#What is a NOR flash memory

[tonycries]

FIVE! - C.K.

Synopsis. Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader 

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, bréeding, Choso with rings + a tongue piercing, creampíe, mentioned kids, cúmplay, he goes feraI, oraI (fem receiving), Itadori family shenanigans (mild spoilers for unc-kuna), overstím, fíngering, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Will I ever write a Choso fic without the Itadori family? No absolutely not.

4:37PM.

“Ooo, Cho can we check that place out?”

And, listen, just because Choso would give you the moon right along with his heart doesn’t exactly mean he’s jumping with joy when he follows your gaze to that gaudy little shop tucked away in a corner of the mall. Flashing a loud, glittering sign reading, “FORTUNES: FIND YOUR FUTURE!”

Traitorous memories flash through his mind with each step you drag him closer. Of all those fortune shops he’d frequented years ago, trying to figure out whether you’d say yes to a date - before even thinking of actually asking you. 

He won’t ask anything, Choso reassures, stepping through the heady, curtained doorway. Probably not anything, he’s musing, pulling out his wallet to pay for your session. Well, maybe some things, he concludes, eyeing the sprightly old woman that takes a seat opposite you two, peering down at her dramatically large glass ball on the table. 

But that doesn’t mean he’ll-

“Babies.”

“Huh?”

“Yes.” the woman gives a solemn nod. “Five of them.”

Both of you let out a squawk of surprise, much to the amusement of the fortune teller. And Choso can feel his palms getting sweaty against your own as he manages to croak out a low, disbelieving, “Five?”

All but toppling out of his seat in suspense as she takes a moment to scrutinize her orb once more. And, surely glass balls can glitch, right? Mix up fortunes or something? Because while he knows you’ll be by his side in this life and every other one after - kids were a whole other responsibility that neither of you had talked about, yet.

At least, that’s what Choso was trying to convince himself right before the woman lets out a thoughtful hum, “Well, you-” pointing a wisened, accusing finger right in his flushed face. “-want more - about eight - but, of course, your future wife says no.” Gesturing to your giggling figure, “Honestly, young man, learn to keep it in your pants, the poor dear!”

Shit, he was going to run away, do something to end up on the national news - and judging by the way you squeeze his hand, you could tell, too. 

Subconsciously, Choso’s eyes scan the wall for any hidden cameras, wondering what type of strange prank this was. It had happened once four years ago - and just-so-happened to be what made him give up and finally ask you out - but, hey, it made for a pretty great first date story, right?

Finding none, he sighs, barely opening his mouth to ask before she plows on, “And of course there’s only so many your uncle can piggyback at once, right? No matter how much that grump says he doesn’t like it.”

Right.

Of course.

Oh god, he thinks he could faint. 

Choso doesn’t dare say anything for the rest of the session, nor does he look directly in your eyes. Save for that one time to admire your delighted laugh when the fortune teller prattles on about how your kids will “fight his needy self for your attention.”

Not until the two of you are stepping back out into the too-bright mall, your fingers intertwined with his, voice sweet in his ear as you continue with your forgotten mission to find the good brownie mix for the family dinner tonight. 

“Eyes like yours and hair like mine.” You sigh, repeating what you’d heard mere minutes ago. Hooking a finger subtly into his belt loop, smirking, “Sooo, five, huh? You’re this worked up over that?”

“N-no.” Choso replies hastily, but the heavy gulp he takes is a dead giveaway he can’t stop thinking about tiny combinations of the two of you running around. Face too-hot, hands jittery, brows furrowed as he decides for the second time in his life that, yeah he’s never stepping foot inside a fortune shop again. 

You notice - of course, you do. 

Especially when he pulls you into the nearest changing stall, knuckle-deep inside your drenched panties, rings cool against your cunt, lips kissing at your throat. Ignoring your teasing complaints about “getting late”, despite how you’re letting him have his way. 

He feels the vibration of your voice under his hot tongue, laughing - even when he gives your pretty clit a little pinch. “Five.”

And through it all, he can’t help but think - hypothetically, of course, that he hopes they all have your laugh.

---

7:16PM.

Honestly, the one thing that made the Itadori residence more of a home to Choso was having you there. Even when you’re standing with him outside the front door, letting out a sigh as you glare at your sad excuse for brownies.

“Ugh, Cho, we totally burnt them.” you grumble up at your boyfriend. “Your dad is gonna hate it and Sukuna’s gonna make fun of me and-”

“Sukuna can try.” Choso hits the doorbell once more, sure that the ruckus inside was too loud to even think over. “And he probably will.” Before turning back to your adorable pout, and ah he can’t stop himself from cupping your face, smoothing over that furrow in your brow. He leans in to give your lips a chaste peck, “But, he’s still gonna steal some. N’ dad’ll love it, and you already know gramps is gonna sneak in some even though his doctor told him not to.” He’s getting out through kisses, pulling your giggling face closer to his. “And we’ll be lucky to get any before Itadori inhales them.”

He ends his little speech with a slow, lingering kiss. Sliding his soft lips across your now much happier ones. Dancing a hand down to pull your hips closer, murmuring throatily, “N’ most of all, I’m gonna love ‘em, baby.”

You gasp at the feeling of his long fingers pressing just at the hem of your panties through your dress, “You’re- you’re too much.” You hiss, but it comes out more breathless than you intended. “But, the brownies really are-”

Slam!

“Yeah yeah, Jin, the brats are finally here, jus’ fucking on the porch!” 

If there’s anything Choso’s learned from all the times you’ve had dinner with his family, it’s that 1. Yes, the brownies - as burnt and questionable as they were - will always turn out to be a hit in the Itadori household. 2. You were really, really too perfect for your own good, even amidst the chaos. 

“Oh no, let me.” you flash Jin a beaming smile, taking over the well cleared-out plates to the kitchen. Only to be followed by an enthusiastic Yuji almost tripping over his own feet to help you out. 

“You got a good one there.” Choso snaps out of his soft stare to whirl around at where his grandpa was seated next to him. He tips his head over to where you were chattering animatedly with the younger boy taking your load of dishes. “Real lovely. Though, the desert I’m assuming you helped out with.”

Jin pipes up, “Bah! I thought that liquorice was great.”

“They were…brownies.��� Face burning, he stammers, knowing full well that you were the one that forgot them in the oven. “And uh y-yeah, you got me…”

And, of course, because it’s a family dinner, Sukuna has to lean over to rile him up. Interjecting teasingly, “Then you best wife that cute lil’ thing up before those baking skills of yours make ‘em run off n’ find someone that can bake.” He smirks devilishly, eyes flitting to the view of the kitchen, “And…”

“And?”

“-is fuckin’ great with kids, too.”

Several things happen at once - the words are barely out of Sukuna’s mouth before he’s being swatted over the head. Hard. After all, being the nicer of the two doesn’t make Jin Itadori forget his roots as the older brother.

And Choso’s jaw is dropping into a soft oh! Not at the unusual display of strength, no, instead it was at the heavenly scene before him.

He swears, the lights grow just a bit brighter and the world becomes a little rosier at the sight of you teaching an eager Yuji the correct way to scrub strainers. Gently guiding the boy until that confused furrow between his brow disappears. “Yeah, just a bit more on the side and you’re done!”

He gives you a very soapy high-five, “You’re literally a lifesaver, Kugisaki was just making fun of me for this the other day.” Moving onto the rest of the workload, “‘Can’t do shit’ gonna show her, seriously. Thank you mom- uh-”

Yuji freezes. You freeze. And it seems that everyone in the world might’ve frozen, except for Sukuna who was still rubbing that bump on his head. 

And you, of course, promptly cutting off the flurry of apologies that looked like they were about to burst from Itadori’s lips. Smiling at the flustered boy softly, “Well…good job, Yuji.” you bump his hip. “And now onto the blender.”

“AW, MAN.”

Suddenly, everything was normal again. Except for Choso - definitely not Choso. 

Mom? 

So utterly, completely not Choso when everyone’s still talking downstairs, and he’s not. Making some cheap excuse about a ‘bathroom break’, which really didn’t explain why he covertly drags you behind him by the hand. All but shoving you into his childhood bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as he could without alerting anyone of your tryst. 

“Ch-Cho-” you squeal when he pushes you against the wall, dropping down to his knees with a fervor that makes you wince. But if it hurt, then Choso doesn’t show it - doesn’t show anything but pure need when he bunches your dress up at your waist. Soft tongue darting out to glide along your drenched slit, “What’s gotten- hngh- into you?”

The only response you get is a murmured growl of something you can’t bother deciphering. And he doesn’t give you any other, either - sluggishly nudging away your panties to admire your glistening cunt. 

So close. Just hovering over your puffy folds, smiling at the way they only get wetter at his hot breath, “Five.”

Too close. Glossy pink lips falling slack to wrap around your clit and-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Though, it was more of a bang. And an even louder voice from outside, “OI, you brats better be decent, gramps found some dusty old albums n’ wants you two down.”

---

9:02PM.

“Awww, this is from his first fight with Yuji- yes, Choso so what if I took a picture?” Jin excitedly points to a photo on the page, “Yuji was the one with a bruise, but Choso was the one bawling.”

You titter at the glossy picture, a confused-looking Yuji as a toddler, being smothered by his older brother in a hug - big, fat tears running down his pouty cheeks. Adorable. And somehow that encounter with the fortune teller today rings in your mind - wonder if your kids would have those same eyes?

“As cute as ever, huh?” your gaze dances across all the gems of childhood on the page. 

“Disagreed.” Sukuna leans over, no matter how much he’d like to pretend he wasn’t interested in these albums. “Look how attached the lil’ anklebiter used to be.” A painted nail pokes at one of Choso on his uncle’s shoulders, tiny fists happily gripping onto pink hair - much to his disgruntlement. “And then I look over at him now and-” He glances over at the man in question, very much unamused. “Well. That’s disappointing.”

Choso rolls his eyes, “What’s disappointing is how you’re this old but still can’t find a-” 

“Ooo look this is from when he’d run away during bath time!”

That album is snatched so fast out of Jin’s hands that you wonder whether it might just be your imagination. But you look over at a red-faced Choso, seeing him hold it way above your heads. Muttering out a hasty, “I think that’s enough photo time.”

Amidst the collective groans of disappointment - even Sukuna lets out a low huff, you hadn’t gotten to those ugly matching Halloween costume pictures yet - only Yuji speaks up, “Do you think I’d be like that, too?”

Sukuna scoffs, “What? An emo bastard? Might just work out for ya, kid, the dumbass look isn’t doing you any favors.”

Yuji juts his chin in indignance, “No- we already have Fushiguro for that.” Tilting his head over to the album still tight in Choso’s clutches. “Do you think your kids would like me? Would I be that cool favorite family member?”

“No way, brat. It’ll be me.”

Choso’s grandpa also chimes in as well, “Huh? No, I’d be the favorite.”

“Gramps-”

“Says who?”

“DISRESPECT TO YOUR ELDERS!”

“Hey!” Everything turns to Choso, startled at his sudden outburst. Tension crackling as he pokes a thumb at his chest, “I’d be their favorite. For all five of them.”

And you knew a fist or two to be thrown, hell, you half-expected the album to be used as some type of weapon. Because before you knew it, Sukuna was on Yuji, and both Yuji and Choso were on Sukuna. Falling to the floor in a tangled pile while his grandpa sat on the sidelines, chanting an elated, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Ah, it’s times like this that you wonder how Jin Itadori really had the patience. Because with all the grace that was lacking in the current scuffle on the living room floor, he claps his hands loudly. “Alright. Perhaps Choso’s right, that’s enough photo time for tonight.” He plucks the album out of a dazed Choso still gripping onto it, before moving to walk out. “And for the record-” Flashing you all a devious smile which suddenly had you remember that shit, him and Sukuna were twins, after all. “-I’d be the favorite.”

The arguments that followed were ones you had to record on your phone to giggle at later. And, yet, through it all, the only thing you could truly focus on were Choso’s words - all five of them.

Fuck. You were truly, irrevocably so fucked, and one sideglance at the pretty pink blush burning at the tips of Choso’s ears told you he wasn’t faring any better. 

You jolt when his hand wraps around your waist - nothing out of the ordinary - but what was was the way he strayed past their usual perch at your hip, trailing slightly above to just caress your stomach. Something so electric in those eyes when they catch yours briefly. 

All five of them, huh?

---

9:37PM. 

SLAM!

“Cho, why’d you-”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know what’s hitting you first - his lips crashing against yours, or the realization that this was Choso. Dark eyes half-lidded, skin burning, breaths heaving with the fervor he was drinking you in with. 

“What-” you yelp when he pulls away lazily to suck on your lower lip. “What got-” Only to come clashing back down again, drawing out all the air in your lungs as he blindly shoves the two of you against the nearest wall. “What got into you this- mmpf-” And again it’s like Choso didn’t want you to talk - could bare another word in your sweet voice for fear of poking some deep, visceral part of himself awake. 

This time, not even daring to break the kiss, he pants into your open mouth, “Shut up.” So bruisingly sloppy, “Please.”

And oh he was so very determined to have it that way, because all you can do is let out breathless gasps when his hands dance down your body. Handling you so rough with the way he snaps the neckline of your cute lil’ dress, kneading your breasts, your hips. Everywhere and anywhere he could reach until he makes his way down to cup your already-damp cunt through your panties. “-because tonight m’gonna have her talking.”

Choso pushes his hips against yours with a strained grunt. Lips curling into a sinful leer when all you can do is gasp at the outline of his thick erection through his pants. Grinding down onto his palm subconsciously, dragging your sloppy pussy. 

“Shit.” Choso immediately brings his hand up to admire - now all glistening with a sheen of your syrupy slick. Looking you right in your glassy eyes as he pops a wet finger into his mouth. His own rolling to the back of his head, “Oh shit.”

Oh, he was going to enjoy this. So very, very much.

“Turns out…” he trails off, cutting himself off by dropping to his knees. Hard. Large hands groping your ass closer to his greedy mouth, “-she says we got some unfinished business.”

You whine when Choso hooks an index underneath the mound of your drenched panties sliding it along your puffy folds. All the way up until he was nudging at your pretty clit, then down, down, down until you were just coating his fingers. 

“Ngh- Cho-” your knees weaken, when his hot breath hits your pussy. And he notices - of course he does. Circling his muscled arms around your legs to hold you up, “Oh my god s’too much.”

Too much? He’s barely even getting started. And he tells you that - slurs it between his sharp canines biting down on the thin fabric of your panties. He tugs with his teeth, “M’gonna- fuck you smell so heavenly- m’gonna ruin you.” 

You whimper in disbelief. Knowing he was too entranced with your cunt to tease you again, you mewl, “Wh-what’s got you this- fuck- worked up, Cho?”

The only response you get is a throaty growl - like the mere idea of the answer to that has Choso losing his sanity. 

And, honestly he feels like he’s lost it already. Instead, taking his time to watch the way your slick beads through the see-through fabric with each passing second. Breaths coming out in little puffs as he pulls your panties back every-so-slightly and-

“Fuck!”

And then he’s pulling - ripping your poor panties to shreds. Cock twitching wildly at the strings of slick connecting your pussy to the fabric. Mouthwatering. 

Your panties lay in tatters on the floor. The cold air hitting you right along with his steady stream of saliva. Once. Twice. Smearing it across your folds with his thumbs as Choso repeats a single, jagged whisper, “Five.”

But you barely even have the time to register his response before he’s diving nose-deep into your dripping cunt. You don’t even know if he took the time to breathe - hell, he was kissing your puffy folds like he didn’t need to breathe. 

“Shouldn’t have taken me to ngh- that fortune shop.” his lips mesh sloppily with yours. “Shouldn’t have gone to dinner, too.” Licking down your folds, the cold metal of his piercing making your head spin. “Fuckkk we shouldn’t have. Ohhh we shouldn’t have- ”

He can’t help but let out a guttural, fucked-out little grunt at the sight. Looking right up into your glassy eyes as the tip of his nose bumps against your throbbing clit. On purpose. 

You buck your hips deeper into his pretty face, mewling. “O-oh. Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Letting him lick so filthily all over your clit - your folds - just barely dipping into your hole like he couldn’t decide. And it finally sets in that just maybe you weren’t getting off easy this time. “Five?”

And fuck you can feel the way Choso grins against your pussy, wrapping his now-glossy lips around your clit to suck so harshly.

“Mhmmm.” he moans, cheeks hollowing as he tugs on your poor, ravaged clit. Rolling his tongue - the ball of his piercing - right across the sensitive bud in just the way he knew you liked. “Shouldn’t have put those thoughts in my head, baby.”

Oh.

Oh, shit. Five. 

You definitely weren’t making it out alive today.

The same sentiment seems to ring in Choso’s pussydrunk head as he pulls away with a lewd squelch to grin up at you. So fucking pretty with his eyes miles away, hair messily framing his smudged eyeliner. Lips all puffy and glistening, your slick covering the lower half of his face, his chin - some even on his jaw like Choso was trying to get messy on purpose. “Ya finally got it, baby? I could feel her gettin’ wetter.”

You did. How could you not?

You jump when Choso reattaches his lips, this time bullying his tongue past your folds, into that first, feeble ring of resistance. Stretching out your sopping entrance on his tongue in persistent, rough pushes. “Seems she hngh- really likes the idea, hm? Of me breeding this lil’ cunt?” he moans, muffled with the way he was thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper with each second. Roaming for those cute sensitive spots he knew so well, “N’ who am I to say no to the fuck- mother of my kids?”

“There! Oh my god there-” you cry when his piercing just hits at your g-spot. “I-I thought you ngh- didn’t want kids, Cho–”

As if to prove you wrong, Choso’s only curling his tongue deeper into your walls. Squeezing past your walls to fuck you exactly the way he wanted to with his aching cock right now. Hitting that magic spot again and again and-

“Oh yeah? Seems-” Like he was fucking addicted, Choso surges forward again. And again. And again and again so deep that you could feel the curve of his chin, each and every movement of his jaw. “Seems the last five hours were a bit- eye-opening. Fuck- you’re squeezin’ me s’fucking- mmf- tight”

And it was true - your walls were milking Choso’s tongue so hard you half-lucidly wondered whether it didn’t hurt. Whether his tongue wasn’t cramping up at this point, lips aching. 

But if they did, then Choso acted the exact opposite. Nails leaving neat little patterns on the plush of your hips as he makes you ride his face harder. 

“Cho!” you buck your hips wildly when that wasn’t enough for your needy boyfriend either. Big, fat tears of overstimulation rising up to your eyes when he swipes his thumb across your pulsing clit. Rings cold against your cunt when he starts to draw urgent, messy little circles in time with his tongue.“Oh fuck-” 

“Five.” he’s spitting into your cunt when your thighs start trembling beside his head. Jaw sagging open so lewdly as he gets faster - sloppier. Fuck any rhythm or reason. “Five.” he moans, sounding as strained as you felt - as taut as a tightrope right now with each drag of your sloppy cunt over Choso’s ravenous mouth. Greedier - letting your slick run all the way down his wrist now with how messy he was getting. “Five.” he whispers, when you finally cum. 

And shit, you’re such a vision when you do. Tears springing to your eyes, fingers tightening on Choso’s hair. Letting out such cute sobs of his name, hips moving out of control all over his mouth while he still pulls and pushes his tongue into your gummy walls. Fucking you so obscenely through your high. 

“Yeah? You all done with the first one, baby?” he rasps, giving your sensitive cunt one, last peck at your delirious nod - and another extra, just to watch you squirm. “Then-” Choso does the same up your body, pressing his lips to your stomach, “-you can-” the valley of your breasts. “-take responsibility.”

That’s all it takes for Choso to easily throw you onto his sculpted shoulders like some ragdoll. Taking long, urgent steps towards the nearest flat surface - that just so happened to be your couch. 

“Cho- slow-” you squeal when he throws you onto the cushions. “-down.”

And he does anything but. Barely paying attention to your zipper when he pulls off whatever’s left of your dress, throwing it god-knows-where behind him. “I’ll buy you a new one when we go pregnancy shopping.”

Choso lets out a long, strained groan when he unbuckles your bra. “Gonna be so pretty as a mama.” Large, soft hands coming to knead and guide your pretty nipples into his mouth, “Gonna be- fuck- so pretty with these all full.” 

And you can only watch, jaw-dropped, as Choso sucks on your tits. Eyes rolling to the back of his head with how harsh he was - as if he was trying to get out milk. Needing to feel it - to taste it on his tongue. 

“And this- oh this-” A hand sneaks its way down to splay out over your stomach. Pressing down, hard. “So round and full with my kid.” He manages to grit out over the metal clinking of his belt, “They’ll look at you and all they’ll see is me.” He pauses, feeling something crinkle in his pocket - a shiny condom. One that Choso chucks along with your dress, “Fuck, they’ll see me. Know how I ruined you. Me me me me-”

Fuck- 

You’re so caught up in Choso’s sinful little mutters that you barely even noticed he’d pull down his pants - just enough for his rock-hard erection to spring free. And he looked so painfully hard, such an angry red at his weeping tip, leaking all the way down, down, down those prominent veins. 

Twitching upwards at the mere sound of your voice, “Why don’t you p-prove it then, Cho?”

You broke him. You were sure you broke him. 

The words have barely left your lips before Choso’s fist is squeezing at the drenched base of his cock. Angry. Desperate. 

All but cumming on the spot when he glides his fat head along your slit - letting your cunt drool all over him before-

“F-fuck-”

“Shhh baby, I know I know.” his mouth crashes against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Sucking on your tongue while he bullies his massive cock into your snug cunt. Inch by fucking inch. And whatever’s remaining of Choso’s sanity knows he should slow down, let you breathe, maybe stretch you out more - but how could he when he physically can’t. “Fuck- too- too good. God, I have t-to do this more often.”

Your raw cunt too heavenly that he genuinely can’t stop his hips from splitting you apart deeper, from spreading your thrashing legs so far apart it burned.

From feeling the way you’re torn between taking more and flattening your feet to push away- Letting out a strangled groan, “No no no no no- don’t you take this pussy away. How else will I breed her?” He runs his delirious mouth, strong arms just dragging you across the couch back onto his mean cock. “Need this- need this so bad. Fuck-” Choso throws his head back as your cunt sucks up his leaky tip. “-oh god think m’gonna die if I don’t get to breed this pretty pussy. To give her my kid.”

Pushing in small, sharp jabs to bully himself inside, having your puffy folds bulge so obscenely around his cock. Quivering and struggling to take him all. Not even a quarter of the way in yet he was pushing in and out in and out in and-

“Oh- please-” you claw down his toned back, his waist, onto the biceps that were pushing your knees up for easier access, all the way until they were at your tits. Folding you into a tight mating press, “Cho–”

Ah, that little nickname always did things to him. And Choso nuzzles the crook of your neck gently - the exact opposite of his hips, leaving faint, dark streaks of eyeliner on your skin. “What is it? What do you hngh- want, baby? I’ll give ya anything.”

And maybe you were a mastermind. Maybe you were an idiot. Because you hum into his ear, sending goosebumps rising down your boyfriend’s spine, “Wan’ five of them.”

If you thought you broke him before then you fucking ruined him now.

Because in one, harsh thrust he’s bottoming out - feeling like he was pushing all the way into your lungs, your hazy brain. And the stretch - fuck. You could feel each and every dip and curve of Choso’s girth, thrumming against your plushy walls. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, stretching you out like such a slut. 

It was all Choso could do to echo, over and over like some type of mantra. “Finally- Five, huh? Five- Fuck!” Leaving little bruises on your thighs from spreading them apart so hard. “Gonna give you five- fuck- five.”

Each word was punctuated by a long, mean thrust, not daring to reel back until Choso could feel his fat head kiss your poor cervix, and his heavy balls smack against your ass. 

It was starting to take a toll on your ability to speak in coherent sentences - as expected, of course. 

“Oh- ngh- Cho, s’too deep. Too- ah-” you blubber tearily, heels digging into his shoulders. And he only fucks you harder into the couch. Bouncing you so rough on his swollen cock. 

“Too deep?” Choso mutters, sounding genuinely surprised. As if to confirm for himself, he trails up a hand to feel for where he knew he was leaving loving little marks on your cervix. Pressing down. “How are ya- hah- how are ya gonna let me breed this cute cunt if even this is too deep, huh?”

You don’t have the ability to answer even if you wanted to - because Choso starts to toy with your still-sensitive clit. Sending flashes of white-hot pleasure with each roll of his ringed thumb over it. Tiny, incessant circles.

He coos over your lewd ah! ah! ah! “Awww. My baby can’t s-speak anymore?”. The curve of his dick fucking you so dumb, massaging your tight walls, hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. “S’alright, jus’ let me hah- take care of it, okay? Jus’ let me paint this oh- heavenly pussy white.” Choso’s knees dig into the cushion as he angles his hips ever-so-slightly to hit that one-

“Fuck! Oh fuck- Cho–”

Found it.

“C’mon, baby.” Choso moans into the valley of your breasts, hips out of control now. Free hand coming up to squish your cheeks together, forcing you to peer into his dark gaze. “L-look at me. Fuck- look at the future father to your kids.”

All while his thick tip hit your g-spot over and over and- 

And oh how he loved how fucked-out you looked already. Capable of only giving him bleary, cockdrunk heart-eyes as he milks himself on your sloppy cunt. He couldn’t think straight - doesn’t think he’s been able to since five hours ago. 

Since he’s been wrecked with thoughts of how he’d do their hair and you’d pick them up from school. And how Yuji would be the best uncle and- Fuck, how he wanted those five kids with you - maybe even more- 

“More?” you gasp. And Choso lets out a guttural groan when you clench so sinfully around him in surprise. Fucking you so filthy, “M-more kids?”

Choso only drawls out a low, “Mhmmmm.” Pinching your clit faster between two fingers to shut up those cute whines because shit- he could cum from just how tight you were squeezing him. But refuses to before the mother of his kids. “Ya don’ ngh- wan’ me to? Don’ want me to fuck a baby into you?” 

You’re crying out harder when he speeds up. Rocking your sloppy cunt so harshly, making sure your poor pussy will remember him for a long, long time. Just trying - needing - to make himself cum. To fill you up with his seed till you can’t take it anymore. “I- ngh- do!”

And it takes everything in Choso to pull away from your ravaged tits, connecting his sweaty forehead with yours. Whispering, “How many?”

“As- fuck-”

“Mhm?”

“As many as you want- hngh-”

That’s all it takes for Choso’s body to bow, teeth digging in right above that rapid pulse on your neck so hard you wondered whether it drew blood. Hips stuttering, giving your sensitive spot one last, harsh kiss.

This time, when you cum you see white flashes behind your eyes - or maybe that was just Choso. Because the sight of you falling apart on his dick was all it takes for him to as well. Hard. Almost painfully so. 

Eyeliner running down his cheeks now with each thick, hot rope of seed he was filling your snug cunt up with. Those cushions below the two of you the last thing on his mind right now as he holds your trembling hips still, fucking his cum deeper and deeper.

The hand on your stomach pushes down, watching awe-struck at how your bloated cunt just coats him in cum. Dribbling down the side of your puffy folds, forming a creamy ring at his base.

“Oh!“ your jaw falls slack at how animalistic it felt. At how slutty your overfilled pussy felt, drooling all down your legs - and his. Onto Choso’s painfully squeezing balls as he fucks you like an animal. Again. And again and-

Again. He was speeding his hips up again. 

Then it’s like something snaps - Choso’s restraint, your sanity, and the couch. Fuck, his hips were so harsh that the couch was sagging entirely too much on your end.

This time, wrangling your legs around Choso’s waist, lifting your limp body up into Choso’s arms before you can react - squirming at the way he still doesn’t bother to pull out. Letting your cum gush all the way down his still-hard dick. 

