know what Jeno would want, so I suppose I can just follow that, but- but I never really…” you trail off, seeing Mark nod and bite on his lower lip. 

“Uhm,” he hums in understatement, “I see. Maybe… maybe you can look through some catalogs and see what you like the best? I understand that you know what your fiancés' imaginations are, but I also want both of the parties to like the big day, so I need your input as well.”

Gulping, you hurriedly nod, sweaty palms reaching over to the magazines on the desk, desperately flipping through the pages and pointing your gaze towards the pictures, trying hard to admire the big ceremonies, the pink and red decorations, the flower crowns and red carpets on the beach; but once again failing, noticing that this is nothing close to what you imagine when you think of what’s supposed to be the happiest day of your whole entire life. 

The pages of the catalog stick together, making you desperately try to peel them off of each other with your clammy fingers, your breathing getting quicker as you notice the eyes of Mark Lee on your figure, watching over your every move. 

This is not at all how you imagined the appointment to go. You’re only wasting his time and embarrassing yourself– there’s no way you’re ever going back.

“Hey, I’ll send you this quiz, okay? It’s like a- like a little questionnaire where you pick and choose what you like and answer some simple questions and then it gives you a rough idea of what your wedding could look like based on these answers,” Mark says, making you halt in your motion, “I know this is probably a lot of pressure on you right now, since the whole process could be scary and stressful and you’re out here all alone, so don’t worry about not giving me an answer today, alright?”

You find yourself nodding, averting the hands off the pages of the catalog and pressing your body further into the chair. “Alright.”

“And you can also take some of these catalogs home and look through them, mark what you like, take notes in them… whatever you want, okay? And the next time you come with Mr Lee, you can tell me what you both like and we’ll work from that.”

Following his lead in the conversation, you nod again and watch him close the catalog you’ve been frantically searching through for the last few minutes, stacking some more on top of it and pushing the pile towards you so you can take it home. 

“Tell me your number so I can text you the link to the test and the next time you come, it will be easier, I promise.”

“Okay,” you nod, desperately trying to take your attention off the fact that you probably look like a little child, following each instruction that’s been given to you, too scared to take a move.

Paying your goodbye to the wedding planner and taking the pile of catalogs back to your car, your heels meeting the ground resonating all through the empty hallway as you walk out of the building, your mind flashes with the thought that Mark Lee already had your email address and he could’ve just sent you the link there.

Sitting in the silent car for a minute before you drive off, you try to battle the memory of what happened just a few minutes prior out of your head.

Fixing up your lipstick in the mirror of Jeno’s car, you get ready to enter the premises of the wedding salon once again, but this time, with your fiancé by your side. You suppose that the last meeting was completely useless- Jeno told you so as well, and you agree, in a way– but if you wouldn’t have gone to that first meeting, you think that the second one would make you even more nervous.

You see, it’s easier to pretend that you know what you want when you’ve rehearsed what you want to say beforehand. Taking the quiz Mark Lee sent you, and also a couple of more, accompanying yourself with catalogs, magazines and Pinterest boards while your fiancé was at work, you tried hard to come up with something you wouldn’t hate as much. 

Maybe you just don’t like the idea of a wedding. That doesn’t mean you should crush your fiancés dreams to the ground and make the whole thing more difficult than it should be. You’ll just go along with it, get married, and then, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. It's as simple as that– you’re good at compromising, after all.

“Ready?” Jeno asks you as you put the cap of the lipstick you’ve been using back on, shooting you a quick look before you nod and open the door of the car, climbing out of the vehicle.

Following Jeno’s footsteps, so confident and easy it almost makes you feel like he’s been here before, you reach the entrance of the wedding salon in no time. You texted Mark about the time of the next meeting a week ago– you figured it’s easier to communicate like this, instead of emailing each other back and forth. Finding a time when it would be fine with both Jeno and you, and also looking for a free time in Mark’s schedule was quite difficult, but you managed to find a spot on a Thursday afternoon. 

You hoped the day would come slower than it did, but as we all know, life doesn’t work like we want it to all the time.

Hearing the ring of the bell above the door, your wedding planner is already waiting for you at the computer, a welcoming smile adoring his features. You find yourself smiling back at him, easing into the situation. The man in front of you is wearing black jeans and a white button-down, opting to a more professional look, as he shakes his hand with your fiancé and introduces himself. 

“Hello!” Mark smiles, sitting down at the stool, pointing his eyes towards the computer and clicking around for a bit, seemingly opening some document where he can note down everything you two tell him about the vision you have for your wedding. “So, as I already mentioned with Y/N the last time, I’d like to hear some brainstorming from both of you right now, just to see the general idea that we can build off of next. Sounds good?”

Jeno offers him a nice smile, the one where his eyes crinkle up into moon crescents, turning into the adorable samoyed you fell in love with in university. Reaching for his hand, you try to calm yourself down by playing with his fingers– an action you always used to practice whenever you were nervous about something– ready to continue with the planning of your wedding. 

“Sounds great,” Jeno agrees, making Mark nod at his answer, glad with the reply he got. Resting his back against the chair, the man in charge of your wedding looks at you with expecting eyes, ready to hear your answers.

“So, what comes into your mind when you think of your wedding?” Mark asks.

Jeno looks at you for a split second, smiling, as if he was waiting for you to go first and say your ideas. When you don’t comply and stay silent instead, he wastes no time in turning to the other man in the room, talking enthusiastically about what’s going to be the most important day of his life, making you stare at him in examination and interest.

“I think of something romantic. I like grand gestures and big things, so I want our wedding to be one big party where everyone has fun and stays up the whole night,” he starts, making you hum. You knew that Jeno was into these kinds of things– he never missed a chance to celebrate anything with his friends Doyoung and Renjun. Even the way he proposed to you was a grand gesture in itself.

The whole thing played out on your vacation in Spain. You like Spain– the architecture, nature and the sea. Everything about it is your ideal vacation spot, a spot that makes you relax and reset after the whole year. Your first vacation with Jeno was in Spain, and so to be proposed to in the same spot you two walked across together a little over 4 years ago was only fitting and romantic. The beach spot you two found together when you graduated from university was decorated with flower petals and fairy lights, making you wonder how and when your dear partner managed to set all of this up, and when he kneeled down and asked you to marry him, you didn’t have it in you to say no. 

Not that you wanted to say no, of course. You’re in love with Lee Jeno– you somehow think that you always have been and also you always will. Marriage is a big step, though, so you think that the status itself was what made you halt and hesitate for a split second before you replied a teary-eyed “Yes” and kissed your boyfriend with fondness and urgency.

“Alright, sounds good. When you close your eyes and imagine the day, what do you see? Anything specific?” 

Jeno hums, even closing his eyes and thinking deeply, before he replies with a grin. “I see people dancing. I also think I’d like it to be in a big venue, a lot of white and pink… something similar to what you have going on right here, to be honest,” he says.

“Great. Y/N?”

Raising your brows up, startled, you point your look to Mark and realize he wants you to answer his question as well. A wedding is a thing for two– at least– so it’s only normal for him to expect you to have some opinion and idea of what you want.

“I… I’d like it to be something small and comfy? With my closest friends, and stuff. I don’t mind it being decorated simply, since… I’m not really that about flowers and… all that romance stuff…” you say honestly, making sure the rehearsed sentences you made up in your mind on your way here sound gullible. 

It’s not that you’re lying– you just, frankly speaking, still don’t think you love the idea of a wedding. What you’ve said is just a thing you know you’d hate the least. 

Mark looks at you with an examining look, furrowing his eyebrows as he nods and notes down everything both of you have said into the computer. 

“That’s… your opinions are completely opposite, to be honest, but I’m sure we can find a compromise and create something both of you would like. I’ll show you some catalogs and you can both point to things you’d like, okay?” Mark says, rummaging through the drawers of his desk and offering you some magazines, almost identical to the ones you have at home from the last time you visited.

Seeing Jeno taking charge and flipping through the pages with much excitement, you watch his profile when he smiles and points to pictures of greatly decorated wedding halls, churches, tables full of cakes and a picture of the groom and the bride photographed together in a dramatic posture, dipped down and kissing. Flower petals, sparkles and fairy lights everywhere– this is the image of a wedding your fiancé would love, and you’re aware of the fact all too well.

“Isn’t this great, love?” he asks, not even tearing his eyes off the page he’s currently looking at, too busy with studying all the details, already imagining the two of you in the moment captured on one of the pictures in the catalog.

Eyes glazing over the glossy page, you bite down on your lower lip, sighing. 

Again, you don’t find it in you to disagree. He looks so excited and you wouldn’t want to break his heart with your decision.

So instead, you only nod and try to put on your best excited tone. “It looks amazing, Jeno.”

Your eyes meet Mark’s for a moment. 

The look is full of stern sympathy.

ONE SUFFOCATING LOVER ONE FOOL IN A WEDDING GOWN

The next part of your wedding planning journey is perhaps the one you, as the bride, should find the most exciting. How you’re gonna look on your big day is truly important, since you can only imagine full instagram stories of the wedding of every single guest invited, and also, the pictures you take on your wedding are what’s shown around to next generations, making your kids look at the moments captured in time, making them see the blueprint of what’s love supposed to look like while also simultaneously reminiscing of the feelings that died down over the years, simmered and a little washed-out into gray.

Maybe the last thing is what is making you despise the idea of marrying someone so much. What if, after many many years, when you’re at the end of your journey, the pictures would bring more pain than joy? What if it’s a painful reminder of something great that you no longer have in your grasp?

You don’t know what’s making you feel so conflicted about the whole thing. Thinking about it is scary, but the underlying stress of everything is still present and makes you constantly feel like you’re walking on eggshells, bound to mess something up.

