#and these days it's pushed me to take a big step towards something in regards to a career path

[furuba]

living by the quote "the time will pass anyway" has done wonders for my motivation fr

[luvsellie]

PEOPLE WATCHING [j. maybank]

pairing jj maybank x fem!reader

summary jj ignoring one of his friends is strange. and off-putting. so when he does it to you, argument ensues and indifferent confessions toward one another begin to spill.

warnings rafe being an ass, mentions of abuse, semi based on s1 ep5 but also not?? don’t expect anything regarding the obx plot, reader is in a similar situation to sarah and kie’s social standing (kook-turned-pogue) !

wc 3.1k

note this song just SCREAMS jj i couldn’t not write something inspired by it! also this man is so ‘angsty-love-confession-in-the-rain’ coded why didn’t the obx writers take that chance when they had it >:(

you never thought you would see the day that jj deliberately ignored you. sure, he hated talking about his feelings, and he was too stubborn for his own good, but he had never once gone out of his way to avoid your presence. until now.

“he won’t even look at me,” you hissed at kie, eyes glued to the blond who maneuvered around groups of people, the tray in his hands lacking drinks. he had a smile on his face regardless, making small quips at people as he passed them.

kie huffed, moving her body to block off your view of jj. her lilac dress shimmered in the orange light as she said, “just give him some time. he’ll come around. he always does.”

you chewed on the inside of your cheek, spinning the ring on your index finger as you continued to try and get a clear view of him. “yeah. i guess you’re right.” 

the girl in front of you grinned in a way that seemed to say i always am.

still mildly offset about jj’s attitude toward whatever it is that you had done to upset him, you took a step back from kie, situating yourself so you could comfortably watch him once again. as you did, you noticed his back was now to you, topper, kelce, and rafe appearing to slowly herd him toward the building. the trio of men wore smug smiles, and before you knew it jj had lost his tray and swung open one of the glass doors, sprinting in the direction of the restrooms.

your eyebrows knitted together in sudden urgency, hand already swatting at kiara’s bare shoulder. “kie. kie they’re chasing him-”

“who’s- oh. oh,” kie said aridly.

“we have to go,” you told her, already gathering the skirt of your sage-green dress in a hand.

kie grabbed your arm quickly. “and do what? stab them with the back of our heels?”

“if that’s what it takes,” you told her stubbornly, ripping your bicep from her grip. “stay here if you want, i don’t care, but i’m going to go help the best i can.”

you didn’t wait for her response as you started in the direction of the door, gait switching between an uneven combination of a speedwalk and a run. whether or not jj was mad at you, nothing was going to stop you from assisting him in any way possible, especially if he was severely outnumbered. rafe was practically psychotic, his solution to everything was always violence, and topper and kelce only egged him on.

the cool a/c brought goosebumps to your skin, a chill shivering its way down your spine as you swept past people and furniture. fortunately, you spotted the dark-colored bathroom door, the sound of disgruntled male voices seeping through the wood. when you recognized jj’s, you didn’t hesitate to push past the barrier, deciding the consequences could be left for future you to deal with.

middle-age men immediately protested to your appearance, but you ignored them as you hurried in the direction of the overlapped voices, and, sure enough, you found yourself walking into the midst of the kooks jumping jj.

none of the boys noticed your presence, too wrapped up in whatever they were doing to grow aware of their surroundings. 

your attention zoned in on your beat-up-looking friend, the sight of kelce retaining him in a jarring choke hold resulting in your sudden outburst of, “what the fuck is going on?”

“oh, look who’s decided to join us,” rafe leered, his grin growing twice as big. jj continued to struggle against kelce’s grasp, saying your name dryly as his eyes jumped from you to the oldest cameron sibling.

“the hell is wrong with all of you?” your glare turned to kelce, his eyes narrowed in vain. “let him go or i swear to god…”

rafe’s face only continued to dwell with enlightenment at your interruption. he stood up straight and took a long stride in your direction, forcing you to spin toward him. he put less than a foot between his body and yours. “or you’ll do what-”

the air stilled as you slapped the man across the cheek, your palm stinging from the impact. even though he towered over your smaller person, you still sneered up at him, gaze narrowed as if he were no more than the scum on the bottom of your shoe. “you’re not the only one in this town who has a powerful father, rafe cameron. yours just happens to have the worst reputation.”

rafe’s fingers ghosted the flushed skin where you had struck him, eyebrows beginning to knit together as his familiar rage started to surface. he barely had time to speak, “you fucking bitch-” before someone cut in.

the flickering lights caught everyone’s regard, and you watched stiffly as kelce instantly released jj and spun on his heels. “gentlemen. ma’am,” a security guard addressed, “is there a problem here?”

jj was quick to jump in, rushing to say, “pardon me, officer, i just…” his blue eyes caught yours, but they jumped back the man in the black tux before you could give him a warning glance. “we just- well, actually, yes, there is an issue. we have a criminal trespass in progress here.”

you knew he was just doing the best he could to get you both out of the situation, yet you didn’t mask your rather disgusted expression as he continued.

“beep! call it in, right?” the blond urged. “blatant disrespect for private property.”

the boys around you nodded, avoiding eye contact with the guard. multiple yeahs circled the room.

“we’re in violation of all kinds of shit, sir,” jj said, barely taking the motion to glance at you over his shoulder. he turned to kelce, plastering on a fake smile. he began to straighten the cyan-colored bow tie. “but these young gentlemen…” his hand was quickly swatted away. “...uh, caught us, sir, and they were about to take us away. which is what you should do; escort us out of here.”

you watched as jj offered up his wrists before looking back at you. his brows jumped to his hairline in a silent plea to just go along with the nonsense spewing out of his mouth. still mildly irritated at him and everything about whatever the fuck is going to happen as a repercussion, you exhaled sharply and took a few steps in his direction, sending a glare in rafe’s direction.

your arm brushed against jj’s as you mimicked his actions. “you caught us, officer.”

the man rolled his eyes, but reached behind you, hands roughly grabbing onto yours and jj’s biceps. “come on.”

but jj seemed to feel that he needed to add to the situation, his adhd never failing to shine in moments like these. he turned to kelce again as rafe moved closer, topper behind him. “fix that tie, son. oh, and you’re lookin’ quite spiffy too. you powerpuff girls have fun, alright?”

just as the guard was about to lead you both through the exit, rafe shouted your name. “you know you’re pretty hot for a ‘pogue!’”

jj spun before you could even react, already storming in the direction of the smirking boy. ‘mister security’ left you standing in the doorway as he trudged over to the beginnings of a fight and ripped your friend from the group. “let’s go,” he snuffed, shoving the blond harshly.

you avoided jj’s aggravated gaze as you locked eyes with rafe, still being pushed by the man. raising a hand, you flipped him off. “suck my dick, cameron.”

“knock it off,” the guard said, his fingers squeezing the flesh of your arm. his warning compelled you to turn away, huffing air through your nose in annoyance.

rafe scoffed a laugh from his spot, highly entertained by the sight before him. “hey, safe travels back to the cut, you two!”

“this shit ain’t over!” jj hollered, earning a harsh shove in the direction of the exit.

as the man directed you and jj out of the building, you made a point to not bother interacting with the boy, ignoring his existence entirely, just as he had done to you previously. talking to him at the moment would only result in yelling at each other, and the idea of that was rather repulsive.

finally pushing past one of the glass doors, you attempted to wrench your arm away. it only ended with the guard’s hands squeezing even tighter. “dude, i can walk by myself- let me go.”

jj tried the same thing as you passed a distressed-looking kiara. “yeah, we have legs. can’t you see that, daryl? and, hey, thanks for the ‘discretion.’ let us just walk out by ourselves, yeah?”

nearly stumbling on stairs because of your heels, you made a noise out of exasperation, eagerly pulling back. “give me- oh my god, just let us go!” as heads started to turn in your direction, you desperately hoped that one of your parents would show up, but as daryl continued to haul you and jj (who continuously made comments to the people he passed) away from everything, you made one last hopeless attempt to get him to let go.

“wait!” you said, this time actually tripping on your heels. faking a stumble, you very nearly successfully fell out of daryl’s grasp. “these shoes are killing my feet. let me at least take them off if you insist on dragging us through the mud.”

he rolled his eyes, but loosened his grip.

bending slightly, you raised your left foot off the ground, undoing the buckle of your heel. as you stepped out of the shoe, you went to do the other, stealing a glimpse at jj. this is too easy.

finally standing on the bare ground, you turned back to daryl, shoving your heels to his chest. “would you mind holding these for me? thanks.” using the best of your strength, you threw him off, jj happily doing the same, and began backing in the opposite direction just as your father appeared from behind mr. carrera. his face went from confusion to anger in the span of less than three seconds, and you knew you’d be in for the biggest lecture of your life when you confronted your parents later. but for now, all you wanted to do was get off the property.

and jj seemed to have a similar idea, as his fingers brushed against your left hand, gesturing with the jut of his chin when you made eye contact with him. “come on.”

unable to help the satisfied smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth, you turned away, quickly following jj into the darkness as kie called after you.

“okay, i think we’re far enough,” you huffed heavily, slowing to a walk beside jj.

he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair as he nodded. for once he had nothing to say, and it made you stop on the sidewalk.

“so that’s it?” you started, grabbing his elbow and forcing him to look at you. “you’re just going to go back to ignoring me? after everything that just happened back there? at least tell me what i did for you to treat me like this.”

his blue eyes averted your own as he chewed on his busted bottom lip.

“what did i do, jj?” you asked as your arm fell back to your side, annoyance slipping into despair. “just tell me.”

jj looked at you, and even in the strained moonlight could you just now see how badly his upper left cheek was bruising. he was fiddling with the hem of his white button-up shirt as he stood, stubbornly remaining quiet.

sighing, you took a step closer, the pavement cool under your bare feet. he flinched back when you went to raise a hand. you licked your lips. “did…did rafe and the others do this?”

stiffening, jj lifted his chin and looked down at you, his expression morphed into something between disgust and vacancy. “no,” was all he said.

“oh,” you breathed, your body running cold, even in the humid night air. of course. “maybe you should come back home with me. i can-”

“no,” jj repeated more firmly, shaking off your words. “no, i don’t need your pity right now. go back to midsummers. you and kie looked like you were having loads of fun.”

you scoffed in sudden disbelief, realizing what this was about—why he had been ignoring you for nearly a full day. “i’m not- i’m not offering to care for you out of pity,” you told him bitterly. “you’re my friend, jj, and i’ll always try and protect you when i can. i’m sorry that you’re too naive to realize and accept that.”

jj took a step back, his hands balling into fists as he shook his head. “i don’t need your protection. i don’t need your compassion, or whatever the hell you wanna call it,” he spat. “and i don’t need you.”

“you’re just saying that,” you protested quickly, swallowing down the crack in your voice and blinking back the sharp sting of tears.

shaking his head again, jj’s lips pressed into a thin line. “go back to that big, shiny house of yours.” he wasted no time in turning around, his back straight as he walked away, the clarity of his figure growing less and less as he retreated.

unable to process the moment, you ran a hand over your face, forcing yourself to keep your composure and not yell out to him. what the fuck just happened? you thought, panic beginning to set in as jj officially disappeared around the block.

what am i going to do?

the house was quiet when you entered, and after a quick call for your parents, you realized they were still partying away at the country club. it was somewhat of a relief.

feet sore and dirty, you began to rid yourself of your jewelry, unclasping the chains around your neck and picking off the rings on your fingers. you set them on your nightstand as you shut your bedroom door, immediately falling onto your bed.

lying back to stare at the beige ceiling, you inhaled deeply, running through the events that had taken place. and it had all ended in jj leaving you. for how long, you didn’t know—didn’t even want to think about it. so, with one last sigh, you stood from your mattress, stripped yourself down, and headed toward the bathroom, already thinking up a plan for tomorrow.

“look, i wasn’t trying to make a scene,” you explained over the phone, shrugging your shoulders even though your parents couldn’t see. “it just…happened, i guess. i’m sorry.” there was a tense pause, filled by the sound of your dad sighing on the other end of the line. “can i please go now? we can talk as soon as i get home later, i swear.”

you heard unintelligible whispers before your mom said, “you cannot keep blowing us off.”

“i know, i know.” you really did not want to have this conversation when you were nearly at jj’s house, the sky murky with dark clouds. “again, i’m sorry, but you know i don’t normally do stuff like this, so can you guys please ease off?” 

“fine. only for a few hours. i want you home soon, it’s supposed to storm today. we will talk later.” your dad said roughly, irritation laced in his voice.

shoulders visibly sagging, you couldn’t help but nod in relief. “yes, thank you. love you both.” with that, you impatiently clicked the red button on the screen as jj’s house appeared. pocketing your phone, you spotted the blond in his yard, squatting next to his red dirt bike. and for a split second, you were just happy to see him, the events circling last night forgotten.

you approached quietly, making just enough noise to let him know someone was walking over. as his head turned, your jaw went slack at the fresh bruise blooming along his jawline. you cleared your throat. “hi.”

“hey.” jj returned to his bike.

“i, uh…i came to talk.” thunder rumbled from somewhere above. “about last night. about us.”

the entire way here you rehearsed what you were going to say, switching things out or removing them completely, but now, when he stood and looked over at you with a somewhat pissed-off expression, you found your tongue to be dry and your mind blank.

“what’s there to talk about.” he said it more like a statement and less like a question. “there’s nothing to talk about.” 

you licked your lips as droplets started to wet your shoulders and scalp. “we both know that’s not true, jj.”

he wiped his hands on a cloth before tossing it into an open toolbox. shaking his head and sauntering forward, he said again, “there isn’t anything to talk about. you say you care about me, but you don’t. you don’t. do yourself a favor and stop lying to yourself. stop lying to me.”

“no, i do care, okay?” the raindrops began to fall harder, yet the only thing you were worried about was getting your point across. getting jj to understand. “i have cared about you for as long as i have known you. that first night at the chateau with the others…when you finally let me in…i didn’t know then, but i know now—i love you. a lot.”

jj scoffed and shook his head with an incredulous smile, his stare glued to the soaked grass, ignoring the weight of your confession. “you don’t know anything, alright? that night didn’t mean anything to anyone.”

“yes, it did!” you persisted loudly, frustrated with both him and yourself.

“no, it didn’t!” he snapped, reaching forward and grabbing the sides of your shoulders in exasperation. when you flinched at his yelling, a sudden wave of realization washed over him, and he released you with a step back, blinking rapidly against the rain. “nothing happened; nothing is happening.” he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. “you’re a kook. and i’m a pogue. we belong on two very different sides of this island.”

“jj,” you said softly. he remained still, hair stuck to the sides of his face as you went to cup it, palms resting against his wet skin. “just give in. for one pathetic second just forget about the social economic standing of everything and give in to me. please.” you weren’t sure whether the wetness on your face was your tears or the rain. “i know you want to, but you aren’t letting yourself. nothing you say or do will push me away. you’re stuck with me, pogue or not.”

his gaze flickered vicariously between your eyes and mouth, internally fighting with his own feelings. but, ultimately, you could see that your words had struck deep enough—that as the chill of cold water drenched your clothes and hair, as his warm fingers wrapped delicately around your wrists, thumbs sliding against your skin, you had won.

© luvsellie 2023 | do not repost, republish, steal, or translate !!

[nanamis-bigtie]

Round 4: It's Nice to Meet You

about, rules & navigation | previous round

You made a big step today - you're moving from dating app to an irl meeting! You planned a perfect outfit and packed all the necessities - and now you're on your way to the arranged spot. You simply can't wait to see how your chosen men will act around you when seeing you in person.

Remember you vote for a character you don't want to advance further! The character with the biggest number of votes will be eliminated.

Higuruma Hiromi

Meeting with a Tinder date in a place where lots of people can see you is a reasonable strategy but when you finally arrive at the small harbor, you start to worry you might actually miss your date amidst the crowd. You have his photos, a detailed description of his outfit for today and determination to climb a tree or something if needed to see him better—yet you worry it might not be enough. Not when you're running a little late and boarding has already started.

You keep stubbornly tiptoeing and straining your neck until the river of people pushes you closer to the cruise ship and forces you to accept your fate. Well, they won't let you in without a ticket anyway, so you may as well wait for him by the control point.

"Here!" A warm hand grabs your elbow and pulls you out of the stream, close to the barrier separating the pathway from the sea. "You're Y/N, right? I'm sorry, the crowd pushed me out of my spot."

He's shorter than you thought, on the rather average side if not shorter. Despite being a little overdressed for a vacation cruise and sweating in the full sun, he's beaming with a friendly smile, not bothered by the inconveniences. The same warm hand soon squeezes yours, firmly, with a little shake that has more in common with business meetings than with a date.

"I'm Hiromi. It's such a pleasure to finally see you in person."

As you exchange greetings and niceties, you join the queue and finally make your way to the deck. Much to your pleasant surprise, you're directed to the VIP section, with more comfortable seats, a separate bar and way less people around you two. He definitely didn't scrimp on his date plans.

"If you ever have enough of the noise and heat, we can move under the deck," he follows you to your chosen seat and takes one in front of you—close but keeping a respectful distance. "The VIP section is glazed. Ah, and there's another bar, too. Speaking of, would you like something to drink? Everything is on the ticket."

"You're well-versed," you point out once he's back with your drink of choice and a glass of orange juice for himself. "Not your first time here?"

"I like their cruises, I was on a few." Hiromi says with a blank face before he breaks into a smile again—and then into laughter. It might be a stress response, to resort to humor, but you like it on him. When he does so, he relaxes and his words come out more natural, finally shaking off the impression of a smooth but possibly not-so-honest talker. "And... Well, I won't lie, I had a date here already. In similar circumstances, even."

"How did it end?"

The answer is obvious and you're a little angry at yourself for slipping like this right at the beginning—but he takes it calmly, doesn't even try to hide his expression with glass when he takes a hearty sip, "I guess I didn't meet her expectations. But still had a good day. Both of us, I hope."

Nanami Kento

You decide to take the route right by the sea, barefoot on the wet strap of the sand, waves lazily licking your soles. Google maps lied a little about the distance towards the beach bar, but you don't mind—it's a very pleasant walk, with breathtaking views of the sun nearing the horizon and filling the sky and the sea with gold. You can barely tell the difference between them, even the sand under your feet blends into the whole scene, making you feel as if you were treading through the fields of glitter.

It's magical.

You haven't exchanged any guides regarding your meeting, but something tells you he won't be waiting inside. Being so drawn to the sea, he's bound to appear closer to your route—and indeed soon you recognize him in front of you, crouching by the sea and staring into the distance with peaceful expression. He's wearing long pants, folded a little under his knees and wet at the edges. At least his blue shirt has short sleeves, but it's barely unbuttoned under the stiff collar.

You don't want to interrupt his quiet moment with a sudden greeting, your steps slow down the more you approach as you unwittingly start to sneak. But he tells your presence with ease.

"I suppose you're the person I'm meeting tonight." He says as he gets up and straightens his back, his voice oh so deep yet, what you've already expected from him, dry and formal. "I'm Kento Nanami. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He wipes his hands dry with a handkerchief before he offers you one. The handshake is short, as if he was hesitant to touch you at this phase of the date. With a different person it would probably bother you but after the time you already spent together chatting it would weird you out far more if he suddenly acted less formal. You let him be; intuition whispers to you that trying to force him out of the shell will only irreversibly ruin the mood.

The bar—you've named it his favorite in your thoughts—is on the less busy side, small and cozy, and directed to the tourists who put pretty views and peace of mind over partying. You don't have to put shoes on to stay inside but you still choose one of the tables on the sand. There are more people around, but the music is calmer and melting just right with the hum of waves.

Kento compliments your choice, and you can pinpoint a shade of relief in his voice. He really wanted to stay on the beach but didn't want to go against your wishes, it seems.

After the waiter takes your orders—your date insists on paying and encourages you to order whatever you like—you finally have an opportunity to get a closer look at him. His face, neck and forearms are sprinkled with bland, sun-kissed freckles and his glasses left a little paler strip at the bridge of his nose. You expected his eyes to be blue but upon closer inspection you're not sure anymore what their color is.

"I got you something," he fishes a little bundle out of a pocket and offers it to you on open palm. "I— Hope this is not too forward? I haven't been on a Tinder date before. Please excuse me, if I'm doing something inappropriate."

Ryomen Sukuna

You've known he's huge from the very beginning. But you would have never expected he's THAT huge.

Your date towers over the crowd, the tallest of passing people reaching a little over his shoulders. He attracts attention without even meaning to; well, it would be hard for a man of such monstrous posture to blend in, especially with his pink-dyed hair and tattoos reaching as far as his face, but it's not his body that attracts most of the attention. Witnessing this charismatic, magnetic energy in real life has an even bigger impression on you than the glimpse of it you witnessed through Tinder.

You can't help but let it swallow you. You approach closer like a moth drawn by a light.

He's dressed simple—in jeans and white shirt—and it gives you a little confidence boost. You weren't sure if you had anything appropriate for an art gallery and felt your best choice still had you underdressed a little. Who could have known you would be invited to a photo exhibition? But if the originator of the whole adventure imposes a casual style, your outfit is more than fitting.

"Hi!" You announce your presence a few steps away from him. You tried to not get too close but you still have to strain your neck to look straight at his face.

Sukuna peels his eyes from his phone, puts it into the back pocket of his jeans, takes his sunglasses off and hangs them at the edge of his shirt, right at the casually open top button, "Y/N. Finally in person."

He takes a good look at you, from heads to toes. It's a fast flick of eyes, not lingering anywhere long enough to feel inappropriate, but you still can't shake the feeling of being scanned off. He must have been curious of you with the same intensity as you were about him...or so you hope. You're not entirely sure if his reactions are positive or not.

"I don't have a compliment that wouldn't be a shameless copy of what I already told you," he finally says with a smile. It's not a smile you would call pretty but it suits his features. It carries a hungry, almost dangerous, vibe to it—and it has you a little weak in the knees. "So, let me just say that the reality has greatly exceeded my expectations."

You want to return the favor with a compliment on your own but he doesn't let you, becoming you closer and herding you towards the door of the gallery.

"Unless you would prefer a lunch beforehand?" He asks, opening the door for you. There's some gallantry behind it but from his decisive moves and posture you guess it has less in common with being nice and more with a casual dominance. Sukuna is used to calling the shots, he's the leader of the pack, a man who doesn't hear a "no" often. Proposing you an alternative is a mere courtesy, not an option he really reckons with.

"Interaction with art works up an appetite." You decide to follow and see where it is going to lead you.

As you pass by him, he leans down and close, his face close to your ear now, "I promise you won't be bored with me."

Kusakabe Atsuya

You haven't visited the old part of the town yet, so you've been really looking forward to this meeting. Unfortunately, the weather had different plans for you and your little Tinder date. By the time you finally make it to the appointed spot—by a historic fountain on the western corner of the main plaza—the "concerning but not dangerous" clouds lingering over the horizon turn into a storm.

In panic and trying to find a safe spot between equally startled tourists, you struggle to send him an update. You just know he's one of those guys who would wait in the spot even if an apocalypse unrolled around. The last thing you want is to get him both wet and disappointed or worse. But you also can't stop and type in peace, unless you want to be run over or soaking wet yourself.

Finally, you manage to push past the crowd into an ice cream parlor and pounce at a free table for two. You send him your localization and pray he's not one of those middle aged guys who are technology-phobic.