Hands spreading your puffy folds apart, making such a mess of cum down below as he drags himself across your walls. Like he was marking you from the inside out - and he was.

“Didn’t think we were ngh- done, did you?” Choso’s lips graze your swollen ones. “After all, I did promise five.” Softly pooling a stray tear onto his tongue, piercing burning into your heated skin. “N’ we gotta practice for that, too, right?”

---

“The photo albums, really? Honestly, dad, you might as well have just gone and just outright told them.”

The older man only waves a hand dismissively, turning back to his favorite late-night show, “I’m not getting any younger here. N’ I’d like to see some grandkids before I see the pearly gates.”

Jin only sighs, but doesn’t disagree - after all, he couldn’t deny his father what he himself has been dreaming about ever since Choso finally plucked up the courage to actually ask you out. Yet he persists, “But honestly, Sukuna - you were teasing him a bit too much.”

Sukuna grunts, “Teasing? What teasing?” Crossing two big arms across his chest, “From the way they ran outta here, I suspect he should be thanking me.”

“Well, the true MVP - as the kids say - is this one-” Grandpa Itadori points at a rather oblivious Yuji. ‘Real nice improv to the plan, kid.“

Who only shakes his head before looking around the room for any answers, “Huh, wait. What plan? Did I miss some plan?”

“Ahem- no. Nothing.” Jin coughs, swiftly moving along the conversation above Yuji’s confused protests about what secret plan there was and why. “But, really, it should be that fortune teller you hired, Sukuna. Bit over-the-top honestly, but Choso was telling me all about her and you must’ve gotten a real convincing actress.”

Rolling his eyes, “Huh, I didn’t hire her, I thought that was the ol’ man’s work?”

“Now why would I go looking for actresses, my wife would just haunt me from the grave.”

The silence that follows is a heavy one as it slowly dawns upon everyone in the room - except for a still-floundering Yuji - that this was in no way a creative improvisation to the aforementioned plan. Not at all, really.

Oh. 

Wow. Five…really?!

“GUYS WHAT WAS THE PLAN?”

A/N. This got wayyyyyy longer than I expected lmao.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XVIII

Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER/violence/kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

What had once been a great fear of yours had turned into something akin to a comfort.

The basement was a lot of things—dark, isolating, and creepy to name a few—but in the weeks that you’d been exiled to it’s suffocating walls, you slowly found solace in being left with nothing but your solitude and your thoughts. At least it felt that way. In truth, you didn’t feel much of anything at all and had grown content in that feeling.

Or lack thereof.

The days blended together until it was one long endless stretch of darkness, and it gave you so much time to think. You thought about every decision that had landed you here, all the way from your first conscious memory to that fateful day when you and your friends stopped in some seemingly unassuming town for food. If you thought about it too hard, you could feel a chill creeping over your still form.

Lingering on the day your friends were murdered threatened to put you back in that headspace you’d been in when you were first brought to this house. Your breathing would become shallow at the memory of your erratic emotions and your inability to hold your bodily fluids and the time you’d nearly lost your mind at the mere sight of blood.

You had quite literally lost your mind.

You’d been driven insane by the abuse you’d suffered and had been forced to witness, mind shattering and falling apart from the actions of the same person tasked with putting it back together in whatever manner benefited him. Peter had torn you down and built you back up like some demented caregiver and despite the fact that you knew this—recognized this—you were essentially powerless to do anything about it.

You were in too deep, this was your life now, and such a thought was both comforting and suffocating. On the one hand, you knew what was in store for you. The rest of your days were laid out before you so meticulously, a breakdown of what every single day would be like for the rest of your life. In a way…it was relieving to think that you’d never have to expend any more effort into planning a single thing about your life ever again.

…but in the same breath, that was so tragic.

The excitement of possibilities and opportunities was something you’d never feel again. You’d never have that wonder about what the next day or month or even year would bring. You briefly recalled fleeting thoughts of grad school once and possibly living abroad for a while. Peter would never allow that, and even if he wanted to, Steve would never allow him to even consider the thought.

This was your life now.

Such a simple sentence brought on far too many emotions for you to handle, and so you didn’t. Handle them, that is. You didn’t feel anything and it didn’t just start and end with the complexities of your heart. You didn’t feel the pillow beneath your head nor the thin sheets over your frame. You didn’t even feel the shift in the room when someone—no doubt Margaret or Christine—opened the door and descended the stairs to bring you food.

Surely you ate.

You were still alive, after all, but you didn’t recall eating. Truth be told, you didn’t even recall bathing or using the bathroom. If you thought long and hard about it—struggling with your memory so much that it made you frown in the darkness—you could recollect brief flashes of memories that painted a picture.

Sharon’s worried face before you as she held some orange juice in front of your face, Margaret standing in front of you in the bathroom, tone pleading as she encouraged you to empty your bladder, and even Tony and Pepper standing over your bed as Pepper said something to him, her stricken expression clear even in hazy memories.

The days and everything that happened in them blended together so seamlessly that it all started to feel like a dream. How funny it was that you once feared the basement so much it was enough to give you a panic attack, and now that you were down here you felt the calmest you’d ever felt in months. You felt unreal—untouchable even in a way—and it wasn’t long before you forgot that this wasn’t meant to be forever.

You forgot that a day would come where Peter would come down—likely with Steve in tow—and tell you that your punishment was over and you could finally rejoin him amongst the world above ground. You didn’t know how you felt about that, and you found yourself wondering if you even wanted that.

Of course, you wanted that.

You couldn’t live in darkness and solitude forever, but stepping out of this room meant going back to the problems the basement currently shielded you from. When you stepped through that threshold again, Steve and Bucky and all of the other husbands would likely still be upset with you with the mentioned being more cross than the others. You would have to step back into an atmosphere where you weren’t trusted—again—and you’d have to earn it all back…again.

You supposed you still had friends in the wives, but who was to say. Yes, you’d remained silent when you witnessed Nat escape, but you had a feeling that someone like Margaret likely wouldn’t agree with what you did. You recalled a conversation you had with her once about the needs and sanctity of the house coming first. Allowing one of the wives to escape and possibly ruin everything wasn’t exactly in line with that.

Nat didn’t seem upset with you, at all the last time you saw her, but you didn’t truly know verbatim what Peter had said to Bucky to get him to take her out of the basement. Sure, he could’ve insinuated that keeping her down here and punishing her in a harsh manner after they’d been trying for a baby wasn’t smart, but he also could have flat out said to him that according to you, Nat thinks she's pregnant.

You only wanted to save her, and while you liked to think she’d understand if she knew you told Peter, you also weren’t so sure. You weren’t sure of a lot of things anymore, and your uncertainty about so much—the result of whatever truth you thought you were living being turned upside down—made you retreat into yourself even more.

“Y/N, you need to eat something…”

The familiar voice faintly reached your ears, and as you slowly turned your head, you thought to yourself that you hadn’t even heard Margaret open the door and walk down the stairs. She was staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite name, and it was only after some time did you register the weight in your lap.

Your gaze landed on a tray of food, and as appetizing as the toast and eggs and sausage looked, you had no desire to eat. You felt lucid for the first time in ages, and you slowly blinked before shaking your head. The words to tell her you weren’t hungry were on the tip of your tongue, but the redhead spoke before you could find your voice.

“You barely ate anything yesterday. And the day before…and the day before,” she breathed. “Steve wants to see an empty plate.”

You blinked again at that, and despite the fact that she was repeating Steve’s words, you could see her own concern in her eyes. You struggled to recall just how long you’d been down here and just how many plates you’d barely touched. You couldn’t recall, and despite the nagging at the back of your mind, you couldn’t bring yourself to want to eat.

Even so, you and Margaret knew better than anyone how Steve could be, and so you slowly reached out for a piece of toast.

“I’ll eat,” was all you said.

She seemed relieved as she left you—albeit reluctantly—and you nibbled on the bread in your hand. The taste of it on your tongue made your stomach twist, and you put the rest of it back down without thinking. You had every intention of finishing it later, but once your food was set aside, all you wanted to do was sleep.

Your sleep wasn’t dreamless, and it rarely ever was. Sometimes you dreamt of your mom and your friends and your life before Peter took you for himself like some villain. Those dreams served nothing more than to torment you, and you often woke from them with tears in your eyes, vision blurry even in the darkness.

More often than not though, you dreamt of Peter and your life here. Sometimes it was awful nightmares about Steve—and even Bucky sometimes—where his handsome face was contorted in that perpetual frown it always seemed to be in when he laid eyes on you. Only it would be so much worse.

Your brain liked to conjure up visions of him where he was absolutely murderous, and it was no secret as to why. There’d been the brief moment here and there where you wondered if Steve would just say ‘to hell’ with all of his rules and get rid of you—in the most violent and dismissive fashion—and force Peter to find a sane wife. 

A better one.

That left a bitter taste in your mouth…and you hated it.

You liked to think that the thought of Peter with someone else only upset you because you didn’t think any woman deserved to be subjected to this. You liked to think that righteously and noble of yourself, but the truth was much more demented and depraved and twisted. No woman did deserve any of this, that was true, but the thought of Peter loving someone else made your stomach churn.

You could say it until you were blue in the face that this wasn’t love—it couldn’t be—but it didn’t change how you felt. You couldn’t fathom the thought of being tossed aside and replaced, and being replaced by someone better would only add insult to the injury. It wasn’t fair that they got to break you until there was hardly anything left only to cast you aside because they didn’t like the inevitable results of their choices.

The thought made you want to be sick.

Peter would never, and you knew without a doubt that he would never, but for all that he put you through, the least he could do was remain by your side and look after you forever. Something deep within you hated him so much for what he did—the dark-haired man worse than you initially thought him to be—but a larger part, the part that had been carefully put back together by him, only wanted him to show an endless display of apologies for the rest of your days.

You deserved that.

You deserved to be free, but that was never happening, and as it were, could you even function properly if you were allowed to walk off of this property tomorrow? Your mind didn’t work the way it did before you were brought here. It had been taken apart and scrambled and replaced with one that wasn’t your doing. You feared that you would never be able to function right again, and who would want you?

Who would want you besides Peter?

You were an abused, broken, and genuinely unwell mess…and Peter loved you for it…in his own way. You could see it in his eyes whenever he looked at you that the thought of losing you would send him over the edge, and you knew you felt the same, but you were sure it was for entirely different reasons. At this point in your life…what were you without Peter?

When you weren’t dreaming of your friends and family, and when you weren’t conjuring up nightmares of a familiar blond, you were dreaming about the man who put you into this mess. Sometimes you dreamt about who he actually was and in those dreams there was no doubt about his motives and his actions and you felt the appropriate fear when staring into his eyes.

…but more often than not you dreamt about the man he manipulated you into loving. You dreamed about welcoming him home from work and kissing him and touching him. You dreamed about the days where he simply held you as you cried, conveniently ignoring that he was the reason for your tears. In this house of horrors, Peter was your safe place, and you knew that was purposely done, but again, you felt powerless to do anything about it.

It shouldn’t be that way, but your only other choice was to spend the rest of your days in torment.

“She hasn’t eaten properly in weeks,” the soft words reached your ears, and you knew they weren’t meant for you.

There was a beat of silence, and as you were slowly gripped by consciousness, you took note of the smell of food. It didn’t tempt you, and you almost turned your head away.

“Do you think it’s because of Peter?”

Jane.

You absentmindedly wondered why she was down here and not resting. You hated to think that she’d come down here just to check in on you when she should’ve been looking after herself. You felt her hand on your head.

“She hasn’t seen him in a month…and we know how she—how they can get…”

You squeezed your eyes tight at that, heart aching for the first time in forever at those words. Had it been that long already? Had you really gone a month without seeing him, talking to him, touching him? Was that the cause of this…numbness? You were sure Peter wasn’t the only factor here, but you couldn’t deny that you missed him. You weren’t used to being without him, and this was the longest you’d ever gone without being with him since you first woke up in this house.

…but you knew that this was as much of a punishment for him as it was for you.

What if he didn’t miss you at all? What if you were in hell while each day only brought him more peace not having to be around the crazy one? That thought made your heart ache more, and for a brief moment, you never wanted to see him again.

“Steve only thinks it’s been a handful of times, but she’s not eating. At first, we weren’t too alarmed, especially considering…”

You placed Margaret’s voice now as she trailed off.

“...but then every tray just went basically untouched, and she’s lost a lot of weight. I think we need to tell Steve to contact Dr. Banner.”

You recalled a familiar face with glasses and dark hair.

“She doesn’t use the bathroom every day either. She mostly sleeps,” the redhead added.

“Have you mentioned this to Peter?”

“So he can come barging down here and start a whole other thing with Steve? They’ve only just settled back into being civil with one another. If Peter finds out she’s like this…”

Margaret scoffed, and you detected the unease in her tone.

You had never thought about the aftermath that followed your punishment and how it might have affected things upstairs. You had never thought to, you supposed. You had just assumed that Peter would fall in line with what Steve wanted as usual. After all, no matter how you felt about what you’d done, the household—or more importantly the husbands—did not agree. You’d broken their rules, and rules were rules.

It had never occurred to you that this whole ordeal—and you being at the center of it—might cause friction between Peter and Steve.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of your name, and you were loathed to admit that it took so much of your strength to open your eyes. Jane was as pregnant as ever and glowing, and she gave you a small smile when your gazes met.

“Do you want to try eating something today?

Her tone was light, but you detected a hint of pleading.

Your gaze shifted, and you looked at the tray of food in Margaret’s hands. You eyed it, wanting to eat for their peace of mind if nothing else, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You swallowed, and Jane must have seen the guilt and conflict in your eyes.

“It’s okay,” she assured you. “You don’t have to.”

You didn’t miss Margaret’s look.

“We’ll leave it here, and you eat when you’re ready.”

She touched your face, and with a few lingering looks, they left you.

It wasn’t long before you dozed off again, but it wasn’t a deep sleep, and you drifted in and out of consciousness. It felt like no matter how much you slept, you just couldn’t shake the feeling of being exhausted. Exhausted, not tired. Your whole body seemed to ache, and you dreaded the moment you’d have to get up and shower.

The next time you were even halfway lucid, you felt a hand at your back and a spoon at your lips. On instinct, you turned your head away, but the person’s hand was firm.

“None of that. You need something on your stomach,” the voice was just as firm as the grip, and it was comfortingly familiar.

Your eyes widened a bit at the familiar face, and you unintentionally parted your lips, allowing her to give you a taste of broth. It took you by surprise, and you coughed a bit, but swallowed it nonetheless. Nat gave you another spoonful, and so in shock at her presence, you accepted it.

“Sharon’s supposed to be in my place…but…Steve and Bucky are at work,” she shrugged, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. “...and I had to see you.”

For the first time in a month or so, you felt…something. For a brief moment, your perpetual numbness had lifted, and you both spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

It was said by two different voices, but it echoed as one.

“You’re sorry…?” Confusion filled you. “Why are you sorry?”

Your voice was small and unsure, and Nat looked so like you were unused to seeing her. She was normally so strong and fierce—a great source of envy for you—but now she looked sad…and regretful.

“You felt more obligated to protect me than yourself…and had I thought for a moment that you’d see me…I never would’ve left.”

Your shoulders fell at that, and you hated that Nat felt…guilty over your predicament. Your own choices had led you here, and that was what you told her after clearing your throat.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I thought the best thing that could happen was I’d get help and we’d all leave this place…and the worst was that I’d get dragged back,” she fed you more broth. “Not once had I considered that someone else would get dragged into my mess.”

You didn’t quite know how to respond, because after all, you didn’t really agree with her. You hadn’t felt obligated to do anything. It seemed like a no brainer to you to not say that you saw her that night. It was never even a question, never even a consideration to tell Peter Nat had escaped.

You swallowed, only taking a tiny sip when she offered you another spoonful. The green-eyed woman frowned at that.

“Nat…”

The words were on the tip of your tongue, but she merely shook her head.

“Bucky was practically ready to flog me for leaving him,” she lightly said despite the severity of the topic. “When they threw me down in here, I was prepared for it. Even with my possible delicate condition.”

Your eyes met hers, and she sent you a crooked smile.

“I knew only one person could talk them out of whatever they prepared to do to me…and I knew there was only one thing you could say that would change their minds…” you bit your lip at that. “Thankfully, I thought wrong, but even if I was pregnant, I’d still understand why you did it.”

She gave a small, bitter laugh.

“I may not have agreed with it nor been the biggest supporter of that decision…but I get it,” she shrugged. “After they found out what you did, I think I was scared for you more than I’d ever been scared for anyone…and I imagine that’s what you’d felt like.”

Your gaze found the sheet on your legs.

“If I had known something that could save you too, I might’ve done the same.”

When she offered you more broth, you sadly shook your head. A look passed over her features at that, and her face fell. She set the spoon back in the bowl with a small sigh before standing.

“I had to check on you,” she told you. “They said you haven’t been eating, and I didn’t realize how bad it was…”

You noticed the way she eyed you, and you suddenly had the urge to find a mirror. She set the bowl down, and she looked unsure about it.

“I’m going to leave this here. Just in case…” she trailed off, a bout of worry crossing her features. “I’ll come check on you again when I can.”

You nodded at her words, but the shock from Nat’s presence and the few sips of broth had taken more energy than you cared to focus on, and you were already sliding back down in bed.

It took her a long time to climb the stairs and shut the door behind her.

It could’ve been days later when you heard the low timber of a voice that wasn’t wholly familiar to you. It scratched some part of your brain, but not enough for you to pinpoint where you’d heard the tone before. Unfamiliar fingers were prodding at your face and neck, and the feel had you frowning in your semi consciousness. 

The man hummed to himself.

He was speaking, but you were in and out of sleep, so you couldn’t tell—nor cared—if he was speaking to you or someone else whose presence you weren’t aware of. A voice spoke back, and both sounded so muffled and far away to you.

You felt those same fingers on other parts of your body, as well as cold metal, and the intense temperature against your warm skin made you jolt a bit. You pushed at the hand, but a voice shushed you, but it didn’t sound close enough to have the intended soothing effect. Words were exchanged again, but you were already falling back asleep.

It was a dreamless sleep, the first in a long time, and it made the passage of time feel like a blink.

A voice so hauntingly and achingly familiar to you reached your ears, and you thought you were dreaming.

“I don’t give a fuck about what Steve would’ve wanted. His wife is healthy and coherent and probably getting ready to give him another Goddamn baby,” the voice hissed, interrupting a smaller more feminine one. “She’s been like this for weeks, and no one said a word to me.”

“Peter-.”

“Dr. Banner should’ve been here weeks ago. I should’ve known about this weeks ago. I should have seen her weeks ago…!”

Sleep was pulling you back in again, and the louder the voice got, the more it started to fade. The wrathful pitch grew higher and higher but also fainter and fainter until it was gone entirely, and sleep welcomed you again.

Your mind was struggling to put pieces together, and in your sleep, you thought to yourself that those words sounded like they came from some demented doppelganger, the tone sounding so much like Peter but not at the same time. You had never heard him so angry, and a voice in your head convinced you that you dreamt it, used to a sweet disposition from your dark captor, the dichotomy of which never failed to throw you into greater mental turmoil.

When your senses came to you again, you felt stronger than you had in probably two months at this point. You weren’t entirely sure, completely confused by the passage of time. The basement smelled different, and even the bed felt different, but as you shifted, you understood why.

The numbness that you had started to find comfort in was gone, and you could feel the bed and pillows and sheets beneath you…and they felt familiar. Too familiar. They felt like home. They felt like the place where you’d spent hours in Peter’s arms and hours sleeping and hours accepting the affections of the man who’d kidnapped you.

You thought you might have conjured the feeling up, but then you inhaled, and Peter’s scent filled your nose, and you thought of the nights he’d slept here alone in your absence. The faintest of touches disturbed the back of your hand, so featherlight that you could almost ignore it, but the slight pressure in your chest wouldn’t let you.

When you opened your eyes, his face was the first thing you saw.

His hair was a little longer, a little curlier and brushing his ears, and his face was as pretty as ever, but the dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed his sleepless nights. Had you the strength to move, you would’ve reached out to touch them.

Peter was knelt beside the bed you shared and his hand was in yours and his brown eyes lit up at the sight of your own. His face shifted so suddenly and seamlessly that you would've sworn he’d been smiling at your sleeping face this entire time instead of with that pinched brow and clenched jaw you’d been initially met with.

“Hey,” he softly and slowly greeted, dragging the word out in a whisper. “...my pretty girl.”

You swallowed, blinking a few times before briefly glancing around to confirm you were where you thought you were. Your gaze caught onto the medical equipment by the bed, blinking at the bag two feet above you with unidentifiable liquid in it. You absentmindedly reached up with your free hand as you traced the direction of the tube.

“Hey, hey,” Peter softly admonished, taking your other hand too. “Don’t touch it.”

You looked down at the feeding tube going into your chest, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Confusion filled you, and you were just about to speak when Peter let one of your hands go to take your chin instead. Still in the process of escaping sleep, you could only blink at him, a million questions running through your mind that you didn’t have the capability to voice.

“You’re really weak and…you haven’t been eating,” you watched his face as he said this, and you took note of the dark shadow that passed over his features, and you thought to yourself that perhaps you hadn’t dreamt that interaction at all. “Dr. Banner gave you that because you need to eat.”

Peter appeared to get choked up, and your eyes widened a tad. Sniffing, he rose a bit to press his lips to yours, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“You need to eat, you need all your strength,” you felt his tears on your face. “...because we’re going to have a baby.”

He pulled away only enough to look into your eyes, his own looking between them as he spoke.

“My pretty girl is going to have a baby,” he whispered more to himself than you. “...and you want her to be healthy and fat, don’t you?”

His thumb brushed over your lips, but it was hard to focus on anything he said after ‘baby’.

“I need you both healthy,” he said, voice cracking, and he kissed you again. 

His arms circled around you, and you felt his wet face fall to rest against your neck and shoulder. He kissed the skin there that peeked through above the large shirt, his whispered happy words reaching your ear.

“My baby’s having a baby.”

[jmie2cking]

USB flash drives, Memory ICs, Flash Memory NOR Flash, USB flash memory storage

FL-S Series 256 Mb (32 M x 8) 3.6V 133MHz Non-Volatile SPI Flash Memory - WSON-8

[mthw2clad]

What is a flash memory, USB flash memory, flash memories, flash memory card

MX29GL Series 3 V 256 Mb (32M x 8/16M x 16) 90 ns Parallel Flash - LFBGA-64

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Don't save me.

Pairing: Geum Seongje x reader.

Summary: People told you that he was dangerous. A wild card. Not to be trusted. The redist red flag but didn't they know you're colorblind for him?

Warning: Toxic relationship, Bullying, Violence, Cheating?Arguing, Verbal abuse, Choking, Cream pie, P in v, Dirty talk, Plot with Smut?

You can't recall the last time you felt truly and undeniably happy. It has been so long since you laughed so hard that your stomach ached or smiled so broadly that your cheeks hurt. It's been a while since you experienced that exhilarating feeling of euphoria.

Middle school, you think.

Faint memories of laughter and jokes circulating, untouched lunches, and that once warm sensation. High school. Little you thought how cool and wonderful it would be.

What a load of bullshit.

A pained grunt escaped your clenched teeth as a strong kick to your stomach sent your body crashing against the steel gray lockers. Your head struck hard against the metal, and your body crumpled to the floor.

"Are you going to open that smart-ass mouth again, or should I just keep going?" Ha-yoon's makeup-caked face sneered. You didn't know why you snorted back a chuckle nor why a small, sarcastic smile had crept onto your lips.

"You think this is funny?" she screeched, her hand rearing back.

"Ha-yoon, cut it out," Eun-kyung's angelic voice said as her dark eyes finally glanced up from her manicured nails. She pushed off the wall, and Ha-yoon backed away immediately.

'Just like a loyal puppy. Obeying her Mistress's order'

Eun-Kyung sighed through her nose like she was tired of wasting her time. She squatted down, allowing her silky raven hair, which was pulled into a ponytail, to fall over her shoulder. With her elbows resting against her thighs and her cheek resting on the ball of her fist, she gazed at you with a look of boredom and disinterest.

"You're fucking pathetic when you run that mouth. It almost seems you like pissing me off." Rage flicked through her irises as she quickly grabbed your hair and slammed your head against the lockers. "Unless cunt!" She yelled and slammed your head again, harder.

Your vision blurred and your ears rang. Black surrounded the edge of your vision before you passed out. Cruel laughter and fading footsteps were the last thing you heard.

When you came too and began to walk to your small apartment, your head ached and throbbed. Despite that, it was manageable if you took some pain medicine.

You were going out with Seongje, your long-time boyfriend, at a new club with some guys from the Union and you won't let a headache and a few stupid bruises stop you from seeing him. Being with him made you feel so alive; with him, you were respected by the gang. You were Seongje's girl. And nobody was foolish enough to mess with you unless they wanted to be beaten to half to death.

Dating him wasn’t always a smooth ride. Arguments were common, and so were screaming matches. Things were thrown, and surfaces were punched, but he never hit you, nor did he aim at you. You understood he wasn’t a good person, yet he loved you in his own flawed way.

The dark club pulsed with music, and you could feel the rhythm with every step you took as Seongje led you, his arm draped casually over your shoulders. Flashing lights danced wildly around the room. Bodies moved, jumping and grinding against each other.

The group chose a round table to sit at, and soon it was cluttered with cigarette ash and empty bottles.

Sang-Ook, Dae-Ho, and Du-Ho were boys who attended the same school as Seongje and played together at Internet cafes. The twins were already drunk, laughing to themselves, and talking to Sang-Ook about which woman he was going to try to fuck and making crude jokes. Normal gross boy talk.

Seongje didn't say much; instead, he stared blankly while listening to the other boys, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close. You weren't interested in their conversation, so you simply snuggled into his side. You didn't know why he wanted to be there, but you followed him wherever he went unless it was related to gang activities.

Your eyebrows furrowed; the sudden pressure on your bladder was becoming too strong to ignore.

"Seongje," you whispered in his ear. He responded with a low hum of curiosity, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly with the sound. After a moment of hesitation, you shyly admitted that you needed to use the bathroom. Seongje chuckled, pulled out his favorite pack of cigs from his tiger-printed windbreaker, and lifted one to his lips, "Go," he ordered, nodding toward the direction of the bathroom.

"I'll be right back." You quickly got out of the booth. "Better. I don't like waiting." He lit the end of the cigarette and inhaled the gray smoke into his lungs.

You sighed in relief as you exited the stall and turned on the sink water. As you washed your hands, you remained unfazed by the sounds of the bathroom door opening and the clicking of two pairs of heels on the tiled floor. The two women giggled among themselves, and you could feel their intense stares directed at the side of your face. While drying your hands, you glanced at the wide mirrors above the sink.

A sickening dread dropped into the pit of your stomach as you caught sight of the familiar coral dye and blue highlights. Ha-yoon and Seo-Yeon.

'How were they here? Did they know you were going to be here? If they were here, doesn't that mean..'

You dared to meet Ha-yoon's gaze in the mirror. A mischievous cruelty sparkled back; she knew something, and if you didn't feel dread before, you certainly did now. Your breath quicked as you rushed out of the woman's bathroom.

You need to grab Seongje and go.

You stopped a few feet from the booth. This had to be a dream, a messed-up nightmare, but the painful shattering of your heart told you this was all happening.

Eun-kyung's honeyed giggles cut through the roaring music. Her black hair flowed over her shoulders like a river, her skimmy pastel dress fit her like a second skin and her soft pink lips curled into a flirty smile that beamed brighter than the lights that painted her and Seongje in rosy red as she idly played with his sliver chain—the chain you got him.