Standing in another wedding salon, joined by your closest friend Seori– because you despise the idea of a big group of screaming women joining you on your journey of your own remake of Say yes to the dress– and your wedding planner Mark, you wait for inspiration to kick you and set you off to hunting down the perfect wedding dress. 

“Hello, hello,” a man– lean in posture, wearing dress pants and loafers– joins your little group, a bright smile sitting on his face as he speaks to you, “I’m Na Jaemin, nice to meet you!”

Bowing to the man in formality and shaking his hand, introducing both yourself and your best friend of many years, you grow hesitant in your place. Eyes roaming around the room– walls painted a light peach color, creating a beautiful contrast with the white dresses hung all around the room– you take a deep breath in and out, taking a glimpse of Mark Lee standing by your side and saying something to you.

“This is where we usually go with our brides to pick out dresses, since Jaemin here has the most amazing assortment of all kinds and styles,” Mark explains, making you notice that the two men seem rather close. As you nod and walk around the salon with Seori, they catch up for a minute before the one with blonde hair walks up to you with a bright smile.

“Do you have any preferences about the dress? Any image in your head?” he asks, making you startled. This is not the first time you’ve heard someone ask you about your preferences for the wedding, yet, the question always surprises you and catches you off guard. Usually, you’d consider yourself a woman with strong opinions that’s not afraid to voice them– you’ve gotten into multiple arguments about feminism over your university years– but suddenly, you feel weak and disheartened, shrugging.

“I’ve looked on Pinterest the last night… and the last couple of nights, actually,” you softly laugh, trying to ease yourself into the conversation, “I found more styles that I liked, but I’m not sure if they would fit me well.”

“That’s what we’re here for!” Jaemin encourages you. “Just pick up whatever you like and we’ll help you try it on! Any adjustments needed will be done here, so don’t stress about it.”

Gratefully smiling and nodding at the man, you turn to the rack full of pearl white and shades of cream, your hands start working before your brain does, moving the hangers around and taking a look at all of the dresses available, taking your time. You’re not quite sure what would look good on you, not really able to imagine the dresses on your figure, and you feel the mental block of not being excited enough about all of this holding you back and tying you down. 

“What about these?” Seori asks, an excited glint in her voice. Turning around to her, seeing the dress she’s picked out, you can’t help but giggle, since the dress is awfully similar to the obnoxious gown you wore to your senior prom, just in white. 

“You’re unbelievable,” you laugh, coming up to her and taking the hanger into your hands, “one look and I’m back in high school,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief and hanging the dress back onto the rack, giving up on that option already.

“I still remember how funny you looked,” Seori laughs, poking fun at you, “I can’t believe you wore that.”

“I can’t believe you let me wear that!” you argue back. The memories of your senior prom hit you with a sense of weird nostalgia. It was all so easy back then– you went with Jeno, and you had a lot of fun together. It felt like an end of an era, and it truly was just that, even though the reality of it didn’t click for you back then. You’ve lived through multiple stages of your life with Jeno, and to think you’re going to be with him until the end of your life, seems oddly unbelievable on your insides. 

“You were unstoppable, girl,” Seori grins, shaking her head. Continuing to look through the dresses, you pick out a few that you like, hesitantly moving them to the separate rack that’s emptied out for your options. Catching a glimpse of Mark sitting at one of the sofas, alongside with Jaemin, your eyes meet as he offers you a warm smile. This works as a reassurance, making you walk back to the dresses, standing next to Seori, seeing her pick up another white gown, showing it to you.

The dress is long and lacy, decorated with mesh on the shoulders, flowery details scattered all along the skirt. You can’t help but find the dress a little obnoxious, a little too much, perhaps, yet, you’d still call the piece of clothing beautiful, for you can see the appeal of a princessy look for most women your age. Hesitantly scanning over the many details, Seori speaks up to you.

“Jeno would love this on you.” 

Meeting her eyes, she looks at you warmly. She’s known Jeno for as long as you have, all of you being friends since high school, so you can’t say she wouldn’t know. Because, frankly speaking, it’s true– Jeno would love that dress, and he would love it on you. It fits the image of his ideal wedding perfectly, with all the romanticness, all the grand gestures matching with the long skirt and the girly detailing across the neckline. You hate the dress, you feel sick as you’re looking at it, it makes you feel claustrophobic and dizzy, yet, the words that came out of Seori’s mouth resonate in your head over and over, making you pick up the hanger and move it to the rest of your options.

Jeno would love that dress.

“I… I think I have enough options now, I’m gonna try some on,” you say, smiling at the men sitting on the sofa, being met with eager nods of acknowledgement. The two of them seem to talk like old friends, and you can’t help but wonder why Jeno doesn’t meet up with his friends anymore and why he no longer has time for anything other than work. You’d like to see him like this– immersed into a conversation, yet, still playful and happy to just… exist.

Seori helps you into the dresses behind the curtain of the dressing room. The first few of them are a miss, you don’t like the way they look on you and the way some dresses enhance the features you dislike on yourself, saying no to them almost instantly. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get through all the dresses; it feels like infinity, like the time’s stopped and you’re stuck in this loop forever, when only two dresses are left: the one Seori picked out and your own, personal favorite.

Choosing the one Jeno would love the most, you wear it and hear Seori squeal out with excitement. “This looks so good on you! Oh my god!”

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you look like the woman Jeno would want to marry. Like a cut-out from the wedding magazines he likes to look through on his free days, you spin around like a princess, fitting the image of Jeno’s ideal wedding almost perfectly– with all the flowery details and romantic style. 

“Do you like it?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug. You must seem unsure– but on the inside, you are screaming. The claustrophobic feeling settles into your chest again, making you feel like you’re suffocating on the inside, making you desire to rip the gown off and never see it again. 

“Let’s show them!” Seori says, opening up the curtain and making you step outside of the dressing room, turning you in your place so you twirl like a Disney princess. “Doesn’t she look magical?” 

Jaemin instantly nods, a happy glint in his eye. You wonder if he likes his job so much– he certainly looks like it, from the never-disappearing smile on his face and the enthusiasm he walks around the place with. You’re quite jealous of him. He seems like the perfect image of what you’ve dreamt of being when you graduated university– a person with their life together, loving their stable job and starting a family. Yet, you’re here– seemingly put together in a wedding dress that makes you panic, the eyes of everyone on you feeling judging, not sure of what to do and to which direction to step towards to finally get yourself together.

“She looks amazing!” you hear Jaemin say, making you nod with tight lips. “Is this your favorite one?” he asks.

Opening your mouth to agree– even though it’s a lie– you blink a few times to calm yourself down. The mental image of your favorite dress still waiting at the empty rack, waiting to be tried on, burns in the back of your brain, but you’ve said goodbye to it the moment you dressed up as Jeno’s bride. 

“It can’t be,” Mark says, making you look at him with glossy eyes, confused.

“B-but-”

“You have one more to try on. You’ll see which one you like better after, okay?” he says, almost as if he was reading your mind, seeing the hesitance you tried so hard to hide.

Nodding, you step inside the dressing room again, changing the dress for the one you picked out with the help of your best friend. Taking a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your eyes almost start to water, the A-line of the skirt and the simplicity of it all making you feel the best, like you could actually imagine yourself getting married, if you were wearing this gown. Turning around in your place, admiring the silk fabric, you don’t think you could ever find a better one. 

Yet, the other dress still sits in the back of your mind like a bad memory, not letting you leave without it. It’s there, pettily kicking it’s foot against the flooring of your brain, bringing you headache and making you nervous as your clammy fingers move your hair away when you step outside of the room, ready to be criticized by the other people at the salon.

Eyes shaking, they find solace in the features of your wedding planner, his eyes like big pools of honey when he softly traces over the lines of your body, his lips parted agape. The expression makes you shy away from his gaze, heat rising to your face when you notice light pink dusting the man’s cheeks, quickly breaking his gaze from you.

“You look beautiful,” he mumbles, clearing his throat. The compliment should sound more casual than it has, the three words making your hands shake as you turn back to the mirror, forcing yourself to watch your surroundings through it instead, shielding yourself from the situation.

“Thank you,” you say.

“So, which one do you like more?” Jaemin asks, walking up to you and tightening the dress around your waist, showing you its full potential. 

Locking eyes with Seori, you see that she’s not up to the simplicity of the dress you’ve got on. You see the suggesting look to the other dress, the one that makes you drown in despair, the one that you should be wearing, logically; the one that Jeno would love to see you in, the one you should be wearing to be his wife. 

Pupils shaking as you take your reflection in for the last time, you’re ready to say goodbye. You’re ready to take the dress off and force yourself to forget about it, force yourself to never think of how pretty you thought you looked wearing it, force yourself to never see the image of you in your brain– to not cause yourself the bittersweet feeling you’ve been getting used to recently.

“Y/N, you should… You should only think about yourself right now, okay? Our opinions don’t matter,” Mark says from behind you, your eyes locking in the mirror. He uses the word ‘our’, suggesting that you shouldn’t think about the people in this room, that you shouldn’t think about what Seori, Jaemin, or Mark himself thinks, but somehow, you feel as if the words had a deeper meaning.

Perhaps he’s telling you to forget about Jeno’s opinion for a minute. To truly let yourself get lost in the planning of the wedding, to let go of the opinion that’s weighing you down the most of them all. To pick the dress you like, and not the one your fiancé would.

“This is the only part of the wedding that’s completely up to you, after all. Maybe you should take advantage of that,” Mark completes, sending an encouraging smile towards your figure.

And he’s right. You can’t be fully in charge anywhere else– almost to the point of feeling like your opinion doesn’t matter if it’s not the same as your fiancé’s– and maybe, that’s what’s making you feel so restricted in the whole process.