He appears shortly after, wet and miserable. His shirt, undeniably elegant in its intended state, is almost transparent and clinging to every crevice of his hairy torso. Oh. That pool photo definitely wasn't photoshopped. From close and in motion he looks even more ripped.

Luckily, you, just in case, took a towel with you. You offer it to him and, reflexively, throw it on his head to do the drying yourself. He tenses under your hands but doesn't protest, eventually even leaning for it. You hear him exhale a little louder as you make your way through his hair and his shoulders tremble when you brush the towel at the back of his head.

But when you slide it down his neck, he gently takes it out of your hands and dabs the excess of water from his arms and torso on his own.

"I'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to go like that. Lemme at least—" Atsuya's face tenses in panic as he reaches for his wallet, soon to be replaced by an overwhelming relief at the sight of his money somehow surviving the deluge. "Lemme treat you for this inconvenience."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault. Not more than mine, I could have checked the forecast too."

"I insist. Maybe at least a small coffee?"

After a few backs and forths you settle on something more than a coffee. After the show he gave you through the chat you haven't expected him to be quite smooth-tongued; in no time he backs you into a corner and keeps pressing until you agree to accept one of the more expensive positions from the menu to go with said coffee.

When your fancy ice cream desserts finally arrive and you reach for your spoons, you notice his hand trembles in a very characteristic way, one you would rather associate with an addict than a man hungry for a sweet treat.

He notices your curious stare but slips a hearty spoonful into his mouth before treating your curiosity, "I've quit smoking recently. When I need a cigarette, I go for sugar instead. Usually, I have lollipops on me but... I guess it doesn't suit dates, won't you agree?"

Ino Takuma

There aren't many people around, but the area is still noisy and buzzing. Apparently, the spot is popular with the local youth. At the first glance you're ready to bet there's not a single person older than mid-twenties within the range of your sight. Everyone is in swimsuits, predominately of the sports kind, and heading towards the cliffs. Some take a turn and make their way down, towards the wild beach nearby, some climb straight to the top.

You have a swimsuit on too, just hidden under the outfit you chose for the date. You stand out and it has you a little antsy, even if no one is staring. Maybe you have overdressed a little, but you really wanted to make a good impression on your companion.

Takuma, of course, is in swimming clothes only, too. He spots you from a distance, waves his greetings and comes running, beaming with an excited smile. He has longer hair than on photos from his profile; his selfies showed mostly his body, so you haven't really paid attention to anything above the neck level.

"It suits you," you let the thought slip aloud then point at the frivolous strands falling over his eyebrows.

"You think so?" He coils one on his finger. "They keep telling me I should finally get it cut. 'Cause I don't see what I'm doing. Even if I do."

"It would be a disservice."

"Then I'll keep it longer." He brushes the fringe out of his eyes, quite contrary to his statement about being able to see just fine. "For you."

You two join the group heading down to the sea. It's a lot of stairs to beat and you can't help but be a little anxious about climbing them back. It's hot and humid and, even if with your date's help, you'll definitely be spent after swimming. From what you've already assessed, there's quite a distance to make from the beach to the base of the cliffs.

Takuma notices your worried expression, "We don't have to swim right under the cliffs. To be honest... I don't think we can even. It could be dangerous."

"Usually it is safe!" He quickly adds, seeing the mixed feelings in your eyes. "But today we have cliff divers. We gotta stay at a distance."

Explains why some people head towards the top instead of the beach.

Chatting casually and savoring your stamina, you make it to the bottom of the stairs as the last ones from the group. Your date stays really close, and you have a feeling he's waiting for an opportunity for some casual physical contact, supporting you on a steeper stair, holding your hand or the like. You don't give it to him, curious if he's going to push his way unprompted, but he's patient, way more patient than you'd assume from his age and attitude.

"Have you ever tried it?" You point at the commotion in the distance and silhouette of a person jumping off the cliff.

"A few times, yeah." He protects his eyes from the sun with a hand, to see better. "But I prefer safer stuff. Don't want to get killed for an adrenaline kick. How would I then bathe in the sea with pretty people?"

Choso

Free ticket for a night-long concert is not a temptation you would be able to resist. Especially when it comes to this place. Since you were invited, you did a lot of research about this place and your excitement was only growing with each passing hour.

And when you found out there's going to be an unplanned change of the opening band—and that it's HIS band that's going to perform—you became simply ecstatic. You're going to have a rare chance of seeing this shy, rather insular man in his waters. You're insanely curious how is he going to behave on the stage, how is his voice going to sound from the speakers, how is he going to look in a scenic makeup and outfit.

He keeps apologizing through the whole day, though, for this sudden change of plans. You can't convince him that for you it's not an inconvenience or that you can go for another date if enjoying the concert from the audience together is what he really wants. He's stubborn in his panic and you start to worry he might actually call the whole deal off but eventually you get a dry "I hope you will like our performance" and you take it as his final decision.

You're welcomed and encouraged—and you're on your way to enjoy every single bit of this night.

The club is not particularly crowded but there's enough people to make for a decent audience. You order yourself a drink and settle on observing the scene from a safe distance. Now it's only him that matters to you. Dancing and partying and experiencing the concert to its fullest can wait.

Despite the different appearance you recognize him immediately. Visual kei style really suits him; it brings the best out of his naturally handsome face and adds him loads of confidence. You can't say you know him for real—you've chatted only on Tinder, after all—but he still feels like a completely different person when performing. His shyness and awkwardness is nowhere to be found, there's only his deep, velvet and full of expression voice and sultriness of his body and expressions. He doesn't move around much but he puts so much energy and passion into his presence that he somehow fills the scene, leaving the rest of the band behind himself.

You're so disappointed they played only two songs before they're called off and another band takes their place.

You send him a quick text, describing where you're sitting, and take a selfie with a barely touched drink in your hand. You were so lost in the performance that you forgot about it.

More or less in the middle of the new band's performance a man from security approaches you with an invitation to the backroom. You're almost shaking with excitement: the night just keeps getting better and better. Sneaking in like a groupie, about to see the lead voice of The Band in person!

From close, Choso looks tad tired and miserable—but it only adds to the charm. He's visibly nervous and does a little jump when he spots you at the door, then stutters when he's trying to greet and compliment you. Finally, he settles on just walking you to a more private area; you sit together on a fatigued sofa, bottles of cold soda in your hands.

"I'm sorry for the change of plans. I hope you had fun despite that?"

Geto Suguru

He's running late.

He warned you he had an unexpected event this morning and it threw the whole day for him upside down so you're not really angry - just a little bored when stuck alone in a cafe that's indeed perfect for audio sensation, providing you have a conversation partner to utilize that feature. On its own, the place is almost too silent, suiting more a library than a place to enjoy coffee and lunch. Majority of guests are busy with their laptops and books, the muffled hum of unvarying jazz music is interrupted only by the typical coffee bar commotion - and even that is less noisy than what you've seen around. As if the whole place was designed

You're not sure if you actually vibe with it - or quite contrary.

For the tenth time within the last twenty minutes, you check Tinder for updates. The last message from him came two hours ago, promising he will definitely make it, begging for your patience and promising to pay for everything you order today. You don't want to overuse his generosity, so you ordered yourself only a single coffee, from the bottom side of price range

The sound of the door opening should be a loud stimuli but in this weird place even this is not louder than a regular whisper. You don't pay it much more attention than simply noticing it happened, all of your focus plastered to the empty chat. Should you prompt him to hurry? He's not online though and as far as you're aware, he's driving, so he won't check anything until he's arrived anyway.

Maybe you will kill some time with checking other Tinder profiles... You had some new interested men, after all.

Out of sudden a big someone puts their big, warm hand over your eyes. It's not pressed tight to your face, but your vision is blocked by its palm and your senses full of the herbal scent of hand cream.

"Guess who?" Soft, elegant voice whispers right into your ear, so close you feel the warmth beaming from his breath. You heard it only a few times, modified by the speaker of your phone, but you have no problem pinpointing it to the right face.

"You scared me!" You don't intend to pretend otherwise. Before you connected the dots, your heart already started fluttering in your chest like a startled bird. Though, you're not sure whether the reason is solely fear - or the sudden, unexpected closeness too.

"I'm sorry." Suguru takes a seat in front of you, hangs his bag at the back of his chair. "For the prank and delay. I was stuck in traffic. What a horrible day."

He quickly studies the menu, then takes a look at your lonely glass, "Only a single coffee? I told you to spoil yourself. It's my treat."

You tease him, claiming you were afraid of being wimped out, but he doesn't follow the bait, answering as calmly and carelessly as possible without making the situation unintentionally tense. Together you decide on lunch, a new coffee for you and a green tea with honey for him.

"I chose this place for you to listen to my voice better, but I can't help but be selfish instead." Once back from the bar, Suguru leans in your direction, chin resting in his palm. "Your voice is mesmerizing. I'm glad I got to listen to it."

[jaylaxies]

KINKTOBER DAY 15 — BIRTHDAY SEX

PAIRING: heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, pull out method, fingering, cunnilingus.

WC: 946 words

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: omg it’s hee day! and this fic is for @gobighee and i really hope that you’ll enjoy it! :3 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all <3

A pile full of birthday presents, a house full of friends, innumerable birthday wishes and a day full of surprises. Lee Heeseung could have sworn it would have been the best day he had ever experienced.

It was his birthday, after all. Everyone loved him, giving him the most thoughtful and sorted gifts, none of which he opened. The party was still going on in full swing, however, Heeseung was distracted, unknowingly ignoring some guests who came up to wish him. It wasn’t his fault though, especially when his closest friend had only sent him a text saying happy birthday, a red heart emoji accompanying the small text.

It won’t be a lie to say that he was disappointed, even more so when you didn’t end up showing up to his party without giving him any prior notice regarding it. The disappointment doubled when he realised that you probably don’t like him as much as he likes you, more than friends at that.

Deep inside, he was also worried when you didn’t pick up his calls or answer any of his messages.

“Aw birthday boy, what’s wrong?” Sunghoon asked, a smirk on his face as Heeseung was quick to swat his hand away from his shoulder.

“Ouch, someone’s grumpy today. Try checking your room,” he simply spoke over the loud music, knowing well how his mood was sour due to your absence.

Heeseung registered Sunghoon’s words faster than the speed of light, rushing upstairs and towards his room, pushing the door open with a newfound sense of rush.

He was quick to close the door behind him once he saw you in the room, eyes widening and suddenly everything made sense to him.

The way you had been touchy from the past few days, the way you had been looking at him, eyes darkened with something he couldn’t decipher back then.

He was only half a bit sure that you knew how much he had wanted you, in more ways than you could ever imagine, but he was never sure of you being aware of his situation until this very moment.

He gulped, taking a step closer to your smiling figure, his own eyes darkening with lust taking over his senses.

He called your name out in a low tone, reaching near you on the bed as he looked down at you lying down on his silky sheets.

“Happy birthday, Hee,” the words sounded so innocent coming out of your mouth in contrast to your outfit choice.

It was everything Heeseung had dreamed of, you on his bed, devoid of clothes, except for your red lacy panties and a big gift bow which covered your chest.

You were his birthday gift.

“Won’t you come here and open your gift?” You asked, tilting your head slightly which further drove him insane.

He was on top of you in no time, lips inches away from yours as he stopped for a second, “are you sure, Y/n?” He looked into your eyes.

“Yes. I am,” you confirmed, cupping his cheeks, “fuck me, Hee. Claim me as yours.”

“Fuck, you’re driving me insane,” he groaned, smashing his lips onto yours in a rushed kiss, your fingers tugging at his silky roots, making him moan into your mouth before slipping his tongue in, humming once he got to taste you.

“So fucking pretty.” He looked drunk even though he didn’t drink a sip of alcohol.

He looked drunk in the essence of you.

The bow didn’t stay on your for long, now thrown away down on the floor as Heeseung’s lips replaced it, placing wet kisses all over your body, his hands squeezing your tits, also mentioning how long he had been waiting to do this, making you shut your eyes with the pleasure.

“Hee—” you whined, toes curling.

He only increased his pace, kissing the expanse of your waist, down to your lower abdomen. He was restless, cock hardening once he sat back to remove all his clothes, eyes travelling up and down your body, lip bitten as he took your beauty in.

Your panties didn’t stay on long after that, his fingers having fun while teasing your clit, his mouth on your pussy, placing small kisses to tease you, making you whimper and ask for more.

“Such a bad girl, didn’t pick up my calls, didn’t answer my texts.” His fingers slipped into your wet folds, “you don’t deserve to be fucked.”

“No! Please! I was just t—trying to give you a surprise, fuck!” You moaned out when he curled his fingers in your pussy.

“Yeah?” He took his fingers out, turning you around with ease as he lifted your ass up, your head on the pillow as he spanked your ass, “I’ll fuck you then.”

You cried out at his length once he pushed his fully hardened cock inside you, thrusting in a few times to bottom out, hitting your g-spot with how fast and powerful his thrusts were, moving your body.

The sound of your actions were loud enough to conceal the faint sound of music coming from downstairs.

He spanked and thrusted, the pain felt more like pleasure to you than anything else, and soon, you found yourself clenching around his length helplessly, not being able to control your orgasm that was building up at a quick pace.

He too was breathless, pulling out once you made a mess on his cock, legs shaking. He emptied his liquid all over your back, soon flipping you over again to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.

He breathed out, looking into your eyes with a sudden shy smile—

“You’re the best gift I could ever get.”

TAGLIST:

@en-cityzen @seungkwan-s @eunoia-kth @lix-freckle3 @woniebae @baekhyunstruly @sungniverse @criceofpain @starryjakey @wntrsgf @heelariously @liliansun @hoonstrology @abdiitcryy @w3bqrl @9900z @cha-raena @faethefairy @seo-thicc-bin @lilacboba @fallinforgyu @jayegalaxy @violevantae @ivyvesisi @sunshine-skz @nicksszzz @candidupped @celestialsjy @enhydiaries @woniecf @ultenha @dreamyenskz @keixeds @j5aker @donghoonie-3 @jkmonica @neocityhoe @zhaixiaowen @seuomo @hwhjsthetic @shreyerii @jngsngie @jjhmk @jongseongsmirk @iqeot @duolingofanaccount @bunhoons @yunskies @jaysbiceps @nyfwyeonjun @goodforgyu @enhacolor @cyuuupid @luvyun @sunghoonight @bambisgirl @taekbokki

©️ jaylaxies | tumblr

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Careful [12]

Honestly, Dark Autumn Complex is doing it right. They aren't in a giant hotel/casino mashup where all of the big guys perform, they're in a little bar down the strip. Still enough room for tons of people, but it isn't crawling with bodies like bugs under my fucking skin.

And it's a really nice bar, by the way. Mostly an indoor venue, but they have a little patio right in front of New York, New York-- and also some really tasty looking chicken wings.

My only complaint is the copious and nauseating amount of liquid covering the floor. Yea, people are living it up in here, but I think they're living a little too hard. This is definitely a toxic mixture of vomit, alcohol, and urine-- but I'm not the one who's going to actually confirm that.

Todd, on the other hand...

"For fuck's sake," the man hisses, taking knee-to-chest steps through the nasty flood on the floor. "I shouldn't have come. It'll take me weeks to get this stench off of my shoes."

"Oh, come on Toddler. It's not that bad," Larry harumphs, elbowing an unamused Todd in the ribs.

I snort, shaking my foot out after passing through a particularly goopy substance. Is this even real? It has to be a fever dream. "Actually, it is that bad, Lar. Even The Hangover wasn't this over the top."

Larry rolls his eyes next to me. "You're just a bunch of weaklings. Right, Sal?"

My head drops down at the sound of his name. I'll only add to the mess on the floor if I so much as look at him. He really hurt my feelings, and it's embarrassing to admit that.

The man doesn't say a word, but then again, none of us should have expected him to. He's a little... no. I shouldn't be angry, I should be upset. He hurt my damn feelings. More importantly, I should be focused on why his words hurt so damn bad. It's not like I expect something better from him.

Why do I have expectations at all in regards to him?

Not to mention, there's the daunting fact that he's finally texted Lexi. I don't know what to do-- I don't even think I want to reply. But unfortunately, there's a part of me that would feel horrible for making Lexi ghost him when he clearly cares about her to some degree.

Too many questions, not enough answers, and way too many worries. I'll file this all away in my cabinet titled Later.

Our group continues to push through the crowd. We're about an hour early, as per request on behalf of Ash who's hoping to find hot girls. Can't hate on the game, I just hope I have a bed to sleep in tonight.

I watch my every move, all three boys trailing behind me as I walk along the sopping ground. The LED's flash across feet and skin, and more importantly, the slick floor makes the light reflections seem even brighter. That means I'm blinded the entire way with only a few moments of relief and clarity.

There's one step I take in which my foot catches against something, so I desperately grab onto Ash's forearm to keep myself steady. She doesn't even look back, just lets me hold onto her-- I guess she's used to having me around already. That's cute. So, I balance myself then let go, traipsing through this toxic quarry of sorts.

Something I've never learned, no matter how many times it's made itself known to me, is to never trust myself. Or my feet, for that matter. If there's an open opportunity for me to be clumsy, my body will absolutely break in two to ruin my day and everyone else's.

Our prime example tonight is when I slip on a meticulous placed slice of banana bread that has had a wonderful time soaking up all the liquids on the floor.

The entire ordeal mimics the classic banana peel take-down. I mean-- really. My hands fly up, my legs about damn near follow me as I start flying toward the ground, unable to catch myself with Ash's arm this time.

I'm bracing for impact and a nasty swim in the thick contents below when hands slide under my arms, catching me right before I can hit the ground.

There's an awkward beat of silence where I'm hanging from hands with my ass hovering over the ground. I take a breath and glance up. Another beat of silence when I see that it's Sally who caught me.

He's leaned over me, watching me with agitated, narrowed eyes and his fluffy hair falling around his face. His fingers are digging into the flesh of my arms, his rings cold against my skin. The way heat envelops me in a millisecond both pisses me off and has me fighting for a way to get out of this situation.

I huff out a frustrated breath, blowing my hair away from my mouth and slapping a glare onto my face that I know he'll be able to see in my gaze. And then those infuriatingly pretty eyes of his roll before he puts some weight onto my arms, helping me back into a standing position.

I bite the inside of my cheek when he pulls his hands away from me quickly. I hate how much I enjoy his touch, but I blame the accent. I blame the style. I blame the allure. I blame it all. Even the asshole personality.

And I sure as hell am not about to thank him after what he said to me earlier. So I dust off my skirt, making sure it didn't manage to touch the... secretions... on the floor. But as I'm double-checking myself, he grumbles out, "Careful."

My head snaps to the side to look at him so aggressively that I'm worried I've snapped my neck for a moment. Did he really just say that? Have the gates of hell opened up on earth? Is this the end of times? Because there's no fucking way he just told me to be careful.

"Damn, Vi," Larry breaks my stare-off with Sal for a moment as he walks around us. He claps a hand on my shoulder, a gorgeous grin plastered on his lips that distracts me for just a second, only a second. "Falling for me already?"

"If that was me falling for you, then this has to be a Stockholm Syndrome thing because there's no way I wasn't going to slip on this floor," I reply, cocking an eyebrow when his smile falls into a pout.

"Awe, c'mon. You wouldn't be complaining so much if you actually fell," he notes, tilting his head inquisitively. "In fact, you'd be doing a backstroke right about now had you hit the floor."

No wonder he and Sal are best friends.

Todd walks past Larry, cackling the entire way as he passes us up. And Larry knows he's won, so he raises his eyebrows, a sly smirk pulling his lips as he turns away to catch up with Ash.

And then it's just me and Sal again.

I watch him closely, waiting for him to say something since he's looking at me like he has words just on the tip of his tongue. And then I hear a syllable leave his undoubtedly pretty mouth and immediately cut him off with, "If you're going to be a cunt, you might as well shut the fuck up right now because I'm absolutely in the mood to punch you in the middle of all these people."

He looks confused, shocked for a moment. I can even see his eyebrows because they're scrunched together, but then he seems to understand my words and proceeds to roll his eyes so hard that it literally looks painful.

"Larry gave you enough hell," he says shortly, adjusting his stance as he regards me with those forever irritated blue eyes. "I was going to say, do you remember what I said to you? That shitty stuff?"

Is this some kind of trick question? Because who could possibly forget the shit he said to me? But then again-- he just acknowledged that it was shitty... what kind of Sal Fisher am I witnessing right now?

I watch him with wary eyes, too afraid to look into the angry facade of his because just beneath that facade is an actual drop of vulnerability. And I don't think I like seeing him this open and fucking... fucking understanding.

"I guess that's a stupid question," he mumbles to himself, never breaking our eye contact. But then he sighs and speaks yet again. "I saved you. That's all the apology you're going to get."

A weight so heavy lifts from my soul and I feel like I'll start floating any second now. The barbed wire around my heart loosens, the boulders bouncing around my brain shrink. And I'm left with feelings I don't want to have, but feelings that are welcomed either way. I feel like, for the first time, Sal and I are on even ground. We both know something was wrong, and he even apologized, even if that apology was saving me from social suicide and reminding me to be careful. He wanted to make up for the way he broke me earlier. And he did.

And I also want to say that finding common ground with Sal is fucking weird.

"This is weird," I voice, suddenly tensing up over the awkwardness floating around us.

Sally's eyes close with relief and he seems to relax just a bit. "It is fucking weird. So can we forget about today and just continue the way we have been?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. That's even weirder," I sputter out, taking a quick step away from him as my heart flutters over his words. I can't believe his willingness to let bygones be bygones is so fucking hot to me. Maybe it's because this is something I didn't think I'd ever get from him. I'm not sure. "Yes, fuck, anything to stop you from being sentimental. Please."

"Cool. Glad we agree," he grumbles, looking up and past me. Then he actually starts walking, intent on passing me.

But my eyes bug out of my head. "No, not cool! I don't fucking want us to agree-- just shut up. Stop fucking talking," I grit out as he passes me, turning to walk behind him.

Sal's head turns, eyes acknowledging me with disbelief. His voice is higher-pitched and filled with aggravation as he says, "How are you going to tell me to shut up when you fucking never do it yourself? Hypocrisy isn't cute."

"Oh, yea?" I retort, folding my arms against my chest as heat wells in my chest. He really is always fighting me, and he should be thanking me right now. I was just trying to end whatever weird shit was just happening. "Don't talk about hypocrisy Mr. I-Want-To-Fuck-You-But-I-Don't. Go try that one on for size."

"Didn't I just tell you to forget that?" he says exasperatedly. "Do you deliberately ignore every bit of sound advice you get?"

"If it's coming from you-- hell yea, I ignore it," I snort, stopping my walking when we finally catch up with Ash, Larry, and Todd who are standing in front of the stage.

Sal turns to me with fury burning in his eyes and I relish in it. This is normal. This is back to what we were doing just earlier today. No apologies, no forgiveness-- just going back to what we know.

"Wow, yea." He says, showing off dramatic jazz hands. "That sounds about right. Dumb bitch can't do anything but tear herself apart."

"Boo hoo," I answer, placing my hands on my hips. This is a good one. No one can hear us so we can just wail away on each other-- keeps me busy. It's pretty fun too. Exercises my funny bone. "Sounds like something the selfish prick would say. Assume that everyone's falling apart while he's so put-together, right?"

"You--" Sal starts, voice piercing straight through me with its sheer ferocity, but he cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, eyeing me with a sickening glare the entire time. "What fucking ever. Just shut up."

"Happy to know I won," I chirp, smiling sweetly at him.