He simply sat there, his arm resting on the top of the booth above Eun-Kyung, his eyes intensely focused on her. His expression was unreadable, and when her beautiful eyes met his, you couldn't bear it any longer. You choked back tears as you pushed and squeezed past the people having the time of their lives.

You sniffed, your legs aching from the many rounds of walking you did in the nearby park for almost an hour. You didn't want to go home immediately; too much of him was there, from the many nights he stayed over.

You wiped the fading tears from your cheeks as you bent slightly to take off your shoes, throwing them down carelessly. Dragging your feet toward the couch, you paused and squinted your eyes. A figure was sitting there, a small red dote appeared from the darkness and the following smoke floated out in the illumination of the kitchen light. You inhale sharply and switch the living room light on.

Seongje stared at the blank TV screen for what felt like several seconds before adjusting his glasses. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, and his eyes fixed on your face. To anyone else, he appeared cool and unbothered, but you knew him better than that.

He was enraged.

"Where were you?" He leaned forward to put out his cigarette. "Why does it matter? You clearly were very busy when I came back from the bathroom." you shot back, your words sharp. He paused at your pointed response before finally extinguishing his cigarette in the wolf-shaped ashtray. "You let her..you let her touch you..and you didn't tell her to back off. Did you enjoy her company that much?" you asked, your voice breaking at the thought of the two of them together.

"You think I'd cheat on you? I may be a lot of things but a fucking cheater Isn't one of them." He spoke in a faux calm tone as he backed you into the hallway and into your bedroom.

"S-Seongje.." You warned.

"I thought My girl wasn't a dumbass." He ridiculed, a cruel smile stretching on his lips as he backed you more and more towards your bed

"Don't call me dumb! I'm not stupid! You jackass!" you snapped before letting out a surprised noise as you fell onto your bed, trying to escape from him. "Oh no, baby," he cooed mockingly. "I work with incompetent, useless punks. You're stupid if you think I would cheat on you with some one-and-million whore. Don't worry, though. I'll show you who I really belong to." Seongje shrugged off his windbreaker, letting it fall to the floor, and crept onto the bed after kicking off his pants and underwear.

You should be mad, pissed at him, shouldn't feel your treacherous cunt heat up, and gush slick but watching as he took off his shirt and threw it to the side, bare except his glasses and his chain. He was lean, and muscular in ways that counted, and his cock. His dick twitched as if sensing your admiring gaze.

He was above average length, so thick it struggled to stand up completely, and veiny. The glans was a darker shade than the rest of his skin; the slit oozed a pearl of pre-cum. And a trimmed bush around the base of his dick. His member was just as fine as him.

You happily helped him take off your clothes until you were both as naked as the day you were born. Seongje smirked smugly, the bedroom look you gave him made him want to take you right there but the urge to tease you won over. Seongje wrapped his arms around your spread legs and pulled your ass on top of his thighs. His dick slid between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and the tip rested on your bud; he drew back and snapped forward, giving himself a pussy job.

"Just fuck me!" You cried as he continued to fuck your lips and clitoris. "I don't know. Should I?" He questioned. You cried, frustrated, and bucked your hips to try and fail to trick him inside, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I accused you of cheating. Now fuck my brains out!" You screamed; Seongje simply hummed a 'good enough,' drew back until his cock head caught on your entrance, and he rolled his hips.

You both let a groan as he pushed into your tight, wet, gummy depths. The action alone was close enough to make you cum. His cock, lay heavy on your walls, and his veins brushed against those spots until he bottomed out. You grabbed his hands that gripped your hips and threw your head back, moaning loudly as he pulled out and slammed into you, "Can't believe, you think I'd give up this pussy," He grunted, thrusting harshly, the bed banging against the back wall "this is my fucking pussy. Mine." He growled pushing his hair away from his face before grabbing your neck, his fingers squeezing the side of your throat.

You gasped and moaned as you held his wrist, your eyes rolled back, "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry-" you blabbed, drooling. Seongje laughed meanly, his eyes shined amused "Look at this. Did I already fucked my girl cockdrunk?" He released your throat and lifted your hips up more, making him reach deeper; the loud clapping of skin, the moans, groans, and cures along the embarrassing squelching of your cunted filled the room. Seongje's glasses slid down the bridge of his nose and his chain smacked against his sweat, glistening chest. Frustrated, he tore the glasses off his face, tossed them beside your head, and leaned down, his body covering yours. His large groped and knead your ass as he kissed you passionately. You wailed into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as you cummed.

Seongje pulled back, grunted as his eyes flutter shut, his hips slamming into your hips, his fast pace because sloppy as his dick twitched. He grunted one more time as his hot cum spilled into your pulsing pussy, painting you white from the inside.

"You were meant to be mine.." Seongje spoke up after you both cleaned up and laid together. Your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat lull you to sleep, "We were meant to be" he whispered into your ear, your eyes finally closing. If this was a dream from your otherwise miserable life you didn't want to wake up.

[wonderjanga]

Why’s Cap Acting like an Asshole?

Thavma and Billy have been separated for about two weeks now.

Without Billy, Thavma is simply the Living Lightning. Sure it’s alive, but it doesn’t have morals, opinions, none of that. Instead, all of that is shaped by its host. So, without Billy, Thavma doesn’t really care for anything.

Though, that doesn’t stop it from trying to care about the stuff Billy does.

Thavma: *standing outside of a burning building*

Mother: “My baby! My baby is still inside!”

Thavma: *closes its eyes and takes the biggest breath, sounding so done because he does not want to help*

Baby: *wailing*

Thavma: *floats into the building to save the baby and anyone else with an annoyed expression*

To be honest, all Thavma wants to do is protect the Rock. And Billy. But mostly the Rock. The reason for this is because of the fact The Living Lightning was solely made to protect the center of Magic. It does not care for saving people, but it does care about eliminating threats to the Rock, which most of Billy’s villains are. If that ends up helping anyone but the Rock, that was an extra bonus.

Speaking of villains, like stated earlier, a few of them are threats to Magic. Such as Black Adam. In Thavma’s mind, that means he automatically has to be eliminated. No mercy.

That’s how Black Adam was greeted with the Champion actually trying to kill him and almost succeeding. He’s never seen the man so bloodlusted and silent during a fight before. He’s also never seen the man use the full extent of his abilities. In other words, Thavma is much more in tune with its own strengths and weaknesses and was whooping Black Adam’s ass with extreme efficiency. This is because while Thavma doesn’t have any morals and such, he still has memories from previous champions, and although they had different gods as patrons, their strengths and speed and all that were the same.

In short, this was a guy with about 5000 years of experience fighting a guy with over 100,000.

Anyways, the fight got so bad that the JL pulled up as Thavma was literally about to force Black Adam to say Shazam with MIND CONTROL MAGIC that neither Adam nor the JL have ever seen him use before.

Supes: *sounds disturbed* “Since when can you do mind control??”

Thavma: *looks over to them with a judgmental eyebrow raise cause why’re Billy’s little friends here*

Batman: “Captain, please step away from Black Adam.”

Thavma: *torn between protecting the Rock and not wanting to mess up Billy and the JL’s friendships*

Thavma eventually decided that when Billy became his host again, the boy might be upset about losing these people. The boy being upset could affect his ability to protect the Rock in the future and so he reluctantly stepped away from Adam.

Thavma: *steps away but does a little annoyed sigh reminiscent of a moody teenager*

Black Adam: *flies away, glancing over his shoulder every now and then*

Flash: *zooms over* ”Cap, buddy, what was that?”

Thavma: *really doesn’t want to talk to these guys at all* “Nothing. I must take my leave now. Good day.” *tries to speed walk away*

Flash: *wondering why he’s talking like that* “Dude, wait up!”

JL: *all follow after him kinda like ducklings*

Thavma honestly didn’t know how his host put up with these mortals. They ask so many questions.

GL: “Cap, you haven’t shown up to the last few meetings. What’s up with that?”

Thavma: “I forgot.”

Supes: “Forgot? I thought you never forgot things. You said something about the Wisdom of Solomon making it so that you couldn’t. Has something been making you that busy?

Thavma: “Yes.”

Wondy: “What is it? Some kind of villain?”

Thavma: “It’s nothing, and no.”

The “nothing” in question has just been it lounging around the Rock because that’s what it was made to do: protect the Rock. Being around it often is the easiest way to ensure that. The Champions not staying often was something Thavma always found idiotic. Why did they care about their villages or cities when their duty was to the Rock? At that thought, Thavma could only sigh and shake his head. Mortals.

[kisses4reid]

missed it | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you celebrate your birthday alone in tears, until someone knocks on your door.

genre - colleague!reid x fem!reader, angst, fluff

warnings - angst, crying, memories of neglect and favouritism

a/n - a little self indulgent. thank you for 450 followers!!!! taglist is open as always, sorry for the cliff hanger.

Crisscross applesauce on a wooden barstool in front of leftovers from the night before. Exactly how every Wednesday night is. It’s raining, you can smell petichor, and you had just finished a book your colleague had lended you two days prior.

There is nothing special about today.

Your day was full of paper work and coffee breaks. Exactly how every Wednesday is. It was overcast, you could smell petichor, and you had just handed in some classified paperwork to your boss.

There was nothing special about today.

You night will be sleepless, full of tears and terrible memories. Not like every Wednesday night. It will storm, you’ll smell dirt and mud, and you’ll show up the next day to pretend you’re as bubbly and smiley as every one thinks you are.

There is nothing ever special about today.

You gripped your fork and stuffed the last of the leftover rice into your cheeks, chewing as a coping mechanism for the ball gathering at the back of your throat.

Glancing at your phone every two minutes didn’t help the gathering tears either, especially when it was a black screen every time. It happens every year.

Maybe your little cousin will send some emojis and a love heart, but it’s been years since that last happened. Your brothers and sister would get posts on your mothers Facebook, and you got a happy birthday from a distant aunty you met once when you were 3.

Maybe this is why when you dry yourself and start your nighttime routine, you light the candle you bought yourself, and get changed into pyjamas you bought yourself, and you light a skinny colourful candle you bought yourself.

You don’t get the chance to blow it out before a tear extinguishes it.

A sob rakes through you. Even in these warm pyjamas surrounded by your favourite vanilla and citrus scent, you can’t seem to be happy with what you’ve got. That’s what your father would tell you every birthday until you were 11 - when the presents stopped rolling in.

Be grateful for the clothes you’ve already got, for the books you’ve already read, for the food you’ve already eaten.

Be grateful that your little sister can breathe to blow out your candles, that your brothers have hands to open your presents.

Be grateful.

You are grateful you got that part time job to move out so young, that you were accepted in the BAU and welcomed with open arms, that it gave you the financial stability to own your own apartment with windows to get rained on and bookshelves to fill.

The covers on your bed were darkening with every tear that dropped from your cheek. It was ruining your skincare.

A laugh escapes you, barely audible through your closing throat, before you hear a firm knock on your front door.

Slippers on, hair loose and messy, you opened the door with a frown. It was not the day nor time for any soliciting or girl scout cookies. But you stopped for a second and glanced at the time displayed on your oven. It was 11pm.

“Y/n? Are you awake?”

Your eyes widened at Spencer Reid’s voice, eyebrows furrowing and hand quick to twist the door knob.

“Spencer what are you-“

“Happy birthday?” A full teeth smile was plastered on his place, but you didn’t notice as his face was hidden by a vanilla cake and small bag with plastic casing over it.

Any other time Spencer would be welcome in, it would make sense today wouldn’t be any different. For gods sakes, he has a key to your front door - but when his smile fades and you feel the last tear drop catch on your socks, you rethink opening the door all together.

“Y/n… are you okay?”

You felt a pit of coal and ash stir in the bottom of your uneasy stomach. Your eyes flashed between his eyes and the cake, one last single tear dropping down your cheek.

Spencer caught it with his thumb, wiping it with a deep frown.

“I’m fine,” you stepped back to let him in, plastering an awkward smile on your face (something you hoped would say caught me!), “Sad movie, that’s all.”

“A sad movie on your birthday?” He set down the bag and cake on your kitchen countertop, concerned expression not lifting after your lie. You bit your lip as his eyes wandered the apartment.

He had been there a million times, but now he seemed to be profiling it.

There was an orange stained plate in the sink - probably your left overs, no indent on the couch nor movie playing on the TV. He peered into your bedroom to find a wrecked bed and slouched pillows, tissues splayed amongst the duvet.

You swallowed, feeling caught and trapped. There was no escaping this, Spencer was too good of a profiler.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His eyes were a deep brown, glossy against his matte chocolate hair. He wore those glasses you liked, even when he insisted he hated how he looked in them. What a beautiful sight in such a sad situation.

You brought your left hand to your right elbow and shook your head, “It’s okay-“

“No it’s not.”

“Spencer, I’ve dealt with this for over 12 years. You get used to it.”

Spencer stood a metre away from you, eyes scanning you like he was trying to scrap the skin off your bones, see what was really going on.

And at that point, in your den of lies and self-pity, you felt no more rotten truths could hurt you more than you had hurt yourself. Spencer wasn’t much taller than you, but looking at him for this long at an angle was beginning to hurt more than your heart.

You grabbed the cake off of your counter top and smiled as if nothing wrong was happening, “Cake! You brought me cake.”

Spencer followed you into your living room awkwardly, “Yeah. It’s vanilla- I brought it because we didn’t eat at work today, nobody…”

Said Happy Birthday.

You nodded to yourself, patting the space beside you for Spencer to sit. “I know, it’s okay. It was a very busy day, I don’t blame them.” You undid the lid of the cake - obviously store bought - and took in your hand a wine glass that had stood empty for around half an hour. “Thank you, my favourite flavour is vanilla.”

“I know.” The tall boy let out a small smile then, but it quickly disappeared. He hated how you shrugged off such a devastating situation, how it meant nothing to you, how you claimed it had been like this for 12 years and not broken down.

“Y/n-“ Your loud sigh cut him off, stabbing the wine glass into the cake and lifting it, taking a bite of cake that slide out of the cup. The couch softened under your sudden slouch, Spencer faced you with his legs spread like a man.

Your eyes felt tight, chest collapsed. Nothing could be worse than this.

“My birthday is a week after my older brothers, so even when we did celebrate my birthday, it was small. And then one of my uncles passed away a few days after, and celebrating my birthday was seen as inappropriate.” You took another bite and talked through the frosting, “Instead at Christmas they let me choose which presents were for my birthday, many months late. I was grateful, that was all that mattered.”

Spencer moved closer and whispered, “Being grateful for neglect isn’t healthy, Y/n.”

“But it helped me, as a kid. As a girl who wanted to be loved so badly. When your siblings blow out your candles, and your cake is your sisters favourite flavour, all you can be is spiteful. And when I was, I was reprimanded. Be grateful, Y/n. At least you have siblings who can breathe and eat.”

You laughed after some time, Spencer’s mind racing at a hundred miles per minute.

“So I never told anyone my birthday. That’s why I showed up at the door looking like this,” you point to yourself and giggle, “I didn’t think anyone knew.”

“You look gorgeous.” He whispered, thigh touching yours on the plush couch. His hand lifted and skimmed your face, thumb moving to wipe a dot of frosting off of your lips. His hand fell.

“What’s in the bag?” You ask.

“Open it and see.” He replies.

What’s inside surprises you more than his initial arrival. It a medium sized glass bottle of perfume, with simple rinestones and gorgeous patterns engraved in it, a baby pink ribbon around its neck. The words were in french, the only words in english reading vanilla & citrus, in cursive writing.

A breath escaped you, your fingers tracing each detail like you were to memorise it. Spencer gulped as your eyes were glued to the writing and the shiny glass, how the liquid inside sloshed only slightly at every move.

“It is… do you like it?” He asks, turning his body towards yours trying to scope out your expression.

“I love it.” You mumble in awe.

“What?”

“I love it, thank you. Spencer, this is…” A wide smile escaped you, an incredulous giggle accompanying it. He let out a held breath and wove his shaking fingers through his hair. He was still at a loss for words at your previous confessions, but at least he made you happy, laugh.

Your eyes held each other for a moment, the room getting so suddenly small and hot.

“I…” you try to finish your sentence before you notice his gaze flickering to your lips, causing a small smile to appear.

“Happy birthday, Y/n. I’m sorry your birthdays were overlooked, I promise they won’t be anymore.” Spencer whispered, leaning in.

taglist (open!!) : @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[bbokicidal]

Joyride | [B.C]

Synopsis: You hear a familiar voice line coming from your boyfriend's phone.

Notes: Thought this would be a fun little drabble between my 4K event posts! I thought of this while playing this month's Hunter Challenge or whatever they're called lol. Pairing: Bang Chan x GN!Reader Warnings: None Genre: Fluff Word Count: 646

Just as you had passed the living room to head into the kitchen you'd caught sight of your boyfriend sitting on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, his posture as horrendous as it could possibly get. His chin is tucked down against his chest, his thumbs tapping away at his phone screen when it's turned sideways in his hands.

He's focused, eyes darting across the colorful landscape displayed on his phone - and you automatically assume he's playing Genshin Impact from the noises coming from his speaker.

"Two stars," Chris huffs quietly under his breath, making you giggle as you open the fridge door and reach in to grab the juice. Shutting the door, you unscrew the cap with your free hand and set the bottle on the counter, continuing to listen to the sounds emanating from his phone.

"Whatcha doin', baby?" You coo, knowing it'll be at least a few seconds before he answers when he's caught up in his game. "Do you want to help me make lunch or should we order in?"

Chris lets out another breath before he answers, blinking rapidly at his screen as a white light flashes over it and the 'Victory' title displaying as the battle comes to an end. "I can help - Just give me one sec."

Just as you're about to reply and offer up some ideas for what you could cook together, something from his phone catches you off guard; A voice line you were all too familiar with.

"Are you up for a joyride, later?"

"Where do you want to take me?"

"Guess."

You whip around at the counter, one hand staying on it to keep you stable when you stare over at him. "Are you playing Love And Deepspace?"

Chris looks up, eyes wide and mouth pressed into a thin line as if caught red handed. "Maybe," He quips, giggling shortly after when you begin to approach him. His smile pulls at his cheeks and makes them dimple, the couch cushion creasing under your weight as you kneel beside him.

"Show me what outfits you have on the boys!" You grin, reaching to tap at his screen to try and get back to the main page. You want to see what guy he has to greet him, what outfits he puts the guys in, and how many Kitty Card badges he's collected! "Do you have any 5-Star Memories?"

Chris giggles, this time a little more sheepish as he taps into his Memories and tips his phone to show you four out of the five from this year's Valentines Event; The Event where the boys were all dressed up in chains and black leather outfits; The Event that introduced everyone to the characters with deliciously styled mullets. "I have these? But I don't have that many other ones," And he's a liar; Lying right to your face when you can see how many memories he has for Rafayel. Your jaw drops in disbelief and you grin, laughing out breathily at the sight of just how into the game your boyfriend was - and the fact that you had no idea.

"I cannot believe you," You breathe out, clicking through his memories while leaning into his side to see what all he has. And he welcomes it; Truthfully, he loves how into mobile games you are. It makes him feel better knowing sometimes he can spend hours on Genshin while you ogle pretty men in LADS while you lay in bed next to each other.

Chris smiles down at you while you're distracted, watching you go through his game to see all of his collectibles. Though, he's not going to address the fact that he's already level 93 - Nor is he going to mention why his affinity level with Rafayel is Devotion: 160.

He's wholeheartedly devoted to you, of course; But... come on; It's Rafayel.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna @skzophreniic

@silly250

[rebelfell]

reindeer games┃(for your viewing pleasure-verse)

pornstar!eddie x director!reader

we’re gonna call this a belated holiday blurb 🎄

cw: no smut, but there’s allusions to mutual masturbation and an over abundance of filthy flirting b/c these two simply can’t help themselves. the concept for eddie’s shoot is inspired by this (nsfw) incredible freaking art by @safk-art.

18+, MDNI┃2.2k

You’ve never been a fan of these calendar shoots.

It takes practically the entire day and the studio is packed full because they bring in just about every performer under contract to participate.

It’s loud and chaotic, lots of PAs running back and forth with the most random assortment of props you’ve ever seen. And it’s stifling hot with all the bustling bodies, equipment and lightboxes, flash bulbs going off every five seconds.

Right now there’s a few girls in Victoria’s Secret-esque getups with feathery angel wings being cupids for February, while two more covered in glittery body paint are getting ready to pose in a cauldron to be a “pot of gold” for March. After them, it’ll be girls in big yellow rain boots with matching caps and nothing else spraying one another with a hose for April. 

The remaining months are still in the process of being set up, backdrops being changed out and lighting adjusted. On the furthest wall, there’s a big board with everyone’s assignments and the various call times as well as mock-ups of each concept and who will participate in the photo.

You’ve already visited the board and deduced your first stop will be the wardrobe department so you can get your costume. You’ve also noted that a certain someone will likely be finishing up his turn at the make-up mirror right around the same time you’re done being fitted.

When you emerge from behind the curtained off area set up for people to change, yours eyes meet Eddie’s across all the chaos and he’s immediately getting up from his chair, striding towards you.

Your body can’t help but react to his presence, despite your best efforts to keep your face neutral and squash the urge to run directly into his arms.

You might’ve thought it had been days or weeks since you saw him, rather than mere hours. You might’ve thought you woke up that morning on opposite coasts rather than with your naked limbs entwined and tangled up in your bedsheets. You might’ve thought he was some kind of long lost lover whose face was fading from memory the way your heart leapt just from seeing him.

Still, you know you can’t greet him the way you want to. Not with all these people around.

Word has yet to get around about you two, and you intend to keep it that way. The current theory is that what happened at the awards was just a fluke—a random, drunken, one-night thing. 

(A one-night thing that’s led to the best weeks of your life, but that’s neither here nor there.)

You’re meant to be playing it cool, keeping things professional, still holding all your cards decidedly close to your vests, at least for the time being.

But Eddie's not exactly making it easy.

He lets his dressing gown slip open slightly as he walks over, showing off a little more of the top of his chest and his thick, muscular neck where it meets his pronounced collarbones.

Slut, you think with the utmost affection.

The boy certainly makes for a cute Rudolph.

He’s snagged the coveted December slot, and the creative director has chosen a bondage theme—hence the body harness they’ve got him in under his thin robe, as well as a collar with jingling gold bells and a pair of antlers on top of his mop of unruly curls. For the picture, he’s also going to be tied up with Christmas lights, struggling against the illuminated ties while you and the rest of the ‘reindeer’ stand around him laughing and teasing him mercilessly for his bright red ‘nose.’

You imagine that’s what he was in the chair for, getting the head of his dick painted with deep scarlet rouge so it’ll look like it’s shining.

It’s all seems like a bit much, but even you have to admit you’re excited to see the end result.

He scans up and down with those mischievous eyes, all the while having to resist the urge to slip his hands around your waist and pull you into him, showing you just how redundant you’ve made the Viagra he popped earlier. He should have known he wouldn’t even need it once you were on set.

He snaps his fingers and points, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Let me guess…Vixen?” 

The bells on the collar around your neck jingle as you smile and shake your head.

“More like Dancer,” you replied lowly, dropping to a breathy whisper when he got close enough to hear. “Or did you forget last night already?”

“Not forgetting that anytime soon,” he promised in a husky whisper of his own.

You shiver at his words as they trickle down your back, and you can almost feel his hands on you exactly as they were the night before—fingers splayed wide to hold onto as much of you as possible when he reached out for your ass.

The dance had started out innocently enough, as a brainstorming session for your next project, only for it to devolve as it often did these days into you attacking one another once one or both of you could no longer restrain yourselves. The pretense of you as a stripper giving your security guard a lap dance as thanks for chasing away a handsy creep fell away, along with your clothes.

This newfound aspect of your relationship was certainly inspiring a lot of ideas, but it had proved to be more of a hindrance to your work ethic than anything else. Still, you couldn’t be too broken up about it. Not when you’re having the best sex of your personal and professional life combined.

“Not forgetting this anytime soon, either,” Eddie adds, still staring raptly at your costume.

You and the other girls are dressed pretty simply in matching brown teddies and antlers of your own, plus collars similar to Eddie’s. They’re also going to paint your faces to look more like deer, with cute little noses and tiny white freckles and extra-long lashes. And yeah, it’s a little silly. But the way a certain pair of bright brown eyes are pouring over you right now…it’s well worth it.

“Hey…think you get to keep this?” he asks quietly, carefully fingering the marabou trim.

“Unlikely,” you frown and then eye him coyly. “But Tina might let me borrow it…assuming it’ll be returned to her in pristine condition.”

Eddie hisses softly through his teeth and his head quickly shakes back and forth.

“Yeeeeah, I can’t guarantee that,” he chuckles.

You deliver a light swat to his chest. Not too flirty, but not strictly platonic either. Though, it’s times like these that make you wonder why you bother.

Anyone looking on could probably see straight through your paltry attempt to act disinterested, and you’ve already started getting third degrees from some of your friends in the industry who have seen the massage tape.

Almost as soon as it was came out, you were being bombarded. People were quick to praise the chemistry between you and your co-star, but they were even quicker to drop their voices to a hushed and conspiring whisper as they asked what was ‘going on’ between you two.

And when you tried to say it was nothing or that you were just friends…it didn’t exactly go over.

You’re joking, right? Nah, no one is that good an actor, babe. The man is fully obsessed with you. Just look at his face when he—

So, yeah, okay, word was likely going to get out. But it wasn’t going to be today.

Right now, you just had to focus on taking this photo and getting through the rest of the day so you could spend the rest of your night with the adorable creature standing before you.

“I’m headed for make-up,” you offer. And in a lightning-quick move, you reach out to squeeze his arm, then swipe at it gently like you were just brushing off a piece of lint for him.

Very discreet. So covert.

Eddie tucks his chin to his chest as he nods, his eyes still roving over you and your skin he can see through the sheer material. You move to walk past him, letting your hip graze decidedly against his.

“Smile pretty,” you whisper under your breath.

It’s not too much longer before they’re calling people over for your shot and instructing Eddie to get in position first. He drops his gown and sinks to his knees in the center of the frame, hard and freshly pumped cock bobbing between his thighs. The fake polyester snow on the floor provides at least a little cushioning, and the red on his head looks extra bright against the sparkly white.

The effect is…extremely distracting. 

Even knowing it’s just make-up, as is the fake cum dribbling from his tip, your mind swirls with recent memories of his cock looking just like this in real life—his own fist wrapped tight around it, sliding up and down in long, even strokes; your dresser rattling as he leans on it for support while you lay with your legs splayed wide in your bed, rubbing slow, deliberate circles on your clit.

His eyes meet yours briefly and from the way they flash, you’re certain he’s remembering it too.

Once the photographer is happy with Eddie’s placement, the PAs come to tie his hands behind his back. They wind the strands of lights around his arms and torso up to his shoulders, draping them across his chest and then crossing them behind his back. Two of the girls are given the ends to hold so he looks like he’s hog-tied.

The light bounces prettily off his pale skin that glows a rosy pink, and you make a mental note to shoot him in similar lighting. Soon.

Maybe you’ll do something like this, but with just the Christmas lights. Him in your bed, his delicate wrists tied to your headboard, those soft rainbow lights the only color in the darkened room aside from that of a deep, cool blue winter night…

Okay, seriously. You’ve got to stop.

You’re at work, don’t forget.

Luckily, they’re placing the rest of you now and you’re brought into the foreground to stand next to Eddie. The two of you exchange another look as they fine tune the lighting, and you shoot him the subtlest wink you can manage. It’s short, so quick he nearly misses it, but it’s all he needs to be absolutely certain his dick will stay hard for the remainder of the shoot. Maybe the whole day.

He’s only vaguely aware of the girls standing behind him, or all the people crowded in behind the camera. Once they start shooting, his vision tunnels until all that’s left in focus is you.