Maybe you should take your favorite dress. Maybe you should do at least one thing for yourself.

The trips to Mark Lee’s wedding salon are a usual thing now. It’s your first time planning a wedding for yourself, and while you also truly hope it’s also the last time, you can’t help but feel a little weirded out at the ordinariness of it all. You get used to the trips to the salon, you get used to the time it takes you to drive there in your small car– letting you time the songs in your playlist almost perfectly until the last moment when you park and turn the engine off– only when you’re driving there alone, though, because Jeno likes to pick the music when he drives and compromise is one thing you two can’t do when it comes to a playlist. It’s okay, though. You drive to the wedding salon more times alone than with your fiancé, and while it’s unusual and you’d really want him to be there, you guess you can’t really do anything about it now. It’s not like he was the one to ask you to marry him, after all… 

“What about the honeymoon?” Mark asks one day, looking at you from under his eyelashes. The weather outside is cold and he’s wearing a thick hoodie, his whole outfit looking twice as cozy as your little thin jacket that you threw on yourself quickly before leaving the house. The image of his sweater paws makes you wonder how it would feel to be in the soft material of his light gray hoodie, making you almost slap yourself when you're caught on your own with the thought in your brain. It’s not like you’re thinking of another man when you’re on your way to get married, that’s not it– it’s just the simple jealousy of the warmth Mark radiates that’s gotten you to this point. 

Shrugging, you glance at him, meeting his chocolate eyes. “I bet Jeno would love to go somewhere to the sea. We got engaged on a beach, so I guess that’s the right way to go.”

Scribbling on the notebook that’s sitting on his table– you wonder when he switched from his laptop to written notes; maybe it’s the power crisis– he hums before he turns back to you with an examining look. “And you?”

After working for you for a couple of weeks, the man should already know that it’s no good to ask for your opinion when it comes to your wedding. You don’t really have an image in your mind, and when you do, there’s no use in pushing through with your view, since Jeno’s would always be stronger, and what Jeno says, usually goes. And you love him– he’s the one dreaming so much about marriage. So you do what he wants, naturally. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

Earning yourself a sigh from Mark, you almost laugh at his annoyed look. “How many times do I have to tell you that you need to tell me something I can work with, Y/N?” he asks.

After so many days spent at the wedding salon with Mark Lee, you two have come to a state of a casual friendship. It’s not all so formal and stern anymore, leaving you two space for jokes and snarky comments about cliche decorations shown on the shiny pages of magazines, making you two comfortable with each other enough to joke about looking dead when the other one is tired and telling each other about your days when you have time. Ever since you two have met, you’ve been the most indecisive person Mark Lee’s ever known– and he’s met a lot of people in his profession of a wedding planner so far. The only thing you’ve ever had a straight opinion on was the wedding dress.

He can’t get the picture of you in your dress out of his mind. Sure, he’s seen a lot of brides before, the image not really impacting him as much anymore as before– for the look on the bride’s faces never failed to make him emotional with the premise of the fact that he’s a part of something beautiful. He’s seen a lot of brides and weddings before, but in the white lights of the bright salon, he couldn’t help but think that you’ve been the most beautiful one so far, and he can’t seem to imagine anyone ever beating you. It’s a silly thought– one that he finds himself battling more times than he should, but it’s still there, in the back of his mind, whenever you two meet eyes. 

That’s why he couldn’t let you choose the dress Jeno wanted. Not because he would be selfish– at least he desperately hopes he’s not selfish for wanting to see you in that dress again, at least once, at the wedding– but because he knows that you wouldn’t feel like yourself in the other one. And why would he let that happen, when he’s practically the one in charge of the whole ceremony?

And so, the fact that you say you don’t know what you’d like for your honeymoon doesn’t surprise him. But still, he wishes you could let yourself get more in tune with your opinions than Lee Jeno’s. At least when he’s not present…

“I know, I know,” you roll your eyes at the scolding manner, “but I just… I’ve never thought about it before, I guess?”

“That makes sense, I mean, it’s your first time getting married,” he shrugs, “but you must have a place you’d like to see one day, no? A place both of you, with Jeno, would love to travel to one day,” he says, looking at you with expectations in his orbs.

Lost, shrugging at his question, you almost look full of despair and confusion. Truth be told, planning a wedding is not as relaxing as one would think. There’s many things to take in mind, a lot of things that can go wrong and need to be taken care of. And you keep telling yourself that it’s going to be alright and that it has to be the most perfect day of your life, but you just can’t seem but to be a little stranded, especially in moments when Jeno isn’t by your side; when he’s the one that should be in charge, and not you. 

Maybe Mark can read your mind. Or maybe, he’s just too good at reading people.

“Okay, relax,” he smiles, nudging your leg a little under the table, “then just… think about what you’d like to see. Your dream holiday destination. A place you always wanted to visit. Don’t think about the honeymoon thing or the wedding, if that helps.”

The grateful smile on your face is like a reward for the man, your eyes close a little as you lean back in the chair and think of the place you’d love to see the most. Not held by the grudges of the wedding, not holding on to the thought of a honeymoon, you find it easier to see the place right in front of your eyes, to focus on the noise of the destination, the crowded town centers and amazing architecture; you find it easier to be in tune with what you want, letting go of the thing you always force yourself to say.

“I’d love to go to France. Paris. I- I know they say it’s dirty, but frankly, I just want to see it with my own eyes at least once. And I think it’s quite romantic,” you say, opening your eyes to see the man in front of you glancing at you with a soft smile playing with his features, feeling yourself getting shy as your cheeks heaten up at the words you’ve just uttered out of your lips, “oh god, this might just be the cheesiest thing I’ve ever said out loud.”

Mark chuckles, shaking his head at you. “It’s a nice change.”

Scratching the back of your neck, you watch as the man scribbles down the word ‘Paris’ into his notebook, the lack of eye contact leaving you with your walls down and your soul in open. “But I don’t think- I don’t think Jeno would like to go to Paris. I’ll think of something else, so it fits…”

Looking back up at you, the shame mirroring in your eyes when he examines your whole figure, he lets himself shake his head in disbelief, showing you his true opinion on the comment. “I think you should compromise, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said.”

“That’s not a compromise, Y/N,” he says, his voice considerate, “that’s just… you compromising. Not Jeno. Never Jeno.”

And while you’d like to tell him that that’s how it’s supposed to be, because you already agreed to the wedding despite not making your mind yet, while you’d like to tell him that you owe it to him for not being fond of the idea, while you’d like to tell him that what Jeno says goes, because you can’t imagine yourself breaking his heart with telling him that this is not at all what you want– you stay quiet. Shrugging, you avert your gaze to the ground.

“I’m fine with that. I’m more than happy to comply, if he’s happy.”

TWO PEOPLE UNDER BEDSHEETS, ONE WALLOWING IN DEFEAT

Swirling the maroon liquid around in your tall glass, feet dressed in warm socks as you’re twisted into a blanket burrito, you overlook the figure of your fiancé sitting at your small couch, papers sprawled all around the coffee table. Taking a sip of the red wine, you feel comfortable for the first time in weeks– you don’t feel rushed, you don’t feel like there’s a burden on your shoulders– and you pray hard that it’s not just the effect of alcohol.

“Can you pass me that paper?” you ask Jeno, seeing him turn around with his half-wet hair, having just come out of the shower after work, his slight smile putting you at ease.

“Which one?”

“The list of guests. The one in the corner,” you point to the paper sitting at the coffee table, the contents of it another important step closer to your wedding. Mark advised you two to compile a list of all the people you want to invite to your wedding, so you know how big of a venue you’ll need to rent out. You complied to his request, sitting at your table one afternoon and scribbling down names of all the people you’d miss at your wedding, having the list not being that long– there was around 15 people, including your family, and you knew damn well that some of the people in your list will overlay with Jeno’s, for you have a couple of mutual friends.

“Oh,” he nods, passing you the list, “want to go over it? I did mine a while back, when you were at work,” he adds, making you nod.

“Sure.”

“Are you inviting girls from university?” he asked, looking at you from under his eyelashes. He knew some of your friends from uni, and while you could very well imagine your wedding full of people that you barely knew, it’s not something you strive for. Your wedding, at least in your head, is supposed to be a little safe haven– a place where you dance around and have fun, a place where you know each face that shows up, being able to let loose and enjoy the evening with your closest friends. So, to Jeno’s question, you shake your head in disagreement.

“Only a couple,” you say, “my roommates, yes. The other ones, I don’t really need there.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, squinting his eyelashes. In the midst of the scattered sheets of paper on the coffee table, he finds his own list, full of lazy scribbles in black ink. You can tell he took the paper you keep in the kitchen for when you need to write down a shopping list, because it’s a little greasy at the bottom. Looking over the names he’s written down, you notice that his list is significantly longer than yours, and you can also tell that some names, you barely even recognise.

“You want that many people to attend?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I want them all there. Besides, my family’s big, so I can’t really make the list shorter, if that’s what you’re implying,” he notes, taking you off-guard with the sudden protest to something you haven’t even started talking about yet.

“I-I wasn’t saying that, but I think we could… go through your list and maybe forget about some people? I mean, my list is only 15 people long, and if we go through with what you have, we’d have to rent a big venue, and I can only imagine how expensive that will be…” you mumble, trying hard to pursue him.

There’s a shadow of an encouraging smile somewhere in the back of your head, a soft memory of a voice telling you that you two should compromise– you bet it’s Mark Lee, but you won’t admit that to anyone. Something about his words on your last meeting struck with you, though, and even though you would love to comply to everything Jeno wants, because he’s the one in desire of a wedding, you find yourself protesting to his idea, because, frankly, maybe you do not want to spend that much money on a venue, and also, maybe because you wanted your wedding to be small and intimate.