I'm sure he's about to burst and reign hell on me, but a security guard approaches us. A flash of fear slams into me and I shrink in on myself when I realize this guy has probably been watching Sally and I yell back and forth at each other for a few minutes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sally dip his head down too, a sign of nerves and shame. Hm. Serves him right.

The security guard, a huge and burly man that somehow stands a bit taller than Larry stops in front of Sally and I. He has an impenetrable glare in his eyes and a face so emotionless that it sickens me just thinking about how strong he must be.

And worse, he isn't looking at me. His grey eyes are dead set on Sally beside me.

I gulp, a chill running down my spine as the guard crosses his arms over his chest. Sal looks like he's about to literally start shaking and, hell, I don't blame him. I'm not far off from doing the same.

Sally's the type to put up a fight, clearly, but sometimes you have to know when fighting is no use. When fighting means you'll get thrown into a hospital. This is that time and I've never viewed this asshole as intellectual before, but I think he's making a good call by holding off right now.

Eyes still set on the bluenette, the security guard finally speaks in a deep, booming, authoritative voice. "I need you to come with me," he says to Sally and I feel like I'm going to shit myself.

Holy crap, I do not want to end my night on this type of scenario. With the fact that I got the notorious Sally Face arrested. I do not want that sitting on my conscience because the second this motherfucker gets out of jail, he's coming for me. Aw, fuck.

I watch the security guard with a gaping mouth, noting the way Sally's eyes widen. They're so big right now that I'm a tad worried they'll roll right out of his face, but I focus on getting out of dodge first.

"Um," I mumble shakily, shrinking back a bit more. I'm so going to throw up once this is done. "Is everything okay, sir? Are we in trouble?"

My main goal is to not die right now. And if the man who hates me most gets arrested or something tonight, I won't have a head in a few days. There's no doubt.

Okay, sure, I'm probably really overreacting but anyone would be in this situation. I mean this guy is huge and so, so intimidating.

The security guard looks down at me with aggravation and confusion flashing across his face. He raises a blonde eyebrow that could cut air and suddenly I think that vomit sesh I was saving for later is going to happen now.

"Who the hell are you?" He asks, looking down at me and squinting his eyes. "I'm here to grab the blue-haired kid in the mask and the really tall, super emo, questionably buff guy."

I blanch for a moment, staring up at the behemoth security guard that I just embarrassed myself in front of. What did Sal and Larry do? Are they both about to get arrested?

I glance over at Sally and he matches my gaze, shrugging subtly. His blue eyes are filled with wariness and concern as he turns his eyes back to the man.

And then the security guard looks like he's about to drop kick both of us, if his horrifyingly intimidating glare is a hint at anything, that is.

"Come on," he growls out, making me flinch in fear. "North wants you," he points to Sal, "and the really massive emo guy with the Dave Grohl hair. Can you hurry the fuck up?"

My eyes widen. Oh, for fuck's sake. Dark Autumn Complex's lead singer asked for Larry and Sal, which, hold on, how do they know that the boys are here? Is that even possible?

My eyes narrow as quickly as they previously widened. Something's weird about this.

I watch Sally from the corner of my eye, noting the relief that swamps his pretty azure irises. He puts a hand to his chest and breathes deep, throwing his head over his shoulder to call for Larry who turns to us with a raised eyebrow.

Larry sees the giant security guard and stiffens up like a Tom and Jerry character come to life. It's comical up until the guy gets into position to bolt out of dodge.

He crouches down and sets his right foot forward, ready to race through the crowd to escape the security guard. But right now, when North is asking for him, and with this freaky guy retrieving him-- that doesn't need to happen.

Sally groans and motions Larry over, shaking his head at the taller guy. "It's just North," Sal reassures. "He wants us for something. I don't know what."

Larry doesn't look convinced, but he walks over to our small group. "So he fucking sent the 'roid mall cop after us? Does he not know me and my history with the justice system?" He scoffs and glances over at the security guard who looks like he's barely holding back some unyielding rage. "I'm with Vi on this one man, I'm totally an anarchist."

"Larry," I hiss, heat enveloping my cheeks as a very real and very concerning tsunami of genuine fear for my life slams into me. Why would he say that in front of the justice system he supposedly has a bad relationship with? And why the hell did he have to rope me into it? "Shut the fuck up. Just go with the 'roid--" I cough, eyes close to flying out of my head because of my mistake. It's not my fault that the nickname stuck, but it's definitely damning. Fucking hell, Larry. "Just go with this nice security guard." I smile, wide and fake as fuck as I look over at said security guard who's hands are fisted at his sides. I grimace and glance back at Sal and Larry who look like deer caught in headlights. "Now," I grit out.

Both boys are clambering after the security guard in seconds. Larry may be a heathen and Sal may be clueless, but at least they were smart enough to read that play.

I heave a sigh of relief as both boys disappear into the crowd. I've never had trouble with police before in my life and I'd really like to keep it that way.

But as I walk forward to meet Ash and Todd, I think of a couple things.

My friends are standing right behind the barrier that separates us from the stage. We're as close as we can possibly get, and even that is way too close for me. Meeting my idols is something I sincerely don't want to do because I'll probably pass out. The thought of embarrassing myself in front of someone so amazing feels like a death sentence, so I'd like to avoid making eye contact with North, South, and/or East.

Maybe I haven't mentioned it before, but all three members of Dark Autumn Complex choose to go by one of the four main cardinal directions on a compass. The only member, or direction, they're missing is West. Whether they're looking for someone to fill the spot or just didn't want a member to be compared to Jade West, I'll never know. But why wouldn't someone want to be compared to Jade West?

To each their own, I suppose.

The point is that I don't know the reasoning behind their names, but the way it goes is: North is the singer and guitarist, East is the bassist, and South is the drummer. That's how it's always been.

I step up next to Ash, wrapping my fingers around the cool, metal barricade. Multiple neon colors flash around us as the crowd grows thicker. And as a result, the little swimming pool at our feet grows thicker too. You know, maybe I wouldn't let Ash buy me new clothes... but I think I'll let her buy me some new shoes after this fiasco. This is quite unique.

Our concert grows closer with each passing second. Ash and Todd meet some fans in the crowd while I hide away, trying to pretend I'm some random woman in a mask. Sally and Larry never return. I'm assuming they'll stay backstage... but then again, I still have some questions I'd like to have answered. And there are quite a few...

Do North, Larry, and Sally know each other? I mean, for the guys to be called backstage, they must be acquainted somehow. But since they are, why hadn't they mentioned that they knew Dark Autumn Complex personally?

Larry said that he could get me backstage, but I thought that was a farce. I still fucking think it's a farce. My spidey senses are tingling and there's something that just doesn't add up.

For example, again, no one mentioned that anyone was friends with Dark Autumn Complex. Another eyebrow raising detail is that Ash and Todd didn't get asked backstage. Why? Do Ash and Todd know about the connection too? Maybe they don't if they haven't brought up the friendship either...

I tap on Ash's shoulder once I notice a group of girls walk away from her. My gorgeous, jade-eyed and strawberry-lipped friend turns to me with a stunning smile gracing her angelic face. She looks down at me, tilting her head in question as she waits patiently for me to say something.

But I narrow my eyes. Everyone's a suspect in my non-murder mystery right now.

"Are Sal, Larry, and DAC friends or something?" I ask, pressing my lips into a thin line.

Ash's brows furrow and that's my first red flag. Why the hell is she doing that?

But then she says, "Didn't they tell you about that? We're all friends with Dark Autumn Complex." Her voice is just as sweet and tender as always. In fact, she seems a little shocked at the fact that I'm new to this information.

"Yea, no. I just thought you were all fans," I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating the friendship confirmation. "Well, why didn't North invite you and Todd backstage?"

Ash shrugs, not too worried about that apparently. "North and Sal are buddies because they both play guitar. North's been waiting for, like, ages to see what talent Sal has. And Larry has some history in music. That's why Sal brings him along for practice-- Lar has really good ears and can tune a guitar to fucking perfection. With all of those similar interests, North, Sal, and Larry naturally got closer than Todd or I were able to." A smile pulls at her lips again. "I'm good friends with East, but I have time to meet him later."

I raise my eyebrows at that last bit of information. After all, Ash answered all my questions so I feel much better. All the gaps are filled in and there are no more red flags.

"Oh?" I say suggestively. "And how close are you, exactly, to East?" My lips stretch into a little smirk when Ash rolls her eyes at my teasing. She's just so easy to offend.

"Not like that, you little slut," she jokes, winking at me.

"Oooouuu," I hum, leaning closer to her with a little grin. "Call me that again."

Poor Ash groans, rolling her eyes yet again as she throws an arm around my shoulders. "Shut up. I can't believe you're so into degradation." Her voice falls into a mumble as I look up at her with a smile, but her next words nearly make me choke. "Sal would love you." She shakes her head and looks down at me. I struggle to slap a stoic expression onto my face after hearing that. I have way too much information. I was hoping my new knowledge would stop after finding out that DAC and The Faces are buddies.

But, then again, my entire body warms at her words. While it's shocking information, it's also very interesting information.

"Anyway," Ash cuts off my thoughts. "It really isn't like that. I am so not into guys. Sometimes I find that one in a million, but, fuck, it's hard. I much prefer women."

I shrug, still reeling over whatever it was she let slip about Sally. I might as well just throw "Sally Face (Sal Fisher) has a degrading kink" into a file cabinet to save for later when I'll actually have the time and desire to mull over that.

"I don't blame you," I decide to tell Ash. "Men really suck sometimes."

Ash scoffs like she's just had an epiphany. "They really fucking do!" she exclaims, throwing her free arm up into the air.

I'm about to yap about the topic a bit more to distract myself when the neon lights over the crowd suddenly shut off. They're all pointing to the stage in front of us now.

When the hell did Dark Autumn Complex walk out here?

All three characters are set up on their respective sides of the stage and I suddenly feel like I'm going to throw up again. They all look so immaculate, so pretty, so mysterious.

My stomach turns with a mix of nervousness and excitement. A group I genuinely look up to is standing less than six feet away from me, doing some last minute checks on their equipment. My head feels fuzzy and I almost keel over with the way my heart repeatedly slams into my ribcage. I've never had this opportunity before in my life. I can't help but imagine if this is how I would have felt meeting The Faces for the first time if we were never friends.

I'm about to take in and observe their dark clothing when a screen lights up behind the band with HELLO written in big bold letters. This is interesting.

All I'm able to see before turning my attention to the screen is the striking, electric blue of North's guitar as the light catches it. Holy hell, that's a nice instrument.

North turns their body to the side, holding out a hand that gestures up to the screen. They glance at the crowd over their shoulder, then look back to the screen.

A booming voice is heard over a speaker and I almost shit myself for a second, the sound so loud that I have to cover my ears. But then, Ash, Todd, and I are all cackling. No fucking way.

"Hello Dark Autumn Complex bitches and cunts! My name is Larry Johnson. You may know me from the online streaming group called The Faces," Larry's stupid ass voice is full of confidence and pride as he snarkily opens up for the band. Wow. I don't even blame DAC for having him do this. If anyone could engage a crowd, it's definitely Larry. "If you'll all kindly turn your attention to the screen, I'm going to walk you through some rules that Dark Autumn Complex has set up for this little concert of theirs." Suddenly, Larry groans. "Ugh. Rules. Fucking boring, right?"

North drops their hand and shakes their head as the crowd starts to giggle. Like I said, Larry is perfect for this kind of job.

The screen changes from HELLO to some other stuff that Larry very sweetly explains with his adorably snarky gamer voice.

"So, first up, if you couldn't tell, no one from the band is going to talk. They want to keep their identity completely concealed, so as a precaution, you will only be hearing their instruments and singing." Larry's a bit more serious. I find myself admiring the way he knows when to be more tactful regarding sensitive or important information. It comes off as very genuine and so sweet. He cares. "They also want to say that they're extremely appreciative of your attendance tonight."

The crowd cheers and I do too. All of the screaming and clapping is infectious, even more so when North bows to the crowd, followed by East who waves at everyone, and finally South who puts a drum stick in the air.

"Next and finally," Larry begins again. "As you can see, there is a microphone in front of North who also, obviously has a mask on." The high self-esteem is reflected in Larry's voice again, an amused lilt in his tone. "The microphone is a fucking prop, you haters. Let that man pretend he's singing into it and not the little tiny microphone taped to his face under the mask, okay? He's a sensitive little guy and absolutely needed to have the prop or else it was going to, in his words, feel weird."

Okay, so North is a guy. Good to know.

North visibly cringes, throwing his arms up in exasperation as he turns back to the screen. I just know he's cursing Larry in his mind. No doubt about it.

Larry cackles a bit scarily before ending his opening segment. "But without further ado, I present to you, Dark Autumn Complex in all their might and glory."

The packed crowd around us cheers. Ash throws an arm around my shoulder and screams at the top of her lungs, so I join her. My eyes never stray from the stage filled with exceptionally hot looking musicians who are looking between each other as the audience quiets down.

They're all in black-- no other colors. Straight black clothing, which makes them all the more appealing. From what I can tell, based on where I am, East, the bassist, is exceptionally tall. But North and South are about average height. Other than that, there's nothing else of note other than their insanely elaborate masks.

It's clear that they have some other kind mask on to hide their hair-- probably black ski masks-- and then another mask on top of that. I can't see them all that well, but even from here the colors are gorgeous and it just feels like they must have been expensive.

North's mask is red, gold, and black. I can see some kind of drawing on part of it, but can't tell what it is exactly. The same goes for the other members-- East who's wearing a primarily black mask with white and gold, and finally South who's sporting dark blue with white and gold. Other than their colors, all three masks match.

We love hot people.

I feel like I'm going to happy vomit everywhere when East starts up a song with this sick riff on his bass. Even better, it's my favorite song by them. The same song, in fact, that made me so upset the other day. Wherein Christine Daaé Became Her Own Phantom.

I sing the lyrics as the rest of the band kicks up the song. It's crazy to see them live and realize they sound just as good in real life as they do in a recording. That's such a flex, considering so many people sound much different when they get out on stage. For their very first concert, they don't seem nervous about it at all and that helps the crowd become more immersed, makes the music so much better.

DAC goes through a few of their songs, some older and some newer, like the song they released about a month ago. I'm all jitters and a fluttering heart during the entire set, finding that my eyes never stray from the amazing band rocking about on the small stage.

They've gone through most of their songs after about forty-five minutes and at this point, I'm assuming that our concert is over. I'm already expecting the worst case of post-concert depression to hit me in a few seconds here, especially when the screen pops on behind all three band members again. And, naturally, this is followed by Larry's voice.

"Alrighty, sluts and whores," he starts happily. I roll my eyes but let a smile envelop my face anyway. "You're in luck tonight. While DAC may be ending this amazing fucking concert soon, they've decided to play a brand new song for you. From what I've heard, they've been working very hard on it. So be grateful, for fuck's sake!"

A new song? Really? Here, out in the middle of Vegas?

"The name of this new song, which also happens to be my favorite so far, is 'Actually Carrie Underwood Doesn't Like Me," Larry giggles a bit over the name. "Another insane title. I'm fucking pumped."

I look over at Ash who looks like she's about to have a brain orgasm. Then I look at Todd who probably couldn't care less, but he has a little light in his dark gaze that says he might be really excited about this.

I glance back up to the stage as my feet go numb. It might be excitement, or it might be from having to slosh around in liquid for nearly two hours. Maybe it could be both. But the point is that a shiver runs through my entire body, electrifying me in a way that's so addicting that I wish there were a way for me to make this concert last forever. It's going to hurt so bad to walk out of here and go back to the hotel later.

My attention and gaze are solely focused on North as he starts the song with a serene little melody on that gorgeous, electric blue guitar.

And almost immediately, before I can even take a moment to appreciate the short guitar solo, everything turns metal as fuck. And I'd go as far as to say that this is the hardest song the band has ever made. Yea, they're a rock band and they put out some really good and heavy hitting stuff, but this is different. This is angry.

"Look at what I've become-- My mother's careful knitting is undone. Sixty stitches and a price never paid, Might as well have sliced me with a blade.

All gaping wounds and pity, Disgust has never looked so pretty. My own disgust or theirs; Or is it just hospital rooms and wheelchairs?"

I officially think I'm with Ash on the mind-jizz bit. This is good. It's deep, it's angry, it's got that hidden meaning that no one will ever understand. It's something that only the writer will only be able to fully comprehend. Even if they would tell someone else what it was about, it'll never compare to everything that goes on inside their head when they think of this song.

"Self-inflicted cuts and scars, Just like the first which left me marred. So sick of the metallic taste Of the way I'm two-faced.

Bursting with hopes and regrets Falling through like fingers in fishnets. Regard myself as something to dispose of-- You think me a disgrace, don't you, my love?"

Leave it to DAC to fuck with my head again. As always.

I nearly crumble to the floor again-- this time with no one to catch me. The second North screams out the word 'fishnets' and grabs onto that prop microphone of his to get into the moment, I feel my heart skip a beat. My head is suddenly filled with memories of Sally weaving his fingers through my own fishnets just yesterday night. It feels silly to immediately remember that scene because of a song, but how couldn't I? The lyrics are literally the same as what happened to me.

And in the long run, that's the entire reason music exists. So it can resonate within those who find their own meaning in the lyrics. So others can create something from a pre-determined scenario. Make it their own.

But hell, I really don't want to think about that asshole while I'm trying to enjoy this new, really amazing song that one of my favorite bands just dropped. Live and in person.

"There's a monster in your bed, In your head, It's me-- Too bad I'm not dead.

Shove my face in a pillow case And curse the human race. Why'd I have to suffer? Why the character development to make me tougher?"

Ash is gripping onto my wrist so tightly that my arm is starting to tingle. She's excited and so am I. What's there not to like about dark lyrics and angry riffs?

We all listen closely, literally everyone on the floor. East is standing in front of South and they watch each other, playing wonderfully and completely invested in the music they're making. Meanwhile, North walks languidly across the stage, ditching the prop microphone and singing into the one that actually works instead. It's a win-win-- he can still sing, but he can focus on playing his guitar rather than fucking around with something that doesn't even work.

I can't help but watch him, my gaze never falling away from North's every movement. His hands expertly playing his flashy guitar, his head tilted down to watch his finger movement, and his black dress shoes taking calculated steps. I've never seen a musician wear dress shoes in the middle of a concert before in my life, but I'm certainly not complaining.

Regardless, it's very interesting.

"Years of therapy couldn't fix me-- No llores por mi. Such a futile attempt at a kill, Was it really worth the thrill?"

No way did this suddenly hot individual just spit out Spanish in the middle of a song. Is he single? If so, I think I'd like to change that. Anyway--

"All I am is rage and revenge-- Every little bit of me is unhinged. I'd say there's nothing to fear, But I'm no Shakespeare.

There's a monster in your bed, In your head, Blood red, Filled with dread. It's me, And you'll wish I was dead."

No. Nope. Absolutely not. I don't have some stupid celebrity crush on a person I've never met because they're openly not shallow and just as torn apart as I am. Not at all. Not a chance.

But the way North shuts his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling as he sing into the microphone again does something to me. Makes a little corner of my brain light up. Sends shivers through my body. And I really don't like any of it, but what can I do? The heart wants what it wants. It's all shallow feelings anyway. For all I know, North could be the complete opposite of what I want in a person. Not to mention, he's already way out of my league.

"Some things cease, others never end, But my broken brain and diced up heart won't mend. You needn't expect much-- I'll never get too close to touch.

It's over now; Fatal words for your vow. So sick, I don't know how... Never anything more than thou."

I stare up at the stage with stars in my eyes, nearly jumping out of my skin when North makes eye contact with me for just a split second-- then he moves on and most likely makes eye contact with a ton of other fans too. It's nothing special. He's doing what all musicians do and looking out at his fans. Sudden eye contact is nothing rare. Just subtle.

The music calms down, just an eerily slow and melancholic mixture of notes that North and East meld together on their instruments. And then, the next lyrics are whispered. So soft, so terrifying, so angry-- but calm.

"There's a monster in my bed, In my head, Held together by a thread, A fucked path I tread, Memory of where I once bled. It's me. You better fucking hope I'm dead, Before I slaughter the monster I once fled."

I nearly yelp when the LEDs suddenly shut off, leaving everyone in a pitch black room where only the bartenders have lights. And with the sea of people around me, those distant lights are just a speck of dust in this abyss.

But then, music starts playing on the speakers again-- The Misfits, I think-- and the LEDs snap back on. But the entire band is off-stage. They're gone. Disappeared without a fucking trace.

I blink at the empty stage, noting the perturbed sounds of confusion flitting about me from other fans. It sucks that they left so quickly, but at the same time, this adds to the mysterious air that the band carries. I want so badly to find them hiding in the crowd. I want to sneak backstage and get into their room. I want to run off to the bathroom and hope that, by some ridiculous chance, I bump into one of the members.

And more than anything, I'd love to see North again.

I turn to talk to Ash, finding her pretty glossed lips set in a frown. Bet she'd be shocked if I kissed that frown off her right now.

"What's with the disappearing act?" I ask her, watching as she turns to me, that frown of hers morphing into a quizzical look.

"I actually don't know," she murmurs, looking over her shoulder to see Todd talking to someone, probably another fan. "But something about that giant hunk of man heading this way tells me that we might be able to find out," she continues, voice dropping to a seductive little whisper. I look over her shoulder with her, noting that the same intimidating security guard that scooped up Sal and Larry earlier is headed this way.

I grimace. Okay, so yea, I wanted to disappear and find Dark Autumn Complex two seconds ago but if this guy brings us backstage to actually meet them, I'm going to spontaneously combust. I can't meet a famous person. I can't meet someone I look up to like this. I'm going to make a damn fool of myself.

The security guard reaches Ash, Todd, and I. And he sighs. Fucking sighs upon making eye contact with me.

"Do I have to explain why I'm here again?" he asks, nodding over at me with a blonde eyebrow cocked. It's definitely a warning. If I want to test him right now, he's just going to fuck off and maybe throw me out of the function too.

"Nope," I tell him, my voice quiet and reserved. Very close to shaking. Fuck, someone's going to have to drag me back there because I won't be able to willingly walk backstage on my own.

My heart is pumping a thousand miles a second. At least, that's what it feels like when Ash grabs my hand with a beaming smile on her face.

Todd points behind him, saying something I can't hear to the security guard. He sends Ash and I a little wave then literally melts into the crowd.

No. No, did Todd actually just ditch us? Oh my gosh I'd much rather take a swim in this disgusting ocean at my feet.

I don't really have time to contemplate on the situation anymore as Ash gives my arm a yank, dragging me into the sea of people around us.

She and I are led through a bustling crowd, bodies crowding our every shift and turn. Lights flash all around us, Ash's hand grips tightly on mine, and it hurts too much to watch the floor crawl beneath me. It feels like I'm walking on quicksand and the solid, shadowy strangers slamming into every inch of me-- even into parts of me I didn't know I fucking had-- is making me panic.

I tilt my head up, staring at the wooden, planked ceiling above the crowd and the balcony that's left empty for people who pay for VIP seats. Must be nice.

The lights suddenly change color-- going from a normal white to red and, thus, adding an eerie touch to the already terrifying atmosphere.

Finally, Ash yanks me through a doorway, said door slamming closed me with a loud thud-- courtesy of the guard who led us back here.