The only thing he knows is it’s probably a good thing his hands are tied. Because the way you’re looking, he could not be held responsible for where his hands would wander if they were free. 

Eddie gives himself over to the character he’s meant to be playing, and it’s really not all that hard acting pathetic and desperate for you. The lights he’s all tangled up in tighten as the girls holding either end pull them taut, and the room fills with their giggling as they laugh at him.

But honestly, Eddie doesn’t have any idea what the rest of the reindeer are doing. All he can focus any of his attention on is you in that damn teddy, pinching his chin between your thumb and index finger to make him look at you, smirking like he’s a piece of dirt you wouldn’t let lick your kneecap, let alone anything more erogenous, no matter how hard he begged you for it.

Yet somehow, he’s only more eager to try.

He knows they have the shot they want almost immediately, but they go through a few more poses just to have options. In one, they have you stand with one of your heels planted on Eddie’s chest and if you stay like that much longer, the fake cum on his tip is gonna have company.

Finally, they’re satisfied and there’s a great deal of droning chatter that sort of fades into static as they start to move on to the next shoot.

The rest of the girls wander off, but you kneel and start to unwrap the strands of Christmas lights for him. And they weren’t that tight, but you still massage his wrists once they’re freed and lean in close to his ear so you can whisper how well he did. His cock kicks up all over again at your gentle doting and he wonders if you’ll keep this up tonight at hom—your place.

Once he’s freed, you start to wind up the lights in your hand and glance around for the PAs who are nowhere to be found. You then push the coil into Eddie’s hands and give him a level look.

“See if you can sneak those out,” you instruct him with a smirk. “I’ve got plans for them later.”

ty for reading, merry late whatever-you-celebrate! ❄️💋

[zepskies]

AS TRADITION DICTATES

Pairing: Éomer x Reader 

Summary: Your marriage to the Third Marshal of the Mark has been arranged in the hopes of renewing political ties between Rohan and Gondor. The morning after the ceremony, your new husband continues to defy your expectations.

AN: I’ve been wanting to write something for Éomer for a while now, so here we go! Confession: this one-shot actually comes from an Éomer x OFC story I have fully outlined, called The Appeasement Bride. I adapted this snippet into a reader insert story.

Word Count: 1.7K

Posted on Patreon: 1/21/2025

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Spiciness, fluff, newlyweds trying to suss each other out lol.

You woke just after the dawn, the sun peeking over the horizon and filtering through the open window. Its light began to wash over your face and stir you from a deep, well-earned sleep.

Your hand slipped out from under your head and drifted over…and you frowned. Opening your eyes, you realized that your husband’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Already, it seemed, he didn’t care to be with you when you woke. Had you done something wrong?

Flashes of memory from the night before conjured in your mind; of the surprising carefulness in his calloused hands, of hot, sweat-slick skin against yours, and the rasp of his beard as his lips and deft fingers taught you more of pleasure.

A shiver ran down your spine, blooming some warmth between your legs. Surely, if you had displeased him, he would’ve told you so. Or maybe he was polite enough to withhold that from you, along with most of his other thoughts. Éomer was often so stoic, it was difficult for you to learn your husband, even before the wedding ceremony yesterday.

You had come to Rohan over a month ago, and in that time, you had been able to glean precious little about him other than the ones he seemed to value most: his sister, his cousin, his uncle, Théoden King, his country, and his horse.

Not that he told you any of these things in words. You saw it in his actions—by the way he carried himself, and the way he spoke to you and others with fairness and courtesy, not arrogance. You’d heard gossip of his infamous temper, but so far, you had not seen it.

Nor did you see him now.

Perhaps he had more pressing work to do. In these past few weeks, you saw a bit of how demanding his station could be, and you understood his duty to patrol the Riddermark as Third Marshal of these lands. However, if he could’ve just been courteous enough to wake you before he left—

The heavy door of the bed chamber opened to Éomer himself. He wore only breeches and boots, his wheat-blonde hair loose and unadorned down his back. You swallowed a surprised gasp and watched him from the bed, unconsciously bringing the fur blanket up to your shoulders.

He met you with a polite, “Good morning,” before he continued inside to stoke the fire. He held more kindling wood in his arms, and he laid it on the platform before the fireplace.

“Good morning,” you nodded, though your cheeks warmed in a blush at the sight of his bare chest (you remembered that slightly wooly patch well). The defined muscles of his shoulders and arms shifted with his movements.

You were also a little embarrassed for overthinking.

“You rose early,” you added belatedly, for lack of something better to say.

“I am accustomed to it,” he said.

He finished with the fire and stood. You couldn’t help the way he captured your gaze, his measured steps bringing him closer to the bed. You sat up to meet him, the furs draping from your body, covering only where you held the soft fabric over your breasts. His eyes were an interesting shade of green as they roamed over you.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

Somehow it was not what you were expecting, though it was perfectly agreeable. Your blush deepened.

“Very well, thank you.”

He nodded. Then, something almost hesitant passed through his gaze.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you, unless you prefer to rest longer,” he said.

You blinked. “Really?” That was a kindness you did not expect.

Éomer’s lips tugged upwards. He offered you his hand. Though you hesitated, you slipped your free hand into his. Instinctively you took the furs with you to cover yourself, your face warming down to your neck under the weight of his amused stare.

Your hair was a tangled mess along with the sheets remaining tousled on the bed, and you realized that your body was sore in places you had never felt so. He led you around a simple wooden partition to a wide bath that was built into the ground. Your eyes widened at the luxury of it.

You had noticed that Rohan largely valued comfort and efficiency over ornateness in their architecture, but it seemed they lavished some things with greater detail.

Éomer helped you step into the bath. He took the furs from you, still with that amused glint, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking note of your bare, supple form, what glimpse he was able to get before you lowered yourself into the steaming water. He had explored each and every lovely curve the night before, but you were lovelier to behold in the morning, he thought.

You looked up at him with some hesitance, but there was a question there that he thought he would like to answer.

“Have you already bathed?” you asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I will leave you to your leisure. Breakfast will be brought up in a little while.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” you said.

Was that a note of disappointment in your tone, in the downturn of your face?

Éomer paused, but he did as he set out to do, leaving you to your bath in peace. He went over to his side of the bed to continue dressing himself, slipping a long shirt over his head that he tucked into his breeches. Though he tried not to let them, his thoughts of you remained.

Meanwhile, you relished in the hot water relieving your sore muscles (and other places). You washed and hummed a little tune to yourself, forgetting that you weren’t entirely alone, despite the partition.

By the time you left the bath, dried off and dressed in a heavy robe over a thin dressing gown, your new husband was already munching on bread and fruit and other good things that were brought up from the kitchens. He welcomed you to sit with him by the fire, where two wide chairs were draped with furs to make them comfortable. You joined him, and the tray of goods rested in between your seats.

“Do you have much to do?” you asked, while buttering a slice of bread. The crust was hard and somewhat sour, but the inside was soft and delicious.

“The only business I must attend to today is to remain kept with my wife,” Éomer said. He glanced up at you, once again capturing your gaze. “As tradition dictates.”

By the Valar, was there no end to how you blushed around this man? You only couldn’t tell if being kept by you was a duty he relished in.

You almost didn’t hear him when he added, “Tomorrow we will see your family off. They ride back to Gondor.”

Belatedly, you nodded. Éomer saw the note of melancholy cross your face.

“I am sure it is…a sooner parting than you would like,” he said.

You offered him a rueful smile. “Yes, but…not as difficult a goodbye as I thought it would be.”

One of his brows rose. “Why is that?”

Drawing in a deep breath, you mustered a little courage to answer him honestly.

“I did not know what to expect when I arrived in Rohan, but its lands have beauty of its own. Its people have integrity and courage, and its noble house is noble indeed,” you said. A small, true smile brightened you when you looked at him. “It is honorable, and kind.”

Éomer blinked in surprise. On his face it was still muted, but it was there. Your words touched him. He cleared his throat, for some reason finding his face a bit warm. In his eyes, you continued to be a wonder. He too hadn’t known what to expect from a woman of Gondor. He knew what many in your country thought of the people of Rohan—simple folk at best, and horse-wild barbarians at worst. With you, he’d mostly expected a haughty, spoiled brat.

He’d never been more willing to be proven wrong. In fact, the more he learned about you, the more beautiful you became.

He reached over, almost hesitant to cover your hand with his larger one. He was suddenly very conscious of his rougher palm in contrast with your soft skin.

“Regardless of how we were entered into this arrangement, I stand by my vows,” he said. “I will honor and protect you, and do my utmost to make you comfortable here in my home.” 

You smiled. Your hand turned under his to curl your fingers around his palm.

“I will also honor and protect you in whatever way I am able. And I will do my utmost for your house, for it is now mine as well,” you replied.

Éomer brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. He rose out of his seat enough to lean over, and he kissed you. It was sincere, but all too brief. You leaned towards him after he broke away, left wanting more as your eyes slid open.

Recognizing that look of desire stirred his own, deep in the pit of his stomach. He tugged on your hand meaningfully and guided you out of your chair, over to him. You tentatively sat across his lap, uttering a laugh when you slid backwards and landed against his chest. Your hand flew there to steady yourself. Éomer clasped it against his heart and claimed you in a deeper, rougher kiss, one fueled by a craving he couldn’t name.

You held his bearded face and hummed sweetly into his mouth. You matched his fervor, your fingers slipping into his hair and instinctively tightening a stronghold. He groaned in response. His hands, large and strong, moved over your side and down your back, while the other squeezed the supple flesh of your hip through your thin gown.

Soon, it wasn’t enough. He slid his arms around your waist and under your knees before he stood with you in his arms. He smiled at your squeal of surprise. It was the first real smile you’d ever seen upon his face. It delighted you to be the one who put it there.

He carried you to back his bed. Our bed.

But still, it was only a matter of lust, if twined with mutual respect and…curiosity.

You did not love him. (Yet.)

AN: Love me some blonde, medieval cowboy Karl Urban. 😘💜

⋆˙⟡ Read the Sequel: A Subtle Invitation

Summary: “You needn’t be so formal,” Éomer said. His lips moved against the shell of your ear. “I am Éomer, especially when we are alone.”

Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories. Top-tier patrons can even send me requests!

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LOTR/The Hobbit Masterlist

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@kmc1989 @eddie-munson-stories @lamaudite

[ace-shenanigans]

Thinkin about another sj-centric scum villain au...

Thinking about a pre-binghe sqq, tired of always being under constant scrutiny and over feeling unsafe and ostracized despite all his efforts, deciding to leave cqms to track down an artifact rumored to allow someone the power to basically alter reality to an extent. He tells no one where hes going because soon its not going to matter anyway.

Thinking about him finding and using the artifact to remove himself from history, erasing everyone's memory of him until he is no more than a ghost haunting the narrative. Shen Qingqiu, and by extension Shen Jiu, has never existed.

Thinking about the consequences of this action... Sure he' achieved a true blank slate, free to walk around as he pleases, be whoever he wants to be rather than pretend to appease the small minds of others, but his newfound anonymity comes at a cost.

The brothel jiejie's at the warm red pavilion still greet him as an old friend, but they no longer know him. They do not remember him, his struggles, his achievements even as he remembers all of theirs. What was once a safe haven now feels fake; to them he's just another man paying for a service. He no longer visits the warm red pavilion.

He'll never get his answers from Yue Qingyuan. He'll never know why the other abandoned him, nor why he refused to explain himself to Shen Qingqiu. He'll get over it he tells himself, he'd already accepted Yue Qi's death many years ago, and Yue Qingyuan is just another one of them anyways. He doesn't get over it.

Of course the artifact has its limits, and so those with the closest connections to Shen Qingqiu are left feeling strangely like they're missing something, something just on the tip of their tongue that they can taste but not name. Yue Qingyuan especially is left in a constant state of confusion and loss, missing something he cant place, unable to even remember the reason why he made many of the choices he did. On his desk sits an ornate fan with a crane painted on it that hed purchase for... odd, he couldnt remember why he'd bought the item, or why it made him feel so sad.

Liu Qingge too is left feeling somewhat off kilter for no apparent reason, his eyes drifting towards the bamboo groves of Qing Jing peak every so often for reasons he cant name. He's able to shrug it off for the most part, too focused on his own training to really pay it much mind, but theres always a sense of... wrongness? Frustration?- that settles in his chest whenever he spars with others, like they cant match him the way... the way what? He can't remember the last time he sparred with someone who could keep up with him, but he can almost picture the occasional flash of green, a hidden blade, leaves sharpened by qi with deadly accuracy....

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #32

My baby, you’re my baby.

Imagine dis…

You know, I have the songs Mitski - I Bet on Losing Dogs and Reba McEntire - I'm A Survivor.

So in memory of the ever ending loop finally dissappearing and now replaced with Wake up by Llunr… Here it goes…

…

In the heart of Gotham, The Teen Titans who are being led by Tim Drake (Robin), along with Conner Kent (Superboy), and Bart Allen (Kid Flash) are fighting a powerful magician. They had managed to hold their ground, but they were unable to pass the unending minions summoned by the magician, nor could they land a decent hit on the magician, who was fighting fire with fire. Knowing they needed magical ability, they asked Zatanna to handle the caster while they focused on the minions.

The air crackled with electricity as spells collided and blended in a frantic dance of light and power. Just as they were ready to gain the upper hand, two opposing spells from Zatanna and their opponent collided in what appeared to be a last-ditch attempt. A flood of raw, uncontrolled power surged toward them, wiping out the majority of the minions and now heading towards them, and before they could react, they were bathed in blinding light.

…

When the light went off, they found themselves in a completely dark room. Their senses heightened, and they stood alert, as all three of them wondered what the magic's effects would be. Light gradually appeared around them, presenting a scene that perplexed and concerned them.

A teenage male with dark hair stood in the center of the room, carrying a baby swaddled in a blue and star-printed blanket. The boy's eyes were sad and shiny, and his cheeks were swollen with unshed tears. He rocked the baby softly and sang a sweet tune. Surrounding him were walls and a small window that was too high and narrow for him to escape, but just right for a newborn baby.

On the other side of the window, another teen came this time with dirty blonde hair and freckles and bright green eyes. Crouching to look at the teen mentioned above, who is still humming as if in his little universe. He looked at the first teen, full of sadness and grief, and said, as no sound came from the scene, that it was time.

The dark-haired kid took a deep breath before pulling out a little necklace covered with snowflake decorations. He wrapped it around the baby's neck, his hands quivering. Tim automatically stroked the similar necklace that hung around his neck, disguised by the layers of clothes he wore.

Tim knew he was adopted; he had always known. He had always resembled his adoptive parents, Janet and Jack, making him the ideal heir to the Drakes. He had attempted to locate his biological parents but had only encountered dead ends. Now he understood he was seeing a long-forgotten memory.

The dark-haired teen gave the baby to the other kid, who cautiously reached through the window. As he did, Tim noticed the thick chains that shackled the dark-haired teen's body, blocking his escape. The boy stared at the infant one more time and mumbled something Tim couldn't hear.

The blonde teenager appears to convince the other teenager that he will find a suitable home for the baby he is currently carrying.

The dark-haired teen flashed a sorrowful smile and looked longingly at the baby, who was now struggling to wake up as if realizing that the person holding him was not his mom.

The blonde teen nodded and prepared his motorcycle, placing the baby who is now trying to have a crying feast in a sidecar alongside what appeared to be his dog with red eyes for further protection and sped off.

All three of them looked at the chained teen as he held his gaze to the vehicle up until it went smaller and smaller and until it vanished from his sight.

Just as they thought the scene was over they were immediately shattered as a large metal door that seemed to materialize behind them opened wide and out came walking someone they knew as they were already in the middle of investigating.

Vlad Masters

Someone who gained his wealth through mysterious ways that warrant an investigation as most of the deals are more favorable to Masters than to his so-called partners.

They saw Masters grab the teen roughly and began hissing through gritted teeth something, leaving bruises wherever he handled the chained teen.

The teen, on the other hand, seemed so detached, as if he completely removed himself from the present as he let Masters rough handle him.

…

Tim wanted to scream, to rage as both of his teammates were already holding him back from running towards something they know is something of the past.

That is his parent GODDAMMIT!, Tim raged in his mind, usually he would have been calm and collected, logical, and gathered the facts. But a single memory made all of his restraints snap.

All Tim ever wanted was to be loved, something he never received during his stay with the Drakes. Both Janet and Jack kept on mentioning how Tim should be grateful that he is the one chosen to stay under their roof with thousands of dollars at his fingertips.

But here he was watching something he was too young to remember, something that his head kept flashing.

The soft hum of a melody that he would sometimes hear deep within his mind as he tried to cry himself to sleep.

A single necklace is a connection between him and his biological parents.

Watching how helplessly his father was? Mother? Be abused, be chained down.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t find a lead, Masters sent someone to handle the blonde teen who brought him to a nice orphanage before the Drake couple adopted him.

…

The scene faded as Tim, Conner, and Bart were brought back to reality. They awoke to find Zatanna watching over them, her expression filled with concern.

Zatanna said that they had been bound in a deep memory spell, which the magician had created to capture them in a recurrent memory, rendering them unable to discern between the memory and the real world. However, because she also sent out her counter, it only displayed a fleeting memory to stop them from ending up like Sleeping Beauty.

She chuckled as she glanced at them questioningly, hoping for the best, and thought they witnessed a memory that reminded them of a dark time during their hero times.

Tim sat up, still holding the necklace. He had observed a memory from his past that he had never known existed. It wasn't just a last-ditch attempt at a spell; it was a look into a long-held secret that he had forgotten.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[winterzsurprise]

Change My Mind [8]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 7.3k

hello, sorry for ghosting you all. I got busy with school and projects. This chapter is brought to you by my PCD because I saw hobi a few days ago and its kicking my ass. I think this chapter being focused (kinda) on Hoba says a lot so yeah. Not proofread, will fix and add more later. Any tips on recovering from pcd cause woahhh wth

please do tell me if ya'll want to be added to the taglist. pls leave a comment or my jk pcs will be sleeping outside my window

edit 16/04/25: fixed grammar mistakes, added new scenes during Hobi and Reader's interaction in his studio, and a couple of paragraphs here and there, that is all.

edit 02/06/25: added a convo with Reader's friends' at the end

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________

When Seokjin came to consciousness, it wasn’t to the ear-shattering blares of Jungkook’s alarms a few doors down nor was it to someone shaking him awake.

For the first time in his life, he was instead woken up by the feeling of someone’s warm touch tracing the sharpness of his jaw.

His eyes flew open, heart jackhammering in his chest at the thought of someone climbing into his bed while he was at his most vulnerable state only to calm down at the sight of you looking down at him with the softest look in your eyes and the breath in his lungs was punched out. 

Seokjin is not a poetic guy, that was Namjoon and Yoongi, but if he had a morsel of their creative minds, he would’ve waxed anthologies upon anthologies just to describe how your gaze, overflowing with the sweetness of love, had made his mind stutter and his heart skip a beat. He’d say how it can definitely make a man win a war all by himself and the heat of your love to keep him warm during the winters.

Realization came to him like a sudden flash of thunder, his brain becoming more aware of the haziness and the peculiarity of it all.

Your gaze, usually warm and friendly, is mellowed out and overflowing with the sweet, stickiness of love as if you’re looking at him with all the love that exists in the world. His fingers trembled when it reached out to touch your cheeks, scared that once he touched this image, this hallucination of his would fizzle out and he’d wake up with more longing than he’s already feeling.

This is a dream, it must be. You’ve never looked at him like that.

Yet. His mind whispered.

He was dreaming but the warmth of your cheeks and the softness of your skin brushing against his fingers felt so real it made him shiver.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Li-like what?”

He didn’t know if this dream was a nightmare or not, hearing your voice and feeling your fingers caressing his skin so softly . It was cruel how gentle you were handling him, how the heat of your hands when it cupped his cheeks had sent electric shocks throughout his body, stirring every part of him awake. 

Then before the question could even leave his lips, you leaned down to press your lips on his and his brain short-circuits.

Your lips are as perfect as the rest of you, it slotted in between his so perfectly it ached. He felt breathless from the brief contact, stomach ticklish as his mind repeated the same sensations and memories over and over again. Suddenly, the cumulation of longing and withheld desires surfaces and his fingers twitch at where they laid on either side of your face.

It’s just a dream, you can do everything you ever wanted. A darker, greedier voice at the back of his head whispered and he almost let himself follow its whims.

“There you go again.” You said and his brewing thoughts faded into the background. “Stop looking so… sad.”

“I look… sad?”

“Like a kicked puppy,” You laughed, hand coming up to his cheeks and the smell of your sweet lotion invaded his senses. “I’m here with you now, stop looking so defeated.”

You kissed him again but this time it was in the spot in between his eyebrows and the tip of his nose. Seokjin didn’t know how greedy he could be, never knew how hungry he was until he felt your lips pressing against his skin. 

It’s just a dream , the logical part of his brain whispered to him but it still felt wrong .

He shouldn’t be doing this, he should be better than this. He needs to wake up before he completely lose himself in his own imagination.

This dream was toying with the already frayed thread holding his flimsily gathered self-control. It's like dangling a game in front of a predator who’s been starved for years. It’s so tempting to just lean in and kiss you, to pull you down and let his hands roam down the curves of your body.

“Jinnie.”

“Yes?”

“Stop holding back.” He takes a deep shuddering breath as his brain catches up on your words. “I want this. I want you.”

snip!

Suddenly overcome with the molten heat of desire lighting his skin, he surged up to capture your lips with his, hands cradling and pulling your face to him. With a yelp, you tip over to fall on top of him. Seokjin waited for you to push him away, to fight against his hold, to stand and walk away from him with a disgusted look on your face but none of those happened. Instead, your hands cradled his face and brought him closer for a kiss as breathtaking as you make him everyday.

Seokjin didn’t care that he was dreaming, his body burned with the intense desire he had tampered down for so long and if he didn't kiss you now he might actually combust.

How long has he longed to feel the heat of your skin against his? How long had he stirred restlessly at night wondering how comforting it would be to feel your weight on top of him and your body pressing against him? He couldn’t count how many nights had gone where he’d wake up sweaty, body electric from the rampant and unsatisfied need running in his veins, wishing he could expel the carnal hunger rooted deeply within him with you.

And he had tried, god knows how he tried to find someone else, to move on like you had done but his skin would crawl from their touch and his stomach would churn whenever they looked at him. Even staring at someone longer than what is appropriate felt like committing the biggest sin.

You had ruined him for any other woman without even doing much and he didn't know whether he should be thankful or not.

Seokjin doesn’t dream often but when he does, it is never about you.

Until tonight.

You gasped into his mouth as his kisses grew hurried and his roaming hands grew more confident in its exploration, teasingly brushing the underside of your breasts before it would fall to and your fingers threads into his hair before tugging on them. The sting of his scalp immediately melted into hot pleasure that dripped down to his abdomen. He was undeniably hard, bursting at the seams from harmless kissing and if lust wasn’t clouding his mind, he would’ve been embarrassed.

He trailed kisses down your throat where your perfume smells the strongest and he groaned before beginning to lave his tongue over your skin and gently sucking on them, relishing in the soft sighs he’s reaping. You shifted under him, no doubt feverish with desire like he is, and your thigh brushed against him, making him tighten his hold onto your waist as a shuddering exhale left him.

Seokjin wasn’t pure, he’s had one or two experiences with women before you came into his life, still it was embarrassing how he had reacted from how you had nudged against him.

“Jinnie…” You sighed and his heart stuttered at how sweet his name sounded spilling out your lips. “Stop teasing me, I want you.”

He detached himself from your throat to take a look at his masterpiece, gently thumbing the small but purple bruises on your skin before daring to look up.

And god, weren’t you a sight for sore eyes?

With your hair strewn messily around your head, you looked like an absolute angel with a halo. Your lips are swollen red and your eyes are blown black as it stared back at him with the same exact amount of need itching his skin. Letting his eyes fall to your neck littered with his marks and the uncharted territories of your thighs, he swallowed hard as his pants grew tighter.

“Jinnie…”

Seokjin…

“You’re so pretty like this, baby.” He whispered.

God, he wanted to do a lot of things with you. 

His head a mess trying to figure out what he should do first, fingers twitching as he figured out if he’ll start with shedding your top off—which he just noticed was one of his hoodies, holy fuck —or begin unbuttoning your denim shorts.

“Jinnie please...”

Seokjin…

All those years with only him and his pent-up frustrations whenever he’d see you wear your pretty dresses—the sensual floor-length maxi length dress you had worn for the luxury themed Christmas party with the high slit on the side of your thighs dangerously matched with a pair of red heels forever ingrained into his brain—finally resurfacing and all of a sudden, he’s insatiable, ravenous and one kiss away from his sanity snapping.

You were his to have, to hold and to revere.

God, he feels crazy just thinking about how you were his . He was descending into madness from the unbridled desire he's been holding back and now that he's got you within arms reach, he doesn't know what—

“SEOKJIN HYUNG!”

He shot up from his bed with a scream beyond what his parched throat could tolerate and he started coughing. 

Mind immediately catching up on what was happening, he quickly pulled his blanket up to hide the painful tent in his pajamas. The surprise from having his name called out by a voice that belonged to someone else fades and irritation begins to burn his back.

Jungkook, who was the one who had woken him up, eyes half open and blinked blearily back at him, absolutely clueless of what he had just interrupted.

“Why did you wake me up?! Did your parents not tell you how rude it is to wake up someone so abruptly?!” Seokjin didn't really mean to scream that out so loud but he was frustrated.

Who wouldn't be in this situation?

“Why so grumpy? Was your dream really that good?” Seeing the blush spreading on his face, a shit-eating grin grew on his lips. “Was it about noona?”

“What do you want?” He asked, attempting to stir the conversation away.

“Namjoon hyung called me to wake you up, something about needing your voice at the studio to record a demo he had made this morning.”

Turning to the windows, he immediately noticed how the sun was barely even peaking through the horizon and groaned exasperatedly. Namjoon’s mind is usually a blessing but all he could think about was how he wanted nothing more than to strangle the man for having an inspiration this early in the morning, interrupting the only pleasant dream he’s had in years.

Jungkook, although had woken him up due to an order, wasn't safe from the bubbling wrath at the pit of his stomach. How could the men he's supposed to be his brothers by heart do this to him?

If he slept in the car, would it—

“So… how was your dream with noona?”

“GET OUT!”

_______

To say his family was enthusiastic would be the understatement of the year.

The moment the news reached his mother’s ears, it quickly spread throughout the clan and everyone had demanded to hold a banquet, at least a week-long feast to celebrate their first ever tethered in the family. 

While he understood their enthusiasm, his shared sentiment quickly soured when the excitement stretched over to the next week and it plunged into the negatives when his aunties began to demand him to discreetly arrange a soulbinding without the other members of the nexus knowing, reasoning that man is born greedy and having multiple men pine for one girl is not a good look.

They didn’t say it outloud but it was clear what they thought of the nexus connection and it pissed him off.

Despite the concept of soulmates existing since the dawn of time, those who are considered normal think of multiple connections as some kind of taboo, something that shouldn’t even exist and having seven men only tethered to one woman is contradicting what mankind deem is typical and expected in a relationship. The underlying judgment under the fake smiles of his aunts’ and the playful comments of his uncles about having to compete with six other men had spoiled his excitement faster than an unrefrigerated fish.

He wouldn’t lie and say that he hadn’t judged a passing throuple before, he was guilty of once being a little unsettled when he had heard the five trainees a floor below them were all connected to each other. It was human nature to be unsure and frown upon the unnatural after all—not that he’s excusing his behavior from before.