“I don’t care how much it costs, Y/N,” he shrugs, “it’s our wedding. We can spend some money on the special day.”

Sighing, you chew on the inside of your cheek. “I just thought we could have a smaller wedding, you know. I always wanted it to be filled with people I know, people I can’t imagine the day go by without, so I was very cautious with the choice of my guests-”

“And I wasn’t?” he cuts you off, suddenly all defensive.

“That’s not what I said, Jeno-”

“Look, I don’t want to cut anyone off the list. You have your own guest list and I have mine. We rent a venue that can fit both, okay?” he insists, making you finally snap, annoyance for the first time slipping off your tongue.

“Why can’t we just compromise on this?”

The man looks at you with cold eyes, something you never imagined to see from a man you’re in love with. Sure, you’ve had arguments before. Yes, they scared you a little each time, but they weren’t anything you weren’t sure you wouldn’t get through. You and Jeno argue over small, blatant things, things you can fix in a second– nothing to make you worry. This time, though, there’s a hit in your stomach that makes you freeze in your movements, halt in your step. Maybe you’ve hit a weak spot in him. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, full of frustration as he throws the paper onto the table and storms off, closing the door behind him as he walks off to the bedroom, ready to sleep.

Is this how your dialogue was supposed to go? With you stating your needs, and him telling you to get over it? Do whatever you want?

You scoff. As if you wanted to get married in the first place…

Drinking the rest of the glass, you shuffle further down into the sofa, trying hard to make yourself fall asleep in the living room, despite your thoughts running around like they’re on a marathon. The warmth that radiated off the man and the whole situation is now long gone, leaving you feeling like an unlit fireplace, hugging yourself as if to shield your body from the impact of the silent sobs that dare to cut out of your throat.

What Jeno wants, goes. How silly of you to think you can compromise.

Sometimes, you wonder if you’re just not holding on to something that’s slowly burning out. Looking at your fiancé in the wedding salon right now, his side profile so perfect you’ve gotten used to it over the years, you reminisce about the memories you two have made together during your early stages of the relationship. The images flash through your brain in a feeling of bittersweet nostalgia, making you desire a time of life that’s no longer here, because you’re getting older and settling down. It’s not like you can feel free forever, you just don’t feel like you’re free in the relationship anymore– and truth be told, you were free and in love in all those moments you think of with a soft smile, so why is the essence of it no longer there? Is it really just because the thought of marrying someone is so deeply terrifying to you, or is there something more to it?

“Do you like these?” Jeno asks, holding up a wedding invitation to you. It’s snow white and the corners are rimmed with a rose gold color, everything falling perfectly with the decorations and the whole theme of your wedding.

“I do,” you nod.

You don’t.

Everything about the whole day, the closer it is, the more scary it truly feels to you. You can’t bring yourself to think of it, to imagine it, to have the promise of staying with Lee Jeno until the rest of your life right there in front of you eyes, and it all makes you wonder– truly, deeply reflect on yourself– as to why you don’t want that, and why you’re so scared of staying with him forever, when in theory, he’s the one you love and the one you should want to marry. 

“And what about these ones?”

“They’re pretty,” you reply, not meeting his eyes.

You wonder if this is just the aftertaste of the fight you had about the number of guests. Maybe you just don’t feel in tune with it because neither of you has acknowledged the argument yet, maybe because you feel bitter because you felt like your opinion wasn’t valid in the process. Maybe that’s what’s making you soullessly stare into nowhere, eyes trailing over the white walls and the clasped hands of your wedding planner sitting cautiously right opposite of you– maybe that’s what’s making you agree to everything Jeno likes; because your opinion will never matter in the first place.

But that’s okay. That’s your fate now– that’s what you signed up for, after all. You agreed to marry him. You told him yes, even though the reply wasn’t clear in your head, you said you’d love to spend your forever with him, even though the feelings battling inside of you were so conflicting, yet the one you were leaving more towards was the urge to run away. So now, you have to face it; you have to marry him, because you lied to him about your emotions, because you let him down with a promise you never wanted to keep; because you can’t face the reality of breaking the man’s heart when all he did was love you deeply.

And it’s not even that you don’t love him anymore. Maybe you just hate the idea of your relationship feeling ordinary. Maybe you’re selfishly just bored. 

“So, which ones do you prefer?” Jeno asks, looking at you with big eyes. If you stare into them for long enough, you could even see a hint of him trying to do better– asking for your opinion and ready to respect it, a hint of him saying sorry for the things he’d said without words, laying the opportunity of being in charge to you again. 

Shrugging, you chew on the inside of your cheek. You hate both. You hate the idea of every single wedding invitation, because you don’t want a wedding, and the idea of using these little pieces of cardboard to invite numerous people to see you lying into your partner’s eyes makes you want to dig a hole and lie in it, maybe even bury yourself alive. “I like both.”

“But we need to choose one,” he insists, putting a hand to your thigh, his grip soft, yet protective and comforting. You used to love his sudden touches, the affection seeping off his fingers any time his fingertips glazed the surface of your skin. Now, you find yourself wanting to shrug the hand off, for the contact of it with your body burns, making you guilty for a mess that’s currently going on in your head, making you dizzy and confused.

“I-” you stutter, “which ones do you like?” you ask, helpless.

Eyes scanning over your figure, Jeno almost pressures you for more. He almost asks for your opinion again, wanting to see the excited glint in your eye as you look through the magazines and choose your wedding invitations, but when he finds nothing in the endless pools of your eyes, he knows to step back and leave it be, a hopeless sigh escaping his lips. “I like the first ones better.”

You could guess the answer if you were asked to.

Smiling, you nod. “I was leaning towards these as well.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Totally,” you nod, trying to reassure him with a soft smile. You’re not sure if it reaches your eyes– you just know that if it doesn’t, Jeno can clearly tell.

“Okay, that’s all for today, I think,” Mark concludes, making you look at him. His chocolate orbs are plastered on your distressed face and you feel naked in front of him, you feel as if he can see right through your lies, as if he can tell that you really want to be anywhere but here right now. 

“Thank you,” Jeno smiles at your wedding planner, the two of them shaking hands in a formal manner before your fiancé stands up from his chair and reaches for his coat, ready to leave the office. When your eyes meet with Mark’s, you offer him a friendly smile– the one you always have saved for him– and turn towards your coat as well, ready for your departure. Just when you’re about to leave the room, Mark’s voice echoes after you, making you halt in your movements.

“Actually, I forgot… Can I talk with Y/N alone for a sec? It’s about dresses, so… you’re not really allowed to hear, Jeno,” he says, cracking his knuckles as he utters those words, making you nod as Jeno offers him a polite nod, telling you that he’ll be waiting for you in the car outside. Once the door closes behind him and the room falls silent, you move closer towards Mark, looking at him with expecting eyes.

“What is it?” you ask.

Mark takes a deep breath in and out, shaking his head as if to get his thoughts straight, before he looks at you again with softness in his eyes, his voice barely louder than a whisper– for the contents of his speech are something that should be banned to say, especially in a setting like this. “You know you can still back away, right?”

Looking at him for a few seconds, a few seconds that feel like eternity, you blink at him in shock and surprise. “What?”

“There’s still time to say no,” he says, now looking you dead in the eyes, the expression stern, yet considerate. 

His words can’t really process in your head, the whole situation making you break down your walls as you shake your head, running your hand through your hair. Scoffing in disbelief, you turn defensive– because who is Mark Lee to tell you anything about your upcoming marriage and why can he see right through you? Who gave him the right to see through your walls, through the facade you built up all those months ago; who let him make you feel utterly, completely naked in front of him, scared of what he’ll see inside? 

“What are you even talking about?” you snap.

“I think you know what I mean, Y/N,” he says.

“I-” you stutter again, all words stuck inside of your throat, “why would I even want to do that? Why would I want to call it off?”

“Y/N-”

Nothing can stop the tangent that’s incoming out of your lips right now– not the soft, considerate look he gives you, not the eyes full of truth and honesty staring right inside of your soul, not the soft touch on your shoulder that you shrug off in the speed of light as your hands fly into the air in frustration. “It’s not your place to tell me to cancel my wedding, Mark, and I don’t know what’s gotten into your brain to make you think for just a second that that’s what I want to do, because- because I know that I’ve been out of it, I do know that, but I just- I just can’t do that to Jeno even if I really wanted to, you know?” you let out, tired voice echoing off the walls of the salon. “So don’t go around and tell me I can still say no, when I’ve already said yes, and don’t try to tell me that this is what I want, because I truly, deeply wish that I didn’t.”

The defeated look on your face is enough for the man to break, yet, he offers you nothing more than silence as you stare him down, wordless and empty. Breathing heavily, you turn to the door, shaking your head in disapproval of the whole thing.

Turning around one last time at the door, you try to burn Mark Lee down with your eyes, for the comfort he gives you with this new opportunity both sets you free and makes you suffocate at once, his words make your insides burn with ashes as you desperately try to breathe for fresh air– the whole thing leaves you mad and stranded, completely alone and left to lean on nobody, because the one that’s supposed to be there for you now and forever is the object of this mere conversation.

“Don’t- don’t mention this again,” you sternly say, reaching for the doorknob, feeling a stray tear falling off your cheek as you escape the pure white walls of his office. 

This whole time, you didn’t even notice you’ve been crying.

Voices of the people present resonate through the half-empty venue, pearl white pillars supporting the weight of the ceiling situated in calculated places all around the spacious room as you lean on one of them, watching your fiancé walk around with your wedding planner, observing the place. There are big windows on one of the walls, the glass panels providing you with a view of the outside– a pretty, long garden filled with flowers that will wilt once the cold season is over, tall trees shielding some places from the sun, providing a relaxing shade. 