"Damn," Ash breathes, so I turn to her, noting her flushed cheeks and euphoric expression. "Doesn't that just give you a rush?" she asks, looking down to me with a grin as she momentarily squints her jade irises.

I stare at her blankly. "No," I reply bluntly. "Actually, that freaks me the fuck out," I continue, squeezing my eyes shut. I want to scream. "I want to scream."

"Then do it. Not like anyone out there's gonna hear you," Ash's nonchalant response resonates in my brain and I open my eyes again, looking at her with a flabbergasted expression.

"Are you serious?" I murmur, "I can't do that here, That's social suicide."

"Just do it, Vi!" Ash happily exclaims, trying to convince me with her stare alone. "It's just us right now. Us and these guards and I fucking promise you they've seen worse than two women screaming at absolutely nothing."

I just look at her, waiting for her to say she was only kidding. But she only looks back at me, that ever-present smile on her lips and ecstatic emotions flashing through her viridian eyes.

Fuck it. It's a good way to get rid of nerves and it's just us.

"Okay," I whisper, tilting my head down a bit. "Anxiety scream on three?"

Bold of me to assume that Ash could reach peak excitement.

Ash's smile widens into a grin and I watch her eyes fill with so much excitement that I'm afraid she'll go crazy for a moment. "Anxiety scream on three."

I nod, confirming yet again as I say, "One."

"Two."

I gulp. "Three."

Ash and I both let out the most banshee-like, horror movie-worthy, tortured person screams we can possibly muster up. Not a single person flinches around us, no doubt having expected this based on our conversation. But that makes it ten times better because then it's like there's no one else there in the first place. Just me and Ash.

At some point, I need to breathe and I'm shocked Ash is still going by the time I keel over and cough up half a lung.

It's a mix of laughs and gagging over our sore and dry throats once Ash finally stops her scream. My hands are on my knees, tears in my eyes as I fight for my life to actually take a good, deep breath.

Ash has her face angled toward the ceiling as she coughs out bellowing laughs-- they're cackles, really.

I stand after a moment, pushing a hand under my mask to wipe at my wet cheeks. But then I look past Ash and notice the three people in all black standing off in a corner of the room-- all of them with three matching masks.

I sober up immediately, clearing my throat and straightening my posture. Fuck, when did they walk in?

Shit, I don't know how to react. I feel so embarrassed to have been caught recovering from a vulnerable moment. And hell, maybe they walked in while we were screaming. Fuck, that's even worse. But at the same time, I'm elated to almost nearly be face-to-face with one of my favorite bands. They don't beat Breaking Benjamin, but damn, they're so close.

It feels like falling in love. Especially when North and I's gazes connect.

Butterflies erupt from the depths of my stomach like a volcano overdue for an explosion. My cheeks heat up as I wonder if I look good enough. My hands grow clammy and my fingers begin to shake, and a very specific type of fuzziness in my head accompanies my racing heart.

I don't know what to say. I suddenly would rather walk out of the room and brave thousands of bodies than actually accept this chance to meet one of my favorite bands. I mean, they aren't going to talk to me anyway. They'll probably just watch me as I babble. Yea, it's better to just leave. I'm five feet away from them-- that's close enough to meeting to me. Time to go.

As I take a single step back, all three band members eyes on me, Ash grabs my hand and keeps me rooted in place. I look up to her, fear holding me still before I can ask her to let me go. But she doesn't let me get a chance to speak either.

"Hi, boys!" Ash chirps, waving a hand at the group. "Nice to finally meet you!"

All three are men?

My gaze travels back over to the group. The singer and guitarist, North, dressed in black slacks, black dress shoes, a black turtleneck, and black leather gloves. His mask is red with gold and black accents, the top portion a sheet of music. Very fascinating.

Then there's East, wearing a black mask with white, silver, and gold accents. He's in black jeans, a black Deftones shirt, black converse, and a leather jacket to top off the look. He also has the black leather gloves to match his outfit.

Finally, South has a blue mask with gold and white accents. He's wearing a black sweater, a white collar peaking out of the top. Black jeans, very fancy black boots, and, of course, black leather gloves.

Damn, they are so fucking cool. I really need to know what the gloves are about though. Everyone saw their hands earlier, what's the point?

"Vi," Ash says, forcing me back to the real world and away from ogling. "Say hi."

"Hi," tumbles from my lips like involuntary and unplanned vomit after a night of multiple screwdrivers that were mainly vodka (yep, that explanation is coming from an experience that will never leave my soul).

It's awkward, and even South rears his head back like he smelled three day old sardines. North simply tilts his head a bit. East is stock still. Worse, they're all still looking at me.

I cough, clearing my throat a bit. Okay, so I can't avoid this. Great. We love it here.

My feet move forward as I bite down my anxiety and bashfulness. I walk until I'm just a foot away from the three men and raise a hand in a pathetically awkward wave. "Hi," I murmur. "My name's VioletViolence. If you can't tell, I may or may not be, like, a big fan." I try to add some humor to the situation, but it's weak and it shows. I can hear Ash hiss awkwardly behind me. "Sorry," I decide to tack on, wincing lightly. "I don't know how to do this."

They all continue to stare at me. I'm considering just saying thanks for the eye contact before walking out.

But then North decides to take pity on me and sticks a hand out, his black glove on full display for me. He's so close that I can see the small bit of pale skin that shows-- the bit of skin where his shirt sleeve and glove don't quite meet. I try not to pay too much mind since the entire band prefers to be anonymous and faceless.

I hesitantly grab onto his hand, my heart pounding at a speed that should probably pronounce me as dead by this point.

His hand is warm and envelops mine fully, his fingers gently wrapping around the back of my hand. I can hardly even feel the cool, smooth leather of the glove because his hand is just that warm underneath. It's calming, intoxicating even.

I pull away before he can, offering a hand to both East and South who shake my hand immediately.

Once I shake hands with the three, I stand directly before North again-- the head of the small pack. He watches my every move, but I can't even make out the color of his eyes due to how incredibly concealed he is. It's almost frustrating. I want to know what he looks like.

I don't ponder. It's not my place to wonder who they are. After all, why should I be a hypocrite? I'd shit if anyone figured me out.

"You guys did so awesome," I say, grinning as Ash walks up beside me and envelops East in a big hug, droning on about how she's so excited to finally meet her favorite bassist after talking to him online for so long. Her voice is so insanely obnoxious that I start wondering what her motive is.

I look back to North who nods at me in thanks. But then it goes quiet. What the hell is supposed to happen here? Maybe Ash is good at rambling, but I'm not and I don't want to ramble. Especially when I won't even get a response back.

North glances over my shoulder, then looks over his own shoulder before turning back to me. Is he looking for something?

He pats his pocket, but his hand pauses mid air before he can pull anything out, and he motions over to one of the guards instead, pointing at something on a table full of snacks. The guard walks over and picks up a clipboard for North to see, and the masked man nods in response, using his hand to mimic writing.

Next thing I know, North has a clipboard and a pen in his hands. He looks at the contents of the clipboard-- a back stage guest list with all The Faces names written on it, as well as mine. But he rips the paper off the board and flips it over to the blank back and starts writing.

I listen to the quiet scribbles, trying not to sweat in anticipation and anxiousness.

Finally, after what feels like minutes but was probably only a few seconds, North hands me the clipboard and the pen.

I flip it around to look, my insides twisting about as I nervously glance at the scrawled handwriting. All caps, but small.

'ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ?'

A little smile quirks my lips. How funny. Me and the lead singer of an amazing band having to communicate through a pen and paper. It just feels silly.

"Sal and Larry?" I ask, glancing up at North who nods, then holds a hand up with his pointer finger as a symbol of the number one. I think about that-- one? What does that mean? Hm... "Oh," I voice, thinking I know what he's trying to say. "Another one? Todd?"

North nods again.

I shrug, holding the clipboard between my arm and side as I flip the pen around my fingers. "Honestly, I'm not sure about Sal and Larry. I figured you guys would know. They've been back here since before the show." I frown a bit. Where could they be? "As for Todd," I continue, "he dipped into the crowd. I don't know if he'll be showing up."

North lifts his head in kind of an 'ah' way, like he understands now that I've explained. Then he motions for the clipboard again, so I hand it back along with the pen.

He scribbles again before handing everything back to me. I look down, scrunching my eyebrows at the message.

'ɪ'ᴠᴇ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʟʟʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ᴄʜᴇᴍɪꜱᴛʀʏ'

Holy fuck, what part of this do I address first? I ask myself this, but the first reaction I have is a raging blush on my cheeks. "You watch my videos?" I squeak out embarrassingly. I haven't even made another video yet and it's been nearly three days now...

North hesitates for a moment before nodding, so I continue. Albeit, I continue with a racing heart and the clammiest hands on this planet. "And you think Sal and I have chemistry?" I can't help but giggle at that. North just shrugs in response.

I smile at him, feeling a bit calmer with this topic as a distraction. "I'd beg to differ, but if that's what it looks like online, I won't complain. I'd rather everyone think we were just... that we just have a weird friendship. I don't want them to know that things are actually just as tough as we make it seem."

Why am I blabbing so much? Imagine if Sal walked in and heard this. He'd peel my scalp from my fucking skull.

North motions for the clipboard yet again so I struggle to get it back to him as quickly as I can. More awkward scribbling, then he holds the clipboard up to me instead of handing it back. I guess he anticipates having to write more.

I lean a bit closer, squinting my eyes to read what's written-- curse my shitty vision and contact prices.

'ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴇɴ, ɪ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇ.'

I suck in a breath. "Well, he's definitely hard to be around. But he hasn't done all that much to make me say I dislike him." I think about it. I mean he's rude to me, but it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. And either way, I don't have to mention that I borderline hate the guy... "He's aggravating and rude, but I'm starting to get used to that. Maybe that's just how he is." I trail off toward the end because I've seen Sally in other social settings. He really isn't like this with anyone else. It's just me. It's always me.

But then something more important resonates in my mind. I'm literally telling Sal Fisher's friend about how awful of a person he is.

My eyes widen and I look up, noting North's stoic eyes that hide any and all emotion he could be feeling. I start to panic, waving my hands at my sides as my mouth works silently, trying to find words to say. My stomach churns and I struggle to hold down all the fear that wants to break through my skin.

"Ah, fuck. I'm sorry," I say shakily, bringing my hands in front of me to crack my knuckles. "I don't mean to bad mouth your friend. He really isn't all that bad, I just..." I trail off and shake my head. "I'm just making this so much worse."

I hear what sounds like a muffled snort come from North. The sound makes my insides go still while I wait for his response that's currently being written.

He holds the clipboard up to me, settling into a very nonchalant stance.

"ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴏᴋᴀʏ. ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴅɪᴄᴋ."

My mouth gapes, but then I look into his slightly squinted eyes and can't help but grin. Well, at least we agree somewhere and he isn't angry with me. That helps a lot.

Suddenly, the little connection between us is interrupted. A woman walks into the room and she motions over to Dark Autumn Complex with the most outlandish expression I've seen all day.

"What the hell are you three doing?" she asks, voice falling off into a scoff. "I told you we have shit to cover. You can come hang out with everyone later. Can't any of you listen?"

My eyes widen as I watch the band members all glance to each other. That's one scary manager-- if she is their manager.

North looks back to me, gives me a quick wave, then walks off with the other two members. And they disappear as quickly as they came. I almost feel like the interaction never even happened.

Ash and I shrug at each other, then have a fuck it moment and pick through the snack table.

For a full two uninterrupted minutes, I sit there, snack on chocolate-covered strawberries, and ponder whatever the hell just happened. I think about my own feelings as well.

North was ridiculously nice, especially compared to some of the people I've met before (*cough* Sal Fisher *cough*). He was easy to talk to, even with our speech barrier. We still found a way to communicate, and I'm glad we did. I enjoyed getting to converse with him, however short the moment may have been. Do I have more of a viable reason to crush on him? Yea, absolutely. maybe he isn't as out of my league as I thought. He knows who I am. He watches my videos. And he's nice? That's, like, twenty extra points in my book.

I won't get too ahead of myself though, not when there's this stupid thing going on with Sally. I really need to figure that out first.

And like I specifically said-- I had just two minutes of silence. And after those two minutes are up, the giant metal door that Ash and I walked through a few minutes ago swings open and bounces off of the cement wall beside it.

Lo and behold, in walks Larry and Sal. They're both out of breath, carrying at least four bags in both their hands. Larry's face is red, though he still has that signature grin. Sal's neck is covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

And suddenly, a thread of an idea begins to weave itself through my mind. The thread quickly turns into a full, fleshed out, and calculatingly mapped theory that I'm almost 75% sure about.

And it scares me. Deeply.

Fishnets. Masks. Height. No talking. The sudden disappearance. Sal and Larry's perfectly timed arrival.

I watch the boys with terror in my eyes. I track every step they take toward the snack table. My gaze follows each little treat that they lay out. My ears zone in on their mumbled story about missing the new DAC song to pick up some of their favorite snacks.

But I don't believe any of it. Not a word.

Because I wholeheartedly think that Sally Face and Larry Johnson are two of three members of Dark Autumn Complex.

There are too many coincidences. Honestly the timing of Sal and Larry walking in and the lyrics about fishnets are what set me off the most. There's no way someone can nail an event so closely without having experienced it. And there's just no way Sal and Larry can walk in here like it's nothing after having enough time to quickly change their clothes and grab some random bags of snacks on their run back over here.

It's genius, but it fills me up with dread all the same. No fucking way. I keep getting shocked, but each time, the discovery is so much worse.

Larry randomly boasts about in front of me, wiggling his eyebrows as he skips up to me with that sexy smirk. It has no affect on me right now though. I'm contemplating, I'm theorizing, and I'm genuinely horrified.

He grabs my hands and brings me a little closer to him. I swallow thickly, watching him and waiting. Ideas are running through my head, driving me up the fucking wall. I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm right on the cusp of confirming this unfortunate discovery.

I refuse to have a crush on Sal Fisher.

"Quiero comerte viva," Larry suddenly drawls, pulling my attention away from my desperation for a second. I don't know what he said, but it was random enough to confuse me. But, I at least know the language.

"You speak Spanish?" I decide to ask him, clearing my oddly hoarse voice.

He chuckles, winking at me. "No, but I am an intellectual in the art of romance. I know how to woo the ladies."

I pinch my lips together and give him a pitiful look. "It's not a very good wooing if no one even knows what you're saying."

Larry frowns at me, seemingly thinking about that. But before he or I can say anything more, Sally walks past us and toward Ash. And he says, "It means, 'I want to eat you alive.'"

I choke on air, struggling to take a breath in. Sal just said that to my face and it was hot as fuck. Not to mention, Larry said that to me in another language. That's really hot too.

My head snaps to Larry who looks impressed. "Oh," he says thoughtfully, tilting his head. "So that's what it means."

And now I have to think about how ridiculous Larry is. About why and how Sally just happened to know what that Spanish phrase translated to. And on top of that-- their hidden identities as member of DAC.

But the doors that I believe they disappeared into just a couple minutes ago reopens, and a fresh wave of utter confusion and shock rocks my body all over again.

North, East, and South walk back out, facing us. But they also come face-to-face with Larry and Sal, which means... I was wrong. And I don't know if I'm disappointed or extremely fucking relieved.

Sal, Larry, and Ash talk animatedly to Dark Autumn Complex who simply listens to them without answering. All the while, I stand behind, watching.

Maybe I assumed that Sal and Larry were part of the band because I was desperate to find someone like me. Searching for someone, anyone who was hiding behind another identity. Hoping I wasn't the only selfish person with more than one name. Because I feel guilty about it.

I know I feel guilty-- deep down, I genuinely feel bad for lying to Larry and Todd. Even Sal. He may be a dick, but he and Lexi seemed to really connect. And I didn't have the guts to even tell him who I really am. I still don't.

And so I thought I discovered something in this fucked up situation that I created. Discovered something that never existed in the first place.

_____

A/N::::: hi babies :3 sorry it's been so long, but if it helps any, i have a lot planned! as always though, of course.

I present to you another ryver original *screams* but i've been super excited about this chapter. i'm even more excited about the next though!!! eeeekkkk!

i have chapter thirteen completely written up and fleshed out, i just have to go in and fix a few things and give it a proof read. 'cause i mean, 10,000 words worth of smut is a bit of an overkill right? ;)

For now, here's Dark Autumn Complex's masks.

North's mask ^^^ (fyi, his outfit is inspired by Noah Sebastian. Look him up and see him in a turtle neck. it'll change your life😫)

East's mask ^^^^

South's mask ^^^^

i'll be posting the next chapter in a couple days so i can give myself some time to catch up with you guys. until then, happy days and sweet nights. i love you all endlessly <333

[canadiansummer]

TITLE: A Matter of Traditions [18+] PAIRING: Dmitri Antonov x Fem!Reader / Enzo x Fem!Reader REQUEST: from anon: “I absolutely love how you write Dmitri, and since you are taking requests, how about: celebrating his first Christmas in the US with f!reader? He may or may not be the present :D (meaning: I also love how you write sexy times!) Additional details (but not required, really, everything is up to you!): no mentions of Stranger Things canon and therefore no Mikhail; reader is a neighbor who can speak Russian and that's why they start bonding, she's a book translator maybe so she works from home and instead of typing she spends her days looking out of the window as the Russian hottie paints his fence...“ WARNINGS: GRAPHIC SMUT, minors dni. There’s also mention of grief and grieving, and unprotected sex (the pullout method does not work, this is fiction lol) It’s 14 pages, so I’d pace yourself. NOTE: Firstly, I’m sorry for writing a Christmas fic in March. The idea was just too fun. Secondly, thank you to the anon who sent this! I tried to work with what you wanted, but I left some stuff vague. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this and the same to everybody else who reads it.

You weren’t used to not seeing snow around this time of year.

Granted, you had lived in California for years, but your family had dragged you across state lines to meet for Christmas every year. You had always dragged your feet about the drive, yet this year you found yourself almost missing that on top of actually seeing your family. There were lights, a few decorations that reminded you what month it was, yet there was a part of you that was hoping you would just push through the last week and move on from the holiday. Which was what had you throwing yourself into your work more this month, both translating and getting ahead in your lesson recordings.

Which is also how you found yourself leaning against the small brick wall of Joyce Byers’ walk up, a heavy cassette recorder resting in your arms as you waited for her to come back outside to collect it.

She lived a bit of a drive away from you, but your little friendship with her had you kind of running around in the same circle. Which you knew wasn’t intended, but given the neighbor you had, you found yourself asking after and being invited to things involving her. Still, your initial bonding over working from home stood strong, but you could admit that you found it nice to have more reasons to see her. Though, that was at odds with you being pretty withdrawn this month.

Still, it was nice to be outside for a bit, even if there was that exhaustion that lingered over you over the last couple of weeks.

You lifted your gaze from the worn brand name on the recorder in your hands to the front door when you heard it open, Joyce stepping outside with a grin. She looked…a little stressed, actually, but you found yourself returning her smile with a small one of your own.

“Thank you so much for letting me borrow this,” you said as you stepped forward to return the device to her, “Once I have my next book translated, I should have enough to buy my own so I don’t need to bother you every couple of weeks.”

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry,” Joyce dismissed easily enough, setting the recorder on the edge of the steps. “How is that coming along, anyway? I…can’t imagine books in Russian sell all that well over here.”

“Well, it’s not something I’d say is flying off the shelves,” you replied, sitting yourself down on the step once Joyce had done so herself, “Though, there’s some people interested and I can get enough from selling stuff under the table. The language lessons might do better, once I’ve got them all together.”

“Dmitri is still helping you with that, right?”

“With pronunciation, mostly,” you replied with a nod, “He’s been…really helpful.”

In more ways than one, you supposed. Your interactions with him had steadily moved toward a more gray area in regards to what was platonic and what wasn’t.

You had formed a quick friendship based on your shared language, which had been a bit of a surprise to both you and some of the people around you. Then the eventual proximity of your living situations only made interacting with him not only easier, but more frequent. You had approached him with the recording idea, considering you could read and write in Russian easily enough at that point, but you were concerned about your accent and pronunciation. Having a native speaker living within walking distance was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Yet, it wasn’t hard to miss the fact that you had started to regard him in a way that wasn’t exactly neighborly or professional. You knew some things about him–he knew Hopper and Joyce, as you’d crossed paths with him a couple times when visiting them, though the nature of his relationship with them wasn’t completely known to you yet. You also knew he was a political defector, as he’d described, but pushing further into that only got you vaguer answers. As much as your curiosity wanted you to dig, you knew it wasn’t your place to. Regardless, a closeness had formed over the last while and you couldn’t help but regard him in a different way. If he returned that or not, it was hard to read at points. Sometimes it seemed so, yet other times it felt like you were reading into things a little too much.

It was a frustrating push-and-pull that often left you with more questions than answers.

As if reading your mind, you caught the look Joyce tossed your way. The touch of a grin on her lips, eyebrows slightly raised. You let out a small scoff but couldn’t help mirroring her grin.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Joyce replied, lightheartedly as she raised her hands up somewhat, “Just that if you’re worried about our reaction, you might not find much surprise…”

“He’s…helping me out, that’s all.” As much as you wished otherwise, sometimes.

“Okay,” she replied, still teasing but it was clear she was backing off the topic. For now, you supposed. She rubbed her hands on the tops of her legs, looking out toward the street as you noticed her demeanor change somewhat. “Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk with you about…”

You shifted to sit toward her a little more on the step, giving her your attention as she glanced back toward you. There was a softness to her expression, one that put a bit of tension in you.

“I know that this will be your first Christmas without your family…” she started, that familiar pit of grief setting back into your gut that you had forgotten about for a few moments. “I hate to think that you’ll be alone, so if you wanted to spend it with us, we’d be happy to have you.”

“Joyce…” you started, feeling a small squeeze in your chest at her kind gesture, “That’s so sweet, but I think I’ll be fine. It still hurts, but…I don’t know, maybe I need to do it this way. Let myself grieve, things like that.”

“I understand. I just didn’t want you to feel alone, or…”

“I’ll be fine,” you replied with a light smile, “I’ll join you guys for New Years.”

“Okay,” Joyce said with a small, sympathetic smile as she reached out to squeeze your hand.

You returned it easily, despite the light choking feeling in your throat.

                                                             ***

At around noon, you got a knock on your front door.

You were sitting at your kitchen table, listening to the radio host talking–weather, traffic, it was something you could easily tune out as you finished off your lunch. However, the sound made you pause, your eyebrows furrowing somewhat before you crossed over toward the living room to subtly peer behind a curtain toward the front door. You immediately recognized the figure outside, though it didn’t quite quell the mild confusion in you.

Finally, you opened the door with a small smile–friendly, but you couldn’t ignore the small twinge of nervousness that settled in you.

Dmitri looked as collected as he usually did–it was interesting how friendly and attentive he could appear sometimes, while also still being as unreadable as he was sometimes. At the moment, however, he greeted you with a familiar grin, his body language relaxed yet almost expectant. While you returned the quick greeting he gave you, it was hard to hide the touch of confusion that lingered in your expression.

That is, until he produced a cassette tape from his pocket, realization making you let out an almost embarrassed chuckle.

“That completely slipped my mind,” you admitted, finally shifting to open the door some more, “Feel free to come in. I’m interested in hearing your input.”

You left him to let himself in as you crossed the room to turn off the radio as the starts of a familiar holiday song started up. As unavoidable as you knew it was, considering it was only a couple of days until Christmas, you just wanted to carry on like it was a normal week. Having him there to talk about your progress in Russian was a welcomed distraction.