But now that he’s found himself a part of a nexus, Hoseok had surprised himself when he realised how easily he had welcomed the idea of polyamory like a fish to water. Maybe it was the bond forged by sweat and tears he's had with the other guys had made it an easy pill to swallow but being a part of a nexus, he had understood why, despite being against what was considered normal and typical, those throuples and the five boys downstairs fearlessly flaunted each other despite the world's efforts to shame them all.

He eventually learned how to ignore their pestering calls and messages for the sake of his public image because he wouldn’t know what would fly off his mouth if he ever heard them utter another veiled remark about how impure and disgusting it is for one woman to entertain seven men.

Today, he finds himself confused by how Jin has been acting whenever you’re within a meter away from him, flinching back with his ears practically glowing with how red it has turned and stammering every word out like a flustered high schooler. Confusing because for as long as he knows, their oldest has long graduated from acting cute around his crush.

It was a fight between your determination to help him prepare for breakfast against his hyung’s easily embarrassed state brought by god-knows-what had transpired between yesterday and today.

Jungkook choking on his food from his constant laughter whenever they see the eldest fumble and stumble on air only stoked their curiosities further.

“What is it? Why do you keep on laughing?” Jimin asked, voice low and careful to not be caught by their eldest who is currently hissing, and bent over on one leg as he held onto his toe that he had just stubbed on the corner of the island counter.

“Let us in on the joke, come on.” Taehyung goaded on.

Jungkook, surprisingly, shook his head. 

“Does all of those years mean nothing to you?”

“Where does your loyalty lie?!”

“Even if I want to tell you guys, Jin knows all the passwords to my accounts. I just hit Grandmaster rank there, I’m not risking it.” Jungkook replied before continuing to stuff his face with his breakfast.

This didn’t deter the two other maknaes, if anything, they grew more determined to uncover the secrets their youngest and eldest managed to gain in a short time. Silently, the rest of them cheered on Jimin and Taehyung, also eager to learn what the secret was but not having the energy to bother.

Almost a month since Jungkook’s birthday, the doctors had finally given you and Jimin the green light to continue work when he found out you both can now last an hour and a half without being in the same room. 

It also meant that the tour could finally continue, the management had already informed them of their new schedules.

Days since he found out his tethered status, yet even with a very enthusiastic Taehyung’s help, Hoseok is yet to find what kind of soulmate link he has.

All they knew was that it can alter their appearances but they hadn’t specified what part of the body it’ll affect. There's a thousand possibilities and most of them involve being hurt, something he's not willing to do. He had to turn down a couple of Taehyung's suggestions in the fear of accidentally hurting you in the process.

It hurts him to reject Taehyung and seeing his excitement dull but who in their right minds would agree to his experimentations when all he could suggest was pinching him, cutting a small wound on his palm, shaving a patch of hair on his leg or arm, and finally, trying if baldness can also be inherited by the other.

Hoseok thinks the boy had momentarily forgotten they share the same soulmate. 

He wasn't rushing to find out his soulmark anyways. Hoseok can wait, he has done so for two years, he can wait a couple days more.

Tossing all the stress of yesterday to the side, Hoseok found himself staring blankly at his monitor, an unfinished melody looping on his speakers, and wondering if there is a soulmate mark out there that can gather all of his thoughts and feelings to become a song he'd just randomly blurt out to help him.

He has a vision. 

There’s an almost non-existent melody playing at the back of his head that had been tormenting him since the day he had found out his new status.

Ideas overflowed in his mind so much that he might as well have none because of how cramped and cluttered his brain had become. If he were to explain it, his mind was like a lottery ball machine that is teeming with so much it refuses to spill anything out.

Hoseok wanted to dedicate a song to you with a melody as sweet as your voice yet as sparkly and bright as the glint in your eyes. He wanted the word to know that he's been spoken for while barely revealing anything but his mind wasn't cooperating. 

Maybe Yoongi can help me with this one...

A shrill sound of his phone shattered through his train of thoughts. Seeing his mother's name on the screen, he quickly picks it up but to his surprise it was Jiwoo who welcomed him.

“Hey, mom’s wondering if you guys plan on ever introducing her and her parents to us and the others?” His sister began, her head popping from the side and covering most of the screen while their mother’s body stood behind her.

Almost every member has complained about their parents wanting them to go through a soulbinding ceremony as soon as possible, claiming it was useless to drag it out. 

While he does understand the benefits of being formally and spiritually bonded, everyone thought it was better to court you first.

A bit traditional and pointless as they're all tethered but dating and courting you with roses and fancy dinners has been at the back of everyone's mind. With their eldest insistent on doing so, the others had no choice but to follow.

There's also the North American tour they have to start. The management had made it known how important it is to continue their tour, saying it had been delayed for too long and ARMY were getting antsy so it was difficult to make room for a pre-bonding party and the soulbinding ceremony itself.

“We can't delay the tour any longer so we'll have it once we return home. Besides, the guys and I wanted to properly court her before any binding takes place.”

His mother made a disapproving sound. “I’m worried. You all know that not being formally binded means you guys are more susceptible to hyperactivity, right?”

“Of course we know, we all had a discussion a couple of days back but the tour’s just a couple of weeks. When we all return to Seoul, we'll finally seal the deal.”

“I'll ask the other moms for help arranging it so you guys won't stress about it during the tour, okay?”

“Do you even know how to woo a woman?” Jiwoo asked, a teasing grin on her lips.

“Obviously! What do you take me for?!”

“You buried yourself in work for years, I think I have a good reason to be suspicious of your ability to woo a woman.” Jiwoo retorted. “Your last relationship was back in high school and she dumped you for reasons you haven’t told me yet.”

“Because it's dumb and I’m not giving you more ammo than you already have.”

“Children, the both of you,” his mother sighed, shaking her head. “Can I finally speak now?”

When she was answered by the ashamed silence from the both of them, she continued.

“What are you planning for your date? Where will you guys be when it's finally your time?”

Hoseok turned away from the intense stares he's receiving through the screen because for someone who had insisted he had plans earlier to his sister, he absolutely has no idea on how he'll take you on a date. 

A food trip date around a city in disguise has been taken, a dinner on a yacht and a date on a fair got snatched away by their youngest before anyone could even start raising their ideas. A musical in New York is out of the equation too, a romantic night walk in Paris also.

Basically, almost all the date ideas he had were stolen by the others and he’s beginning to consider locking them all in their rooms and cut their charger cords.

“See? I can’t trust my baby brother to know how to woo a woman!”

“What does she like? We’ll help you.”

“The others got most of my ideas, except Jungkook. Nothing can make me ride rollercoasters.”

“Even if your soulmate asks you to?”

Hoseok pondered for a moment. 

Does he love you more than he values his life?

“I don't need to anyways, she's got the other maknaes to ride it with her.”

“I mean—”

“What does she like? We need to give you ideas on how your date with her will go.” Their mother interrupts before they continue bantering. “Have you all decided on whose first and last?”

“Jungkook goes first, I don't know how that kid did it but he won against all of us in rock, paper, scissors.”

“You guys are losers.” Jiwoo sighed in the background. “The world's biggest boyband are dorks trapped in handsome bodies.”

“How about you?” His mother asked.

“Miraculously, I got second.”

“Where would you guys be at the time?” 

“I can choose between Hamilton and Newark. Chicago is already reserved by someone else.”

“Stargazing?” Jiwoo suggested.

But before he could respond, a knock cut him off. Turning to face the door, his eyes met your concerned pairs as you entered with a plastic bag in hand and a styrofoam food package inside it.

You had your hair in a braid today matched with the most minimal makeup due to you waking up late compared to their usual schedule yet Hoseok thinks you the cutest human he’s ever laid eyes on. 

Moreso when you’re the one who’s bringing him food.

“Yoongi had me bring this up to you and to tell you to take a break.”

“Is it time for lunch time already? I think I just ate earlier.” He says, standing up to take the food from your hand and muttering a ‘thank you’ under his breath.

Stepping aside, he invites you into the studio and motioned his hand towards the sofa on the corner of the room. Instantly, you fall into its plush cushion comfortably with your feet hanging on the side and the rest of your body on the cushion. 

You look absolutely cozy in your loose pants and oversized hoodie combo that he almost leaned down to fit himself into the space next to you and cuddle up to your side to see if you’re as comfortable as you looked.

Like the others, he had sometimes laid next to you, but he always maintained distance from your body. He wasn’t like the maknaes who had grown used to your hugs and cuddles. Whenever it does happen, he’d always freeze up and pull out his phone to distract him from the loud thuds of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. 

Hoseok wouldn't lie and say he was never jealous of how easily the maknaes could saddle up next to you. It was something he had to learn to swallow or force to the back of his head every time its ugly face rears into his mind.

Seeing you strewn comfortably on his couch, he thinks that maybe he could finally muster up the courage to cozy up next to you.

“Aren't you a bit too comfortable lounging in my studio like this?” He jokingly said.

“We've been together for years, you should know how I act when I see a couch.”

“Still, it would be nice if you could have a bit of decorum.”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m your soulmate.”

It was astonishing how a word could evoke so much within him. Hearing the word ‘soulmate’ felt like a balm after years of stolen gazes and aching yearning to be yours. You were confirming and acknowledging the existence of the still undiscovered bond between you both, something he hadn’t thought he’d ever get, and it made his chest warm.

It was a bit hard at first to get you and Namjoon—who still couldn't believe the very subject he had dedicated a school paper to deny happened to him—to accept the bond but to be constantly exposed to each other at the dorm and be surrounded by the familiar joy from the days before the marks’ manifestation, the both of you grew to welcome the idea more comfortably with each passing day.

And today just happened to be the day where you had verbally acknowledged the bond. 

He's sure the others would be ecstatic to hear that you're beginning to accept and see the link in a positive light.

“Were you talking to someone before I came with the food? I didn’t interrupt anything, right?” You asked, grounding his mind to focus on you.

“Just my mom and sister asking about the tour, don’t worr—”

“LIAR! We were teaching him how to woo yo—!” Jiwoo’s voice screamed from the phone before his mother’s reprimanding hushes took over.

“We’ll call you back later to continue our discussion, son. You both have a nice day, alright?” 

“Bye mom!”

“See you, auntie.”

With his screen returning to Twitter’s homepage as the call drops, the pin drop silence in the room had reminded him how it's just you and him together. 

Alone. 

In his studio.

Never in his life did he think having you alone with him would be so daunting.

He stared at his chair in front of the unfinished melody on pause on his monitor then to you who had sat up to unfurl the knot on the plastic bag where two food containers, one rectangular and the other a deep cylinder, stuck between the decision to continuing his work before eventually settling next to you to uncover his food himself.

“So," He began but his voice sounded weaker than he wanted and he cleared his throat. "What did you and Jin have today?”

“We settled with a salad and chicken paired with a milkshake. Yoongi ordered our lunch from that new store by the intersection, you know, the one you pointed out on our way here.”

Leaning down to take a sniff of the biggest container, he then turned to you.

“What did you get me?” 

“Guess.”

It doesn't take a genius to know what is inside the container and it made his chest warm at how his friends always remember if he’s craving for something. Yesterday during dinner, he had asked Yoongi if he ever plans on making beef bone broth anytime soon.

Said bone broth is now filling the cylinder container while kimchi fried rice and bulgogi filled the other.

“Did Yoongi order this? Because if he does, I will thank him with my forehead touching the ground.”

“Yeah but Namjoon was the one who brought it up.” You answered as you opened the lid of the big container while he brought the bone broth up to his lips for a couple of quick sips. “Also, the reason why I came here was because we need you down in the styling department. There’s changes made with the tour outfits and they wanted to see if it fits.”

“Now?” He asked before placing down the soup to start eating from the larger container.

“They’re busy with the maknaes now so eat slowly or you’ll choke.” 

“But that means they'll have to wait for me.”

“You're paying us to wait for you, so don't worry much.” You said, waving him off.

“You know you don't have to worry about money or working, right?”

He knew not to bring up the matter of jobs and money, but he really couldn't help but be a bit disheartened at how you continue to refuse their offer to pay and buy you everything you'd ever need. 

You might just be the only person he knows who'd vehemently deny being spoiled by seven billionaires who are already at her beck and call. Hoseok knew you liked working as their makeup artist but couldn't you still enjoy working for them while dressed in clothes and wearing jewelries they want to adorn you with?

If you were more accepting of their fortunes, you'd have all the diamonds and precious gems in the world filling the kitchen and lounging area of their dorm by tomorrow.

But unfortunately, he and the others have to hold back on spending ridiculous amounts on you.

“I know but sometimes I'd rather be Y/N the makeup artist.” You say, standing up to leave. “It can be a little exhausting being the Bangtan’s Soulmate Y/N.”

For a moment, he panicked. Shouldn't he have brought it up again? Had he set back the progress they had made since the day Jimin had told them what happened?

He almost broke down from how worried he was at your reaction, until you returned with a kombucha in your hand to offer him.

“Don't look so distressed you'd get wrinkles.” You teased.

“I was worried I messed up by saying that, the others would have my head if I had.”

“I'm not angry or annoyed. Surprisingly.” You fall to the space next to him with hands intertwined on your lap and your eyes staring a hole onto the ground. “Didn't know there'll come a day where I'd be more accepting of the fact.”

“Me too.”

_______

Ever since this morning, everyone in your department had been bugging you about your unexplained and sudden absences that spanned over for weeks. Your friends from other departments had jogged up to you in the cafeteria, asking if you felt better after catching a stomach bug.

Minhyuk had successfully spread the news that you got sick from drinking yourself dumb during Jungkook’s birthday with his expansive connection as a cover up and you were struggling with how careful you have to be with your words and keeping your answers as vague as possible.

But out of all the events of today, all you could think about was how Alexa’s gaze had eyed you skeptically and scanned you from head to toe as if she was searching for something.  It lingered on your forearm when you had tugged your sleeves up to your elbows and you had subconsciously closed your hands to try and hide the musical note tattoo hidden between your fingers.

Who knew having soulmates could make you a little paranoid?

That being said, there’s been a new rotation for makeup noonas so you couldn’t accidentally activate your soulmarks with Taehyung and Jimin. Even then, everyone had been instructed to take Amoneuron before they leave the dorms to dull the body's sensitivity to the new bond and to somewhat slow the effect from having someone of the opposite gender touch you pre-binding. It would stall it long enough until you both activate your soulmate mark together.

You were assigned to those with the less noticeable soulmarks like Namjoon and Hoseok while Minhyuk and Nabi were assigned to Jimin and Yoongi, Saeyoung—one of the oldest make-up noonas—was lined to only assist Namjoon; which left Jihae and Alexa to tend to Taehyung and Jin

Minhyuk had the stinkiest grimace on his face when he heard.

It was Jihae’s honest mistake since the changes had been abrupt and the pairings were given out on-the-spot. It wasn’t until later did she realise her mistake.

“So you’re saying, the girl with the wild delusions about Jin being her soulmate will be handling Jin? How did that happen?” Hoseok asked, voice barely a whisper as you both dismount the elevator.

“Jihae, bless her old soul, made a mistake when she was matching us up.”

Hoseok’s eyes scanned your face, searching for something you don’t know yet before turning his attention back to the front.

“You and I both know who Jin loves right?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, confused. “Of course..? What are you getting at?”

Instead of giving you a proper answer, he just smiled and said: “Good.”

"Hey, I'm not gonna be jealous. He's only got one soulmate and that's me."

A radiant smile splits his face as he lightly pinches your cheeks. "I'm glad you know."

The double doors to the correct styling room parts open and you both head in to see all the stylists and make-up noonas fluttering around in a somewhat organized chaos while the rest of the boys either sat in front of the mirror or stood still in the middle of the room as someone takes their measurements and hold up accessories to their faces.

Like second nature, Hoseok heads to the last available seat at the far left next to Yoongi and a standing Namjoon who’s scrolling through his phone while his stylist fetched a different top from the clothing rack.

“How’s the bone broth? Is it good?” Namjoon starts as the dancer sits down and you began to pull out the palettes and bottles from the rack in his shade.

“Our leader takes care of us so well, I loved it.”

“Why do you say it like he doesn’t care about us at all, Hoseok?” Yoongi instigated next to him with a blank expression as he scrolled through his phone.

“Oh come on, hyung. You know I don’t mean it like that.”

Instead of replying, Yoongi just grinned.

Soon enough, Hoseok’s primary stylist approached you both and began to list down possible make-up looks to match the outfit he’ll be wearing in the US. Picking up the primer and twisting the lid off, you began to work as the stylist pulled up reference pictures of his past make-up looks and other idols faces for inspiration.

Spreading and patting the product onto his face, your heart began to pick up a pace as you grew hyper aware of how close you are to him. Being aware of the unknown soulbond connecting the two of you had changed how you perceive what you used to deem as normal and routinely.

Hoseok has always been stunning with his cute nose and a jaw sharper than the finest of blades but since when did he begin to look as radiant as he does right now? And why are you so nervous?

You take out the foundation bottle with shaky hands and try your best to collect your composure.

But having your brush glide gently down the slope of his nose and having to touch his chin to tilt his head up made the task almost impossible. 

It didn’t help that instead of his usual routine of scrolling through his phone, Hoseok was openly staring up at you with an unreadable look. You felt the heat of his gaze as it roamed up to your eyebrows, down to the tip of your nose before it paused at your lips. It left a trailing blaze that instantly melted the wall you tried so hard to establish between you and your soulmates during work. 

You were tempted to keep your brush resting on top of his eyelids just so your heart could rest a little.

Every time you sensed it lingering on your lips, your heart would soar. You don't dare to listen to the voice in your head that tells you to look up to meet the other pair of eyes trained on you.

You could see Namjoon staring at you from the edge of your eyes, no doubt hearing how fast your heartbeat is going. You try not to fluster under his gaze too and switch your brush to the other hand to shake the tremble off of your dominant hand.

When Aera, Hoseok’s stylist, had walked away to answer to the other stylist's call, you narrowed your eyes at the dancer.

“Stop looking at me like that and do your usual scrolling through Naver.” You whispered, resolution faltering as a grin splits through Hoseok's perfectly sculpted face.

“I left my phone on the makeup table though.” 

Without skipping a beat, you turned to pick up his phone and pushed it into his hand.

“Please look away, you're distracting me.”

Then, as if his stage persona had possessed him, his smile sweetened into a flirty grin. Suddenly, you were faced with an immovable force that is Jung Hoseok. His eyes flit down to your lips and his entire demeanor takes a sharp turn when his gaze grows heavy with longing, deep, desiring red flashing across his eyes and for a moment, you thought he was going to lean in to devour your whole.

Your heart skipped a beat and this time, Namjoon had snapped his head to the both of you.

“Stop teasing her, Hoba. You don't distract your make-up artist when they're doing their job.” Their leader said in a low voice, careful of any eavesdroppers as he placed a hand on his shoulder in almost a warning.

“I've never seen you be flustered like this before, noona. It's a bit addicting to see you turn red for me…” 

Namjoon sighed. “Please remain professional inside the BigHit building please. We agreed to not let our personal feelings affect our work, didn't we?”

You sent the man a silent thanks and continued to work. When Aera returns, Hoseok had begrudgingly returned to his usual programming with him scrolling through his phone. But it didn't mean that your heart had calmed down from the previous encounter.

“Y/N? Are you sure you’re okay?” The stylist, Aera asks, concern marring her face as she touches your forehead. “You’re a little red.”

“I-I'm fine, don't worry.”

Hearing this encounter, a proud smile grew on his face.

Doing the rest of his make-up passed by uneventfully, Hoseok had listened to their leader and kept up a professional facade in front of other observers with an ease and coldness of a perfectionist dance leader. Yet even then, you couldn't stop the tremble and the suddenly halts whenever his heady gaze flashes in your mind.

When it was Namjoon’s turn, Minhyuk had finally appeared after discussing with the other stylists, his bright presence immediately drove away the emotions from earlier.

“God, I know we should be professional and all that but I really hate seeing her doing Jin's make-up.” The other make-up artist whispered as soon as he arrived, his eyes trained at the girl behind you. “She looks so smug and it's making me want to scratch her face with a foundation spatula.”

“Isn't a foundation spatula blunt?” Namjoon asked, confused.

“You underestimate how much I hate her with my entire being, Namjoon. Even the bluntest, roundest edge can be turned into a weapon in the hand of a hater.” Minhyuk responded as he took the eyeshadow palette you were stretching out to him before reaching over the brush container for the correct one.

“I think you've just given me inspiration.”

“Well, I’ll be honoured to know that my random blabbering has helped the magnificent leader, RM of BTS.” Minhyuk then bowed his head exaggeratedly, making Namjoon chuckle.

With Minhyuk taking over Namjoon’s eye makeup, you looked over your shoulder to see what he was referring to and found yourself staring at what might just be the most uncomfortable look you've ever seen on Taehyung and Seokjin as Alexa made her preference for Seokjin obvious as she flutter around him, singing honeyed praises and touching his face longer than a staff should.

With Jihae busy bouncing ideas with the head of the styling and Saeyoung, Alexa was left unattended with all the freedom to do whatever she wants.

Irritation prickled your skin, not because you were jealous but because she was practically coaxing out a soulmate hyperactivity out of him with how long and often she's brushing against his face.

It wasn't like with Nabi who's careful not to touch your soulmates or Saeyoung and Jihae who are already married old women, Alexa has expressed her romantic intentions for Seokjin constantly, something that can still coax out a hyperactivity.

Granted the woman doesn't know your status but as someone destined for someone else, shouldn't she be focusing on that person instead of wasting time with someone who doesn't care about her?

Catching Taehyung’s gaze through his reflection in the mirror, he gave you a panicked look, his thoughts the same as yours.

Luckily, there hasn't been any rising dread or your senses being dialed up to the nines which means the medicine is working.

“That amount of touching would be dangerous, no? I think I should step in.”

But before Minhyuk could begin to march towards them, Seokjin turned to Alexa with the politest grin as he finally let her down slowly if the amusement in Taehyung's eyes were anything to go by.

Shocked and embarrassed by being rejected by the idol in presence of another, she hastily left the room to the confusion of the leaders and oldest women standing near the entrance. Turning to you and Minhyuk, Jihae raised an accusing eyebrow to which you both replied with a shrug. With a sigh, the woman excused herself from the conversation to tend to Seokjin and Taehyung.

“Serves her right.” Minhyuk snorted before turning his attention back to you and ushering you away. "Go calm down the bond with your man. There's chocolate in my bag and go eat it with him."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you, hyuk?"

"Only when you're drunk. Now go!"

Quickly retrieving the sweets from Minhyuk's bag, you jogged up to Jin and offered the chocolate to him. 

With no second spared, he tore through the wrapper and tossed the small candy into his mouth. Its sugary taste bleeds into your tastebuds before the candy touched your tongue.

Despite not experiencing any hint of hyperactivity, there was still a rush of cold relief flushing through your body from having your soulmarks get activated together, as if it was glad to have the bond still intact. A resonating warmth soon replaced the coolness and Seokjin expelled out a long exhale.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

Unsure of what to do in the eyes of the public, you had settled with placing your hands on his shoulders and giving him a comforting squeeze. Taking a glimpse at the reflection of the crowded room, he shyly reached up a hand to clasp over yours in return.

_______

[Yesterday, 13:02]            [13:02] The BADDEST: i cant laugh just yet in public rn but            [13:02] The BADDEST: HAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHA            [13:02] The BADDEST: GOD IS REAL AND HE HAS FINALLY GAVE HER WHAT SHE DESERVED            [13:02] The PRETTIEST: minhyuk you're so mean            [13:02] The BADDEST: i saw you giggling to yourself earlier            [13:02] The BADDEST: dont ever lie to me again            [13:02] The MOTHER: please refrain from using your phones during work hours ladies            [13:02] The MOTHER: @The BADDEST i can see you still typing, put that phone away            [13:03] The PRETTIEST: hopefully that's the last time we'll see alexa being an annoying fruit fly around seokjin            [13:03] The PRETTIEST: but between you guys, me and god? i doubt that            [13:03] The BADDEST: she can try😤            [13:03] The BADDEST: i got years of unresolved anger issues I'll gladly unleash on her            [13:03] The MOTHER: GO BACK TO WORK KIDS

_______

“Noona, have you packed everything you need?”

You huffed. “Of course I have. I've been doing this for years, you know?”

“Well, even if you forgot something, the others can bring it to you anyways.” Taehyung shrugged as he pushed open the doors of the van and stepped out, offering a hand to you as you followed him out with Jimin behind you.

“I'm starting to hate having idols for soulmates. Leaving the country at midnight to evade reporters and stalkers just isn't for me.”

“On the bright side, you'd never have to worry about money and losing your best friends.” Jimin replied as the three of you strolled into the hidden entrance of the airport. “Plus, you get to have handsome men with all that money and companionship.”

“Can't deny that…” You sighed as the two bodyguards assigned to the three of you guided you into the establishment and you yawned. “God, I'm so sleepy.”

Taehyung pats your back.

“We can sleep on the plane then you can choose between the two of us who you want more," Taehyung paused as he considered his words. "Or you can have both of us at the same time."

“Tae, you know how bad that sounded, right?”

“It's not my fault that you have a rotten mind, Jiminie. You know that I don't mean anything by that.”

TAGLIST: @wildestdreamsblog @canarystwin @prettywheenicry @jmnscutie @sassy-snassy @misuguru @11thenightwemet11 @yoongibaybee @rinkud @bri602 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @marvel-potter-1d-korea @comingupwithacoolnameishard @sooha-neul @juju-227592 @coffeewanderer @x-uno @diamonddia-mond @eggsysstuff @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @sld88 @katsukis1wife @bjoriis @btsgangleader @butterfly-lover

[ruzz9]

Nostalgia Adulterated

NSFW +18

Severus Snape x FemChubby!reader

Summary: Your former professor, Horace Slughorn, invited you to his abode within the castle to celebrate your promotion at the Ministry. You dragged Snape along, but you hadn’t accounted for the peculiar wine at the reception.

A/N: Don’t worry—intimate matters only involve your old Severus. No third wheels here. 🙂‍↕️

Warnings: Smut, loss of virginity, virginity, first time, possessive sex, multiple orgasms, drinking, adulterated wine, angst, rough.

6k words

You knew very well why you were at Hogwarts that night. It wasn’t a fortuitous return, nor an official summons from the institution. No, the invitation had come from one of your old professors, someone who, with his persuasive charm and zeal for keeping useful connections, now clamored for your presence. Horace Slughorn, with his loving and warm hospitality, surely hid behind his smiles and effusive recollections some veiled intention. It wouldn’t surprise you if he were trying to weave your recent appointment at the Ministry into a delicate web of favors and influence. It was no secret to you: you knew his methods, his ways of operating. However, you agreed. Nostalgia had its own magnetism, and the idea of a dinner at his abode within the castle was a tempting entertainment.

What you did not expect was to find him.

You turned a corridor with confident steps, your mind lost in memories of your student days, and you almost collided with a tall figure in dark robes. Both of you were striding quickly, and the impact was nearly inevitable—if not for his swift reaction to stop in time. You looked at him, and there he was: Severus Snape, his expression unreadable, brow barely furrowed, examining you with a flicker of surprise just barely perceptible in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in his characteristically skeptical tone, as if your presence in the castle were some kind of anomaly.

You had guessed as much. He was surprised to see you walking Hogwarts' halls after so long.

"I’m going to dinner with Slughorn" you commented with feigned indifference, as if it were a simple commitment and not a maneuver to maintain his network of contacts.

The idea of dragging Professor Snape with you had arisen at that very instant, almost like a flash of inspiration. It would be a fascinating contrast. With him present, Slughorn would be forced to moderate himself. His overflowing enthusiasm would find an insurmountable wall in Snape’s severe gaze, and perhaps, just perhaps, that would spare you the discomfort of having to navigate favors wrapped in sentimentality. Besides… you admitted there was something amusing about the idea.