Tugging your sleeves down to further cover your arms, since the place is kind of chilly, you try to catch up to the two men in the other corner of the room, both physically and in conversation. Listening to Jeno asking all about the technical stuff and how the place is going to look once decorated, Mark answers him with factual answers, showing him around and making sure the groom is 100% satisfied with his choice. 

You still think you’d prefer a smaller venue– you still prefer a smaller wedding. It’s not up to you to decide, though, and you’ve given up on that opportunity a long time ago. Maybe in the same moment you said yes to him on the beach– you think that was the moment where you decided your own destiny, the moment where you tied yourself down with a metal ball on your leg, and now it’s your fate to drag it around and pretend it’s not there and that you’re not bothered by the weight.

“It seems perfect,” Jeno hums, making you automatically nod with a mechanical smile, looking around the venue once again. In Jeno’s eyes, it sure does seem perfect– it fits all the criteria of his ideal wedding, of the best day of his whole, entire life. And you can’t lie, if you really tried hard enough, you could even see the vision. You could even force yourself to enjoy the image of it in your head, you could even imagine the day going exactly by the plan, and in reality, nothing will even change, because you’ve been living with Jeno for quite a while now, but the concept just seems so scary and unnatural to you that you can’t help but feel like the reality will crash you any passing second if you don’t try hard enough to keep your guard up.

“It’s amazing,” you nod, afraid to meet any of the men’s eyes. Gathering up all the courage you have left in you, you add another convincing message. “I can almost imagine it all decorated and stuff, it’s gonna be great.”

You hear a strangled hum come out of Mark’s throat, a noise you can only decipher with it’s true emotion because you still have the conversation from a few weeks ago fresh in your brain, replaying over and over in front of your eyes as you can’t fall asleep under the blankets of your soft bed, twisting and turning in despair. If he could see it, why can’t Jeno? 

There’s a hint of you that wishes oh so deeply that your fiancé, the man that knows you the best, could see right through your white lies; there’s a hint of you that desires for him to talk to you about it, to get mad and leave you for leading him on and breaking his heart.

That doesn’t come, though, and you know it never will. You're too far in now to ever look back.

A touch on your hand brings you to avert your gaze from the ground to the man next to you, the emptiness of it all breaking your heart a thousand times over and over, your heart yearning for somebody to take it and mold it back together, glue the sharp pieces back again even though they could cut them, to tell you that it’s okay and that you’re human and that people make mistakes, yours just was a way bigger one than you should’ve ever let happen. But that doesn’t come, and it may never– but it’s okay, because you are the reason for your own downfall, and you’re the reason why you now have to play pretend and suffer. 

You glance up at Mark. Strangely, his eyes soften. He should hate you– for even though you pretend, he knows damn well what storm’s going on on the inside, and maybe you could say it’s only for the years of experience he has with fiancés eagerly planning their wedding that he can see you don’t share the same enthusiasm, or you two were just simply connected and in tune. Chewing harshly on your lower lip, so hard you taste the iron bitterness of your own blood on your tongue, your discomfort tries hard to show at your face and you keep battling hard to not let it slip. 

It’s been years with Lee Jeno by your side. Why can’t he see your suffering?

And you keep telling yourself that maybe it’s just his own joy and enthusiasm that makes him so blind to your averted eyes and still body under his sheets. But that doesn’t help your situation; you’d argue it makes it even worse, for you don’t think you can keep going for any longer, and he’s the one pushing forward with such force. You never enjoyed the difference in power you two have. You should’ve never said yes to him in the first place.

And it’s drowning you, because it’s not even his fault. He’s done nothing wrong, but you can’t help but want to stay away, want to hide and run whenever the topic of a wedding is brought to your attention, because it’s not what you desire, even though it’s what you should want, after so many years by his side.

Mark’s voice echoes in your brain, his damn argument never leaving the walls of your head. You want to silence it, but you’re never strong enough.

It’s never too late to back away. But how could you do that to him? You shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t, and that’s why you’ll never do so, no matter how scared and panicked you feel. 

You shouldn’t, because you loved him.

ONE UNREQUITED BELIEF

They say that staring into a cup of black coffee won’t make your troubles go away; nor will it make you feel at least a little better about yourself, but nonetheless, you do it on a cloudy, sad afternoon, sitting in your kitchen as you hug your knees to your chest. Hearing the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, you wonder why you can’t make the time stop– why you can’t just hide away from your problems for a little while, finding a quiet haven and listening to yourself for just a second, to see what you really need and what you should do.

But you can’t stop the time, even though you sometimes really desire for that to happen, and that leads to your fiancé eventually coming home to find you staring into the cup of now cold, black coffee, the solemn look on your face telling him perhaps more than you would’ve expect, but still not enough to fully understand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, taking a cautious seat on the chair opposite of yours, not even bothering to put away the groceries he brought with himself on his way from work. Sensing the tense atmosphere, you take a glimpse on his face, and with the sad pools that are his eyes right now, you force yourself to swallow away the guilt and look away. 

“Nothing,” you mourn, your voice weak and almost a little shameful. It makes you feel bad for him– for letting him see you like this, on your worst; but the reality of the knowledge that if you two want to really stay together forever, he has to see you like this until you die– the image of him looking at you with such scared eyes every single time, it sends shivers down your spine. You’d rather crawl out of your own skin than to experience it over and over again, the motion of it destroying you completely until there’s nothing left of you than a broken, empty shell of a human you used to be.

And Jeno, he’d fit in your skin, if he could. He’d crawl inside with you, trying to fix every piece that’s broken, trying to understand the patterns of your veins and the thoughts flowing through your head. But the truth is, that you’ve got some problem, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. And that’s even scarier than anything he’s ever encountered before.

But he’s not stupid. 

“We need to talk about the wedding, right?” he asks, and the reality comes crashing down on you. He knows– he knows, he knows, he knows; he’s aware of the storm on your inside and how the raindrops can’t seem but to wash you completely away, making you drown. And you should’ve expected it, he’s your partner, after all, but you never once in your life could’ve predicted the lost look in his eyes when you finally look up at him from the darkness of your coffee cup and offer him a hushed whisper.

“What about it?” 

Offering you a tired smile, he sighs and nestles deeper into the chair. Brushing his hair out of his face, as if to prepare himself for the tough conversation, he puts his hands on the table and you watch his muscles flex when he moves to crack the knuckles of his palms in nerves, a habit you’ve noticed in him from when you first started dating back in high school.

“You’re unhappy with it,” he proclaims, not even leaving you a second to react with a disapproving ramble that he knows is coming– you always say everything’s fine when it’s not– as he proceeds with his observations, “and I know I might have been too pushy with some of my decisions, and I wasn’t being considerate enough of your opinions, but I promise you that we can change all the parts you don’t like and compromise. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you can’t have a say in it,” he says, and there’s a wallowing pit inside of your stomach, because after all,

he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he doesn’t see it in your eyes when you tiredly close them to get rid of the exhaustion, he doesn’t understand that this is not the problem, and it’s okay, because he’s not a mind reader, but to your poor, selfish self, it feels like you’ve been wronged, because who can understand you in this, if not your own fiancé, the love of your life?

“It’s okay, Jeno,” you mumble, almost automatically.

“I said I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

There’s a silence overtaking you two, the clock ticking on the wall driving you insane. You think that if you hear the piercing sound of it ever again, you might just open the kitchen window and jump out of it, but then there’s another sound, and that one makes you crawl out of your skin again, the sound of Jeno's voice making your nails scrape against your own insides as the last remains of you need to stay inside, true to themselves.

“So what’s wrong? What do we work on?” he asks, and the tone of his voice is so considerate, so gentle, it almost brings you to tears.

Because you don’t deserve to be treated like this. 

Because you’re a traitor. That’s what you are, aren’t you?

“Nothing…”

“Do we change the invitations? Is it the venue?” he insists, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion as you don’t offer him any response. The silence is excruciating to him and you can clearly see, but still, it doesn’t lead you to breaking the truth to him, it doesn’t make you say the words that have been slowly dying at the tip of your tongue since the day you got engaged.

“Y/N, if you don’t tell me, we can’t fix it. Can you please talk to me and tell me what it is so we can work on it together?” he asks. 

And it’s killing you. 

Shaking your head, you scowl. This is not the way your script is supposed to play out. You were too careless, let him see inside, but all he saw through the crack was a glimpse of the full thing and now him aimlessly searching with a pointless game of guessing is only making it worse, and you don’t know how longer you can go without bursting apart.

“I told you it’s fine,” you insist, eyes closed as you plop your head against your palm, resting your elbow on the hard surface of your kitchen table. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, but the impact of your words still feel like arrows with a straight goal to Jeno’s poor heart.

Another sigh leaves the man. Reaching gently for your wrist, he tries to pry your hands away from your face, but you stay put as he asks you over and over again. “If you really want to have a smaller wedding, I’ll cut down the guests. I’ll do it for you, if you want me to,” he says, and you don’t know why him fully letting go of what he wants is what makes you break– maybe it’s the fact that now that the wedding won’t be exactly to the point like his ideal, leaving the whole thing a whole fraud, an act you’re playing just to satisfy him and the others– but you do, as you cut him off with another hesitant, yet firm sentence.

“Maybe we can lower the guests… to zero.”

A heartbeat passes, and then another one. You think he can’t quite grasp the full meaning of your words, and you’re right as he opens his mouth and inquires for an explanation, his heart hammering against his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we don’t need a wedding.”

His expression falls more, if that’s even possible, his eyes losing all their glint as he stares at you, dumbfounded. Snickering, he shakes his head. “You’re joking.”