“I don’t have much to give you this time,” he replied as you cleared off the table, leaving him to place the tape down on the surface as you returned. “Your accent is getting better.”

“I’m glad,” you replied with a light smile, sitting back down in your chair as you pulled the tape toward yourself, turning it over in your hands somewhat. “It means I won’t have to redo this one, which is always a good thing. I can’t thank you enough for your help. It’d be easier to just keep to translation, but that work only comes so often so…well.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, somewhat dismissive but otherwise his tone was light–you’d learned a while ago that if he didn’t want to do this, you probably would have known by now. “I still want to work on my English, but it is nice to do this.”

You gave him a small, understanding nod at that. Given what you knew about him and where he came from, you could understand where he was coming from with that somewhat. Though, you noticed him glancing around your home at that moment, as if looking for something. This wasn’t the first time he had set foot in your home–usually no more than to do this exact thing, actually. Yet, you couldn’t help the slow furrowing of your brows as he glanced back toward you.

“You don’t celebrate?”

It took you a moment to clue in–compared to other houses in the neighborhood, you knew yours was lacking in decorations or anything this year. You didn’t have the energy or see the point–there’d be another time. It was hard to stop yourself from wringing your hands together, however, dropping your gaze down toward the table for a moment.

“My, uh,” you started, “My family used to gather around this time of year, but…we’re not doing that this year. It’s the first time I’m on my own this year, so I didn’t really see a reason to set everything up.”

“I understand,” he replied, “It is not my first time alone, but it is while being here.”

“Oh…yeah, I suppose it would be,” you said, meeting his gaze again, “It’d be different dates for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes and no,” he said after a small pause, finally shifting to sit down at the vacant chair at your table. “My parents grew up under strict religious laws–the government didn’t want any religion at all in the country and I grew up in a time where that was still present. We were allowed to celebrate the new year, so my family carried some traditions over to celebrate then. Not too different from what I have seen. We had a small tree, some old decorations and presents if we could afford them. It was an excuse to save food and cook in my house.”

“I had no idea,” you replied, taking in that information, “This must be a couple firsts for you, then.”

“At a literal level, sure,” he replied with a small shrug, “Like I said, this is not the first time I have been alone during this time of the year. It doesn’t feel too different.”

You wished you could say the same.

Still, you bit back that remark–you didn’t really know why. He had just shared a couple things about his family, but you still bit your tongue about the fact that your father had been the one to bring the family together at this time. After his passing, nobody really knew who should take up the mantle and with it being so recent…well, there was still a sting to it.

However, sitting at the table with Dmitri as a small silence lingered after his words, you found a somewhat surprising thought crop up in your mind. You supposed it wasn’t too different from how Joyce felt toward you a couple days ago–yet, it’d force you to acknowledge the holiday at least somewhat, but the casual way he talked about being alone stabbed at you somewhat.

Would he even want to? You enjoyed spending time with him, and it seemed like he returned the feeling, yet…

“Well…” you started, fiddling with the cassette tape again, “If we’re both alone, maybe you’d want to spend it here?”

“With you?” he asked after a moment, a small pit of regret setting into your gut at the question.

“Only if you want to,” you said, pushing through the feeling as though a part of you just wanted to retract the offer, “I know I wasn’t planning on doing anything this year, so I could not make a big deal out of it anyway. I just thought I’d offer since you’re my neighbor–my friend. It can be…a little lonely.”

A part of you worried that it sounded a little too much like you were offering out of pity, yet Dmitri didn’t seem to take it that way. That, or he didn’t voice it at the moment. He seemed to think that over, which was a little unexpected. You had been expecting a polite decline–you were just helping each other out, asking to spend Christmas together was a little overboard.

Yet, he still continued to surprise you.

“If you want to,” he said after a few moments, causing you to glance toward him, “that would be nice. I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Like I said, it wouldn’t be too much of an issue,” you replied as you felt a small grin touch your face, “It might give me an excuse to pick up a small tree and buy my own decorations.”

“Again, if you want. Still…thank you.”

                                                          ***

“Hopper and Joyce said they are doing a sort of backyard party for New Years if the weather is nice enough,” Dmitri said after rummaging through a back to pass you another wrapped box of ornaments as you worked on unwrapping the cord for the lights on the small tree. “I was told to pass on the invitation to you.”

“Joyce already hinted at it,” you said, though you were still touched that they still went out of their way to do so formally. Though, you paused somewhat, glancing toward him over your shoulder. “Didn’t they have one recently? For Halloween?”

“I think so,” he replied, “I am starting to think it is a way to make sure I don’t need to buy my own food.”

“My family used to do those in the summer–though, I used to live where it snowed a lot in the winter so I suppose it was a summer thing. Maybe they are just taking advantage of the climate here.”

“Maybe.”

As much as you had been nervous to let him spend the holiday with you, things seemed to relax into how they usually were once you were in the same space together. You were reminded that things often felt like a tug-of-war with him at points–lighthearted and flirty sometimes, then kind of distant and neighborly during other times. Really, there was a part of you that just wanted to ask. To rip the bandage off and settle on an answer so it wasn’t a question that sat on your mind whenever you were with him.

At the moment, however, you didn’t find the words coming forth. Still, the fact that Joyce and Hopper knew you two interacted enough to send messages down through each other, along with the look Joyce had given you back when you sat on her step, had you holding back the urge to shake your head.

If it was that obvious, the crossing of that line shouldn’t be as difficult as it was.

Still, you didn’t want to dwell on that in the current situation. Not with Dmitri in your home and you sitting on the floor as you finished setting up the small tree you had bought. It was fake, about the length of your arm. You put a small, plaid cloth over the step stool you set it on in the living room, but for the most part it wasn’t too bad. Finally, you plugged the lights in, shifting to sit a little further back from it as you took it in.

Again, it wasn’t much, but the lights did make you feel a little better somehow.

“There it is,” you said, spreading your arms out somewhat in a teasing manner toward it.

“You honored your word at least,” Dmitri commented.

“I definitely try to,” you muttered as you watched him help himself to a box of ornaments.

They were mostly decorative balls, you didn’t want to go overboard. It was a little odd to see him like this, yet it put a lightness in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a while. You didn’t mind the small silences, either, considering a part of you was still struggling to admit that not only were you going ahead with holding at least a small celebration for the season, but it was also with him. You enjoyed Dmitri’s company, but in a situation like this you feared that your mind would tumble down a familiar path and you would end up saying something that would make this awkward.

So, you were also happy that you had something to do with your hands as you set about decorating the tree with him. However, that relatively mild ‘peace’ didn’t last too long.

“You said your family gathered in the summer and during this time?” Dmitri asked, causing you to glance toward him as you could sense that uncomfortable topic approaching. “Is this a lot like what they would do?”

“Kind of,” you replied after taking in a small breath, looking over the tree for a moment. “Just…bigger, I guess. My parents liked to bring everybody together, so it was usually a pretty crowded house. Relatives sleeping on couches.”

Dmitri didn’t say anything, just listening. You debated on leaving it at that, yet you figured letting him in a bit wouldn’t be too terrible. You both were a little vague about certain things, but you certainly didn’t regard him as some stranger or distant acquaintance. The current situation was proof of that.

“My mother passed when I was younger,” you continued, “It was my dad who carried on the traditions they set out, despite how painful it was during the earlier years. He did that by himself for years, well into his kids being adults, having kids of their own. He…passed this year, a while ago but still recent enough that I think we’re struggling to figure out how to pick up what he left. I just…know it’s not me. Not this year.”

“...I’m sorry,” Dmitri said as he let that sit for a couple of moments, “You didn’t say anything about that.”

“I struggled with admitting it to myself for a while,” you admitted, “I started telling more people, but then this month…I don’t know. I just didn’t want to think about it.”

“I can understand.”

You sat down on the floor as you took the last decoration from your box, resting your arms on your knees as you took in the tree for a few moments. A part of you had been expecting to struggle to hold back tears and not break down in front of him, yet there was an odd sense of calmness in you. Maybe it was just the moment and it would all hit you once all of this was over, but you would take it as it was for the time being.

“It hurts, but…I don’t know. I think he’d be relieved I’m not spending it alone in the dark or something. Not that I invited you to fill that or whatever, but I know he’d be happy.”

Dmitri didn’t reply to that, seeming to accept your natural response to all of that as he sat beside you as you both took in your work. You found a familiar feeling rising up in you, the very same one that had been poking at you the whole time that existed outside of your grief for the loss of your father.

Maybe you should just say something. The year was ending, maybe you could just get an answer.

“This is probably a terrible time to get into this, but I just wanted to know if…”

You had felt a bit of courage build up in you as you started talking, yet when you turned to look at Dmitri, the words kind of died on your tongue.

The look on his face took you off guard, admittedly. While a part of you was expecting to see the pained expression of a rejection that you had seen on different people throughout different points in your life, the softness of his expression and turning to meet his gaze unexpectedly head-on had your heart stopping for a moment. Dmitri looked somewhat surprised himself, like he hadn’t expected you to catch him looking at you. Yet, despite how easily either of you could just look away, you found yourself holding his gaze for a few, prolonged moments.

As much as you knew you could just complete your thought–just ask outright if he was as interested in you as you were in him–you realized that you didn’t have to. You found yourself leaning in easily to meet him in a kiss, Dmitri cupping the back of your head as you shifted closer to him. The kisses got firmer as the initial hesitancy stepped aside, your hands coming up to cup both sides of his jaw. You felt his arm slip around your lower back as he pulled you closer to him.

You slipped your leg over one of his own, allowing your bodies to brush briefly as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and shoulders. The position was a little uncomfortable on the hardwood of your floor, but the mix of the rush of emotions and genuine relief had you savoring the moment. There had been the wandering thoughts of what it would be like if you had just kissed him at certain moments, or vice versa, yet the reality was a different story.

In the dying light of day and the small illumination of the lights on the tree beside you, along with the days and weeks of dreading the next day or so, the fact that he was kissing you was almost euphoric.

However, you knew the lightheadedness you were starting to feel was from needing some air.

You pulled back from the kiss somewhat with a small inhale, feeling like your mind was buzzing with things you should say following that. Yet, Dmitri’s hand tracing along the side of your face, thumb running down your jaw, was enough to slow that for a few moments.

“I hope you were wanting to talk about that and not something else,” he said after a few moments, which pulled a small, amused huff from you. “I have wanted to do that for so long.”

“How long?” you asked, failing to hide the mild disbelief from your tone despite everything.

“Weeks,” he replied with a light shrug, “A couple days ago before we ended up talking about Christmas.”

“...Yeah, that’s about the same for me,” you replied with a chuckle, shaking your head lightly, “I had been sitting in suspense for weeks, you should have just done it.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Dmitri pulled you in again for another kiss, feeling him grin into it making you feel almost giddy. It was tempting to deepen it, especially considering you were practically sitting in his lap and you were close enough to feel his chest press against your own as he breathed. Yet, you knew carrying on with this on the floor would quickly become uncomfortable and you didn’t know if he wanted to go any further than kissing. Given the feeling building low in your gut, you knew what your answer was but you still found yourself pulling back after a few moments.

“Can…Do you want to go to my bedroom or just see each other tomorrow? I’m fine with either, but I know I can’t sit on the floor much longer.”

Dmitri regarded you for a few moments, mulling that over as you tried to will your heart to slow down a bit. You knew things were escalating quickly, yet you were truthful about being fine with either. You just wanted him to make a call, and you could tell he knew that as well. You felt him tug lightly at the side of your shirt as he gathered his words.

“If we go to your bedroom, that is not because you don’t want to deal with what you told me about your father, yes? I don’t want to be a distraction from that.”

“I have tried many distractions,” you admitted, shaking your head somewhat sadly, “It’ll still be there and I know that. I want to deal with that. I also want this. The two didn’t really cross in my mind, but no. I don’t want to use you like that. I wouldn’t.”

Dmitri took in your words for a few moments before he nodded, shifting so you could pull away from him more. Though, the separation didn’t last too long as he pulled you back into him once you both were standing, kissing you for a few moments before pulling back somewhat to speak.

“Then I would like to see your bedroom,” he said, pulling lightly at the waistband of your pants, “eventually.”

He pulled you down onto the couch with you on top of him again, his mouth finding yours again. You let out a small noise of surprise with the hardness of the kiss, settling to straddle his hips as you ran your hands down his clothed chest. Despite the current moment, some mild disbelief still managed to push its way to the forefront of your mind that this was happening in the first place. There had been a point where you figured you should have let the whole thing go–to let it fizzle out and you’d settle into more platonic thoughts about him. Yet, that wasn’t the case.

Perhaps it never would have been the case, considering the current moment.

With the confirmation you needed, the hesitancy seemed to melt away as you broke from the kiss to trail your lips down his neck. There had been wandering thoughts every now and again about what it would be like to have his mouth on you, or what reactions he’d have if you did the same. Of course, the reality was pretty different, but you didn’t particularly mind that. Dmitri was a little quiet, which kind of lined up with what you had known of him, but his sighs and the way his hands roamed your back told you he was enjoying himself enough.

It also wasn’t hard to miss the stiffening bulge in his pants that became more apparent as things progressed, his hands venturing into more intimate places. You weren’t too surprised when you found yourself removing your shirt at his prompting, which had you pulling his own up in return. You wanted to feel his skin on yours, which he seemed happy to oblige given how quickly his mouth found your shoulder. You let out a small breath at the feeling of his mouth against your skin, placing a hand against the back of the couch to brace yourself while one moved up into his hair as he dropped his head down to press an open-mouthed kiss against the top of one of your breasts.

Your gaze wandered toward the small bit of a street lamp that you could see through one of the small slits in the blinds. The sun had gone down, the light from the street lamp and some other lights from the houses around being one of the only light sources. For the most part, it looked empty, and you knew your living room blinds were drawn. While doing this in front of a window could go south pretty quickly, the chance of anybody seeing was low and you were enjoying the foreplay.

So, you pushed away from Dmitri somewhat to unclasp your bra. For a few moments, you could feel your heart pick up its pace when his gaze dropped down to your chest. Though, he looked back up to meet your eyes as you returned to your previous position.

“You look better than I pictured,” he muttered.

That surprised you somewhat, that you weren’t alone in the fantasizing, though any response you could come up with to that died before you could formulate it as he cupped one of your breasts in his hand. The sensation had you arching your back into him, unawarely grinding yourself down against his crotch as he gently pinched and rolled one of your nipples. That pulled a low moan from you, Dmitri lifting his hips against your own as you pressed down against him in kind. Even with the both of you still only being half naked, it still felt nice and you definitely wanted more.

“So do you,” you replied finally, almost in a sigh.

There was truth to that statement.

Really, your affection and attraction toward him had been a little slow building–from distraction and stress, at the time. You had thought he was a good-looking man when you had first met him, though you weren’t sure what to make of him. He was more of Hopper’s friend than Joyce’s, but she had been quick to mention your translation work and things between you two had warmed up quickly enough. It was downhill from there, really. You had found yourself enjoying his voice, regardless of the language. His eyes, grin, arms, his lips. Once you had started to wonder what it would be like to be kissed by him, what his hands would feel like on your body, you knew your little acquaintanceship had shifted. There had been a few days where you found yourself staring at him instead of following what he was saying.

Knowing what you did now, you wondered if he’d had similar issues in regards to you.

It didn’t really matter in the long run, however, considering how Dmitri closing his mouth around one of your nipples effectively stopped any further wandering thoughts. He kneaded one of your breasts in his hand, sucking on and flicking his tongue against the nipple of the other. You moaned, fingers gripping a little tighter into the back cushion of the couch. As much as you were clearly enjoying what his mouth and hands were doing, you brushing yourself against and grinding on his cock was slowly killing you.

You dropped your free hand down to his stomach, trailing your fingers down until you felt the waistband of his pants. Fumbling a little blindly until Dmitri pulled his head back from your chest, you opened the front of his pants.

“I figure this might feel a little better,” you said, tone lightly teasing but you couldn’t hide the desire in it as he let you slip your hand into his pants.

You cupped him in your hand, pressing your palm against his erection as he lulled his head back somewhat against the couch. He rolled his hips up against your hand as you rubbed him outside of his underwear for a bit. You watched his face as you did so, rubbing him harder or faster depending on his reactions. The way his breaths hitched and the short grunts and groans he let out was worth delaying your own pleasure for a while. You pulled his cock out, giving it a few languid strokes.

From your position, you knew you could easily just push down your pants and underwear and ride him on the couch, yet you weren’t too keen on doing that where potential eyes could see. Doing what you were doing currently was risky enough. Though, you couldn’t help but keep stroking him, picking up the pace somewhat to help him along. After a few more strokes, you bent down and licked the head of his cock. Immediately, you noticed the way his legs tensed up, a somewhat choked groan escaping him. Dmitri gripping a hand onto your shoulder had you not going any further, however. You glanced up at him as he shook his head lightly.

“You wanted to take me to the bedroom.”

“I thought you seemed pretty relaxed on the couch,” you commented, somewhat amused but caught onto his meaning.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to continue on the couch, either, anyway. Plus, the throbbing between your legs was getting hard to ignore, but you didn’t know if you could multitask enough to touch yourself and pleasure him at the same time. Not with the direction you had been headed, anyway.

So, leading him down the hall toward your room was an easy choice to make. You took the liberty of removing the last of your clothing before climbing onto your bed. Dmitri wasn’t too far behind, following suit before joining you. He pressed you into the mattress as he kissed you. It was harder than the other ones, your mouth parting for his tongue as you felt his cock slide against your folds with a small roll of his hips. You moaned into Dmitri’s mouth, pushing your hips up to rub yourself against his cock. He moaned in return, pressing his hips into your movement as well.

Finally, you broke from the kiss with a small, involuntary whimper. You were more worked up than you realized, a surge of both frustration and anticipation settling into your gut.

“I need you inside me,” you said between a breath, “I want you. Please.”

“I know,” Dmitri muttered against the skin of your neck before he pressed a quick kiss against the underside of your jaw. “You’re so wet.”

You knew, too. It wasn’t hard to notice, and a part of you almost wanted to feel a little embarrassed by that and how your hips kept twitching, but you didn’t really care at the moment. Dmitri ground himself against you a few more times, the movements slow and a little torturous. Thankfully, he seemed ready to move on from that, as you felt him shift back somewhat before pushing his cock into you.

The stretch still had a bit of a pinch to it, but thankfully you were aroused enough to adjust quickly enough. You situated your legs against his hip as he rocked into you at a slow pace until he was buried completely inside you. You could feel his steady breaths against your neck and shoulder, pulling and pushing his cock against your walls that you found yourself rocking your hips again in an attempt to get him to move faster.

Eventually he was moving in a way that was pulling more moans and gasps from you, little jolts of pleasure spurring you into thrusting up against him at a quicker pace.

You were very close to just losing yourself into the sensations Dmitri was pulling out of you with each thrust, but reality still liked to leak in around the edges from time to time. It dawned on you that this was truly happening. You were having sex with the man that you had tried, time and again, to let go of since you were convinced it wasn’t going to happen. You had fantasized about him from time to time, a thought to touch yourself to during late nights in hopes an orgasm would help get you to sleep. If loneliness and a longing didn’t have you just wanting to be close to him.

He liked you, too. That was something you didn’t have time to turn over in your head, but tonight made that apparent.

Yet, those were thoughts you were struggling to hold onto as Dmitri hooked an arm under the knee of one of your legs. He thrusted into you harder, and at a somewhat better angle, which had you shifting your free leg up so he was hitting that much deeper. His moans were louder, more intense and you knew he was probably approaching that peak you were close to. You reached down between your bodies to find your clit, circling it with a finger a few times as Dmitri thrusted into you.

“You’re close?” Dmitri asked once he noticed what you were doing, which you just nodded your head at. “Let me.”

He gently brushed his hand under yours, prompting you to move it as he started to rub similar circles on your clit. You let out a low sound as you could feel a pressure building, his touch not quite as precise but with his cock thrusting into you it was definitely enough.

You wanted to say something, yet your words were failing you and it wasn’t long until you felt that pressure move further down and you tightened around him. Your orgasm washed over you, making you arch your back with a strangled cry. You dug your fingers into the flesh of Dmitri’s shoulder, feeling him slow as you clenched around him. He moaned into your ear as he dropped his head onto your shoulder again. He thrusted a few more times before he pulled out, spilling his cum onto your stomach and thigh with a loud groan.

You could still feel your orgasm washing over you, leaving you limp against the bed as you waited for it to subside. Dmitri stepped outside into the hall for a few moments once you started to come back down, returning with what looked to be a damp washcloth from the bathroom.

“I didn’t think I would make that much of a mess,” he commented, washing his cum from your stomach and leg with the cloth. “I’m sorry.”

“You could have broken a lamp and I don’t think I would’ve noticed for a minute there,” you admitted with a chuckle, “Don’t worry about it.”

“It was good, then?” he asked, turning to toss the cloth into a hamper you had near the bed.

“Yes,” you replied with a small grin as he settled onto the bed beside you. “Was it for you?”

Dmitri nodded, hovering over you to press a lingering kiss to your lips. You pressed back into it, cupping the side of his head until he pulled back to lay down beside you. With the rush of emotions and sensations ebbing out, you could feel your mind start to return to the current situation. Still, even with everything that sat on the edges, the grief and everything that came with it, you couldn’t deny the happiness that lingered in you at the moment. It would mix strangely with everything later, but you just let it be at the moment.

Still, you rolled over somewhat to face him a little more. Dmitri shifted closer to pull you into his chest, which you accepted easily as you leaned your head against his shoulder. You shut your eyes for a few moments, letting him trace his fingers along the skin of your arm and shoulder somewhat absentmindedly. However, you found yourself letting out a soft chuckle, shaking your head lightly in amusement.

“I can already see the look on Joyce’s face when she hears about this…”

“What do you mean?”

“A couple days ago, she…in a vague way, asked if there was anything between us and at the time I said no.”

“I got asked, too,” Dmitri said with a small, tired grin, “It will be an interesting topic during New Years.”

[prossims]

Forrest Scott Household

Meanwhile, in the Forrest Scott house, Allyssa was winding down after a long day of work and taking care of the home when she heard Braylon entering the living room. “Mom, are you busy?”

She could hear their voice slightly shaking, indicating nervousness. So she looked up from the tv with a warm smile. “No dear, come in!”

“I..need to talk to you about something,” Bray said sitting next to her in the sofa.

Allyssa turned the tv off and looked at Bray, giving them her undivided attention. “What is it, baby?”

“Mom, you know how I have been taking a break, thinking about what the next step in my life should be. I think I found something!” Braylon said while pushing their phone towards Allyssa.

“Really? Uh! What am I looking at? This does not look like a job circular.”

“No, mom. This is the announcement of a bachelor challenge.”

Allyssa looked at her child with surprise. She could not wrap her head around it completely. Of course Bray has grown up. They are 25 now. But, to her, Braylon is still a kid somehow. The thought of them entering a bachelor challenge was alien in her book. So she asked the most obvious question.

“Where will it be held?”

Scene continued under the cut

Braylon’s expression immediately changed to show that this was the question they were dreading.

“It will be in @/akitasimblr's game. Our watcher has been following her for a while and she is a very creative watcher and a nice person. Our watcher believes she will take good care of me, mom.” Allyssa swallowed distinctly, trying to keep her emotions in check. “Okay… so this is the man you will go after? Xavier Harper..hmm.. Here it says that he is a mean sim.”