And then at just the right moment, you added with apparent nonchalance: "Why don’t you accompany me?"

His reaction was immediate. You observed him, seeing his uncomfortable expression and his natural resistance to the mere thought of sharing a table with his former head of house.

"Ridiculous" he snapped without hesitation. "I see no need for such a gathering."

But you were not one to give up easily. With a persistent smile, you began to insist, pointing out that the presence of another person would balance the conversation, that without him, the evening would likely turn into an endless monologue from Slughorn about former students and worn-out anecdotes.

“Wouldn’t it be interesting, for once, to share a meal without the strict formalities of the institution? Don’t you think it sounds exciting?” you suggested. Your eyes gleamed.

His expression grew even harder.

“I’d rather ingest poison,” he replied with utter seriousness, and in an attempt to evade you, he took a step to the right.

You moved without thinking, sliding into position to block it. His eyes narrowed.

"Professor, come on," you insisted in an almost sugary tone. "Slughorn would be thrilled to have you there."

Snape tried to go his way, you, with all the intention disguised as innocence, moved in his direction again, blocking him once more. You didn't pause, you didn't give him a chance to respond.

"l'm truly glad to see you, Professor. You know, I miss the days when you were my mentor."

He tried to move again, now a step aside. You edged forward with the same precision, not giving him a break.

“One might say it’s nostalgic, don’t you think? Coming back here, remembering those days,” you continued, pretending not to notice his growing irritation. “You should come to dinner with me, for old time’s sake.”

Another attempt. Another block from you. Snape exhaled sharply through his nose.

"Slughorn appreciates you a lot..." you added, taking a step closer to ensure he wouldn't escape.

This time his scowl deepened so severely it looked like he was seriously considering using magic to move you out of the way.

“I could hex you right now and feel no remorse.”

“It’ll be pleasant,” you interrupted, unfazed, “we could have all sorts of enlightening conversation, three exceptional wizards around one table.”

Snape exhaled in resignation, looking at you as if you were the most infuriating creature. He watched you with a mix of exasperation and resignation. Then he closed his eyes for a second, as if trying to summon within himself the patience he clearly didn’t have.

“If I accept, will you get out of my way and stop irritating me?”

You smiled with satisfaction.

"I solemnly swear," you said with a hand on your chest.

"Make it quick," he grunted. Without saying anything more, he turned on his heels and started walking toward Slughorn's abode, muttering something unintelligible about the unbearable stubbornness of some individuals. You followed him with barely concealed satisfaction. You had won.

They arrived shortly, without saying a word. You stopped in front of the door and knocked firmly. At your side, Snape had already turned, slipping back down the corridor with the clear intent of vanishing. You noticed—and with a swift flick of your wand, you conjured a spell that halted his cloak mid-motion, yanking him back with a sharp tug. Snape nearly lost his balance, but his reaction was immediate: he spun around, wand in hand, fury barely contained and ready to curse you without the slightest hesitation.

Your growing nerves were on the verge of betraying you.

And then, the door opened.

Both of you froze on the spot, as if someone had captured the scene in perfect stillness. Snape had hidden his wand in the shadows of his robe and raised his chin with composure, while you lowered yours with the same naturalness of someone who had done absolutely nothing improper.

Slughorn didn’t seem to notice anything strange. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

"Oh, how wonderful!" exclaimed Slughorn with his characteristic exaggerated spontaneity, extending his arms with overflowing excitement. His eyes sparkled with genuine joy upon seeing you. "My dear, what a joy to see you again!"

He enveloped you in a strong hug that almost lifted you off the ground. Amidst laughter, you returned the gesture, although you were quick enough to steal a glance at Snape out of the corner of your eye. His expression was priceless.

And then, Slughorn saw him.

"Oh! Severus!"

Slughorn's enthusiasm grew even more, if that was possible. Snape tightened his jaw upon noticing the direction things were taking, but before he could utter a word, you took the initiative casually.

"I couldn't resist inviting him," you said lightly. "Someone I also hold in great esteem, and I’m sure you would be pleased to receive him too."

Snape let out a slow breath and, under his breath, murmured with irony:

"Oh, yes. An invitation impossible to refuse."

Horace, either oblivious or deliberately indifferent to his sarcastic tone, caught him in the same enthusiastic hug he had given you. Snape, of course, did not reciprocate at all, but Slughorn did not seem affected in the slightest.

“Come now, both of you, inside!” he said cheerfully, stepping aside to let you in. “This is a special occasion, indeed. You know, Severus! I always wished you had joined my little club back when you were a student—it would’ve been an honor to have you.”

Snape made a barely audible sound, which could well have been a brief laugh or a snort of disbelief.

Slughorn burst into hearty laughter, undeterred by the grumble, and closed the door behind you.

The room was lit with a cozy warmth, and the atmosphere was exactly the same as you remembered: elegant but overflowing with excess, with comfortable furniture, dim lights, and a certain order.

"Ah, but this is not an ordinary meeting!" Slughorn exclaimed as he headed to a shiny antique sideboard. He turned his head for just a moment to ask what they would like, but without waiting for an answer, he had already decided for everyone. He opened a bottle of dark wine, with a dense and aged aroma, and poured a couple of glasses with a satisfied smile. Then, for himself, he poured a lighter variety. “This one sits better with my stomach… age-related things, you know,”

You took the glass he offered and raised it kindly. Snape held his with just two fingers, the stem firmly between his index and thumb, and lifted it with the slightest of gestures, barely a tilt. His free fingers rhythmically tapped the surface of the table, in no hurry to drink.

"To three exceptional wizards gathered here tonight!" toasted Slughorn, his face flushed with excitement. "And to the old times, always so vivid in memory."

"Charming," said Snape quietly, barely audible, with no emotion whatsoever.

The conversation began without delay, as was typical of Slughorn. He turned to you, resting an elbow on the armrest of his chair while holding his glass.

“You know, dear, young Severus was an extraordinary student in my classes,” he said with a thrill. “Brilliant! Naturally gifted in Potions, of course, but with a mind that went far beyond the conventional.”

Snape, who had barely touched his wine, clenched his jaw with a barely perceptible gesture.

“In fifth year,” Slughorn continued, now fully immersed in the tale, “he appeared in my office with the tips of his fingers completely blackened. Claimed it was a miscalculation in a potion. But I wasn’t fooled!”

He gave Snape a light tap on the arm with a familiarity few would dare to display.

“It wasn’t a mistake, was it, Severus? You wanted to test the reaction for yourself.”

Snape set his glass down on the table with a soft clink. “One must be aware of all possible outcomes—only then can precision be achieved,” he replied in his most emotionless voice.

“Oh, of course!” Slughorn agreed eagerly. “Although, if I’m not mistaken, that experiment almost cost you the use of your right hand.”

You struggled to suppress a smile. Snape’s face remained stony, but the slight stiffness in his posture betrayed his discomfort with the direction the conversation had taken.

You swirled the wine in your glass with interest.

“Really?”

Without moving his head, Snape glanced up at you. There was no expression, but something in the atmosphere tensed. Snape cut the conversation with a dry and precise tone:

“I’m afraid this evening is not meant to dissect years of my youth. Perhaps it would be more fruitful to speak of our guest’s meteoric rise in the Ministry.”

There was a momentary silence. Slughorn nodded, not too put off, but you felt the direct blow to the stomach. You had brought Snape specifically to divert this kind of conversation… and he himself had brought it up. Very much in his style. Slow poison, well calculated.

Fortunately, the conversation flowed with an almost magical naturalness during dinner; it was not as bad as you had imagined. Slughorn spoke with overflowing enthusiasm, praising your achievements both academic and professional with overly grandiose adjectives that made you blush. You, true to your style, preferred to downplay your merits, humbly thanking him, elegantly diverting the compliments to maintain the balance between respect and discomfort.

Snape, as expected, didn’t speak much. But he didn’t appear detached. He observed. He participated with brief, sharp remarks—sometimes even sarcastic, though less biting than usual. Something about the way he sat there told you he wasn’t quite as uncomfortable as he seemed. His eyes roamed the table with care—on you, on Slughorn, on the glass. He drank. Not anxiously, but with steady consistency. Horace went from glass to glass, laughing louder, talking faster, and drifting into anecdotes barely related to the present.

What was surprising was that the atmosphere was comfortable. Warm, even. And that was not something you expected. You anticipated evasions, tension, a forced conversation. But no. Everything felt so strangely well-woven, so sincere, that you found it hard not to fully surrender to the evening.

Between dinner, dessert, and the open bottles, Slughorn fell into his natural state of sentimental drunkenness. He became more nostalgic than usual, his words more drawn out, his eyes heavier. At one point, he let out a gigantic yawn and simply settled more into his armchair, as if he were ready to fall asleep right there.

It was then that you noticed something changed. Not in him. In Snape.

He gently took your empty glass and refilled it, without even looking at the bottle, as if he had done it many times before. He brought it closer to you with the same meticulous manner, but without saying a word. And when you lifted your gaze to thank him, you found him looking at you with an expression so subtly different that you paused for a moment longer.

"I remember..." he said in a low voice, as if he were barely thinking out loud, "that you would stay longer in the classroom after class. Even when I sent you to detention. You always came back."

You looked at him skeptically, though without moving the glass away.

"Are you saying that as something positive, Professor?"

He raised an eyebrow slightly, but there was a strange softness in his expression. Not that usual rigidity that boxed him into stony gestures. No. It was... different.

"I don’t usually waste time remembering my students. But you, you were persistent. Despite everything, something about you seemed... Curious."

You took a small sip, as if to give yourself some margin. Was what you just heard real? Or was the wine starting to play tricks on your senses?

Then you connected the dots.

Slughorn. The bottle. That vague statement about the clearer variety of wine, which "sat better in his stomach." He hadn’t drunk the same thing as you two. And the change... was undeniable. You felt it in yourself as well. You were more comfortable than usual, more open, your filters more tenuous. It was hard to say if it was the natural effect of the alcohol or something more elaborate.

You knew that Slughorn would never put anything dangerous in the drink. But manipulating emotions for the sake of a perfect evening... that was another matter. That was completely his style.

You glanced at the professor dozing in his chair, then at Snape, who was now playing with the base of his glass, silently, but closer, more tangible.

You were lost in thought. “Sweeten nostalgia”… that’s what Professor Slughorn would have said, right? To justify a little alteration. To achieve the perfect atmosphere.

But what you could never have anticipated was the delayed effect that was beginning to bloom in Snape. One as delicate as it was explosive.

"Your boldness. That voracious enthusiasm for complex study…"

Each word was closer. Lower. More direct.

You were like a version... less broken of me. And seeing what you’ve achieved," he added, his voice tinged with something that sounded dangerously close to pride, "was to be expected."

You dared to swallow, barely, as your fingers brushed the glass in a mechanical gesture. His tone wasn’t flattering. It was clinical, analytical, but filled with something that felt dangerously personal.

You realized too late how close he was. Your heart raced, and your body, a mix of instinct and confusion, began to back away just… until his hand rose.

Large. Rough. Firm.

He held you by the chin with just enough strength to stop you from moving, but without hurting. His eyes, black, intense, searched for something in yours. Perhaps a confirmation. Perhaps nothing. His other hand rested on your waist, with a strange softness. Not with violence, not with urgency.

And then, without another warning, he kissed you.

Your body tensed immediately, and your eyes widened, unable to process whether it was surprise or fear you were feeling. It was a contained kiss, not clumsy, but charged with something primal, as if it had been kept for years behind clenched teeth. There was no sweetness in it, but there was a fierce respect.

He pulled away barely from you.

"Professor...?" you whispered, the word cracked against the edge of a sigh, as if saying it were a spell that could undo what had just happened.

He did not respond. His eyes remained fixed on yours, as if each second of silence spoke more than any phrase. You still felt the brush of his lips on yours, the warmth of his hand on your chin.

His fingers still pressed against your soft skin, over that generous curve, as if he owned the right to hold you, at least for that moment. The weight of something ancient and dense seemed to have awakened between the two of you.

The room felt heavy, filled with a warmth that didn’t come only from the fire in the hearth. Slughorn, overcome by drink, breathed deeply from his armchair, lost in a deep sleep that would not be interrupted. In front of him, however, reality was unfolding with a silent intimacy.

He pulled you closer with unexpected confidence, guiding you toward the firmness of his body. You settled onto his lap with a slowness that felt like vertigo. Only the slight creak of the chair. The heat beginning to concentrate in his palms over your clothed skin. Time became thick. Only the ever-decreasing distance between his breath and yours.

There were no words.

Your fingers found the edge of his cloak, held on, let go. You didn’t know if you were trembling from the closeness or from the awareness of what this meant: crossing a threshold you never thought would open.

It was a suspended language, never spoken, that now began to write itself into the air you shared. His lips met yours once more, this time with greater intent, without hesitation. The hand that had rested on your waist descended with precision, exploring the outline of your back, pausing for a second just at the edge of your dress, before sliding it upward.

The fabric rose with a timid whisper, and there, in that suspended pause, in that fragment of contained air, it was then that you said it.

"It’s the first time that..." your voice came out in a broken thread, more tremulous than your hands. "I’ve never..."

You didn’t finish the sentence. You couldn’t. The weight of the moment, combined with the full awareness of the insecurity of your body, so different from others, so yours, so real, weighed down on your chest. You tried to cover yourself, without really doing it. Not because he had looked at you with judgment, but because you didn’t know how to hold his silence. You had never imagined yourself in this situation. Until a few hours ago, your relationship with him was completely exhortative. You didn’t know what to do with that gaze so attentive, so penetrating, that seemed to read every corner of your confusion and newfound vulnerability.

Snape did not move right away. He just watched you. As if the confession of your virginity held more value than any ancient spell. As if your wide nervous eyes and flushed skin had touched him in a secret place he himself rarely visited.

And then he spoke. His voice was low, raspy, but without a hint of mockery.

"I know."

Your thighs, wide and tense from the position, awkwardly adjusted over his legs. The dress, gathered up to the middle, left the curve of your skin exposed against the roughness of his dark pants.

You shifted, unsure. The heat in your face was almost unbearable. Your eyes searched for anything but his. Perhaps the ground, perhaps an escape. The tension you always shared was still there, persistent, marking its presence now, even in a different kind of silence.

With devastating calm, both of his hands sank into your wide hips, into that soft flesh that molded under his touch, warm, alive. A grip with a reverence that made you hold your breath. As if there was nothing more important than bringing you back to yourself.

"You have always been unusually difficult to ignore," he said quietly, as if each word cost him.

One of his hands barely moved down. The tip of his fingers traced the line where your skin met the fabric of your panties.

His fingers pushed the damp fabric of your underwear aside, and the contact with your center was gentle. He drew barely perceptible circles, testing your reactions, listening to every gasp, every involuntary contraction. And when he slid a finger inside you, he did so with precise slowness, guided by your ragged breath and the way you clung tighter to his shoulders.

Your hips moved awkwardly. You wanted to avoid that sticky sound, that tremor, that moan that escaped you, but he took it with satisfaction. As if there was nothing more erotic than your nervousness.

Your hips moved involuntarily, causing a more direct friction between your thighs and his hardness. He groaned, a low, contained sound, but it reached you to the bones.

He added another finger, measuring your body, opening you up with a patience that contrasted with his evident desire, with the rigidity of his erection beneath you, pressing against you just where you were most sensitive.

You felt when his fingers retreated, damp, warm, leaving a stinging trail of pain and need. You raised your gaze just in time to see him move his hand to the opening of his pants. The movements were dry, skilled. There was no rush. The sound of the leather yielding. It was all a current that ran through you.

Your breath hitched again, and your legs seemed to hesitate for a moment. He noticed. His gaze, dark yet attentive, did not leave you as he pulled down his pants just enough to free his erection. He brushed against you, warm and firm, right between your legs still open over him.

"You're going to feel it," he said, low, direct. "It won't be gentle."

He positioned the tip of himself between your lower lips, still barely covered by the displaced fabric, and slowly pushed, pressing against your wet but tense entrance. Your body reacted with a jolt. A muffled moan escaped you as you felt him open you up, invade you. Your nails clung to the fabric of his cloak, purely instinctually.

"Shhh," he murmured, with one hand on your back. "Calm down..."

And with a single thrust, measured yet forceful, he took you completely, giving you a raw sensation of being split in two.

The heat, the pressure, the feeling of being stretched like this for the first time... it all overwhelmed you. You closed your eyes, drowning in the total contact, the way his hips rose to meet you from below, taking you to the depths, where modesty was useless.

The burning displaced everything else. A stabbing, sharp pain, barely concealed by the moisture that had prepared you. A moan escaped you, unlike the previous ones. It was not pleasure. It was an internal burn, a real invasion that your body did not yet know how to accept.

Your body tensed over his. Your back arched, your fingers dug fiercely into his shoulders. Snape gasped softly, through clenched teeth, noticing the defeated resistance, the slight wet pull that betrayed you. A thick, warm sensation mingled with the friction. When he looked down, he saw the red stain, as subtle as it was definitive, at the base of his member. The last threshold of your inexperience. Now, broken.

Your legs trembled around him. You felt your hips full, too sensitive, and for a moment you thought about how you must look from the outside. So open. So naked. But before shame could settle in, he spoke again, through gritted teeth.

"This is how I wanted to see you. Fucking mine."

His movements were slow, not out of tenderness, but for the pure pleasure of savoring you inch by inch. His grip remained firm on your waist, forcing you to feel every thrust, every touch, as if he wanted to mark you from within.

You moaned again, between a whimper and surrender, pressing your lips as if trying to hold back something more.

"It hurts..." you whispered, not wanting to say it, unable to avoid it.

Snape leaned his face to your ear, his uncontrolled breath brushing your neck.

"It will pass," he replied as he sank back into you.

There was no comfort in his words. Only certainty. He was not a man who knew how to ask for permission, nor to feign sweetness. But his way of holding you, guiding you, of not stopping despite the slight tremor of your thighs, spoke of absolute possession.

The moisture mixed with what remained of the tearing. Sticky, warm. It dripped down your thighs as your hips slowly adjusted to his thickness.

Amidst spasms of discomfort, you began to move over him by yourself, more clumsily than sensually, it was he who released a breath as if something inside him broke.

His hands slid down your wide thighs, over the soft flesh that trembled from the impact of your bodies.

The pain did not disappear completely. It persisted, dull, like an echo in your guts. But your body was starting to surrender. He felt it in the way your pelvis began to seek his with more urgency, in how your hips, still clumsy, still somewhat inexperienced, tried to follow his rhythm, desperate to reach him. The gasp that escaped him was darker and more ragged. As if he could no longer contain himself. He gritted his teeth, and suddenly, took control.

His hands descended, until gripping you more firmly beneath your thighs and lifting you slightly, then guiding you forcefully downwards. He made you fall onto him with measured violence, over and over again, establishing a rhythm where you could no longer think, only let yourself be used. You filled him completely, wet and hot, still somewhat in pain, but the constant friction of his pelvis against your clitoris turned everything into an urgent pleasure.

And then, that rising wave, that knot in the pit of your stomach that transformed into spasms. Your nails dug into him as you felt it. The first true moan escaped you uncontrollably, loud, almost clumsy, and he let out a rough sound laden with desire in approval.

Your body trembled, convulsing around his, trapping him. You gripped him from within with an unexpected strength, your legs involuntarily closing around him, and he did not stop. Not for a second. He continued to thrust into you from below, faster, deeper, his breathing on the verge of breaking.

And when you were still moaning, giving and shaking, it was he who broke now.

With a low, almost guttural groan, vibrating in his throat, hoarse, choked against your neck, Snape spilled inside you in a raw explosion. He held you with both hands as if the orgasm robbed him of control over his body. The warmth of his seed filled you instantly, wet, thick, mixing with the blood that had not fully dried yet. The contrast was wild. Intimate and Irreversible.

They remained like that, entwined, breathing as if the air had become denser. Your forehead resting on his shoulder, his hands still holding you, lost and absorbed, while silence fell, heavy, over both.

He still remained inside you, as firm as at the beginning, as if the climax had not drained a bit of his desire. You felt him throb inside you, hot, latent, and a new wave of excitement coursed through your spine despite the sharp echo of of the recent tearing. You barely moved, in a gentle sway, seeking him again, forcing him to feel the effect he still provoked in you. A shiver shook his body; the sensitivity after his orgasm was no barrier against the raw intensity of the moment. He let out a low growl, with that dangerous mix of rage and pleasure, and you knew he had lost control again.

Without warning, his hands closed over your hips and he lifted you as if you weighed nothing. Your legs barely managed to wrap around him before he positioned you against the table in front of you. The coldness of the wood against your skin contrasted with the heat that still vibrated between your legs. The noise didn’t seem to disturb Slughorn’s deep sleep at all, who still lay knocked out by alcohol on the other side of the room.

One hand pressed firmly against your lower back, forcing you to lean forward, while the other gripped one of your thighs, lifting it, opening you more for him.

"We haven't finished" he murmured, almost with fury, and moved inside you again, with more hunger than before.

Your hips began to move on their own, surrendered to the rhythm imposed by his grip. You felt yourself being filled over and over again, with the fierce weight of his flesh opening you and claiming every part of you. Your skin burned, your body vibrated… and in the midst of that vertigo, between moans and spasms, your voice came out broken, dragged by the impulse to confess what still bound you to guilt.

"Professor..." you gasped, your voice shaky. "The wine… the one Slughorn gave us… I think it had something in it."

He didn’t stop, but his body tensed immediately.

"What?" He let out a heavy exhalation, more like a whip than a question.

"I’m not sure…" you said between moans as he kept thrusting into you. "I suspect that… it must provoke some mix of relaxation... an increase in sensitivity... emotional and... physical".

He stopped dead in his tracks, the silence that followed was terrible.

He straightened without letting go of you, his eyes burned with barely contained rage, beneath the shadow of his soaked forehead. His jaw clenched. You knew it instantly — it wasn’t just disgust. His expression was thick with mistrust.

"Are you saying that Slughorn drugged us?!" he spat through clenched teeth with growing irritation, as his thrusts resumed. Deeper. There was no longer delicacy, nor care. But it was not against you. It was against the situation. Against the humiliation of having let himself go.

"That because of that stupidity" he continued, each word punctuated by the impact of his hips against yours, "I find myself here, buried deep inside my former student, losing every damn gram of self-control that has taken me decades to build".

He pressed you against him as if he wanted to fuse you into his body. Your lips barely managed to form sound. Pain returned for a second with the accelerated rhythm, but you didn’t complain. You were soaked in him. Inside, outside, everywhere.

"And yet…" he murmured, his voice broken by rage. "I can’t stop".

Because it was true. Despite the wine, despite the anger, despite the judgment. The way your body trembled around his, still so tight, still so wet, was consuming him.

"It's not your fault," he grunted. "But damn it... you dragged me here."

And with one last push, fierce, deep, he came again. More violent than before. He filled you a second time, with an explosion of heat so dense that your body felt it even more than the first. He grunted as he emptied himself inside you, with his teeth clenched, breath ragged as if he were exorcising something dark that had inhabited him forever.

He didn't move immediately.

He remained inside you, burning, gasping, with his forehead resting on your collarbone. His whole body trembled. Not from pleasure. From fury.

The morning light of the Great Hall stunned him directly in his eyes. Every clink of cutlery against plates, every early laugh from the students, was a stab in his skull hammered by a terrible headache. Snape dropped into his usual seat, his every movement taut with fatigue and an unmistakable sense of discontent. The air smelled of toasted bread, sweet fruits, and freshly brewed coffee, and yet, it all felt suffocating to him.

And to make matters worse, Slughorn settled next to him with a satisfied smile and a bubbly gleam in his eyes, clearly not remembering (or not wanting to remember) how many glasses he had drunk last night. He had a napkin stuffed into his collar like a bib and a piece of blueberry pie on his fork.

"Ah, Severus! Good morning, boy." he chewed enthusiastically, oblivious to the stony expression beside him. "What an evening last night, huh? You were more animated than usual. I think I finally managed to soften that heart of yours."

Snape did not respond. He merely served coffee with a hand that barely contained the tremor. He needed it loaded with caffeine. Strong. Very strong.

"What a shame that young Y/N left without saying goodbye." Slughorn took another bite, unaware of anything. "She was lovely last night. Brilliant as always… that dress was very charming, don’t you think?"

The silence was so sharp that even the elderly man seemed to notice it.

Snape put down the cup with a sharp thud that splashed a bit of the dark liquid onto the saucer. He turned slowly toward him, with a look of pure ice.

"What the hell did you put in the wine, Horace?"

The elderly man blinked, tilting his head as if he did not understand the question. Or pretended not to.

"Huh? The wine? Oh… just a touch of cordial opening elixir. I use it at receptions, you know… it smooths conversations, dissolves tensions... nothing serious, I assure you."

Snape squinted. "Nothing serious?"

"Come on, Severus," Slughorn laughed, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "You know better than anyone that there is no spell or potion capable of forcing someone to do what they do not truly desire. It just… helps them admit it."

Snape tensed even more. The echo of your gasping voice, your body clinging to his over that damned table, pierced him like a dagger. He didn't clearly remember what came next, only the scent of your skin, the taste of his own shame, and the persistent burn of having let himself be carried away. And now, you were gone. Without a note. Without a word. As if it had never happened.

"The next time you pretend to manipulate me as if I were one of your social experiments," he murmured with contained poison, "be sure not to add ingredients that affect my perception and judgment."

Slughorn looked at him with a mix of surprise and genuine confusion.

"Severus... I didn't know it would affect you like that. It was a kind night, I thought..."

Snape got up without saying more, the cloak fluttering with his movement. He left the half-drunk cup and walked out of the dining room with long, stiff strides, not looking back.

"What the hell happened last night...?" Slughorn murmured softly.

[1-49]

with only your mouth

╰► two broken-hearted strangers meet on a rainless night in late May and casually make something out of it.

─────────────pairing : f! reader × jaehyun ⁝ tags : romance ! little hurt / comfort situation; fluff. cigarettes mentioned , break-ups too; soft! charged lol. w. c. 11k. a complete drag! then im the type i am, sorry!

i love him, it’s all. cutiiee. also listen, for a true dark-haired jae enthusiast i sure find my way back here.. but this bnw pic uh! the la vlog? save me!! actually, i need him. at my house. so i could pet him. endlessly! :') soo fine mmmmh !

Flashes of lightning briefly turn night into day; the thunder ’s so loud, he feels it as much as he hears it. It all still brings back memories of that day. The agony just before it begins to rain, as though there’s a tangle of pain stuck a bit down his throat. This weighty strain on his sternum, this hard ‘reach for air,’ bearly some spare for his lungs… This—this itchiness in his eyes that’s gotten so point that a tear could be shed in a heartbeat…

… almost. Because it won’t. Because the desert rarely meets rain.

Inevitably, rain alone isn’t enough to cleanse a sand-kissed eye. Still, rather—perhaps, there’s no other choice but to adapt, adjust, or let go, but miserably so, so far he’s never truly let go in the same way today ’s rain never truly arrives. It all makes him hurt even more… The easier to give up belief, the far more difficult it’s to pick all the pieces back up. Merely stitched wounds that sore incessantly ─────── as there ’s no use in treating them, they damn near rip back open every. other. day.

But today’s all-hang-on: “Screw it!” He’s been staying low for weeks due an inner opinion bullshitting it’s safer to isolate himself, so things now are in a different gear.

Just hardly any growth in a safe zone, yeah?

Jaehyun gets if he is to overcome, he’s to push for new limits. The sooner, the better… though he’s been at his own pace. So fuck it, really… if it’s not going to rain, the only or at least the least useful way he can exploit this stubborn night is to use its cooling winds to rid his mind and body of negativity.