Wetting your lips, averting your gaze from him and taking a glimpse outside of the window– the snow falling for the first time this winter making the whole situation even more idyllic, pushing you further with your final decision– you sigh and shrug, the argument already started and there’s no going back now, so you aren’t even scared of the idea of backing away anymore. 

“I don’t want to get married.”

And in this moment, you almost feel like the clock got broken and the ticking stopped, or the world stopped spinning and the time halted in that exact second– either one of these, as your heart beats angrily against your ribcage, the sound of it in the veins of your ears making you drown out everything else. Lee Jeno is staring at you with eyes that slowly lose all their life, his expression growing more and more full of despair, and the image tears you apart, the little you inside wanting to break free at the sight of him completely crumbling under the impact of your words, and suddenly, you don’t know what to do as you stare him down and await his response. You don’t know how he’ll react. He could scream, he could shout– hell, he could even cry or leave you in silence, the closure never coming as you wait for him at that damned kitchen table forever. But Lee Jeno’s always been a man of words, and so, he doesn’t leave you hanging for long as he scoffs again, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re joking, right?”

But when the silence is his answer, he already knows he doesn’t have to keep asking.

“So you’ve just been… what? Leading me on for the last few months?” he asks, the bitterness falling off his tongue making your hands tremble, lips parting as you want to hurriedly assure him that your feelings were real, they were real until suddenly, they weren’t, and now you don’t even know where they stand and what to do with them and the confusion on your insides.

“This is unbelievable…” he says, running his hands through his hair as he stands up from the chair he’s been sitting on for the last few minutes, walking across and back through the kitchen a few times before he continues, “all those months… You’ve been just lying straight to my face? What did I even do? Why- why do you- why do you suddenly not want to-?” he rambles, and his voice slowly starts to break as you can’t seem to push any other answer out of yourself, all words stolen from your tongue as you stare at him, just waiting until the moment is over and you can let your body relax.

And it’s not his fault. It never was, but suddenly, you’re too weak to tell him, too selfish to give him the answers, too small to be the bigger person and tell him that it’s you, it’s always been you and none of this is a problem he’s created.

“Why did you say yes, then? If you never wanted to get married?” he asks, halting in his steps as he looks dead at you, waiting for your answer.

You should’ve never said yes to him. But you did. And why?

Because you were scared of this exact moment happening sooner? Maybe it would’ve hurt him less if you declined right when he asked. Maybe it could’ve been saved. But now, you’re sure you made more damage than can be fixed.

“Great. Don’t talk to me. Amazing,” he snickers, closing his eyes tightly as a stray tear comes down his cheek, the one you try hard to not notice in fear of breaking down as well, because truthfully–

now is not your time to feel bad or feel sorry. It’s not your time to cry and make it about yourself, because it’s you who messed up. It’s you who made all of this mess.

Looking at you again, and this time, it feels like the last, the question falling off his lips makes you completely shut down and build up walls around yourself, for the weight of the guilt is too heavy and you can’t seem to carry it well this time.

“Do you even love me anymore?” he asks.

Tears falling off your cheeks, your lips pressed into a thin line as you look somewhere into the unknown– anywhere but his eyes– you give him the silent answer again, and that’s enough for him to nod at you with a choked-out ‘okay’ before he disappears out of the door, the rambling through your closet being a background noise to your crying.

And relief doesn’t come even when the door shuts behind him and you don’t get up and try to stop him from leaving and the clock starts ticking in your ears again, grounding you back to reality; relief doesn’t come even when you let your sobs overtake you and your eyes tiredly fall from your coffee cup to the groceries left on the kitchen table.

Staring outside of your window, you can’t seem to find energy to even make any sound, your sore throat reminding you to take a step back and take care of yourself, just like you did mere seconds ago, finally breaking free.

On December 2nd, when the snow fell for the first time this year, you broke Lee Jeno’s heart, and you don’t think you’ll ever forgive yourself.

You decide a walk is surely gonna clear your head– at least that’s what you decide to think when you put on your winter shoes and get out of your small, silent apartment with a loud sigh, the meeting point of your errand today brightly lit in your mind as you leave the car in the parking lot and shudder in the cold. 

The walk doesn’t clear your head, it makes you even more lost in your thoughts, it seems, but there’s no turning back when you’re already halfway there and you’re too lazy to get back and turn the engine of your little old car on, driving there instead. It seems like the consequences of your own actions leave you more miserable than content lately, and although you’re doing all of this for yourself, you feel like you’re unknowingly engaging in some sort of self-sabotage, and the fact that your body is frozen in the strong wind is only the tip of the iceberg of this topic.

After some time, you arrive, your nose runny from the condensation when you reach the heated interiors of the building, clearing your throat as you walk through the door of Mark Lee’s office, just like you would any other day, more often than not with your fiancé, sometimes alone. The man is currently waiting for you at his desk, his silly little journal open on the pages you know so well by now, the image hurting you to your core. 

“Y/N!” he greets you, confusion mirroring on his face when he notices you being alone, since this meeting was scheduled precisely on Jeno’s day off, so both of you could attend, “why are you alone?”

Not giving him a reply, instead walking over to the chair and settling deeper into the cushion, preparing yourself to break the news to him, the curious nature of the man shines through as he asks you hushed questions, a tiny hint of bitterness in his voice unknown to you.

“Does he have work again? Did he cancel?” he asks, prepared to give out an over-exaggerated sigh if you tell him that he’s right about his assumptions, but when you just chew on your cheek and avert your gaze away from him, and instead look everywhere across the pearl white room, he senses that there’s something wrong.

“Yeah, about that…” you mumble, shrugging. 

It’s now or never, you think to yourself– you went here for a reason unknown to you. Maybe you seeked comfort in the man that pushed you towards your decision, maybe you desire for someone to tell you that what you did was okay and the right thing to do. You could’ve just texted him you weren’t going to plan the wedding anymore, since there is none to happen, but you didn’t– you went here yourself, just to break the news to him face to face, expecting nothing and everything at once. It’s weird. Maybe you just, true to your fragile nature, need someone to look out for you when you feel so insanely guilty for doing something for yourself. Why that person is Mark Lee, you don’t know. Perhaps there is something that is pulling you to him, the comforting nature surrounding him being your safe haven in a time like this, making you so selfishly wish that after hearing you say it, he won’t let you down and look at you with defeat and disappointment.

“I- I called off the wedding,” you say, finally meeting his chocolate orbs with expectations, “and we sorta broke up, so I just- I just wanted to tell you that I won’t need your service anymore, but that I’m really thankful,” you add, nodding to prove your point.

The man in front of you is left startled, eyes wide as he searches for a hint of something– anything– on your face that would tell him if you’re okay and what led you to the decision, opening his mouth to talk to you about it, when you cut him off and add another thing, a sentence that breaks him and glues him together in one swift motion, leaving him speechless.

“Thank you for telling me that it was okay… to do that. And that it wasn’t late to call it off. It means the whole entire world to me, Mark, and I’ll never forget that,” you say, smiling hesitantly at the wedding planner, playing with your fingers in your lap, “I felt like I couldn’t make this decision, even though the idea of getting married to Jeno was breaking me, but your words really assured me.”

“That’s-” he stutters, clearly shocked. It’s not like he didn’t know– once again, he advised you to do so himself– but still, the reality of it is making him bewildered, true surprise raining over his face as he shakes his head to clear it, providing you with a more coherent response, “I’m- I’m glad you were able to do that. It’s- it’s so great you broke away from something you didn’t want for yourself, Y/N.”

Smiling, although a little shamefully, you avert your gaze from his intense eyes. “Thank you.”

“No, no, don’t thank me, I mean-” he rambles, his professional composure breaking for what feels like the first time, his figure looking so approachable right in this moment, “are you okay, though? It must have been hard.”

Shrugging, you wet your lips in a moment of thought. Are you okay? You’re not so sure. So instead of worrying him, you just mumble: “I will be,” with a soft nod, reassuring both yourself and everyone involved. Because, in reality, even though it’s insanely hard and the moments without your fiancé feel foreign, you feel free. You feel true to yourself, and that’s the most important thing about it all. And as long as that is preserved, you will be okay one day.

Maybe your and Jeno’s ways parted just because your ideals were different. Maybe the difference between the two was so big you couldn’t get over the height; but that’s okay. Life happened this way, and there’s not much to do about it now. Only to get used to it.

“Okay,” he says, gazing at you.

You’d like to stay longer– the truth is, this is the first time in the last few weeks that you’ve felt relaxed, content, even– and it’s hard to let go of this feeling. Mark looks at you with soft eyes, as if he was scared that a more strong look may break you, and in a moment of selfishness, you think that although this chapter of your life is over, Mark is the one you don’t want to lose out of it. You wonder if he feels the same. You want him to feel the same.

But once the moment is over and you realize your stay no longer has a meaning to it, probably just wasting Mark’s time, you nod to yourself as you stand up from your place in the chair, paying goodbye to the place you’re most likely never going to visit again. “I’ll get going, then. Once again, thanks… for everything, Mark.” 

The man shoots to his feet, hesitantly walking over to you, meeting your expecting eyes. Clearing his throat, he reaches to you with wide arms, and your body moves into his hold almost automatically, selfishness hoarding over you once again as he hugs you tight into his body, perhaps with the same amount of bittersweet feeling you feel on the inside right now, the firm grip around your waist making you relax into his touch. Burrowing your nose into his neck, you forget all about Jeno for a while, the scent of Mark’s cologne overtaking your senses, everything, past and future involved, disappearing when the noisy thought in your brain keeps rambling how you need to remember the way his arms feel around your body forever, you have to imprint his scent into your brain until the end of your time, because this is your last opportunity you have to experience it. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he mumbles, one of his hands running over your back and up into your hair, a protective head pat mendling your fragile, broken body into his touch. 

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though,” he says.