“I know, mom. But just because someone has a harsher attitude doesn’t mean there isn’t good in their heart. Xavier seems like a wonderful guy with a deep personality. He is also kinda famous. Her parents are Leo Harper and Judith Ward.”

“Oh really?” Allyssa raised her eyebrow slightly at the mention of Leo Harper. She was actually a big fan of that dude in her young days.

“Yeah mom, and you can’t deny that Xavier is incredibly handsome!” Braylon said, blushing slightly.

This put a smile on Allyssa’s face. “Yeah you are quite right in that regard.”

After a moment of silence while Allyssa read through the whole announcement, she finally spoke again, “I have to remind you that this BC will be held in a different save file in a completely different game. Which means, we may never see you again. Are you okay with it, Bray?”

“Mom I know.. And it breaks my heart. But, I have not found anyone I like here or in Britechester. I have a feeling this is something I need to do. What if this is my one chance at finding love?”

Allyssa cupped Bray’s face with one hand, hint of tears in her eyes, “Don’t say that, baby. You will find love. You deserve all the happiness in the world. If you really feel like that, you should go. Just remember, your family will be here for you whenever you need, okay?”

“Yes, mom. I know!” Braylon said before hugging their mom tightly as they both tried to suppress their emotions from overwhelming.

Beginning | Next

Disclaimer: this is not an official submission, the submission post will be published tomorrow.

[moongurl95]

Chapter 7 – Welcome to Hogsmeade

“Accio!”

Beatrice summoned a flying Field Page towards her as she walked through the West of Hogsmeade, and while she would have preferred to try casting non-verbally again just to avoid the curious glances of some of the village’s residents, she’d rather not accidentally summon a wandering owl straight to her face. Additionally, there was also the matter of distance and weight to consider when using this particular ‘Force spell’— she was actually hoping to work on the ability to throw heavier objects around as a means of defense when push goes to shove— but there was the matter of her current wand starting to prove uncooperative when casting even the simpler spells.

She wrinkled her nose as she looked down at her Field Guide, seems like the remaining pages of the 55 it indicated was going to have to wait until she had all the time to spend in exploring the magical village. The tiny beads that decorated her small drawstring bag jangled as she tucked it away in her robes, along with her Field Guide, as Beatrice now made way for the last stop in her list.

“Try to dodge away from trouble, if you ever find yourself in one.”

Andrew’s whispered words on her way to Hogsmeade, now rang as a warning in her mind as she stopped just outside of Ollivanders’, the quaint shop’s windows reflecting back an image of her— robes that looked a tad too big, and her mousy brown hair framing eyes that only ever made her Nana look at her forlornly, if not sometimes just a bit accusatory— She grasped the door’s handle to keep herself from falling further into self-deprecation, welcomed by a bell’s lively jingle to signal her entry.

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“Merlin’s. Blooming. Beard. Not again.”

Gerbold Ollivander muttered to himself as he took stock of his raw wand materials from his shop’s backroom, his suppliers were definitely finding it harder to travel in-between hamlets these days, but these wands won’t make or repair themselves, would they? Gathering several of the wand boxes in his arms, he then heard the telltale chime announcing a customer, “I’ll be right with—” Planning to pop out and quickly declare he’d just take a moment to organize the boxes he held, Ollivander stopped short as he took a good look at the student that peered back at him curiously. Not just any student, but the new fifth-year Professor Matilda Weasley had owled him about earlier this morning, “Ah! It’s you! Um, just a moment, please.” He quickly dropped the wand boxes in his backroom for later, choosing to focus first on the curious case in front of him as he stepped out.

“Hello sir. I’m looking for—”

“For a new wand, yes. It’s about time.” Brushing at the countertop, he tried to remember the details Matilda had provided him regarding a certain Beatrice Hayes and the otherwise mysterious circumstances relating to her admittance at Hogwarts at a later age.

“Yes, I— about time?” The new student that stared back owlishly at him did strike a familiar pair of eyes, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on who… He remembered the detail of her being a Muggle-born though, it usually helped in providing a couple wood wand choices he’d deemed compatible to match with its new owner.

“Well, you’re our new fifth-year student, are you not? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you are. Gerbold Ollivander’s the name! But, of course, you’ll have heard of the Ollivanders. I’m sure. Finest wandmakers in the world. It’s a pleasure to meet you, truly.” He offered both hands to greet the curious, young witch, knowing that blood status wasn’t everything and that he was determined to find a match to the spark of magic he’d felt from Beatrice’s grasp, “Now, come with me. Let’s find you the perfect wand, shall we?”

He surmised she might need something to match her obvious eagerness for wielding magic, and he might have had the perfect wand in mind, “Hmmmmm. No, no, no, not you— Ah, yes— yes. Powerful core, ten and a half inches— you might do.” Hovering his hand over the box he knew held a Sycamore wand, he then offered it to Beatrice, “Here, give this one a try.”

Watching her pull out a gold-rimmed wand, he then interjected upon seeing Beatrice only hold onto it awkwardly as she smiled in a way of expecting something to fall into place.

“Go ahead, give it a swish!”

And while the measly spark that followed perturbed Ollivander, he thought this merely a fluke as the Phoenix core the wand held had already spent a while in his shop since it could find its chosen owner.

“Hm, how odd though… Once more. Come on, really swish it.”

By the time the wand flew out of Beatrice’s hand and proceeded to errantly leave sparks of magic in his shop, did he finally relent that this was a Phoenix yet to be tamed by its rightful owner.

“Oh, dear. Well this isn’t a good match at all, is it?” He awkwardly laughed as he gingerly placed the box back in its shelf, assuring Beatrice, “We’ll find you something. Not to worry.” Surmising he needed to look for something directly relating to this mysterious student, he remembered about the dragon attack he’d caught in whispers from the townsfolks regarding a Minister’s supposed death yesterday on a trip to Hogwarts. Although Ollivander had yet to receive an owl from his old friend, Eleazar, to know more about the incident’s details, Professor Weasley had hinted on the rather interesting arrival of this new student in his presence. Surely a perilous journey like that would be enough to last a lifetime, so perhaps…

“Hmm— no, not you… Ah, perhaps— yes— a rare wood. 13 ¾ inches, dragon heartstring.” Mr. Ollivander looked at the box he’d pulled before glancing at the new student in front of him, seemingly deciding it would be a more compatible match than the first, “Let’s give this one a try.”

And although Beatrice now seemed hesitant to pull out the bulkier wand from its box, she still gave a decisive nod towards Ollivander before swishing, “Ah!— Oh! Oh, my— Oh goodness. Looks like it’s back to the shelf for you.” Despite the shop owner’s surprised exclamations, Ollivander noticed that the Fir wand had only flew out Beatrice’s hands with minimal errant sparks of magic. He now at least had the wand’s core right this time.

“Though this is proving to be trickier than I had anticipated. How perplexing.” He’d thought back to how Beatrice had quite the grip during their handshake— someone ready for a duel in the face of danger— he’d deduced, and Ollivander knew of only one wand he had produced with a dragon heartstring, “Where are you? Perhaps you— Ah. There you are.”

He summoned a rather dusty box in the upper shelves, “Yes, I think you might be the one. Here, take it.” While not as fancifully decorated than the previous two, Ollivander highly-prized the Aspen wood for its stylish resemblance to ivory, “What do you think?”

Watching with bated breath as Beatrice held the wand in her hand, she had only just raised it when the tip glowed a blinding white, surrounding the enclosed shop in a gust of warm air that made Ollivander himself gasp in giddy wonder, “Extraordinary. Another wand, another beginning of a bright and magical future!” It also wasn’t every day that he’d get to witness such a curious show of compatibility between a wand and its found owner, “Now, how did that feel?”

“Good— different. I sensed a sort of surge of some kind.” Ollivander noted the unsure tone in Beatrice answer and made to assuage her, “A match. Your connection seemed particularly powerful. The right wand will learn from you just as you learn from it.”

“I’m eager to try it out.”

“I would imagine so. A wand with a dragon heartstring core is capable of dazzling magic. And the bond between you and your wand should only grow stronger. Do not be surprised at your new wand’s ability to perceive your intentions— particularly in a moment of need.”

“That sounds wonderful, Mr. Ollivander. Speaking of which, I think it’s only right I return my second-hand wand back in your care, sir.”

“Oh?” How intriguing, Ollivander had thought as he motioned for Beatrice to place the second-hand wand in the now empty box that previously contained her new wand. Though upon further inspection, he couldn’t help exclaim, “A Yew wand! Proven to be quite the fierce protector of others in its care. Had Professor Fig told you whom its previous owner was?” Ollivander asked off-handedly as he now held the wand closely to study it.

“I’m afraid not, sir. He only told me it was lent from Ollivanders’. I— was hoping you’d know? It has served me well during my introduction to Magic under Professor Fig’s mentorship…”

Curious, indeed. Ollivander now looked towards the young girl, thinking on how to gently break her the news of the original wand owner’s possible fate, “Judging from the Unicorn hair core this wand contains, it came from a time when I was still apprenticing in this very shop under my father. I’m afraid I’d have to further look into it, if you’re keen to know more?”

“Oh. I don’t mean to leave any more work than you already have, sir. I’ll just have to notify Professor Fig that I’ve already returned the wand you’ve lent me.” Ollivander could only watch Beatrice smile with a hint of disappointment at not having her curiosity sated.

“Of course, I’ll let you get to it. Do come and see me again if ever I can be of further assistance.”

He silently watched as the door signaled Beatrice’s exit, disappointment or not, he still had to confirm with Eleazar how in Merlin’s name he came into possession of their dear missing friend’s wand.

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“Well, that’s everything. Better go and find Sebastian.” Beatrice thought to herself as she headed towards the town circle, still in a bit of a daze from the ordeal she’d experienced at the infamous wandmaker’s shop. Walking slowly, she palmed her new wand’s rough wooden surface— so unlike her previous one with its smooth wand handle and darker glean— this one gave off an ivory sheen from its crooked sides, evoking a bittersweet remembrance from her before Beatrice frowned at remembering the ancient whispers she seemingly heard upon taking hold of a wand that supposedly chose her as its owner.

She doubted Mr. Ollivander saw the glow that surrounded her for a moment back at the shop, but the steady built of power she was feeling earlier in the day also thankfully dissipated along with the surge of energy she’d felt. Right now, she felt practically weightless.

Spying a flying page that was most likely part of her Field Guide gliding down a discreet set of wooden stairs off the side of the busy streets of Hogsmeade, Beatrice had only just pointed her wand in its direction when it immediately went flying straight back at her! She only had seconds to shield herself with the hardbound as the page slotted itself right in. This only made her stare in disbelief at the wand she held before choosing to gingerly pocket it.

Beatrice was still shaking her head in wonder, sure of the fact she hadn’t even thought of the non-verbal summoning charm yet when her wand took its own initiative… She was still in the process of wrapping her head around what she’d just witnessed when she took note that Sebastian wasn’t anywhere near the town circle he said they’d meet. Though it didn’t take her too long in deciding to wait around, as a delightful collection of sweet scents drafted her way. Enticed, she let her feet lead the way towards a shop called Honeydukes, a quick Revelio confirmed that this establishment was the source of the sweet scents as Beatrice spied the colorful produce displayed. A grin slowly spread on her face as she proceeded inside, after all, it didn’t hurt to purchase something of a more guilty pleasure.

next chapter ⤜⤏

[saintgoths]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ

CHAPTER TWO - THE IMMUNITY GENE

WORD COUNT - 2,292 WORDS.

RATING - G. [MENTIONS OF DEATH AND KILLING]

It has been inadequately two days subsequent to the emotional encounter Isabella had with Venus, following the moment, the Rosalind family have become more comfortable in Jackson. Ivy and Robin slowly grew bonds with members of the community their age and Venus promised her mother she will soon get out of her comfort zone and make companions just like her siblings.

At present, Isabella made her way down the community of Jackson with a well baked apple pie in her hands, it was her way of saying thank you to the couple who allowed the Rosalind family take residency in the society. She could feel the looks each member passed onto her due to the dessert in her hands, Isabella didn’t think of herself much of a skilled person, but she was familiar with how well she was able to bake or cook.

It didn’t take long for the matriarch to arrive and she hoped at least one of them was at home so she didn’t look like a fool bringing two of the most important members of the society, food. Nevertheless, it was the morning; the house was the largest house in Jackson, Isabella wasn’t surprised, if she created and helped build a community, she would’ve wanted the largest house of all.

Shortly, the front door was open and there stood a just-woken-up Tommy in his bed clothes, rumpled and bedraggled, slightly surprised about who stood opposite him but what quickly caught his attention was the cinnamon-apple scent that cuffed his nose.

“Hey,” Isabella kindly greeted and proximately Maria’s voice was herd throughout the house along with her footsteps as she urged herself towards the front door.

“Good morning, Ms. Rosalind,” Tommy attentively welcomed as he made some space for Maria to examine what was going on.

“Oh, just call me Isabella,” the widow benevolently reassured and gently pushed forward the pie to display to them why she was here, “I just want to thank the both of you for allowing my family and I to stay here,” Isabella elucidated.

Maria was the one to take the pie away from Isabella prior she approved for Isabella to come in. “You’re welcome, I thought it was the right thing to do, we don’t usually allow people to just come in,” Maria explained as Tommy closed the door right after Isabella stepped into their home. “Thank you for the pie, it smells delicious,” Maria smiled as she placed the pie on the closest table she could find just as Tommy went into the kitchen to search for utensils, he could cut the dessert with.

“You’re welcome, it’s the least I could do,” Isabella mercifully replied as she awkwardly rubbed her hands against her thighs.

“I suppose you’re also here for something else?” Maria smartly questioned with a knowing look on her face.

Caught red-handed, Isabella stiffly smiled at the blond-haired women as she released a clumsy laugh. “You got me,” she dryly joked, “it’s nothing big I just want to start cooking for the diner,” which was also a place to hang out and a place for people to receive their missions to clear out places outside Jackson.

Maria perked her head towards Isabella delighted at the woman’s quest. “You want to work at the diner?” Maria repeated, cheerful. Isabella nodded in response to the authoritative woman, she needed to make money for her children some-how, and she Isabella was someone who always needed to be on the move, staying back in her cabin away from the danger and the all night and day fighting was going to cause disinterest soon enough.

The two women chattered regarding to Isabella taking place in the kitchen, it seemed like the two women found comfort in each other’s companies and Maria found Isabella’s dry and awkward humour entertaining. Sooner than later, Isabella left the Miller grounds with a positive and relieved smile on her face, things were moving smoother and better than she had thought, the matriarch believed that she would’ve had to sweeten Maria up to allow her to do anything in this town.

As she walked down the streets of the community it didn’t take her long for Joel’s figure to appear in her field of vision. He must’ve come back from outside of the gates of the society, since he looked rumpled and disarrayed, however, Isabella couldn’t help but think the wrinkled and dishevelled appearance he displayed was attractive, erotic even. Nonetheless, Isabella forced herself to stop thinking about the older man in such an amorous and obscene manner, it was inappropriate since he barely even bothered about her.

Yet, it didn’t take long for the older Miller man to grasp the orbs that stared onto his image, his response mute and restrained; Isabella couldn’t help but feel her cheeks burn out, as she was caught red-handed, once again, to break the awkwardness, she greeted the man only for him to grunt and faintly nod his head as an acknowledgment.

“You know as we start going to the school, you’ll gain some friends, and gain people you’ll really trust and get along with, but, please, Venus, for our sakes and yours, don’t tell anyone about your bite,” Ivy beggingly requested her little sister who sat on a chair opposite of her; the three Rosalind children took seat in their mother’s kitchen, as they awaited for her arrival, previous this day their mother took them to enrol into the Jackson Community School where they would learn like the children prior to the breakout, live their lives like regular kids and grow a half-normal life.

Venus sat there; her cheeks slightly puffed as she frowned unmoved by Ivy’s plead. “I don’t think I’m going to make any friends there anyways.”

“Well, with that attitude, you won’t,” Robin joked with half of his body slouched on the comfortable chair he took place on, his right arm soft on the wooden table and his eyes bored onto Venus’ appearance. “Just because you’re bitten it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make friends.”

Venus awkwardly shuffled, insecure, “but what if I do, and get them infected?”

Ivy gently snorted, cordial and heartfelt about her sister’s innocence and selflessness, “it won’t happen because we’re not infected.”

“What if you guys didn’t get infected because you carry an immune gene?”

Robin and Ivy quickly glanced at each-other, both shared the same thought, Robin furrowed his eyebrows, silently agreed with Venus’ question, “I mean…you can’t just randomly be immune,” Robin weakly jerked his shoulders, “unless one of our parents had it, who had their own parents that carry a gene that causes immunity to the bite.”

Venus shook her head as she pushed the possible thought away, “this is silly, my bite is just taking longer to function, it’ll happen one day and I’ll turn…into one of those things and one of you guys will have to take responsibility in killing me,” Venus, head was down as she sourly explained a what-if outcome to her older siblings who stared at her with a spurned disbelief expression on their faces.

“Who will take the responsibility to kill you?”

The three children’s faces moved with lurch towards the direction of the voice’s owner, who was audibly their mother, who stood in front of the cabin’s front door that was closed behind her. Disappointed and riled with what she just heard, they could tell with the way she bitterly puckered her lips and with the way her eyes confined, that she was choleric and furious.

The atmosphere was quiet and the two older siblings turned their heads to look at Venus who sat silently with anxiety that started to fuel her face. Her shoulders shrunk whilst she silently declined on repeating what she said.

“Venus,” Isabella sternly called as she made her way towards the table, her chafed energy enough to keep Venus’ head down, impatient, Isabella slammed her hands against the table, crossed, “Venus!” Isabella screamed convulsed, her roar frightened all of her children who dared not to move from their chairs, “look at me and tell me who will take the responsibility to kill you?!” She seethed, chafed and exasperated.

The young girl, with courage, finally looked up into her mother’s nettled eyes and replied, “I don’t know,” her eyes big in discomfort, aghast as she rubbed her palms against each other under the table she hid her hands neath.

The window clenched her jaw, disturbed by her own reaction, yet more sick and overturned with what she heard her youngest imply. “Okay,” Isabella said, clearly bothered, “I forbid you on speaking about your bite,” Isabella strongly directed, “not a word,” she declared, spilled and dismayed, “if I hear you speaking about it again, I will take away all your things until you understand, okay?” She faintly threatened as she pulled her hands away from the table in the act of watching Venus obediently nod her head, passive.

The woman strongly sighed; her eyes fell against the ground during the moment she tried to pull herself together. “I got a job at the diner,” she informed everyone but she could tell that everyone was well enough uncomfortable to celebrate, the matriarch heavily breathed through her nose as she proximately wiped her mouth with her palms, “Ivy, Robin, go to your cabins, Venus go to your room.”

The three of them were immediately on their feet, scurried off to where they were commanded to. Before leaving, Ivy and Robin quickly bid their mother a goodbye and congratulations before they completely exited the larger cabin, Isabella watched Venus scamper up the stairs without mentioning another word.

“What book are you reading?” Isabella curiously questioned, her body leaned against the doorframe that led into the bedroom of her youngest kin, who sat up on her and shuffled through the pages of her almost worn-out book.

“A Game of Thrones.”

The woman raised both of her eyebrows, shortly impressed on how Venus hasn’t grown tired of reading the same book over and over again. “You’re reading it again?” Isabella asked and crossed her arms at the same time.

“Don’t have any other books so,” Venus quickly responded.

Isabella thinned her lips, knowledgeable that Venus was still tense about the previous altercation. “I just can’t keep having the same conversation, Venus,” Isabella tiredly announced to her daughter who looked at her with the side of her eyes. “Speaking so freely about your death…” the woman stopped speaking, the thought of her daughter dying sent an uneasy feeling through her physique. “It’s scary, it scares me, and it scares your siblings.”

The young girl lowered her head in culpability, ashamed and disappointed in herself that she brought those feelings to her loved ones. Just like a couple of hours ago, it was reticent between the two of them. Isabella languidly sighed before she walked towards Venus’ bed, she could tell that the young girl was on the verge of tears and Isabella hoped she was quick enough to elope the girl in a hug.

“I’m sorry mummy,” the girl wailed against her mother’s chest.

The older woman thoroughly murmured, “it’s okay Venus, just don’t say that again, okay?” Isabella mildly reminded and felt the girl nod her head against her chest, “you’re not supposed to die before me, it’s not supposed to happen that way.”

The daughter wiped her tears as she carefully paid attention to her mother’s authentic and honest words, “I mean it when I say that I don’t want you to ever speak about one of us having to kill you if you ever turn into an infected, now come on, get to sleep, I don’t want you to waste your energy thinking about what happened,” uprightly, Isabella also didn’t want to think about the heated interaction she shared with her daughter, Isabella sincerely loved Venus to an extent that Venus couldn’t comprehend just yet, possibly it was a symptom of a mother’s love.

“How about we take our minds off it with stories of dad.”

Isabella simpered at Venus’ request before taking her shoes off during the moment Venus pulled her duvet over her body with her mother following her not too long after, the two ladies comforted by the heat of the bedspread, with Venus on her back and Isabella on her side, her elbows used to aid her head that rested against her palm, “where should I start,” the widow jointly hummed whilst Venus’ eyes looked up at her.

“Oh,” Isabella gasped pleased of what she remembered. “Do you know it was your dad that came up with your name?”

Venus perked her right eyebrow, dumbfounded, “really?”

“Yeah, he wanted your name to mean something, y’know? Your father and I met on Valentine’s Day, and I think we immediately fell in love with each other, besides with all the calamity going on with the world, your father and I bonding with each other made us realise and appreciate that we can still find love in a world like this,” she reminisced, moderately stroked her digits through Venus’ curly locks, “he wanted your name to mean something because we both knew you were going to be our last child.”

It seemed like Isabella must’ve been speaking for an infinity length of time as she after period of a time realised that Venus was deep asleep, that’s the one of many things she liked about sending Venus to sleep, is that it didn’t take the young girl long to fall dormant. Watching her little girl trance, the matriarch wished that she could just freeze Venus’, Robin’s and Ivy’s ageing and have them stay as they are, as her young children and have them around her for eternity.

liking, commenting and reblogging would be appreciated!

[sukirichi]

black magic [02]

request. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife) + sukuna’s first time with his wife

cw. slight angst, insecurities, lots of making out, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasm, sukuna worships reader, spitting, cum eating, teasing! sukuna, face-off kamasutra position, soft dom! sukuna, unedited fic, pwp

song inspo. leave the door open (bruno mars)

note. i want a husband sukuna 

part one | part two

Sukuna gently takes your palm into his, soft and warm lips meeting your bruised knuckles that have seen years of hard work in exorcising curses like him. Uncanny that he showed so much affection to his enemy by nature, treating you with such care and tenderness that shouldn’t have been so possible for an evil creature like him. You’re supposed to love it, be grateful for it, yet his sweet gestures only irritate you, even more so when he retires to bed just like that without even so much sparing a glance your way.

You’ve been married for a year now that you’ve had enough of his confusing gestures towards you. One moment, he was showering you with love, regarding you like you were the light of his life before he’s walking away the next moment and pretending you don’t exist.

He was so infuriating. He would kiss you and hold you, but never touch you or be in the same room with you any longer than an hour. Even in bed, he’s always making sure his back is turned to you, peeling your arms off of him each time you attempt to cuddle him on times it got too cold. It hurts and dwells dangerously at the back of your mind – it would’ve been better if he got angry at you and announced he despised you, but he never did – that his hot and cold nature bothered you more than anything else.