A drive down a parched road and into the city. A Friday, on a late evening, in late May, ‘WHEN HE’S DOING IT!’ It’s as though, all week, he’s been pressured into ‘try and wind down’s by frens in the chats of his phone—individuals who seem a bit obviously-oblivious of his insatiable desire to slack off, travel back in time, and relive memories, sort of… unconditionally. Both voluntarily and destructively, the mind of a preoccupied yearner. 

Driving with these lil troubles, he finally lines up the car in the car park guarded by aged shrubs and steps outside for a moment of solitude. Only to find himself surrounded by back alleys and the saturated echo of club music & people who are nothing like him... Jaehyun’s unlike any, therefore he’s unique. But at what cost? So many places he doesn’t belong these days.

Only lonely, the night’s bitterness is all the way set into the cold asphalt curb, at the back of some of the clubs his friends promised him party, but is instead where he finds himself a place at…

A flash flood of euphoria goes in and out of the back door he’s focused on. He knows it’s one of the ways in; he knows he’s waited on, but his legs… Just aren’t making the fucking move, man! or… it’s really his fucking mind(?) At times, it seems as though he’ll always stay in this ‘state,’ motionless. Trapped in his past and current emotions… Like neither in his dreams, nor in, what is so far been, ‘weeks’ reality can he escape what happened…

Jaehyun sighs, pushing his crashed boots into the alley’s street and spreads his warm palms back onto the cool sidewalk, annoyed with himself for failing to get his thoughts straight in line before returning home. Seems the car will stay be the only thing he can line up correctly. 

Actually, staying actual- to the ‘yes’ he promised his friends- would have been the ideal option here… And maybe the few beers would have def dulled, these now, ‘trying’ effects, yet—

…here he is, staring up at a jet nightsky with a few ‘clubbers’ upsetting his desired scape for tranquility. 

Like a poisonous vapor the scent of nicotine sits on the air, imitating the tainted atmosphere of ‘that’ night; and the only change now… he hates cigarettes. Still, like clockwork, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the lighter. However dull the reason, or having no reason at all, he always has it on him. That he keeps all those memories in the flick of a lighter… Well, is something he just won’t acknowledge… They-

They continue to burn him as he flicks the chrome zippo on-&-off and back on again. 

[Flick… Flick]

“Would you?”

He looks away from the flame and straight at the standing stranger, perhaps, at this moment, too audacious to exclusively trespass into the private space he shares with his memories... What he’s met instead is a cigarette stuck between feeble fingers in an outstretched hand as he raises his head for the whole image.

A ‘Please’ swells through shy, bitten lips, brows knitted in a beg and sorrowful eyes. The foot stomping may be a result of nervousness or the cool current; it’s up to option. 

Somewhat unprepared for any company, Jaehyun does a tiny head shake, ‘shaking everything to the side,’ and stands up to help the shivering figure in front... you. Mans could have lit the cig right from where he was sitting, but it’s as though a tide urges him onwards; something beyond him draws him to his feet.

“...Sure,” he answers. “Yeah,” his attention flickering from the cigarette to you. 

—

‘Some voice…’ you think, 

much richer than any other voice you’ve ever heard; it feels like a new experience. Or you feel so, as it sends a buncha bubbles through your stomach immediately. Paired with his eyes? What a deep alchemy… Still, if you have to make a guess, he’s dealing with something, and the eyes are his windows. Although… 

although he manages... With what little is left of him, he’s communicating his empathy into you, prioritizing your need at the moment over his worries and seeming genuinely wanting to find himself useful.

The fierce lines of his face you walked in on give way to something so far removed from the concept of mystery and unapproachability as two shy creases take form on either side of the cheeks. However, all of the changes they do to his face are hardly the result of him being polite, making you calculate how much damage it could do to get a complete smile from him. 

And so, unfortunately so, under all the crushing weight of his aura, your metrics flow too fast to catch, and the fucked calculation leads you into an even frustrated smile. 

And so, even if short the moment, he lays dominance all over your nerves. 

Your lips, which have curved corners and are a gullible victim of his dimples, are his easy target. The way he’s zeroed in so passionately sort of pulls the curtain, on the prospect, of the times, and the things possible, when he’s not shy... That brisk, tempting possibility... That—

The thought alone burns you across the skin. All in and out.

Eventually, he flicks his lighter toward the cigarette that was all this time waiting on your lips, snuggled between your fingers like a promise of pleasure waiting to be realized. 

—

Jaehyun’s all about the spectacle until you draw in that first breath; then...then his eyes shift from the smoke to yours. ‘An intimacy that’s been all-too-well-lived turns into a distant blur…’ She’s nowhere in his thoughts; it’s like he’s ambiguously hit a revamp you—

You are a curious distraction…

—

You take a slow drag off the cigarette, & it’s only when you’ve suck in all its bad, your closest find ‘damageful,’ that you start to expect he won’t be one more to judge you... Because he can’t, can he? He must be a smoker too. That’s why he’s out here. That—that’s why he has a lighter on him to begin with! He—

He…

...He seems a bit too wound up for someone who should instead be… unwinding. Anyhow, 

odds still place him present at the scene. 

Secluded backstreet, separating a row of nightclubs??

Huh, definitely not a place one just lands at. Or perhaps he has come here with a purpose, but ‘that vision’ has shattered right in front of his eyes(?) your hard guess... But if you must come to something, it’s like the club wasn’t his choice; may as well wish he had never made it choice at all. He—

He’s unexpected, or at least you didn’t expect his effort on you… even—even if it was really you who set the wheels in motion, and—

And not to go on-and-on-and-on about the fact that… that he… he’s gorgeous! All-around gorgeous, a rare smashing attraction! A thousand astounding sensations might take over if—if you refrained from holding back. If—

if you allowed yourself to take him in more deeply. Just—

Well, just because…

The more his stellar, silken face burns through your headspace, the more overwhelmed you get by the way he stands in your presence. His masculine fragrance streams all over, making you feen for a chance, for a 

The feeling stupefies you... And the only way you run over it is by tearing your eyes away from him and sitting down close to where he used to sit. It’s just—

It’s JUST that he sits back, too, which you didn’t think he would!

“Thanks,” you offer, guiltily pleasuring yourself with another sweet glance at him before wandering back to the cluster of smokers for distraction.

“Mhhmmm,” he hums, “Should be careful with those, no? ...Then I don’t wanna come off as a parent, or an older sibling, listing you the risks. It’s a choice, yeah?”

Interesting… You frown sweetly, “You don’t smoke?”

He sways his head side to side, his lips forming into a ‘delectable shape.’

Right, you’re unsure what to make of it… Is he flirting without realizing or? 

Still, having nothing to grasp, you bite your smile and gesture by raising your chin in question to the object he’s still flipping between his fingers. 

“Then what’s with the lighter?”

Likewise, he… he tries to stifle the smile in advance, only it goes beyond his control. His lips stretch, baring more of his teeth. 

“What’s wrong with carrying a lighter?”

“I don’t know,” you rasp, tilting cutely, “other than maybe if-if you smoke!? If not,” you arch a brow, “I’m allowed to assume you’re an arsonist... Actually… there’s really no plausible, god-sounding excuse for carrying a lighter if you don’t smoke.”

He chuckles, bobbing his head slightly, “Fair,” keeping focus on his boots as they form intangible figures, legs extended on the concrete, half of his trousers scrubbing the dust the desert must have carried from a great distance; which! not to say, but he obviously doesn’t mind… 

This beauty thinks for a moment. He measures his thoughts for a bit and even manages to hide another small smile. The memory about it might be too sweet... or the idea, or

He bends himself forward a little, softly rubbing his cheek against his shoulder and then slowly trailing it down his arm, looking at you from a complete wrong angle... A ruinous one! Where his disarmingly dark eyes are all that remains, and his lashes kiss a couple of times enough to inflict their harm. He may give a cuddly kitten, but it’s just... His eyes at moments... 

at moments they bear the flash of a wildcat. Then in eventually murmurs from behind his leather-jacketed arm, 

“Though I can promise you I’m neither. It’s just… It’s a gift from someone.”

The confession blows your eyes tiny more than normal but you remain tender, ensuring your response is kind before diving further.

“Great taste,” you comment the lighter stylistic choice. “Someone you care about?”

With an inhaled “Ummmm,” he arches his neck. His fingers delve into his fat hair, and you watch millions of wild strands become tame to his touch. His jawline joins the study of geometry as he looks up at the black sky, or at least the thin line of it that’s visible between the tall clubs. The shape of things now is,

You. Viewing him. Posing in yet another of his wrong angles!

He’s pretty hot! 90°. And it’s like his hotness just magically doubled. Seriously, how many aspects does this guy consist of? What lengths? Cause you’ve seen insane contrasts in the short time he’s given you.

‘Just imagine loving someone just looking at them.’ Yeah, yeah, he’s that kind! Easy!

Though he finally puts you in suspense with his aggressive, compelling eyebrows & deep voice in confession, as he turns, 

“Someone I cared about… Yes.”

Lingering traces of burn perhaps, in the use of past tense… So, it’s the first time you truly, really pause and not only to think of something nice this time, but also to try to understand the stance of his words.

‘Taking in more poison,’ taking time, you tap the cigarette off ash,

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but—

“If you carry things on you that are someone’s or… serve a reminder, it’s— It’s likely they—they’re still very much a part of you. It’s simple sense, no?” 

Taken off, whether by your loud choice to be so direct this early into knowing him, or liking the fact, his brows lift and his mouth falls open, his tongue reaching his farthest tooth…

His reaction to you is so clear that you instantly gnaw your teeth into your lower lip and grow your eyes wide with a silently innocent ‘I’m sorry.’ However, that doesn’t stop you from being a further jerk… Silent nod to being a flirty one at that, thus your inability to control your smile…

“Yeah, sorry to be the one telling you this but—you also seem as if you’re still under their wraps, like... like, completely.”

“Ummmmm,” he’s reduced to his bobbing again; his lips pushed together as if he were trying to understand, or-or had already done so… 

A very much- intricate line… Stretched time of a tender ‘hum-wave’ in which you find yourself all… all fuzzy, and—and then… 

then a little bit nervous… of the depth his ocean carries, and… and then the—

the washed-off, unvoiced question before your feet of whether you’re a swimmer, and if so, if good enough because…

The currents… 

Yes, the currents!!

He takes in a deep look at you, making sure your eyes are on a deeper, different network than the one they were on before, as he asks, “How can you tell?”

With a frail sigh, your shoulders drop; perhaps you dove in an inappropriately private place(?) Taking another moment, you inhale another drag, snuff the cig off the concrete, and hug your legs.

Truth is, he’s already soaked you in his voice; might as well let yourself drown in advance. 

As it was really you! It was you who flirted with his shoreline… dipping your toes… messing up the sand… here… and then there… then going in... So, the sweeping tide—is what this is now.

“I don’t know, I just— I can.”

Right… You’ve been—hell, still are—where he’s now... so of course you can. You recognize it. And it isn’t a pretty place. 

“Woah…” he scoffs, his tongue turning roughly around as if he can’t believe the candid burn. & more than is a question for you, he murmurs to himself, “Really?” Then he looks back at you, “Do I look that miserable?”

Crazy, right? Really, impossible! How can he be miserable!?? And where on earth did that ‘choice-word’ just come from? 

‘Miserable…’ 

It just—It just seems so out of essence for someone like him. It doesn’t make sense. It-It just doesn’t... It just doesn’t happen for people like him!

But, hell, if it did, how does that word function in its meaning? How does that work? How does a badness like him end up miserable!?

If it’s to you, he exists at a level above whatever that word is. He isn’t coming in touch, even. That word... its close synonyms... and all its implications aren’t allowed to meet him! He’s the case’s antonym because… Because being miserable is a state saved for someone like you and the rest of ya buncha losers.

The most attractive man you’ve ever met—what the hell—even seen!!—and that’s on: far from being an overstatement!

All this time, all you’ve been doing is... so badly denying his badness—you’re so very much well aware of—space! You weren’t making room for his dangerously shaped lips, his lazy blinks, or his overall reserved charm to take root. Because—because all you’ve been trying to do is be patient. Be respectful, more like. Be civil, maybe just- be playful a touch; that’s really all. You’ve been—

...you’ve been robbing your eyes of him. Really, just devouring a few glances, when all he’s made about is… be looked at!

As he’s now… 

…as you’re doing it right now… because he wants you to. Because he’s allowing you. The heck, he may even insist and demand your pair of eyes not be torn apart from his. 

…And it’s when he lets them take full effect—when he’s had the surrounding world go extinct, and he’s taken you to a place where you and he are alone like a dream, and he’s made the silence speak—it’s then that they render you weak against your will. You just know your chest and neck are sort of burning, and there’s this choke you want to break-

but also don’t want to. 

And now that he’s given you the podium, you act accordingly. Or... fairer to say, rather, it’s all your poorly managed—sorta—deprived sensations proving their stupid. But genuinely, you’d go far to defend any babe clawing for a piece of him even in ‘this kinda situation.’ What the hell, sure! Because he... 

He’s a physical materialization of what has, so far, been a fragmented image in your mind. One you haven’t ‘entirely’ imagined since you lacked details. That is, until he now—a tangible specimen of what perfect means for you, and you’re just… you’re becoming hypnotized by his desirability.

But not to forget, the ‘top note’ on all this is him being wound up, and, maybe, a high reach here, but— also heartbroken. Though, then, why’s there no guilt acting as even sort of a base note of conscience!? 

You’re taking him in the way you’d exactly take someone your hormones would normally be flushed about, when perhaps the weight of his hurt is what you should be connecting to at this moment… Perhaps sympathize with his pain a little, huh? 

Uh, you’d whine it all-aloud if you could right now, but swear, it’s him! It’s all of him that gets in the way of all that!!! His flashy, blond mullet he’s placed a little effort in, and has clearly tried to get in place, but there’s that… that one strand that just recklessly won’t cooperate for-for no other reason but the sake of it!

His-his fine fingers he messed with most of the time, toying with that lighter.

His silver ring…

His smooth figure, most judged from those long legs, given the sitting position and-

and that leather jacket.

His looks so dern fine, you pick he’s a model for fun for narrative, and unarguably cover-worthy eye candy. He just lacks the tongue to his canine and a borderline implicit, quirky wink. But-but that’s how it is right now… you don’t doubt the idea, though; the range is there… That ‘made-up poster,’ you already see it in your head.

As for the time being, you break what felt like tearjerker eye contact by denying his eyes once again. Like something flipped the switch to insecure; likely it’s that the stare grew more intimate by the second. Or maybe you just became vulnerable to the conditions? Thankfully went sensitive and-and finally considered his ‘potential’ emotional state? But really, you—

you never intended to pursue anything when you made a move on him, and you—

And—and are only further nervous if your eyes might reveal something about you that you don’t even know what—FUCK, if they haven’t already, but—yeah, whatever that is… When his—

…when his have been everything transparent and listening—with that piece of hair in the way, making him, uh- just as sweet- as sultry. He’d narrow in and soften in habit depending on the pace of the convo and the things he could offer as a response, but other than that, for you—for you his eyes have been everything intimidating.

—

“Miserable?” You get back finally and after all those emotions inside of you have subliminally ‘described’ themselves in your fog of mind…

“No! No!” You follow up with a defense built on a fragile smile, brows up, and eyes that speak in a pout. “You just...”

His giggle comes out loud and endearing. An actual smile; and it’s one of those that you want to obsess over, but it’s not like he didn’t just catch you losing points when you were the one who teased first. Though it’s possible that your clumsy just reeled him in, as his eyes slowly travel down to your lips and... and they wait there.

They wait for your response as he repeats your last words like a hot reminder that you’ve fallen into a brief trance but- must still continue. 

He lets on, “I? …Just?” 

Uh, you hate that! You hate losing! You don’t like what he’s doing, either. It bothers you, where his eyes are at! And the giddy feeling they awake… Except you adore it. You—You don’t, though. Yet you

God, it’s just—it’s just

Whatever! Gulping all of that, you try stay on game. “You do look miserable!”

He smiles and his distracting teeth ease into his bottom lip

and you feel like he’s finally relaxed, and delved into a new world where he…

He knows he’s welcomed.

You don’t know how you know, or what reveals the truth, you just know that you know, and are simply happy to be that place for him. Though it’s gotta be something to do with the air and the way his warm energy winds all around you. Like he’s unafraid to let on that he likes your presence. Like when someone who accepts you as a friend and is easy to understand. 

Much to his ‘miserableness,’ he arches a brow, teasing your change in sentiment, “Suddenly?” 

You hug your knees tighter, assuming the felt sensation down your spine is done on behalf of the wind waltzing.

“Umm... I don’t know... I don’t know... Even if I don’t suppose it’s possible someone like you to end up here... being hurt I mean, but— And-and I’ve no clue the kind of relationship it is, but—but you do have this aura about you, as if you think about her all the time.” You pause on further reflection, then correct yourself. “I’m sorry! Them.”

“Her…” he corrects you in return. “I shouldn’t, though.”

You don’t know if the confession runs through you like a balm or a burn. On one hand he’s admitting he’s a yearner; on the other—you’re a dumb act to feel like this- this quickly but—but needy of that! You’re envying that he has feelings for someone else and wish they were for you instead. Total nutcase nonsense, but it’s where you find yourself being thrown at the moment, in the flux of all these emotions… You’d never have imagined yourself here but—Ah, guess what?

His fingers dig into his hair again and he frowns as he considers it more.

“Why’d you think that someone like me never gets hurt? …Or has it bad?”

“Mhmm…” you think to the sky, “You got me... I’d probably assume, ‘This pretty blondie ‘ss too pretty to be depressed.’ Or at least, that’s the gist of it, for the most part.”

“Mhmmm,” he echoes your song back. “You think I’m—”

You see his question, of course you do! That’s why-

that’s why you rush ahead even before P in ‘pretty’ is pronounced. You can’t get in more shit! Yes, he’s beautiful, but there’s likely a proper time and place for when he’s eventually receiving it for a compliment. 

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to bother you... At all! Or poke my nose in a sensitive spot. I just—I was merely saying how I felt. And-and whether you should or shouldn’t think of her, that’s-that’s something you decide for you… As well the details of her, I—I don’t—

I don’t need to know anything.”

“It’s okay, we’re just talking,” he assures you, letting his adorbs dimple curve like a gentle comma as if demanding you to pause & absorb the cavity it does in his cheek instead. 

And you do, you pause... Ughh, as if you’d want do something else… 

You’d even go as far as to reach & fill ‘it’ in, but again, it remains not your moment.

You suppose it will disappear as swiftly as it’s arrived as if it were a warning to ‘Please, don’t poke my dimple ‘till I’m yours!’ And well... When he’s not, at all!! You two barely scratch surface, so why—WHY are you even feeling this way!!?

Still, he remains here, doesn’t he? He’s equally kept the chat alive and shown no signs of disinterest, so? 

No, why is it hard to believe that maybe he—

“Then, what’s your story?” he asks finally, as if he can sense the group of doubts that suddenly launch a shootout on your lively spirit he was initially introduced to. “I suppose we’re comfortable enough now... Now that—that we know I’m screwed, if I asked and ‘assumed’ something about you too?” Giving off a playful “It’s only fair,” he rubs his chin.

Mmmh-yeah... That’d be just! Only he doesn’t know you got it just as bad... You’re just as fucked! And are just as tragic as he, having an exact tragic night! The only thing about this is you get to be pathetic together; that’s really all there is to it…

“Why are you here?”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff at the question; the ugly reaction precedes the achieved warm atmosphere, and the cynic smirk you share is, too, full of something, something not nice either. It’s tinged dark, like dire disbelief mostly aimed at yourself... Hurt has a cascading effect, and your dominoes are all in line, waiting for the first to fall- but

...you’ll pull them back if necessary! Can’t have this moment be defined by your inability to handle past wounds, because—Because this moment belongs to him! Gosh, it belongs to you too! For what’s worth, you deserve it! You deserve some–

Sighing, you ease off the burden as you look up at the sky. “Isn’t it obvious?” And sure, it has its edge again, but it’s also a blade u twist inwards.

“Very… You love to smoke, and you want to do it alone... Out and away from your friends... Isolating... Being one with the elements.”

You turn, “Is that what you’d assume?” & catch that fuckass outline of his side profile as he too seems to have tuned in on the sky.

“Well…” he hesitates, keeping search on the absent stars. “Mostly.” 

As he considers it more, an audible slurp is made by him rolling his lip between his teeth; then he decides, “Yeah, I guess, that’s what I’d assume.”

“Aaand,” you test, “what if I’m not here with friends?”

Oh, wo—The question completely freezes him out as if in a skit, then he shoots you the rapid glance like the antics of the skit’s wackiest hero. His uncomfy smile... his doe eyes…

that exaggerated expression of a scene-stealing shock hitting him as he figures your implication, make you want to reach out and hold him in like a plushie!!!

“I—” he struggles, “I’ll feel uncomfortable if—”

“If I say I’m with a man?” You cut straight, sparing him the thinking. 

It’s YUM... seeing his thick brows knit in a naive: ‘I don’t know... I don’t want to be the person th—’ take on the trip of his corrupt thoughts...

His whiskers turning confident, & his calculated blinks as he’s realizing he holds the advantage?? Then- in with the switch to humor? OH,

“Ah,” he shrugs, “then I got to spend more time with his girlfriend than he is.” 

Yikes! It goes the first pang; your heart flowers. He throws in a silly “I’m sorry” after he—

After he’s teased! And oh, whoa, surprise, it gets no shit done!

You smile, but crap, you’re nervous!

And suddenly, you’ve got your index curled, and your teeth graze the knuckle, and you… You’re inside it: “You’re cute.” 

It takes a heartbeat to set in before you—you realize you called him both pretty and cute in the span of a few lines... How-

how embarrassing... What a—What a—Yeah!  YEAH, you take no second but use the same hand to shy away of what you said, covering your lips. 

“But—uh- Though I’m with friends,” you start, and in mistake! 

Plus recalling ‘the reason’ makes your ‘spirit chip,’ just as it did just moments ago. “Honestly… I couldn’t spend another minute inside, so I got out.”

“Too loud?”

Guiding your fingers to the back of your neck, you try soothe the tension away and begin to ‘put names’ to the motives at hand. 

“Anything, really. Suffocating… Overwhelming… Too Reflective. Toxic even.”

“Oh, wow,” he cuts in, “Too much for you(?)”

Being neither on the line of question nor statement, but sure, it’s a fact, so you force another sad smirk and reason, “Does it show I’m also miserable?”

“A little,” he giggles.

“Mmmmh...” the soft hum smiles of your lips as you nod while your fingers continue on&around your cords, caressing off that extra strain.

“And the cigarettes are your escape?”

“Look, I know many say this, but—I’m really not a regular smoker. I only do it when I’m super nervous... Anxious, or whatever you want to call it. But— That’s something you’d know already, right? That lighter on you proves me you’ve either smoked in the past, or… As you said… It’s been given to you… meaning she smoked. Either way, you’re familiar with the philosophy of smoking, and the types of smokers one way or another.”

He moves his jaw around; perhaps the attitude was once more too blunt(?) And clearly chooses to -totally- overlook the latter part of your comment, which would clearly tie him to his whatever-can-be-called ex girlfriend, he asks, “Why’d you smoke at the moment?”  

“You really want to know?”

He breathes, & it creates a fragile line between his brows. There’s something so… so dangerously real in the way he deeply, “I do.” 

It’s like a love you’ve waited lifetimes for. Like—Like it wants to touch every crooked fold in your being and imprint a sliver of his light on your darkness. Like he’s ripping off the bandage you’ve placed over your heart so…so carefully…

Oh, but you were promised love before, and it’s all a lie. That prospect is a lie! That war is over! Now— Now you rarely believe in stars connecting souls, or-or that a red thread brings strangers together. But—

But

You sigh, “Okay!”

But again,

it bursts in on itself! It-it just keeps feeding on what remains of-of that empty void your past person carved out in your chest with the blade of betrayal. So…

So you have to—you’ve to always give yourself a moment to disentangle ‘their’ memory from your answers…

“I’m… I’m not in the greatest mind space either... And now, the club and everything.”

“Becausee… of someone?”

Uh, you notice the lazy detail in his voice… It’s like he’s giving you all the space you need, that he’s cozy enough to wait until you decide you want to say something again. And it lights you, again, the thought of how long he would if that were the case. 

“Because of someone,” you smile, lazying your way in your response too, “... Yes.”

And for a heartbeat… his-

his smile and eyes tango with yours. And you wish he were closer when he,

“Him?” Then in, slowly and entirely, his eyes move to your lips. “Them?”

Fuck… the distance... Fuck it!

You brain practically shrinks as he lingers down there, on your lips, insensitive; that your bottom one adopts its own heartbeat! You’d pull a smoke, but it’s no time for cigarettes... And he’s figuratively doing nothing. Figuratively doing nothing! He’s breathing. Waiting. But you can’t help but fall victim to that oh,

“Mmmh,” you murmur. “Him.”

“Soo…” he draws conclusion, “We are mutually miserable on this fine night(?)”

A giggle precedes you, “You call this a fine night!??” 

“What’s wrong with it? Other it was supposed to rain, then it didn’t. Then—the temperature just dropped, then— And we… We can’t stop thinking about the people who hurt us! See, it’s all fin—” 

A steal show; 

the sky flashes as anger swallows the ‘dark,’ & the thunderous strike ‘chops’ his ‘fine’ in half. Stroke of electric death or stroke of life, it honestly boils to what you want it to be. Still, in the stillness that follows, you bear the weight, shaken slightly of the cruel breeze that sweeps the entirety of the narrow alley.

“Um, Sorry, what a—” he rises abruptly. “Want to have my jacket?”

“No need to,” you wave your hand. “Thank you, I’m fi—”

OR! duration in which he’s already removed it, stepped in, and is now draping it over your shoulders. The offer—NO, not even being a question of choice apparently, as he’s made it his mission!

You go frantic, just like a deer in the middle of the road, though he’s already made it to your shoulders. The warmth that accompanies his dimpled smile spreads across your face as you look him up…

Pulsating throbs of your heart as ‘your’ two frictions force reaction—his gentle hand taking careful time brushing your bare shoulder. His touch alone is birthing so-many-more goosebumps than the night is; you’re only left hoping he thinks it’s only the temperature.

When-

when he’s letting you know you two are at a temperature of comfort and capability!!!

“—Fine,” you finish. Taking in a gulp, snugging it better, your hair stays caught beneath the leather. & it’s instantly felt… the embrace. Not only from the jacket but from the kindness he’s so far shown you. 

“Thank you,” you do so gently,

because no more is needed… 

...because he’s sat way closer to you than he’s before, and now…

even only whispering will do!

Now…

You’re sat so close, you can catch the roots in the blonde suggest a natural hue that’s perhaps been bleached in a ‘riot’ or a ‘change’ and a ‘move on.’ Though there’s something more out of place, like—

Like the visible manifestation of his, too, perhaps, shyness.

It tones... It colors the porcelain corners of his ears so openly. Involuntary, just as stimuli… Another prospect, you gather; the fact he’s palpably soft-skinned... Likely sensitive in parts of his body that haven’t been ‘lovingly’ ‘rubbed raw by real touch.’ Or…

or a further ‘foretaste’ really, of those times and those things possible when he’s not shy... Of-

of the extent this blush could go… if

Fuck! For what else could exert such dilation but the fact he’s touched you? 

Either he’s blushing because his heart doesn’t have an ego or… Or because he likes you, even if a tiny bit. In any case, this ‘blushing miscommunication’ buys into your heartspace without payment. And you’d shoo him out of there but- 

your excitement escapes the undersurface as you smile to yourself. 