“It doesn’t- it doesn’t feel appropriate.”

And Mark understands. It feels like he’s the only one that does. And although it may feel like there’s no one but him in this world that’s on your side right now, the reality of it comforts you, because that’s enough.

Breaking away from his hold, you pay him a goodbye as you walk towards the door, not turning around as you escape the room, because you think the image of him, knowing it’s the last time you’ll see him, would break you perhaps the most.

Your journey isn’t over, though. Walking through the countless labyrinths of the town, the weather outside making your bones cold as you stride for your next destination with utter determination, you know that once you complete this task, it’s finally over. The weight of it crushes you, but you know that in a few, you’ll feel completely free, and that’s why you keep going, despite it being insanely hard.

Your eyes are met with the view of a house you know too well; the windowsills greet you with a glassy shine, the sad trees in the backyard reminding you of your university days. You’re met with Lee Jeno’s childhood home, and by the looks of his car in the driveway, you were correct about the suspicions of his whereabouts. He had nowhere else to go, after all, and although you feel a little shameful about the fact, you don’t let it get to you.

Walking over to the small gate of the land of Jeno’s parents’ house, a red post box greets you, your final destination in reach. Rummaging through your purse, you take out a white envelope containing your engagement ring, and while opening the small box, you pay goodbye to the latest chapter of your life, putting the envelope in. 

Taking one last look at the house, you imagine Jeno on the driveway, and you wave at his figure with an apology on your tongue. 

Maybe one day, he’ll understand you. And maybe he won’t.

You can’t be mad at him for the emotions he has every right to feel. You acknowledge that you were wrong for leading him on for so long. But still, you hope that one day, he’ll be able to forgive you. 

And as if your fate wanted you to have the last bit of karma you’ve earned, it starts raining as you walk home. On any other day, you’d despite the shower, but today, you think you can get through it. You think this is your prize, and you’ll keep paying it forever, until you no longer feel the guilt of everything you’ve done.

Putting yourself first breaks hearts sometimes. But still, you think it’s worth it in the end.

Maybe one day, you’ll forgive yourself.

When your body hits the cold sheets of the bed that isn’t yours, stumbling to your designated side of the mattress, it seems, you wonder if the heater in his apartment broke again and you’re going to spend another night shivering until the tiredness doesn’t make your thoughts turn off and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Dressed in your usual pajamas and staring out of the window, watching the stars shyly glimmer, the moon kisses your cheeks in a solemn feeling of a weird nostalgia you can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard you try. The feeling, however, is no longer as uncomfy as it was the last time. It used to make your bones itch, it used to make you try to battle the feeling, even though there was no use– it’s always been too strong and you were too weak; too tired to keep fighting.

A huff lands into your ear, a muffled sigh that makes you slightly open your eyes and still in your movements. He joined the bed just a few minutes prior to you, telling you he’ll wait for you to be done with your shower, but it seems like he fell asleep in the short time period, making you feel momentarily bad for waking him. 

A strong arm slings itself over your middle, engulfing you in a tight back-hug. His body grows closer to you, shuffling himself to stick himself as close to your body as possible, a heavy breath reaches your ear. Your hand automatically reaches for his one laying on your stomach, looking over at him to see his eyes flutter open and a soft smile glazing his features. “Ready for sleep?” he asks, and with a gentle nod, you watch him get more comfy in the sheets of his bed.

Continuing to watch him, his eyes close on themselves after a short while, his eyelashes kiss his cheekbones, sharp edges of his face contrasting with his overall soft demeanor making your heart swell with the thankfulness you feel because of his proximity. 

Looking back over to the window, eyes briefly catching the time glimmering on the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table, you bite down on your lips and try to battle the smile that’s dangerously trying to spread across your face. His body pressing itself into your back is warm, trying hard to provide you with a sense of home and safety. This time around, it works. It always works out with him.

A sigh cuts out of your throat.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and it makes you snicker. You’ve never felt more content and satisfied in your whole entire life, yet, he dares to ask you this question, still uncertain. Nodding, you reply to him, sureness coating your words.

“More than okay.”

Your body slowly heats up in his hold– he’s like your portable heater, after all, since he likes his bedroom to be a little colder than you prefer, he took it upon himself to always have you glued inside of his arms whenever you sleep over at his place; to not let you catch cold, he says, but you secretly just think he loves to fall asleep with you in his hold.

Just a little over a year ago, with a different man in your sheets, you weren’t able to fall asleep with the weight of your overthinking. You rethought your decision over and over again, not ready to leave yourself to get a final conclusion, even though it was always somewhere there, in the back of your brain.

Now, though, your brain is at ease, relaxing after running laps through various scenarios in your brain– your body is soundly tucked in under the soft sheets of the bed, finding a sweet haven in a person you never imagined you’d let into your life. 

You no longer wake up in guilt and fear. You no longer startle awake at night, too scared to look at your fiancé on the other side of your bed; because the chapter is now behind you, the war is over.

And you learn to forgive yourself. All by Mark’s side. 

If it wasn’t for the actions of your past, you would’ve never met him, after all. Everything in your life has some sort of order, and while it wasn’t a happy journey, at least you’re left with nothing but experience and comfort in your heart.

Almost like every day, much to the contrast of your state a little over a year ago, you reach out for Mark’s hand again, pressing a soft kiss to it as you move it closer to your lips. Almost like every day, while you fall asleep to the scent of his shower gel and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sweet dreams, you’re thankful for every day with him, 

because he was the one that brought you peace again, taking care of you each and every day, carefully catching your heart when you let it fall freely into the unknown.

[sweetpeasummers]

Everything That I Want

Summary: Leon has been avoiding you and you’re worried about the reason why.

Word Count: 3.2k

Rated: Explicit (Language, Smut, Mentions of Death)

Pairing: Leon/Fem!Reader  

Author’s Note: I originally wrote this when RE4 first came out as Leon/OC, but am not comfortable uploading that. So I took my favorite bits (more to come), edited them on my own into something I’m proud to post and here we are. I will be uploading to Ao3 later.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Resident Evil nor any of the characters.

It's been a frustrating few weeks and you're trying to do anything to not think about why your partner Leon Kennedy has been avoiding you. Which is why you find yourself at the gym hoping to bench press your way into oblivion. You grip the bar, take a deep breath in, lift the bar and lower it to your chest, exhaling you push it out away from you.

One...Two...Three...Four

You set a steady rhythm desperately willing the simple act to clear your mind the way it typically does, but you feel it start to wander again. What in the hell is going? One day he was Leon your friend and partner and the next he was...gone. He hadn't returned any of your phone calls and every time you were in a room together he'd make some weak excuse as to why he had to leave. It was confusing and as time dragged on downright hurtful.

You'd always had a bit of a thing for him ever since you were first paired together, his good looks had drawn you in, but his snarky one liners and compassionate, friendly nature had endeared him to you in a way no other man ever had. Initially it wasn't easy being paired together. Leon was leery and jaded though warmed to you quickly. He threw himself into the work, you admired his drive and told him as such. Though on more than one occasion he joked about being forced into it. When you pushed for an explanation he told you everything; the outbreak in Raccoon City, the creatures he fought, and how he barely made it out. Then admitted he wasn't given a choice to become an agent. His vulnerability made you confess to your share of misery, the T-Virus leaked in your rural town. Killing reanimated corpses of the people you knew and loved was a nightmare you'd never forget. Subsequently you weren't given a choice either. Your relationship was different afterwards. You turned to each other, shared secrets, doubts, and even fears with one another. The innocent crush you had on him developed into something so much deeper. The job was brutal and having a partner you could rely on was more important than a boyfriend, so you buried those feelings. It was so damn hard because sometimes you thought he was flirting with you but chalked it up to you seeing what you wanted to see. So you stayed guarded, pulled away just enough to still be considered professional, but weren't always successful. Maybe Leon finally figured it out, caught on to the fact that you had feelings for him beyond what a friend or partner should and it freaked him out.

You hated not knowing, sighing heavily, you look up at the man spotting you. Daniel was such a nice man, one of the few agents to have a normal life outside of the insanity that was your job. He owned the gym you were in, had a wife and a little family. He was happy. One of the more well adjusted agents you'd met and couldn't help but wonder if it was because of his life outside of missions. You attempted to date but every relationship fizzled out.

“Could you add more weight please?” you ask Daniel. You hope the extra weight will make you focus. He reluctantly does, you grip the bar and lift up your hand slips and the weighted bar comes dangerously close to crushing your throat, but Dan catches it in time and together you put it back in place. You sit up breathing heavy, shaken from what just happened.

“What is going on Y/N, you look like shit?” he asks gruffly.

“Thanks I feel like shit.” you reply still trying to compose yourself.

“You wanna talk about it or do you wanna hit something” Dan asks you. You always appreciated his bluntness.

“I wanna hit something.” you quickly respond. Not even knowing where you'd begin to explain your situation with Leon with any sort of anonymity. It'd be embarrassingly obvious who you're talking about.

“I can help you with that.” Dan motions to you to follow him. He leads you down the hall to a large empty room with a ring. He throws you a pair of gloves and gets in the ring. You spend the next half hour sparring, Dan was right it did help.

“Thanks for helping me out,” you say and truly mean it. You feel less tense, like you could go home and not mope around your apartment.

“Yeah no problem,” Dan answers cheerfully, “You seem like you needed it. If you don't want to be alone you could come and have dinner with me and the Mrs. You know Julia always makes enough to feed a small army.”

It's tempting, you feel better than you did earlier, but also you know you'd still be miserable company.

“Maybe some other time, thank you for the offer.” you respond with a small smile.

“I'll hold you to that,”Dan replies.

Before you can leave, you hear a door open and footsteps approaching, Dan looks behind you and waves. He calls out “Hey Leon long time no see!”