You’ve eventually had enough that you just stopped caring. Barging in during his bath time, your nostrils flare upon seeing your husband so relaxed in the tub. Even after a year of marriage, he’s so unaffected and unaware by your need for him.

He really doesn’t care.

“Little one,” Sukuna blinks as he sits up from the tub, strong arms hanging off the edges of the bed. You admit; he really was beautiful and a desirable man that you couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but crave the one thing you knew you weren’t supposed to have. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you not want me?” you suddenly demand, tears already streaming down your face faster than you would like. Hell, you never wanted to cry in the first place. “Am I not desirable enough for you?”

Sukuna chuckles nervously.

Oh, great, now he’s nervous around you?

“What are you going on about?”

“Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re doing,” you snap, “Every time we go to bed, you always put some distance between us and keep to your side of the bed. You push me away when I try to reach for you and you never touch me or kiss me on the lips. I-I understand this marriage was against your will, but I’m still your wife and I need you, okay?” chest tightening uncomfortably, you place a hand over your poor, aching heart that is further crippled when Sukuna’s face falls. “I just feel like...you’re sickened by me, like you cannot stand to be with me in the same room as me. It makes me feel like...it would’ve been better if I wasn’t here.”

You don’t know what kind of response you’re expecting from him after your outburst, but definitely not him standing up to loom over you. You respectfully avert your eyes from the sinful image of water dripping down his defined body, but it’s too late and he’s too close already that you won’t be surprised if he can hear your heartbeat pumping frantically.

He was large and imposing, truly a terrifying sight right before you especially with his tattoos that trail and wrap all around his muscular thighs, yet you’re not nervous because he could hurt you.

Rather, you’re agitated because he’s so close, so within reach that if you step a little closer, you could easily find the warmth you’ve been dreaming of for so long.

You’re frustrated because you want him though you shouldn’t.

Just then, Sukuna caresses your cheek and pulls the both of you back in the tub with you above him, and him lazily grinning above you. You gasp, abashed, that your clothes were soaked to the brim and it stuck close to your damp skin until it took the shape of your silhouette. Sukuna, on the other hand, is completely unbothered as he eyes your pebbled nipples poking through the thin material of your nightgown and simply drags you forward on his thighs.

“S-Sukuna—”

“You really have no idea, do you?” he whispers lowly, his long claws carefully tracing down the sides of your jaw. “My innocent, little lamb...the reason I distance myself from you is because every waking day that you are right beside me, my self-restraint thins, and I’m not sure I can hold back a little longer from you taming me,” Sukuna’s dark eyes brims with something unreadable as he holds your gaze. The look he wears is beyond intense that he takes your breath away, literally, and you’re left gaping at him silently. “I push you away because I want you more than anything else, but I respect you and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You-you want me?”

“Clearly, little one, you’re inherently unaware of how captivating you are,” Sukuna says as if if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you shiver at his words – or from the cold water, you don’t really know. “Stop looking at me like you want me to kiss you. I may not stop once I get a taste of you. Like I said before – I won’t touch you unless you asked.”

You do remember him saying that from your first time together, but your head goes blank, and no words leave your lips even as you mouth nonsense.

Sukuna taps your lips. “Speak, little one. You need to use your big girl words.”

“Kiss me,” you vociferated in one breath, desperately clutching on your thighs. “Please.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to push you away as his eyes narrow into suspicion, but soon he’s tugging at your collar to bring you down for a heated kiss. Sukuna is tugging your robes down until your collarbones are exposed, his tongue and lips leaving yours to leave marks and love bites all over the patch of skin instead. You tug at his hair as you crane your neck to the side, succumbing to the undeniable pleasure his warmth and greediness consumes you with.

Grinding down on his groin, you notice he’s already hard. Hard for you, and this realization makes you kiss him back hungrily as you whimper above him.

Sukuna is feverishly sucking on your tongue and pawing at your breasts the next instant before the spell is immediately broken just as it happened. For before you could reciprocate the same amount of eagerness he kissed you with, Sukuna is already sliding you off of him until you’re on the other side of the tub, left staring at him wordlessly with his lips red and swollen.

“Not today, little one. I think that’s enough.”

You hear your heart shatter into pieces. Pride; it was about the only thing you had, but it seemed even that had been taken away from you.

“You really don’t want me.”

Your voice cracked as your eyes began to tear up.

“No, love, that’s not what I meant,” he groans into his hands, “Believe me, I’d spent enough nights sweaty and frustrated knowing I can’t ravish you and have those lush thighs around me already,” waiting for him to continue, Sukuna sighs and holds you closer, though he could only caress your knee right now that you’re wary of getting hurt again. “This is your first time, okay? I want to make it special for you – you’re not experiencing bliss with me if it happens impulsively with you barging in my bath.”

Something like hope lights up inside you.

“Y-you’ll really do that for me?”

“Tch, brat, don’t go all soft on me now. I wouldn’t suggest testing my patience even further,” he playfully flicks your forehead when you tried to kiss him again, but Sukuna is already tilting his cheek to other side before you could. You would’ve been heartbroken again that he’s refused you, but his words held more than reassurance – and so did his uncomfortably hard cock – that all previous insecurities vanished into thin air.

Sukuna grabs you by the waist to plant your feet on the ground outside the tub, carrying you as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll to him. “Now go and get changed. I’ll fuck you another time.”

“Don’t say it like that!”

“My deepest apologies, little one,” he commented sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, though his smile turned genuinely warm the last minute. “I’ll make love to you when you’re ready.”

He must’ve lied.

You’re annoyed because Sukuna is intentionally avoiding you and acting like you don’t exist. Pissed off, you go into a curse exorcising spree to get the King of Curses out of your mind, reminding yourself that he was vile like them and he didn’t deserve even a second of your time.

Although no matter how hard you tried, your mind still kept racing back to him even as you come back home, bloody and tired when you realize the temple is eerily quiet. Not a living soul could be found around, no servant fretted at your arrival and your husband most definitely did not lurk in the shadows like he usually did. The only sign the temple hadn’t been abandoned yet were the lines of candles trailing down the hall to your shared room with him, and you gasp as you see the petals decorating the bed and rose-scented candles lit everywhere.

Sukuna was nowhere to be seen.

But he was felt as he kisses your neck, his hands untying the knots of your yukata. You stiffen in reflex before relaxing as soon you recognize his scent. Behind you, Sukuna pauses, his lips still in the column of your neck.

“You’re upset.” He wasn’t asking; rather observing.

“Not anymore,” you mumble in response, although you weren’t entirely convinced even as you come closer to the bed, your husband trailing behind with his pinky looped to yours. “Did you do all this for me?”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

“I love it, thank you,” you hide your smile for him, not wanting him to see that it’s so easy to alleviate your anger to him. He has to earn your approval again, so you turn to him with a forced scowl and arms crossed against your chest. “But why were you ignoring me for days?”

You intended to look intimidating, but the King of Curses only laughed.

“You look cute when you’re mad. Plus, it made you want me more than you already do, didn’t it?” he chastised, the implications of his words making you pout in humiliation. Sukuna is quick to step closer to you, cupping your cheeks into his hand, and you hated how easily you leaned into his touch. Nevertheless, you turned away from him, using all your energy to muster your most serious ‘I’m not bothered’ face.

“Aw, don’t be shy, it’s written all over your face, little one,” he breathes on the shell of your ear, hands trailing down to lightly drape your clothes below your shoulders. Unable to hold it back, you end up shivering at his featherlike touches.

“It’s okay. I loved hearing your soft whimpers every time you touched yourself in the bath, thinking that I’m probably not around to hear, hm? You forget I sense everything,” his laugh is mocking yet laced with lust, “From the frantic singing of your heart, the way you tense up a little when I’m around, or the way those beautiful legs of yours clench together each time my robe is a little loosened,” Sukuna dips his nose right under your jaw where his tongue darts out to lick a flat stripe down your neck, and just like that, you’re breathlessly clutching on his white robes that are already unfastened. Damned tease.

“Even the smell of your arousal is enticing me to enrapture you right now, little one. I can practically hear the silent begging in that pretty little head of yours.”

You forgot how to breathe.

“B-but I’m dirty, I just finished exorcising curses.”

“Would it be comedic if I said I am aroused at the thought my wife could easily end me right here and now?” shaking your head at him, Sukuna smiles mysteriously. “But you won’t, would you? You need me too much for that,” he leans closer than he already was before, his lips just a breath away from yours. “Tell me, do you want me?”

“Yes,” you whispered breathily, “Please, Sukuna, touch me.”

“It’s my love to you.”

“Not Your Majesty?”

“Hmm, that is delightful to hear as well,” he says, “But let’s our drop our titles. For now, whatever happens between us is intimately between man and wife. Now go clean up, little one. I’ll be waiting for you once you’re ready.”

You waste no time into darting to the bath, scrubbing the blood and dirt on each nook and crevice of your body until you’re squeaky clean. You’re about to head back to bed when you quickly practice puckering your lips to make yourself look desirable, muttering hopefully flirty lines that would make your husband want you more before calling it quits from the embarrassment you caused upon yourself.

By the time you’ve completely dried and moisturized yourself to absolute perfection that you’re confident of yourself, you find Sukuna emptily staring into the ceilings. “Done already? Someone’s eager.”

You roll your eyes at him. Why did you like him again?

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Gladly, little one,” he confides, patting his thighs to encourage you to climb onto him. Now that things were actually getting real and your endless dreams would soon become reality, your palms grow sweaty as you settle yourself onto his lap. “You tell me right away if I’m hurting you, you understand? One word and I’ll stop; though I doubt you’ll be in your right mind to want to stop once I’ve had my way with you.”

You don’t really understand much of what he’s saying anymore.

He’s kissing you so slowly, so passionately and you’re both undressing each other that nothing but desire and lust clouds your thoughts in that moment. You’re drunk on the sweet taste of him, his natural musky scent beyond intoxicating for your mortal self to handle. Too lost in the bliss of finally being intimate with him, you don’t realize Sukuna has already pushed your towel down until it pools at your waists. His sharp intake of breath is the only thing that pulls you back to reality as he greedily takes in each beautiful curve and dip of your body.

His stare is so fervid that you grow shy and cover yourself, where Sukuna quickly grips your wrist as a warning. “No. You do not hide yourself from me.”

“Then stop staring too much.”

“Is it a sin to appreciate divine beauty?” he tilts his head to the side and blinks at you innocently. “You are ethereal, my wife.”

Before you could be too flustered to respond, Sukuna fortunately saves you from the embarrassment by kissing you again, though it doesn’t last long before his mouth is trailing from your collarbone and down to your breasts. You mewl as Sukuna eagerly sucks on one breast, the other showered with attention from his rough, calloused palms. Meanwhile, you push his clothes away to expose his strong shoulders which you use as leverage because his ministrations make you feel like you’re losing control over your own body.

Rolling your hips on his erect cock, Sukuna groans through your skin, squeezing your breast hard enough that you can’t take it anymore right after he tweaks your nipple. “Love, please, I need you right now.”

“Patience, little one,” he reminds, “I need to prepare you well.”

“I’ve been waiting for months, Sukuna, I’m sure I’m more than ready.”

“Emotionally, sure, but physically?” he chuckles darkly, “Little one, do you not understand your nimble fingers cannot compare to my cock? I might hurt you if you’re not stretched out enough.”

“Then stop kissing me and start—” you’re cut off with a gasp, your nails sinking down harder into his skin the moment his fingers began to rub at your pussy. “Y-your claws—”

“I kept them for years, but I had to cut them just for you, little one. What do you have to say about that?”

“Thank you,” you offer with a breathy moan, head falling into his shoulder from the overwhelming yet welcomed intrusion. “Oh, Sukuna, it’s too good, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he bites the shell of your ear and tugs at the lobe, basically biting it between his teeth to distract you from another long and thick digit pushing past your walls. “One more?”

“O-oh!” his thumb has now joined the party by rubbing soothing circles on your clit, effortlessly pulling your lips aside with the rest of his digits to expose your sensitive bundles of nerves for him. Sukuna keeps his eyes on yours the whole time, watching and drinking in the face you make – pleasure written all over your features from the swollen lips, pupils blown wide, and desire pooling in swirls of curiosity and eagerness. It’s a face he never wants to forget; a face he wants to see more of that Sukuna eventually lays you down against the pillows, admiring how unreal you looked in that moment.

Hair splayed all over the pillow, legs spread wide open with his hands caressing your core, and a strong arm gripping his with small gasps accompanied by desperate calls for his name to do more, please you more – your words instantly translate into commands.

“You are so beautiful,” Sukuna praises rather angrily, “Never forget that. Each inch of you, fuck, you are the most dangerous mortal, you know that?”

You don’t have time to react before he’s going down on you and spreads your legs apart, keeping them pinned down to the bed. The stretch hurts but he easily soothes your pain by massaging your inner thighs, crawling down to kiss your ankles, then licking all the way up to your knee where he stops for a second, only to happily be on your sopping cunt the next moment. He’s peppering barely there kisses to your inner thighs just on your outer lips, his breath warm and teasing on your heat.

It feels like he intends to ruin you tonight.

“Sukuna, stop teasing!”

“What do you want me to do, little one?” he grins from between your legs, the vibrations of his chuckles resonating deep within your cunt that sporadically clenches right in front of his face that’s shamelessly imprinting your scent deep into his memory. “How can I make you feel good?”

“You know how!”

“You need to tell me so I know. I can’t read your mind.”

“Your mouth...”

Sukuna’s smile grows wider the longer you struggle to find your words, but exactly how in the world could you say such vulgar things out loud? He is far more patient tonight than any other day, however, that Sukuna props himself to his elbows to peer up at you innocently. “Where do you want my mouth and what should I do with it?”

Swallowing the rest of your pride, you finally utter: “T-taste me...down there.”

“Here?” he prods your clit, pulling a high-pitched gasp from you. Your husband’s smirk is nothing short of condescending just before he finally kisses your clit, sucking the bud into his mouth until you writhe before him. It takes minimal effort for someone of his strength to hold your legs in place, his grip just tight enough to be commanding. The thought of being completely in his mercy made your head spin in circles, your chest heaving up and down from the pleasure he was blessing yet torturing you with. “You’re so responsive, little one. I’m honoured I’m the one who gets to make you feel like this.”

“M-more, please, I need more.”

You expect him to tease you further, but your husband must’ve noticed that you’re too edged and decided to have pity on you. He doesn’t waste another second before he’s wrapping his lips around your pussy, treating it as if it were your own lips that always tasted like honey.

Sukuna is completely immersed in the act of pleasuring you with his tongue only, so much so that he’s silent aside from the little hums he lets out while you moan for him.

Unable to care about being too loud anymore (not that you needed to since Sukuna had made everyone go back home to give you both privacy) you find yourself throwing your head back, legs falling open wider to grant him deeper access to your most sensitive parts. Sukuna continues to massage your inner thighs and even drags the back of your knee to rest on his muscular back littered with battle scars and tattoos, the dark markings on his skin flexing with each movement. His eyes are closed and his nose is grazing against your swollen clit that had reddened already, your pussy lips opening up like a new world he had to explore, and explore he would.

Your hands find solace in his hair the shade of gentle sunsets that were often shared in lazy kisses and subtle touches, nails dragging across his scalp just enough to make your husband hiss right between your legs. Something begins to tighten in your belly as you grind your clit onto his face, too absorbed in the mind-numbing sensation of his tongue now poking against your entrance and the past barrier slowly blooming open to welcome him.

With shaking legs and a chest drenched in sweat, pebbled nipples further stimulated by the cold breeze drifting in from the windows, your eyes snap open as that rope snapped deep within your belly.

Your gaze shoots down below you to watch your husband ardently lapping your juices like a man starved. Now this wasn’t new to you – you’ve heard enough about the King of Curses and his bloodlust. Whispers of his thirst and desire to slay entire towns and even feast on mortals’ souls was enough to keep you at bay when you were still a young sorcerer, for it was already a blatant warning that Sukuna would feed on anything and anyone, that his hunger was quite something that couldn’t be satiated.

But seeing him unhinged and a slave to pleasing you has never felt more erotic that you ride out your orgasm, toes curling and legs trembling every now and then from the aftershocks of your high.

Slowly, Sukuna darts out his tongue one last time just to leave a teasing touch to your clit before he’s crawling right above you again. The ceiling is obscured by his large frame hovering over you, arms trapped between your head and his gallant member poking just between your thighs. You end up shivering under him as your husband regards you – with affection, pride, curiosity – gentle in comparison to his true nature in caressing your cheek, both of you unbothered by the slick that meets your skin.

“Are you okay?” he breathes out, watching your fucked out smile bloom into a felicitous grin.

“Perfect,” you mumble, although rather shyly. You’d seen him naked before, but never hard, and never with the intention that soon you’d truly be connected – in heart, in body, in mind, and in soul. The thought makes your heart skip a beat, your eyelids growing hooded as Sukuna absentmindedly traces patterns on the curve of your hip. “Sukuna...you’re perfect.”

Your husband laughs, the sound of his glee contagious that you’re chuckling with him as well. “Have you seen yourself, little one? I think I fall for you harder each day.”

His sudden confession brings about a silence in the room, but it wasn’t comfortable, and neither was it tense. If anything, it destroys any traces of previous hesitation and pent up anger that’s only been formed in the first place due to the fact he was Curse and you a sorcerer.

The nature of your relationship had been paradoxical to begin with, perhaps even beastly, but nothing was beastly about it now as you wrap an arm around his neck to bring him closer to you. And Sukuna was just that – the man, the Curse, the feared King whose simple mention of his name made mere mortals tremble – the same person that somehow understands your silence better than anyone. No words were needed when he could read your mind and knew his way around your heart a little too much, not once leaving his lips on yours as he sits on the edge of the bed and pulls you before him. Both of your skins are hot and flushed, yet you’re greedily touching and pulling at one another, his large palms clawing at your ass to pry your pussy lips open while you drag your nails down his chest.

He grunts into your mouth; the sound deep and masculine that it vibrates all the way down to your core. You gasp into his mouth – your breath immediately swallowed by his tongue that dances with yours – once you feel him slip inside.

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve felt before.

You’ve fought and exorcised countless of curses that pain was no stranger to you at this point, but never had you felt so...alien to a sensation both tragic and addicting. Pulling away to breathe air back into your lungs, your forehead knocks with Sukuna until your noses are brushing against the others, mouth hanging open as your walls struggle to accommodate him.

“Oh, oh god,” you mewl above him, eyes wide open as you witness each inch of his cock disappearing from the motion of you swallowing his length whole. He was big; terrifyingly so, and you shake with fear that you wouldn’t be able to take him or that he might rip you apart. “Su-Sukuna—”

“You’re fine,” he reassures by pulling your cheeks back to him, your delicate face trapped between his rough hands. Although his eyes are dark with lust, there’s a tenderness behind them that placates you. “You can tell me to stop if it hurts. Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

There’s no lie or hesitation behind your voice. Sukuna watches your face carefully to detect any sign of discomfort, but you want this, want him, and the pleasure combined with the tolerable sting only makes you desire him even more. The mere fact that there had to be pain and sacrifice, that you had to place your whole trust in him before you could truly succumb to the pleasure and love that created light and hope in this world was enough for you to want to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, and Sukuna wipes away the frown on your face with the pads of his fingers.

He allows you to go at your own pace until you’re completely seated on his cock, the heated member throbbing so hard inside you that you think he’s poking and prodding right deep into a place where you could hold him close the most.

It’s too much and too good that for once, you let your walls crash down as you bury yourself in his shoulder. Sukuna holds you closer by pulling you right into his chest, large arms wrapped around your frame while your breasts tease the rugged and taut muscles of his body. Even the slightest movement of you adjusting yourself on his lap makes his cock graze against your bumpy walls that you’re both moaning left and right. As you struggle to make sense of the sensations bursting within you, Sukuna’s self restraint hangs dangerously by a piece of thread. You can tell by how he’s cupping your ass and lifting your body up effortlessly before he slides you back down on his thick pole, that single, simple gesture repeated over and over again along with him bringing his hips back up to meet your warmth sending a scorching heat all over your body.

“Love, that’s, fuck,” you curse incoherently, and upon hearing a profanity leave your otherwise innocent lips makes something snap inside your husband.

Sukuna is gripping onto your hips for dear life as he bounces you up and down on his cock, tilting his head back just to scrutinize your connected bodies. A thick ring of white cream surrounds the base of his cock until it slides down on his veiny cock, sounds of skin slapping against skin and the loud squelching of your pussy even more beautiful than the screams mortals have moments right before their death in his hands. But Sukuna be damned – you felt too good that this might as well have been his death.

“You feel so fucking good,” he praises through gritted teeth, easily manhandling you and throwing you back on the bed where he’s on you in a second. “Look at you, little one, taking my huge cock so well. It’s like you’re made just for me – you want to be with me, don’t you? I would please you, fuck you good every day, yes, fuck!”

Sukuna ended up hitting a spot that equated to uncharted territory, causing you to tighten around him with a sharp cry. “Oh, right there, right there!” you rub your clit for further stimulation, moaning louder when he hoists both your legs on his chest.

He presses your legs and hugs his around his arms, flipping it to the side until your feet are right beside his ears. Sukuna has gone completely feral – his pace and drive animalistic, growling like a predator consuming his prey before he softens, kissing your ankles just as he grips your legs to make them squish together. The sudden lack of space makes your pussy tighter and more sensitive for him that you’re fisting the sheets right beside you, too fucked out to even form a coherent sentence. You’re babbling mindlessly on how good he’s making you feel, completely limp and motionless under him from how deep he’s hitting.

“Please, please, please—” you cry out, reaching out just seconds away from your orgasm with the need to touch him. Sukuna gives in and lets go of your legs until they fall at your side, stretching you out further from when he leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss.

He’s caressing your cheeks and swipes a thumb over your tears, quite nearly folding your half. His balls are slapping against your ass the harder he thrusts inside you, but his hips are stuttering and he’s panting right beside your ear that you can tell he’s close. It prompts you to wiggle under him to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him closer and clutching his scalp just to have him impossibly close, because even thinking about letting him go sounds too painful, especially now that he’s claimed you as his just as you’ve marked him yours.

“I worship you,” he blurts out with a few final thrusts that has you crumbling under him in a silent scream, your focus completely on his dark, passionate eyes as you came. Sukuna then laces his fingers through yours while he pumps himself inside you, your walls milking him of everything he’s got. “You are divine, my wife, you have bewitched me for eternity.”

“Sukuna,” you call out weakly, and he’s quick to litter kisses all over your face from your whimpers. “Sukuna-I-I—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” Sukuna places a finger on your lips, letting you calm down from that earth shattering orgasm he just gave you. He pulls his spent dick out a minute later and scoops up your cum that’s spilling out from your pussy lips, his gaze never leaving yours the whole while he sucks his fingers inside his mouth. He’s so dirty and erotic that you’re clenching around nothing once more, but he shakes his head with a low chuckle as if he can sense you want more. Sukuna kisses you just to transfer the cum mixed with spit right onto your tongue, gripping your jaw when your eyes widen at him. “Swallow it, little one. That’s just a taste of what I could give to you.”

You don’t know what pulled you to actually swallow it – it tastes bitter and even a little salty, though it had a bittersweet tinge of scent to it that you don’t mind, especially not when Sukuna just stares at you like you’re most his prized possession.