And—

It. doesn’t. go. by. him!! Reaching for ‘what’ you just gatekept, he,

“What?”

Those succulent dimples… 

Denying him your insane thoughts, all… ALL of which involve him, you close your eyes, wave your head and shrug your shoulders underneath the funny, kissing feeling of his jacket. 

“Nothing.” 

And quite the nocturne of buildout, the way the lightning isn’t only in the sky but in the corner of your eye too. Flickering, followed by the roll of another thunder, it crashes boldly, as above, so inside. 

‘This texture’ of his engulfs you, and perhaps you’re here, and nothing else matters, & nothing more needs to be said… or asked, but 

…as some have said, 

‘the arrow endures the bowstring’s tension so that in the release it can become more than itself.’

And curiosity, deeper engagement… energy, all beg to be released…

The minute silence is so still it’s violent;

The right, prolonged stare you both share, taps in the same frequency; your words coming in synchrony:

“What did he do to you?”

“What did she do to yo—”

—

The tides turn a bit; his voice dips a chord darker, a bit provoked but still in appetite, 

“You said you weren’t interested.”

“I know I did, but—” you look to your feet, subdued. His masculine push intertwines with your guilt to tighten your belly, and you have to actually swallow the feel that comes with having a change of heart before you give your voice a gut. 

“...Maybe now I am.”

“What changed?”

You shrug, but you know your reason. Yes, you wanted to know why he’s hurting at any point; it’s just that you want to know now more than you did before.

“Either way,” he reasons, “I asked you first.”

You dwell on it, stuck on the metal manhole right in the middle of the alley road, and it’s like… the more you think over the right words, the more you sense from the edge of your eye like he’s struggling to slim his smile into a serious thinking pout, but- like- like he’s going to be there, and he’s going to smile, no matter what you’ll say.

“I loved him too much,” you ultimately admit, “it scared him away.”

“So… A coward?”

“I mean…” you scoff, “It’s alright... I just had to accept it as it is… It’s fine not to be so equally in love with somebody,” 

somebody being you, 

“and then, actually have the guts to tell them. It’s better that way, I suppose.”

He tilts in a bit- to get you to stop looking at the ground and at him! 

“Was he that way?” 

You come silent. Actually! on second thought, not only did ‘he’ tell you he didn’t love you, but he went on and did the worst thing possible… Taking in ‘his’ shame, which you shouldn’t, you barely mumble, “No, I guess...”

“You guess!?” he reacts impulsively. “So, he cheated on you?”

Again, his plainness goes to where it shouldn’t and you shoot him an irate look before... 

before you take a breath and- 

“Yes.”

“That’s not only a coward, but a jerk.”

Your irate look?? Likely just sharpens. 

You know it does, cause your frown lines etch themselves deeper into your skin, and you’re gritting your teeth.

“Sorry, I—I don’t mean t—I didn’t,” he stutters, “I—um, hurt you, I mean.” 

These, these ‘Why are you frowning at me?’ eyes of his, this-this ‘What did I do?’ 

“I don’t want to make you remember something you—”

“You’re not!” You interrupt… then-then close your eyes and hold your nose.

Temper... temper... Don’t lose your temper! This isn’t exactly fight or flight, and he’s exactly the one to be angry at! It’s- just— talking. Sigh... And rage isn’t exactly evil; it’s grief with nowhere to go… It’s love that’s been… That’s been left in the cold.

And the gap he leaves isn’t loud; it’s just that he.. is… careful. again.

He draws his legs in and rests his elbows on his knees. It’s like he weaves his words in a perceptive, quiet guise before he even-

he even lets them into the air. He is—he’s that considerate… 

“I am… I’m getting to you… or at least some part of you that loved him, or still does.”

[Pang!]

You gulp.

Your heart blushes at the first declare; actually, TF?? ‘I’m getting to you.’ 

!??What-WHAT is that even?

It certainly scratches a part of your brain, as you repeat it. Though you know what he means by it; that he’s probably upsetting you the more he’s reaching, but—

‘Yes! Yes! You’re getting to me!!’

AAAaaa!! and a frown can only last so long till it becomes a smile!!! And biting it again, you wave your head, but uh

Boyish, warm, curious, “What?” 

A slow reprise. You watch him. He watches you. 

“...Nothing.”

It’s everything!

Lovestruck and silly.

A silly game… 

and you’re playing it,

with him.

You’re clenching your fists into the lapels of his jacket, and every skin on your arms prickles. The warmth in your face hasn’t left in over a hot minute… ‘Is this safe?’

His flirtatious quiet and shy, yet toothy smile, makes all feel love. 

So, how—How could that not ensnare you in an awful trap of trying to dissect him and determine what he’s made of and what fuels him!???

“And her?” 

“Her!?” He squints as if trying his memory of the last page you two were on, then, 

“She was—

She was too much. She…

She was everything but mine… Everything else. And— gradually she was starting to shape me into something I’m not. And I simply couldn’t pretend to be the perfect person she wanted me to be, I’m not the type... It began to feel manipulative… the whole thing. Although I only started to realize that— and her intentions… way too late. Because I was too blind falling in love with her.”

You—YOU JUST DON’T SEE IT! So your senses storm: ‘Motherfucker, you’re perfect! What else—What else could she—’  

yet instead,

“Ouch,” you act, placing a hand over your heart to simulate the pain. “Your storys kinda awful too.”

“Kinda,” he hums; his charm melting off his lips like ice cream on a hot summer day right off the cone as he teases in the question, “See why I’m miserable?”

“I can totally see,” you give your ‘honest’ and bring to toy your thumb to cut over your bottom lip as if in deep thought. “She sucked the life out of you... Like—

like you’re desperate! …You’re full of yearning.”

He chuckles, bobbing softly. “Should never forgive her for that.”

“You learn fast.”

He hesitates a bit, flirting and keeping you on the edge, “... I don’t.”

OOOF!

He shouldn’t be there! This blond, chocolate-eye shouldn’t have the authority to wind up in your stomach, but he did just that!! With his fucking voice… And his fucking face… With his fucking

He’s got you to smile for him soo bad! He’s-He’s gotten you so much—

OH, HE’S sending your chemicals outta wack!! Giirl, get up!!

You feel like falling in love with him off of it... his smile. But—his interest is still so irreconcilable!! True, he urged you into a constant giddy chat, and a steady eye contact, but once the silence returns, so does reality… It-it just feels too intimate, too demanding, too—

—

You try pulling from that dream again, getting cozy, hugging your legs more to your chest and resting your chin on your knees.

Wondering if the hot crush would just glide off like everything love-like has glided off on you in the past, you start & ‘try’ shapes on the asphalt.

You set yourself for a little challenge, that’s to ignore him! Just forget he’s there till he decides he’s had it with you, or—or till your friends are finished inside & are ready to go. Just place him out of this scene; pretend he’s invisible; pretend you don’t wish to—

Ah, not only he’s right there with you, he sifts closer, to where your bodies touch, to where

The amber light of the street lamp so delicately falls onto the stream of hot veins along his hand as he reaches down for the ground too… 

However, what his ‘exploration of the shared ground-space’ means is ‘a way to another justified contact.’ This phoney, ‘unaware’ ‘skin meeting skin,’ as his hand occasionally brushes off of yours...

But what’s guilty though, are the risks in the intimacy of imagining his hand on yours… or comparing it to yours... 

Of your palms pressed together. Of his hand on your skin. Of his hand on more of you… And then? 

His hands as plural! 

Of his irradiated touch, and how it melts your mind… 

Really, all cycling back to the thought and the ache for, the time and the place when he’s not—

…when every motion of his fingers perfectly crafts a sin.

And—yeah, yeah—that’s an unfair way to view him right now, but- you’ve also had your two drinks, and he’s been—

It’s so unfair!! because you can’t work more through tonight’s pain with someone like him; it makes you feel bad since he’s hurting too. It’s beyond simply finding comfort in someone’s warmth & serenity, & asking for more emotional depth would be just baseless, because-because

It’s hard to accept, but- 

...you’re just lonely, and he’s the first to touch your loneliness… That doesn’t mean you get to expect things from him, however; you lack that right! He’s merely someone who-

who let you light your cigarette, & the rest is—

NO! It’s really unfair- to think of him in this way- but you SWEAR it’s something in his rude vanilla hair and its uncertain length. Something in that chaotic strand that curves over his forehead forming him a heart shape… In the way his ends flirt with his nape, playing for your pull... Something in his multi-core voice, and the way its notes slip across your skin and sink into your pores.

His collapsing cheekbones…

His vibrating giggles. 

His bruising ears.

The way his eyes would not move from you.

The way he’s kept the spell, locked.

His blueness he’s shared with you. 

His ‘honeyed self’ that’s gotten you more and more ‘stuck’ every time he’s spoken or done something, so now—

You swear all these combine and grind hard!! to give him romance! He could just decide now to stroke a finger down the land of your inner arm, sketching roses, and it’d be just another typical aspect of the

Abruptly,

he peels your hand off of the concrete & gently lays the back of it inside his palm.

His eyes search yours as if to bring your focus on what he’s about to do in advance of his fingertip slowly starting to trace letters on the tender surface of your love line, life line, and fate line in

‘C A N   I   K  I S S   U ?’

The drag is endless…

…then he lifts his puppy eyes to look at you, and the magic felt is telling you so much. 

Caught between being the sweetest angel and the sweet fear of having just made himself vulnerable, you feel like exhaling dandelions each time he blinks, dreading your answer. How come this one wounded creature could be so astonishingly cute!?

This—This stranger whose name you don’t even know and whom you seem to have loved before you met... This-this man of your fantasies, whom you waited for, and now that he has your hand in his—YOU JUST WANT TO YANK HIM IN and embrace eternally. You can stay locked in his dreamy, passionate arms and absorb his artful and phenomenal ways!

Save, you also can be a lil cheeky too! You want him to play the goof a tiny bit more, so you make him wait! 

You make him wait, & the seconds play off of his uncertainty so messily. He’s so fluffy- as you act all confused like you didn’t catch what he just wrote… 

“What!?”

He gnaws on his cheek; he knows you’re about the fun; he lets you. His lips flatten, keeping the giddy, and his fingers curl over your knuckles and intertwine with your hand from behind. 

Charmed, your fingers press over his. With no real distance, ‘you can taste his breath as much as you can feel it…’

His tone drips like a smooth, smoky drink, all whisper, “Can I kiss you?”

You wished it; still, you glance away. You inhale. You take a moment before facing h—

What the hell, “Sure.” 

What could go wrong? You’re probably never going to see him again, so, 

“Why not(?)”

He smirks thru his hot bite and motions forward to kill the gap; the anticipation, however, naturally makes you close your eyes. And it’s what you can only describe as suspense; you just feel him moving, changing the air to a minty breath as you ‘imagine’ his lips open a touch.

You get the complete tingle, and then there’s the complete contact... His nosetip presses against yours in what you assume is ‘last chance permission,’ forcing your eyes open, so you just then find yourself with only one path in sight, one you can’t come back from, one that is his lips, his lips, his thick bottom lip!

And, the only ‘wait’ now, is only him, etching ‘this,’ ‘near his heart,’ and yours too. 

This moment… this bit in the universe… you. Someone new and unfamiliar. 

Because just now, neither of you knows how the other tastes… or the way you’ll individually sigh after you touch each other to your bones.

And, 

he’s not clustering any courage to have a deep feel anymore; his moist lips rest on yours; he knows he’s separated you from anything that doesn’t connect you solely to him.

“What kind of kiss…” he slides his fucked smile over your lips, “do you want it to be?” 

The rush, from your brain- to your throat- to your tongue- to your lips???

Is this looooong wait going to be worth it!??

Yes, a kiss is a sentence.

It’s art... It’s an exploration to discover more than what’s already there. An exploration for something more than this.

…And he’s silly, and the push of your dominoes will be his exact boyish nature.

You shrug, digging your nails into your fist to make sure it’s all real.

“You don’t know?” he teases.

“Just a kiss,” you breathe, “A simple kiss. That’s all I-” 

The rest of your words are lost ag— His lips curl to yours as he enclose over your mouth like a puzzle piece fitting in place and closes slightly to interlock.

The slow, lingering first kiss, right? The one it helps you understand something about the other person, right?

Well, with his honesty and melancholy, that’s the type of kiss he can offer you tonight, to your preference or not. And it’d be your own doing, your own foolishness for falling for such a stranger, mysterious and hurt, thinking he needs to prove something to himself…

—

You don’t need to tell him what you want in a kiss,

your lips take in each other in a fragile way, and they know! The tone is nothing fierce, but soft and uncomplicated. Side these unnerving sounds of breathy sighs and lip-smacking you both carefully lay in each other’s mouths... on purpose. 

Then it’s all about pace;

the angle at which he tilts his head;

the first time he slides down your chin, and you let his upper lip in;

the moment your tongues touch;

his first moan.

And only then, what starts in hesitation swells with possession. 

The untamed of human nature... The notion of being the first, even if you aren’t the first, is... intoxicating. Wanting to show you if not everything he knows how… everything that’s—

...next, he’ll be taking you boldly and without warning close to him.

His fingers trace the edge of your jaw, and you can feel the galaxies ripple beneath his touch. “Do I“ he breathes, his fuller lip dragging across yours, “Do I press harder?”

OR, ‘lips that have built the design, will now tear it!!’

At worst, the lightning goes equally in the sky as the question & you whimper even before you have a chance to react differently! Humiliating, your sensitive boils over,

“Yeahh,” you plead. 

His wet, “Yeah?”

Very…

His teeth serve the introduction, sinking into your bottom lip, and then he slides his hand in, his fingertips dig at the soft skin just behind your ear and his palm locks your cheek. What it really does is, easy coerce you into giving in—helps him pry your mouth open so obscenely so his tongue can reach deeper.

Your ears perk as a hard moan escapes you from someplace disgustingly forgotten, a sound that should drive wild anyone with working hormones...

He’s pure heaven to touch tongues with!

Ensnaring you... softly but aggressively, as the sweetness of lustful saliva lubricates. Likely some of your cig breath catches onto his lungs, as his minty taste contrasts with your ‘occasional’ habit. Or a sensational exchange that feels very used to; you’ve both been here before; felt it; done it, yet not entirely like this, because he—

…kissing a complete stranger—

…exactly kissing him—

He’s got your hot face in his palm, and the frequency, is the rate…

Of having a matching heartbeat, and each heartbeat’s a thunderclap.

Of slutty rising noises as your lips start to feel baked, catching smoke in the fire of his lips. It’s like he’s on a mission to find every weak spot that makes you gasp in his mouth just a little bit harder... a little bit louder, and a little bit more needier… 

And he’s swallowing every sound, believe… Just as his moans escape him in time for your kiss to catch them. The anchor’s getting dripped, chain link after chain link, after- plummeting deep.

The kiss turns hard, like every flash in the sky rages from your arc. Like, fuck, his own need for destruction those couple of months is perhaps now being taken out on you! But you don’t want him—

‘Stop... Oh my god, don’t stop!!’

Bloods races the pleasure center, & your brains beyond dissolved; otherwise, it’d take you a moment to understand your next action…

…The pads of your fingers taking on the cutting of his jaw…

…your nails digging into his face... 

Think-think, trashing a canvas! How dar—

Actually, it’s what tosses you over ecstasy’s edge, the fact you’re touching him where you shouldn—

“Pleease!!”

“Please what?” he smirks against your lips, his voice muffled in deprived hue! JUST unneeded!!

“I don’-don’t know!” You whine, frustrated, stimulated.

Yesss... yes, Do you want it worse? ’cause you got his face tight, and everything slipping out of control could easily get a whole lotta hotter. But-but

you aren’t his, and he-

he isn’t yours, and—

It cuts! Whatever that was, it gets cut. 

Your temple rests against his, and you’ve got your eyes closed, waiting for the embarrassed strain of really, whatever that was, really, to ease before you can face him again. Though-

though you continue to hold his face, even after your eyes meet his again in the dim light. 

...His face structure,

...his face structure, his face structure—and your hand as the measuring tool!

His sleek lips puffed from all the rub, painted in your lip product, looking miserably—

His rosy, now not only ears, but fucking cheeks.

It’s like he’s been through a war; he’s unaware, & you want to giggle, but you bite down. again!

Your thumb and index, however, disappear into something as you hold him. On each side, they sink into the most tender skin, the most tender tender you’ve ever touched, ever known, ever—

The gift-the 

stops your heart…

You-

He chuckles softly at your reaction… infuriating, confusing you-you

“Did you feel something?” 

You-

you take the question for a pause! pulling away for air and waiting for whatevers heavy on your throat to drop... He’s disarranged you! with his mouth; with what he’s crammed and left of him in there, in you; with his dimples, with his—

but you still tug on the corner of your lip and lie. “No?”

Tsk tsk… You play too much... 

Not that it’s a lie, either. It’ll take time to rip ‘either of them’ entirely from your hearts and lives. And the kiss just tested on that; on whether the two of you are still emotionally led by these abusers of your love. People you loved but turned out careless with your hearts. While one didn’t know how to handle so much of it, the other wanted something different entirely, so much they didn’t know what they wanted in the end.

His mouth forms that delectable shape it does, “No?”

You slowly shake your head… Whether you’re lying or not… He—

“Then,” he looks down, his brow lifts rather critically as he spins the ring on his finger, “...that must mean we’re still bound to them.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Mmmmh,” lingers intentionally as he gives the ring another allusive turn and rubs the space near the knuckle. Then slow and deliberate with his words, he tries again; his lashes lazily flick up from the ring at you, following the question’s tempo, “Wanna try again?” 

But damn, if anything, you see his lowered stare as an attack! His submission is almost insulting;

‘We can always try again’ shines over his eyes, like a mirror glaze on a chocolate cake. He’s starved you with his eyes! like you’d never be free of that stare or him ever again.

And your dragging out a simple answer has him stilling inappropriately so close! His breath, everything invasive, harasses your face, persuading your body in ways you can’t escape.

And it all comes to a pinnacle,

as lightning knocks the whole fucking sky out! Forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, and there’s no going back; you feel it; you know it! Your eyes on him, his on yours... Breathing... Watching... Tired of waiting.

No hesitation; no doubt stands in between. The thunder supervenes, demanding you not to veer away, and his hand slides through your hair again, his fingertips digging in at the back of your head like 5 needles so u’d feel the intensity of his claim as he pulls you

You—

you don’t need to answer!

His lips crash against yours, sore, way softer. His tongue slavers, unashamed, pressing eagerly into every nook. A sorta kiss it pulls your breath from your soul. So much lip friction; so much touch; your mouths merge into a dance so slick—slipping and sliding in perfect sync. 

His other arm seamlessly circles you, wrapping around you just below your ribcage and gathers you against him. So much your body overfills with every emotion possible, you start to ball your fists in his shirt, pulling him harder against you as he groans softly, low in his throat. 

So much desperation, as if there is no time for kissing, but he wants you to know that in the future, there will be… A kiss in so much loneliness, like a hand pulling you up out of the water, scooping you up from a place of drowning and into the reckless abundance of air. He—

He’s got your past ‘distresses’ of weeks and weeks disappear!

And your next guttural moan consumes you in shame of itself as his teeth all suddenly fall into the soft skin of your burning neck. Then all quick, replaced by his tongue stabbing over… suckling hard… yet biting again. 

Pain equals pleasure; pleasure is pain; the feeling is…

absolute.

And the idea... of him indulging you there... where all your most vital veins are, one of the tenderest areas, the passage between your head and your heart—taking in your weak skin between his teeth but- ‘enough-precise’ not to leave a bruise, for there’s likely a time and a—

dragging his nose along the slope; licking the perfume across ur collarbone; just making you ache for more, making you need the dampness; making you—

Unmaking you. 

And as he comes up again, ‘shying’ in your hair, nibbling at your earlobe, you’re in much of a hold of a deeeep breath, not able to let it out for shit! All‘s just... CAUGHT! A long ‘fuuuuck,’ would explain you somehow, but you realize you’re still in public, and he’s still a man out of a dream who-

who just appeared from nowhere!

Worse, as it’s like all your fuckass restraint spurs him on!!

“You.. Are…” he leads on, his smile tickling your ear with the worst goosebumps. And it’s just that, a cuntass lead-on! His breath hot in your ear… His dark hue of a voice rubbing your ears- like without worry of kink... when—

“It’s insane… to me… I still haven’t got your name... You make me fight so much for it.”

Or, making your eyes shut-close as something ‘Baby’ convulses across you, and down! He’s not finished with it, but his dirty smirk has!!

OH, fucking, RIGHT! HIS NAME!!! …Your name!

It hits you! And you squeeze your eyes shut harder at the whirlwind of all the sorts ecstatic.

And they stay closed! They stay closed until you feel him tuck some of your hair behind your ear, and you-you jerk at the motion. Really, jerk at the motion!

The no-consent action, even if the most subtle, after all the indelicate you two just did, feels… yeah, you don’t know but— inexplicably… big. Immense. A pause on itself. Like all the anticipation and nerves are finally coming to their end, or maybe… their start(?)

With the ‘stormy’ foreplay, standing at its peak… 

With the breeze fading away, it immediately becomes… warm.

With the lightning and thunder fighting each other out in the darling desert sky… 

And in comes the calm… With the rain,

as small silvery raindrops start to fall on him… on you… on everything all around. 

Your eyes start to blink at the sight of him as the droplets begin to form pace. Looking at his attractive cheeks, now a wreck, and his fuller lips—just evidence of how hot things become… Of what they help create... Of

...Of the rude foreshow, just out of reach... of the times and the places when he’s not—

Right!! Your name!

…Which then he matches with that delectable shape of his mouth you noticed he loves to do,

“Jaehyun.” 

It enkindles your flirty lipbite, easily! And you go and do the same he’s done you—

smoothing his ruffled blond hair and tucking it behind his ear like a cutie!

A timeless beauty... SURE! You see how he could be a muse and how someone would want to write about him unconditionally.

You smile at the thought... then try his name & tune in to the way it sounds when you say it.

“Jae-hyun.” 

Mmm, definitely giving him a pace he can work with… being the bobbing returns. Along his soft hum, along that deep blink... But in the next moment, it’s—

it’s like in the next moment you surprise him. Only it’s just the rain’s fault for getting harder, as you peel his jacket off your shoulders and hand it back as you rise to your feet,

and it’s like he sees no alternative and goes and does the same. 

You get over ‘the hand back’ with the feeling like his fingers scrape past yours in the hopes of gaining more; like so much is communicated only through your eyes and a touch. Yet, you two are at a way-apart distance, like at the beginning when he rose to light your cigarette, and the gap just helps you put into perspective just how bodily-close you were actually to him all this time, just seconds ago.

This sculpt of a man…

that’s getting gradually more drenched… 

And who barely takes half-a-step to be inside your space. again.

By literally pulling you in in a new, unexplored way—his hand grabbing your waist and,

and intentionally or not, driving your top up for a real-skin performance as his fingers roughly meld into you.

Corrupt, is the word. 

So much, it makes you wonder who’s more firm—JUST who’s more insistent, him or the rain.

And at worst, it’s a killer transition—him slightly looming over you; really, Jaehyun’s ‘just-ripped’ cockiness, LOOMING over you. 

He just stares, and smiles, and holds your waist tighter... So much! it makes you wonder what’s going to happen next. 

So much the rain starts to feel heavy on his hair, and as a droplet drips from one of its ends onto your forehead, your lashes flutter in an whole obnoxious bodyshiver...

It trickles down your face-It trickles down your face and it ripples something basic, something primal... But so much, it sends you spiralling faster as his eyes dare down to you.

The sensuality ruins your layers; strokes your tummy, and makes your fingers curl in stress of whether you should reach for him and touch or not.

So much it unnerves you, but it’s the kinda unnerve where is beautiful.

Where now,

is he,

who gets to sit with his thoughts in his little boy grin, and your only fret is, ‘What’s wro—

A reprise, of a sweet reprise, of a—

“What?”

“Nothing,” he smiles, lowering himself down to you; his rain lips hovering in front of your rain lips, “I was just wondering how much I’ll have to fight for something more.”

“Like?”

He smirks, tongue in cheek, “You.”

The whole of you!?

“...A lot.”

“MHHMMM…”

“You like that?” you mess a bit more, in a deep low. 

“Do, you,” he assures you, planting a playful kiss an inch away from your mouth,

cruel on the fact he’s sending your sensations for a run on another mile.

“...Don’t hold back.”

Then pulls just a bit, just as silly rolling his eyes,

“Okay… maybe as long as nothings done behind my back.”

—

Whatever, baby, sure! Let’s make fun on our wounds. Fuck around and find out. Touch, and figure it out.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[satori-runa]

—Morning comes in silence

Summary: You spend the morning in bed with your husband at your side, watching over him as he rests peacefully for the first time in ages.

Tags: Romance, Hinted sexual content but no specific graphical explanations, established relationship, fluff

Words: 0,6k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Gente rays of orange sunlight shimmered through the forst-covered windows in the early morning hours, followed by the graceful fresh snow that carried a familiar cold breeze through the land. Yet, none of that chill reached the comfort of the bedroom that you shared with your husband.

Only the soft, sun-kissed glow filtered in, casting a golden warmth over everything, draping the comfort of your home into a pure teint of liquid gold. It especially highlighted the fine features of the man lying beside you in the huge bed. The white silk sheets pooled around his large form, shared between the two of you. And you could swear, his body could be a canvas painted by the purity of the morning light and the feelings that carried over from the night before.

Capitano was truly a man of many things, status, wealth and power. He could command the word with a singe motion if he desired so and yet here he lay, stripped of the weight of his title, exposed and vunerable under the tender caress of your warm fingertips. Your thumb traced his sharp jawline, brushing over the dryness of his lips, then wound through the smooth raven locks that you had toyed with so many times before. The sensation was familiar, comforting, like a safe haven that you shared in a world full of coldness.

Your cold feet brushed against his leg beneath the sheets, a subconscious search for the warmth and connection that still lingered from the night before. His body twitched at the cool touch, a small reaction to the memory of the heat you’d shared in the dark, but he made no effort to pull away. Instead, he shifted slightly, allowing the space between you to close, his warmth enveloping you as naturally as the sunrise.

No words passed between you, nor were they needed. In the quiet of this sacred morning, your gazes spoke volumes. You remembered how the night began—the way his cold, sharp gloves were the first to fall. He had always hidden his hands, guarded them from the world, but last night, he let them be seen, exposed to your eyes alone. His skin, tinted with that strange, mysterious blue, revealed more than just his body. At first, he hesitated, insecurity flashing in his eyes, but those fears had melted away with the softness of your lips, pressing gentle promises into his skin. You had kissed away the doubts, each touch a vow that you’d never judge him for what he was, for how he looked. All you needed was him, the man beneath the surface.

And he had given that promise back to you, wordlessly. His lips had remained silent, but his hands spoke. They had traced your skin with a slowness that bordered on torment, fingers gliding over your legs, up your thighs, drawing out your impatience with teasing precision. The way he touched you, the way he worshipped you with his hands, was his answer—a declaration that you were everything to him.

Now, in the glow of dawn, those hands rested between the folds of the sheets, still close to you, as if even in sleep he couldn’t bear to be far from your warmth. His raven hair spilled over the pillow, shadows and light playing over his face, making him look softer, almost innocent in the early morning light. You smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock from his brow, recalling how those same locks had been tangled in your fingers the night before, how his breath had hitched against your neck when your cold hands had explored the softness of his skin.

There was a serenity in the room now, a sense of peace that wrapped around you both. The world outside didn’t matter. Status, power, wealth—they were distant, meaningless in this moment. All that existed was the warmth of his body beside yours, the sheets that clung to your limbs, and the silent affection you shared.