You freeze, oh you're tense all over again, suddenly it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You hear Leon chuckle and answer with “Yeah I've been busy, had a lot to think about.”

Okay, Leon hasn't been avoiding just you it seems. You turn and see him walk closer to where you and Dan were standing. Well that's different you thought, but stay quiet whatever he was going through he'd made it clear he didn't want your help. You just look away and focus on a random spot on the wall. You tune out their conversation lost in your own thoughts. Normally Leon's presence was a comfort but now it was bringing a god awful stew of emotion you felt these past few weeks to the surface. You wanted to stay and try to talk to him again, but decide you have to go before it bubbled over and you did something embarrassing like sob or scream. You try to leave quietly, but you feel a hand softly catch you by your wrist.  You're shocked to see its Leon holding on to you. You get your first good look at him. He looks exhausted, nervous and unsure of himself.

“Y/N, please don't leave. I need to talk to you.” you hear Leon say. You pull your wrist out of his grasp and stay in place. Good or bad it seems like whatever is going on can finally be over.

“Well I don't want to keep Jules waiting so I'm going to head out, unless,” Daniel trails off looking at you with a nervous smile on his face. You look away from Leon to Dan then back to Leon and take a deep breath hoping it's enough to calm yourself before speaking,

“It's okay you can go Dan. I'm actually very curious as to what he has to say to me.” Your response does absolutely nothing to alleviate the tension in the room.

Dan breathes out a shaky “Okay, you two are the last ones in the building, you know where the keys are. Could you lock up on your way out?” Dan walks away quickly looking back and gives you both a small wave on his way out the door.

“Do you think you'd want something like that?” Leon asks you.

“Like what, you mean like what Dan and Julia have?” you ask and answer your own question. You don't give Leon a chance to respond before asking him what you've wanted to ask him for weeks.

“Leon, what's going on? Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask more hurt than you wanted spills out, perhaps the feeling hadn't completely faded. You cross your arms bracing yourself for his answer.

Leon winces before continuing, “I've been a real dick haven't I?”

You nod your head not trusting yourself to speak. Leon continues, “I'm sorry. I've gone about this all wrong. I didn't want to hurt you I just needed time to get this right.”

It feels like your head is spinning, you want to ask more questions, but you press your lips together and let him continue.

“It never felt right with anyone else and it killed me every time I saw you walk away with another man. For so long I couldn't understand why, ever since Raccoon City I've shut a part of myself down. Detached, because I thought it was the safest thing to do. It's easier. It's also pretty damn isolating. I finally figured it out. I want something more outside of just being an agent. I want something that isn't death and monsters and lies. I wanna be happy, every time I think about what that looks like it's with you. I know what I just said could make you uncomfortable and I will respect and decision you make.” he finishes breathlessly. He still looks nervous but like a weight has been lifted from him.

Your mouth falls open in shock, you slowly uncross your arms and let them fall to your sides. That he wants to be with you wasn't even in the realm of possible things you thought he might say. How could the two of you have gotten it so wrong. All this time you thought you were making him uncomfortable and he thought he was going to make you uncomfortable. You were so wrapped up in hiding your feelings you missed his right in front of you. Three years worth of memories hit you like a truck; so  many conversations, stories shared, dinners that weren't dates, shouldn't be dates but in hindsight very much were. You remember the night he admitted to you he didn't know how to keep living with what he'd been through.  You stayed with him until he fell asleep. He always returned the favor, some mornings you'd wake to the smell of coffee and his smiling face. How could you have been so blind? It didn't matter though Leon wants to be with you. You want to be with him. Happiness blooms and spreads in your chest, your lips lift in a brilliant smile. You can see the moment it clicks in Leon's head that you feel the same way he does. He's just waiting for you to say it.

“I want everything and I want it with you.” You reply. You're both so giddy you almost don't know what to do with yourselves. He steps towards you until there's the barest breath of space between your bodies. Leon is staring at your lips while slowly leaning down. Unable to speak you nod your head. He reaches his hand to cup your face and your lips meet. It's the sweetest and gentlest you've ever been kissed. You lift your hands up to hold onto to his arms afraid if you don't you'll melt into a puddle on the floor. You break apart, but he keeps his hands on your face Leon rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.

“I want you,” he whispers roughly. A different kind of tension fills the room, heat flushes through your whole body.

“Then take me.” you simply reply. “Here, now, please. You heard Dan we're the only two people in the building..” You waited years for this you don't want to wait any longer.

His eyes snap open. He pulls his head back and drops his hands to rest on your upper arms. A delicious smile spreads across his handsome face at your suggestion. You reach up to grab his hand and without a lick of shame guide him down the front of your pants to cup your warm center. You whimper, your lasciviousness sends Leon over the edge. He yanks his hand away, wraps you in his arms and kisses you. There's nothing sweet or gentle about it this time. He's desperate, like a long-lost lover coming home. You give as good as you get wrapping your arms around his neck to press yourself closer to him. You feel him half hard against your belly and gasp, Leon slips his tongue into your mouth deepening the kiss. You continue on like that for a few minutes, barely breaking apart for breath, hands roaming each other's bodies touching everything and anything you both could reach. You run a hand through his hair, down his chest, and palm his erection through his shorts.

“God yes,” he whimpers.

He pulls away from you and reaches behind  himself to yank his shirt off and throws it down on the mat. You're a bit lost at the suddenness of it but follow Leon as he pulls you down to sit on his discarded top.

Aching to touch him again, to feel his bare skin against yours, you pull your shirt up and over your head, Leon grabs it and throws it behind him. You both try and get your sports bra off but the sweat coating your body makes it difficult and your arms are sore from your punishing workout earlier. This bra ain't coming off without a fight. In your frustration you pull from the bottom up enough to free your breasts. Your spandex bottoms prove to be just as difficult, you kick a shoe off and manage to get one leg out. Leon leans back and shoves his own pants and boxers down to his knees freeing his cock. He moves to balance on one knee awkwardly struggling with his clothes. It doesn't dampen the mood as you can see his thick cock bobbing with his every movement, you're keenly aware of how empty you feel as your cunt clenches around nothing.

Once his clothes were sufficiently dealt with Leon looks down at you, eyes heavy with desire and you shiver. He pushes you gently to your back and moves to cover your body with his. Your stomach tightens as he lowers his open mouth toward your chest. He runs his teeth along a hardened nipple before taking it into his mouth and sucking. Your head tilts back and your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. Your hands find the back of his head and hold him close to you. He switches to the other breast lavishing attention there. His other hand slips down to pull your panties aside to slide two fingers through your wetness and into your cunt, fucking you open. When he crooked his fingers just right and rubbed your swollen clit with his thumb the pleasure was so intense you felt as though you were melting, but it wasn't enough. You needed him inside of you.

“Please,” you whine “I'm ready. Fuck me.”

His mouth moves away from your breasts, “Yes ma'am” he rasps against your ear.

He takes his hand away, you look down, spread your thighs farther apart plant your feet down and see him grab his cock and guide it into you. You both groan in pleasure as he smoothly sinks all the way in and finds his rhythm thrusting into you. You'll never be able to be in the room again without thinking of the delicious feeling of Leon inside you, your soft breasts pressed against his hard chest, his ragged breathing in your ear. The wet slapping sound of your bodies meeting. You kiss every part of him you can reach. Your hands run through his hair and nails score down his back. They finally land to hold on to his shoulders. Leon Kennedy is your entire universe at this moment and nothing has ever felt more right.

He moves a hand down between to where your bodies are joined and rubs his thumb against your sensitive clitoris again, its all you need. You move to wrap your thighs around his waist, the orgasm flashes bright and fast through your body. You come hard moaning his name.

You feel him stop moving and hear him say, “Shit no condom.”

He moves back slightly, removing your legs from around his waist and back down to the mat still spread wide apart. Leon pulls out of you entirely, gripping the base of his cock tightly. Through the haze of your orgasm you realize what's happening and before he can do anything you lick your own palm, bat his hand away and make a fist around his cock. You massage and stroke the jutting flesh between his thighs while encouraging him to thrust. It doesn't take more than five thrusts before you see and feel copious amounts of thick, wet come on your belly. He groans what sounds like your name, eyes tightly shut, mouth open with the mind numbing pleasure. You let go of his softening cock and wrap your arms around him, relaxing your legs to brush against his. He sags boneless against your chest uncaring of the mess now between your bodies.

Reluctantly he rolls away from you still trying to catch his breath. You sit up, push your bra back down, find your shirt and use it to wipe the come off your stomach then move to wipe the remnants of it off of his him. Luckily you have a change of clothes in your gym bag. He mumbles a thank you before pulling you down to cuddle by his side. He wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.  You can't wait till the next time when you're in a place where you can both take your time to explore and luxuriate in each other's bodies. You'd never been so hot for another person that you couldn't wait till you were in a private place. The thought brings you back to reality and you tense up, remembering where you are. Leon feels your discomfort.

“You finally realize how out in the open we are, haven't you,” he chuckles a bit. Too mortified to reply you simply nod your head still holding onto him. He sits up bringing you with him. He tucks a stray bit of hair behind your ear and says, “Go home. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

“Promise?” you ask, reluctant to be away from him even for a short time.

“Promise,” he breathes his answer against your kiss swollen mouth. He kisses you quickly and gets up to get dressed. You smile and do the same.

There would be consequences to what the two of you had done. A romantic relationship between agents was deeply frowned upon. Damn the consequences, you could worry about that later, besides you can't imagine Leon cares much about them either. The smile on his face echos the one on yours. Confident about the place in each other's lives the weight of life shifted, now balanced comfortably between the two of you. The odds weren't in your favor but you'd take the bad with the good as long as you had him.