Sukuna is right by your side the next moment. He’s tamed the next moment, pure comfort and bliss from the way he’s tenderly running his fingers up and down the sides of your body like he’s memorizing the feel of you around him. You both don’t say anything as you place your cheek right above his chest, arms locked on his chest in a desperate cling, but neither does he want you to let go. Sukuna threads his fingers on your hair before you feel his lips caress the crown of your head, mumbling sweet nothings right as you’re welcoming sleep.

Until he taps your breast.

“Little one?”

“Yes?”

“We never had our honeymoon, do we?” he queries, and you twist your head to face him as your brows draw together in thought.

“No, I don’t think we did. I pushed you away from me on our first night together, remember?”

Sukuna’s eyes shone with mischief. “How could I forget? You tried to kill me right after our wedding,” both of you share a laugh at the memory, though there were no more harsh feelings or contempt shared, only love, and love only. Sukuna softens under your gaze as your chuckles tinker down to a giggle, your finger teasingly drawing circles on his chest as you bite your lip. And like always, Sukuna knows you just a little too well. “I know that look. What is it that you want, little one?”

“You.”

“Me?” he repeats with a dark chuckle that sends heat right down to your womanhood. “You already have me, little one, your wish has been granted a long time ago.”

Your face burns. “I mean, I want you. Again. One more.”

“One more?”

“Or maybe a lot more,” you pipe up, but Sukuna’s smirk is growing more and more devious that your former tenacity soon dwindles down into meekness. “O-only if you want to. You must be tired.”

“Little one, I’m the King of Curses, did you really think I would be tired from fucking my sweet little wife?” At his words, Sukuna tilts your chin until you’re left with no choice but to be held captive under his lust. He leans down to teasingly bite your bottom lip, and you’re already breathing hard as you feel his hands begin to trail down to your core that’s more than eager to take him all over again. “Like I said, I worship you, and I’m nothing but a bewitched man who would gladly fuck his wife as long as she asks.”

Safe to say, you couldn’t exorcise curses for quite some time.

[adoringhaikyuu]

they misinterpret your words during a fight and think you want to break up

characters: aone + kyoutani + oikawa + ushijima + (gn!reader)

request: hii can I request saying 'why am i even trying' in a fight n they take it wrong way, they thought u had enough of them but u just mean it like ' why r u even trying to argue' - kyotani, aone, ushi and oikawa... thank you ✨ • by @chibiiichann​

warnings: a lil angsty

notes: i was not sure how to title this well skfjhg + let’s just say everyone lives together in these

aone:

it wasn’t that he was trying to aggravate you

it’s just that he genuinely didn’t understand why you were upset and he was being dismissive without even realizing it

and that is what pushed you over

you were tired, you wanted to go to bed 

and you clearly weren’t getting anywhere, so you were ready to just drop it and go to sleep, hence why you said

“why am i even trying”

aone blinked a few times as he stared down at you, those five words sending a spike to his gut. you tried to move past him, not noticing the panic in his eyes, when he shot his arm out to stop you.

you looked up at him about to complain when you noticed the intense and glassy look in his eyes. he spoke up, his voice small. “please don’t.”

you sighed, “i just don’t see the point, nobu. i’m going––”

“no.” his voice was slightly louder and shaky. “please.” he stood in front of you and placed his hands on your arms as he looked into your eyes. “please don’t leave me.” 

you tilted your head, “leave y––” you shook your head, “baby, no i’m not–” you walked into his arms and he hugged you immediately, his arms holding you tight. “i’m not leaving you,” you looked up at him to find him already staring at you, holding his tears back. you placed a hand on his cheek and he nuzzled into your palm. “i was just going to bed because this argument wasn’t going anywhere. that’s why i said i don’t see the point.” 

he swallowed harshly and nodded. “oh.” 

you smiled sadly, “well now i can’t be mad at you anymore...” 

his hands squeezed your waist, “for what it’s worth...i’m sorry, y/n.” 

you leaned up for a kiss and he met you halfway. “let’s go to bed, okay?” 

he nodded but made no move to let go of you––so the two of you stood there for a while, just holding each other in silence.  

kyoutani:

you and kyoutani didn’t fight often...to be honest you rarely ever fought

but today...

both of you were really stressed out

you started arguing over something stupid, to be honest you couldn’t even remember what it was

it was just a way for you both to get out your frustrations in the end

but your voices started getting louder and you were getting in each other’s faces

and it became too much for you, it was just stressing you out even more

you needed fresh air

you rolled your eyes and stepped back, trying to shove past him. “you know what? why am i even trying here–”

before you could get far, kyoutani grabbed your arm, not forcefully, but enough to make you stop. you looked up and glared at him, surprised to see another emotion swirling in his eyes––sadness?

“you’re fucking joking right?” he never was good at talking through his emotions. 

you scowled, his tone not helping either of your moods at all. “let me go.”

he scowled right back. “no.” 

“kentaro.”

he raised a brow and stepped closer to you, “oh so we’re on a first name basis now? what, y/n?”

you clenched your jaw and looked him in the eye, taking a deep breath. “please just let me go.” your voice was small, defeated, you just needed space. 

his hand loosened but he didn’t let go completely, seemingly battling with himself in his mind. “no...i can’t. i won’t let you leave me.” 

so that’s why he was upset? 

you frowned up at him. “taro. i’m just going for some fresh air. i’m not leaving you.” 

he let go of you and stood straight, his lips parted. “oh.” he clenched his jaw and looked down, suddenly embarrassed by his reaction. you grabbed his hand and started walking towards the door. “what are you doing?”

you looked back at him, eyes no longer blazing, but instead, warm and loving. “we are going to get some fresh air. together.” 

he looked down, suddenly shy, but kept walking with you. “okay.”

oikawa:

oikawa had a bad day and he was more irritable than usual

tbh he was being kinda rude unintentionally

you were eating dinner across from each other and you were trying to talk about how your days were, not having spoken to each other much due to your busy schedules

but he wasn’t in the mood for talking and was just answering you with hums and giving you one word responses

after a while you got annoyed and honestly felt a little hurt

so you sighed and rolled your eyes, getting up from the table to go refill your water, mumbling to yourself more than anything

“why am i even trying”

it wasn’t until you said that that oikawa looked up from his plate, eyes wide, heart beating loudly in his chest. “wait what––”

you were already in the kitchen by the time he looked up and he urgently got out of his seat, almost knocking down his glass and you turned around at the clatter, surprised to see him basically speed-walking towards you. 

“oh now you pay attention to me?” you went to sip your water when he pulled it out of your hands and set it on the counter, ignoring your “hey!-” in protest. 

his eyes were frantic as he looked at you, “look baby i’m sorry i just i had a really shitty day today but––”

you sighed and looked to the side. “and i get that tooru, but that doesn’t give you the right to be a dick, i mean it feels like we haven’t had time to ourselves this week at all...”

he pouted and took your face into his hands, “i know baby and i’m sorry, i haven’t been trying as much as i could have been. but i promise i’ll do better, okay? i know i don’t deserve it but please tell me you’ll keep trying too?” his eyes were suddenly filled with tears and you looked at him in shock.

“hey–what’s wrong?” 

he pressed his forehead against yours and let out a shaky breath. “i just don’t want you to leave me––please don’t. i don’t know what i’d do without you––”

you pulled away as much as he’d let you to look into his eyes. “woah baby what––i’m not leaving you? sure i was frustrated, but i wasn’t going to break up with you.” 

his eyes widened, “really?”

you nodded. “really, tooru i promise.” just from the vulnerable look in his eyes you felt like you could cry as well. you kissed his cheek, “i’m not going anywhere.” 

he sighed, relieved and pulled you into a hug, mumbling his next words into your shoulder. “i love you.”

ushijima:

ushi could be really blunt and straightforward 

and sometimes had a tendency to brush things off, not understanding the big deal

today you were trying to get him understand something that happened at work, someone pissed you off and it really put you in a bad mood for the whole day

and ushi was always there to talk through things with you at night when you got home

but today, he really couldn’t see why you were upset––or rather, why you let it affect you so much, he didn’t see the point

and it felt like he wasn’t listening to you

(granted, you were a little strung up already)

you didn’t want to deal with people anymore so you brushed past him and went to take a shower, grumbling “why am i even trying”

as soon as you uttered those words, ushijima paused, unsure what to even think. you didn’t mean the relationship did you? surely, he thought about how you’d had a bad day, how you were frustrated and maybe you were just saying that in regards to your frustrations...but part of him wasn’t sure. you seemed rather annoyed during the conversation much to his disliking.

unfortunately, he wasn’t able to ask you about it because as soon as he turned around, you were already locked in the bathroom. he sat anxiously at the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped as he waited for you. you were taking your sweet time, no doubt relaxing and decompressing, which he understood, but it was only furthering his worry about the situation. 

it was a good while later that you’d finally gotten out of the shower, steam exiting the bathroom as you opened the door. you hadn’t even noticed ushijima sitting across from you as you got out, still focused on your thoughts, trying to calm down. 

you put your night shirt on along with some sweats, which was immediately a bad sign to him, you almost always slept in one of his shirts, and he loved that about you. 

only when you got on the bed did he speak up, clearly tense as he got your attention. “love...”

you turned and he swallowed thickly, suddenly nervous. “when you said...” he paused, looking down at his hands before looking into your eyes, clenching his jaw almost in pain. “are you giving up on us?” 

you frowned immediately, “what?”

“you...you said ‘why am i even trying’ and stormed off...did i do something? are you not happy?” 

your mouth dropped open in shock, the frustration coursing through your body now replaced with disbelief and sadness. you moved closer to him and put one hand on his cheek, the other other on his shoulder as you looked into his eyes. “what? baby no, i was just annoyed and our conversation wasn’t really helping but it wasn’t your fault! i just needed some time to think to myself, i’m sorry. this whole time you thought i wanted to end things?” 

he nodded once and your frown deepened. “baby i would never,” you paused and pulled him close for a sweet kiss. 

his hands came up to hold your waist and you melted into him, the kiss clearly soothing his worries. the look of relief and love in his eyes was clear as day when you pulled away to catch his eye. 

“i promise i am happiest with you. i’m not going anywhere, unless you were planning on leaving any time s––”

his hands gripped your waist tighter, a fierce look appearing in his eyes. “no. you’re it for me.” 

you smiled, feeling something burst in your chest and gave him another kiss. “i love you.” 

his hands made their way under your shirt and you hummed, pulling away to stop him. “baby i’m kinda tired today.”

he shook his head, a light blush on his cheeks . “i know. i just prefer when you wear my shirts.” 

you smiled and moved your hands away, “oh, okay. then go ahead.”

he smiled back, “thank you.”  

[wincore]

field day | jung sungchan

pairing: sungchan x fem!reader

synopsis: when you, as cheer captain, are best friends with the pride and joy of the soccer team, rumors are bound to fly around.

genre: high school au, soccer au, bff2l, fluff

words: 7.5k

warnings: language, jung “the risk i took was calculated but man am i bad at math” sungchan

request: sungchan + ball + “ everyone is looking at us. is that a good or a bad thing? ” (from the first option) ^__^

song recs: after school - weeekly / pleaser - wallows / some - bol4 / sweet talk - saint motel / love so sweet - cherry bullet

a/n: i tried recalling some hs memories for this and im hoping i wasnt the only one that went through the “shipped with a random dude” ordeal LOL. i haven’t written shorter fics in a while so i’m glad i got to. tq for requesting, lovepie <33

In high school, peer pressure tends to come in different forms. For you, it’s taken the shape of this.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” 

You look around your classmates, scanning each and every face chanting with glee like you’re a star player scoring the winning point. The tall figure shifts beside you, glancing at you like a blinking idiot. You’re not even on the losing team but it feels just as frustrating.

You glare at the boy beside you. The trouble is Jung Sungchan. The trouble has always been Jung Sungchan. 

“Come on!” Chenle calls with a teasing grin from the buzzing crowd. The little shit. It’s getting hotter with each minute you spend by the green soccer field and its dusty chalked lines, just at the tip of the bleachers. You didn’t even get enough time to breathe before you were surrounded, the soccer team pushing a stumbling Sungchan onto you. It’s too sunny for this today.

“The star soccer player gets a kiss from the lead cheerleader after a winning game! That’s the rule.” Chenle announces.

Sungchan looks at you and you turn to him, the both of you looking at each other like fish out of water. Even though you’ve clarified at least a hundred times that you’re just friends, your peers don’t seem to be satisfied. (“Famous last words,” they say.)

“No,” you say, firmly. 

“No,” Sungchan agrees, nodding his head wisely.

“Don’t copy me,” you say, smacking his chest, and a quiet ‘oof’ escapes his mouth.

The fact that you’ve been best friends since Sungchan offered you a light green crayon in elementary school just fuels the idea that you have to date. There’s this difference between elementary school kids teasing and high school kids teasing—it was so much easier back when boys were afraid of cooties from girls. It was innocent too. Now, it’s more of nudges and sly grins, teasing with unnecessary innuendo. (What else do you expect from teenagers experiencing puberty?) It doesn’t stop you from being best friends though. Sungchan still visits on Fridays to get on your mom’s nerves and help you with homework (or try to). You still have all the little trinkets he’s gifted you over the years and the lock to his phone is still your birthday. You’re best friends and strictly that. 

When you got into the same middle school though is when it started going downhill. Holding his hand was awkward, touching him in any way was awkward and god forbid you compliment him on something. The kids around you would run across the halls saying “(name) likes Sungchan!” or the other way around sometimes. Heathens, the lot of them. But at the very least, he wasn’t too fazed and you wonder how he could be that even-tempered. If it was just you feeling that way, then maybe you did like him more than he did you. 

You shake it off. 

Sungchan’s much more grown now and at least a foot taller since his awkward adolescent years; he looks handsomer too but you wouldn’t be caught dead saying it out loud. After all, it’s only going to spark another debate on the anonymous school forum. (“(name) finds Jung Sungchan attractive, they’re totally dating.” “I knew it. A boy and a girl can’t be friends, especially if they’re both good looking.”) If you’re being honest, you hate the rumours so much—it’s one of the reasons, apart from puberty, stopping you from being as close as before. However, you do understand that this is how the passage of time works. You’re not going to be spending all of your time with each other, yes, but you still regard him as important. Your life is too busy now, with exams and practice—and you’d think a busy bee would get some honey as reward.

Sungchan’s curls stick to his forehead, unruly after he wiped at them with a towel. The sunlight plays with his eyes when he looks at you intently and you shrug. The smell of sweat is starting to make you nauseous. You remember that you too need to take a shower.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you mumble.

“Not today?” He asks.

You shake your head. “The girls have a plan.”

It’s not just the sweat. Or the crowds. You don’t like being here at all. There’s one more problem with this place.

You hate soccer. 

And by hate, you mean you despise it. Like you’ll throw up at the sight of it. What’s so riveting about a bunch of smelly, sweaty guys excited about chasing a patterned ball? You’ve tried to understand it but every time your dad explains the rules, you find yourself zoning out of whatever alien language he speaks. 

Sungchan has been the closest to getting you to understand the game and even then, you refused to learn. It’s not like you’re society’s definition of girly—but you’re not a tomboy either. The school has granted you the “ice queen with a warm interior” stereotype so you’ll just go with that. To be honest, you’re just a little more awkward at open affection than your friends. (And Sungchan has the “friendly beagle” stereotype which you’ll agree is partly true. He’s more of a retriever though, with that size.) It’s just funny how you can never seem to know who you are but other people see so clearly.

You hurry up to the locker rooms and hope for a better evening than this afternoon.

-

The sky burns blue and you wipe the sweat off your brow once you step out of the changing room. Cooling off from your shower has gone to waste. Adjusting your school skirt, you take your usual strides to the school gates. 

Ryujin seems to be showing Yuna a very flamboyant dance move while the latter hypes her up. Ryujin is in her gym uniform because she has no care for her reputation apparently, but she makes it work. Yuna’s about to show her own move when she notices you and waves at you vigorously enough to make you jog towards her and stop embarrassing herself in front of the after school crowd. But then again, she’s too cute for that.

“We got bored waiting for you,” Yuna explains, voice hoarse from her cold. Poor thing wasn’t let into performing because of it. “Do you wanna see our cool new move? Ryujin came up with it!”

Ryujin rolls her eyes. “You’re trying to advertise me to (name) so she can recruit me into cheerleading, aren’t you?”

You smile and cross your arms, facing Yuna who’s been caught mid-act. She smiles sheepishly and pats your shoulder like she just said a funny joke.

“Actually…” You begin and Ryujin holds up her arms in a cross.

“No. Never. I’m already part of the hip-hop dance club.”

“I was going to say that I’ll join you instead.”

Yuna gasps in betrayal, big eyes widening, and Ryujin grins before sticking her tongue out and potentially ruining her image with that expression. She doesn’t care, however.

“Anyway, I can’t wait to get to college and join a dance club.” Ryujin looks at the two of you excitedly. “I keep getting snaps from Yeji and feel so jealous.”

Yuna pouts. “Don’t be so happy about leaving me.”

“Aw, is the baby afraid of not getting any more sisterly doting?” Ryujin teases and you laugh at the disgruntled expression on Yuna’s face. 

“Don’t worry,” Ryujin continues with a sly grin. “Taehyun’s here to keep you company for another year.”

Yuna turns red in the face, a high pitched complaint emitting from her throat. “I told you to keep quiet about that!”

“Oh, what’s this?” You wiggle your eyebrows. “We’re starting boy talk early today.”

Yuna huffs. “At least, mine’s just a crush. I don’t know what relationship status: complicated you have going on with Mr. Soccer Captain.”

You flush hotly. “There’s no relationship status to be complicated about! Seriously, why does everyone think we’re a thing?”

“You’re cheer captain and he’s soccer captain,” Ryujin answers logically. “Plus, you’re best friends.”

“You have a lot of sexual tension,” Yuna answers honestly.

You make a face, slipping your arms into theirs and pulling them along the sidewalk. You better get something to drink before the sky starts to turn purple from pink tinged blue. 

“Ooh, another desperate attempt from (name) to not get teased,” Ryujin leans back to whisper to Yuna.

You stop walking. “Wait. Where are we going?”

Yuna shakes her head. “I’ll lead the way.”

Skipping over the concrete sidewalk, you laugh at your friends and their stories (read: Ryujin gushing over Yeji’s college dance club and Yuna’s newfound crush on Taehyun). The blue sky has tinged orange by now but it’s the sort of colour that sits in between more significant timeframes, like night and evening. Passing by a city square, you eye the people with wonder. A girl in a pink skirt skateboards smoothly over the concrete, her boyfriend filming her with a loving smile. 

“We’re here!” Yuna announces.

You look around the large open plaza, with people of all ages and in different attires trying out skateboarding and rollerblading over the grey concrete. It’s been getting popular lately, with idol pop stars taking to it too but you never knew there was this big a community. There seems to be a few stalls renting out skateboards too. The wind caresses your hair, evening cool settling in nicely on your skin. The sky is purple but it’s lit up with the city buildings and street lamps flickering on. It’s not a bad day at all.

Someone catches your attention. A boy that sticks out like a sore thumb everywhere he goes. 

“Sungchan?!” 

Your eyes somehow always settle on his figure, tall and standing out in the crowd of teenagers. He clutches his blue bag, the one he’s had since third grade, close to his chest and looks more like a tourist in this place than a frequent visitor. He’s not the only one in school uniform now that you’re here.

“(name)!” 

You hate how you love the way his face lights up when he sees you. You’re not actually into him. It’s your friends brainwashing you.

“I was going to invite you,” Sungchan says, a sorry smile on his face. 

Ryujin and Yuna frown at each other but you can’t exactly ask the reason for it.

“Isn’t it great we had the same plans?” he beams at the three of you.

Yuna suppresses a smile and you wonder why. It’s not like your friends would know he’d be here—you’d know first as best friend.

"How did you guys come across this place?" He asks, eyes round with curiosity. 

"Somi's Tiktok," Yuna answers, smiling. "We thought she works here but if she really was, guys would be swarming this place."

Ryujin raises her eyebrows. "Speaking of which, I can clearly see why there are so many girls here."

Sungchan beams, turning to you for affirmation and when you don't give him any, he drops his grin to a more polite smile.

“I don’t work at the stalls though,” he answers. “I’ve just been here a few times.”

“You’re trying to learn, aren’t you?” Ryujin asks, raising an eyebrow.

He nods. However, you furrow your eyebrows at her. How does she know? Eyes widening, you realize it must be the school forum. You remember reading a post about a student wanting to learn skateboarding and the wording felt familiar but you didn’t think much. How they figured it out, you will never know.

“Oh! Oh, I think my nose is bleeding. Oh god.” Yuna sniffs vehemently, her finger at her nose. “I think I’m going to need Ryujin to get me to a clinic.” 

Linking her arm through Ryujin’s, Yuna makes an apologetic expression and runs off into a particularly crowded area.

You blink. The realization dawns. 

"They just left me," you tell him, exasperated. "How could they just leave me?"

He shrugs. "My team left me at a rival school's field once."

Great. Your last outing before midterms and your friends have abandoned you. If this is the case, you wonder why they complain about you spending so much time with Sungchan and allegedly ignoring them.

You regain a sense of your surroundings and turn to him. "Wait. They really left you?"

He nods diligently, eyes trained upwards as he tries to recall the memory. "I told you, didn’t I? On the plus side though, I made friends with the opposite team."

"That's so… cute."

Your cheeks heat up at saying it out loud. If Sungchan is affected by it in any way, he doesn't show it. Instead, he has his usual smile on. 

“Do you wanna try?” he asks. “Skateboarding. Or rollerblading but I personally don’t recommend that.”

He curls his lips, shaking his head slightly. You laugh. Of course this beanpole has trouble balancing on skates.

"I- I figured you'd be good at skateboarding. Since, you know, you're so balanced and all."

You raise an eyebrow. "You wanna add skateboarding to your resume or something?"

"Yeah, that and the ability to imitate dog sounds. Wanna see?"

"No, thanks. I’ll pray this weekend to cure your furry behaviour."

Before he can respond, you’re interrupted by a whirlwind of colours and excited calls. A few girls run up to the two of you, younger and probably in middle school, flocking to Sungchan like bees to honey. Never in your life have you felt so ignored as in this singular moment.

You blink, turning to Sungchan who looks like a rather helpless, flustered eye of the hurricane. The winds don't seem to be stopping any time soon.

You clear your throat trying to get their attention. 

"Wow, you brought your girlfriend?" One of the girls exclaims, sounding disappointed.

The other girls make similar whines of disappointment and you have half the heart to whack them over the head and tell them to focus on their academics instead of boys. 

"You're so lucky to have him as your boyfriend," a girl comments, round eyes brimming with jealousy. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you declare sharply.

Sungchan looks at you with his doe eyes, blinking cartoonishly. You nudge him with your elbow.

“Yeah!” He agrees, with far too much gusto to be believable. “I’m not (name)’s boyfriend. I have no idea why everyone keeps saying that.”

“Let’s go, babe,” you say, resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at the girls. They’re younger than you and you have high school dignity, you remind yourself.

Slipping your hand into his, you take a few long strides away from them before you realize what you said.

“I- I did- I didn’t mean to call you babe,” you sputter, pulling your hand from his to look at him with wide eyes. 

“It’s okay though?”

Sungchan raises an eyebrow and slips his hand back into yours, smiling. 

“I don’t mind the rumours, you know?” He says honestly but his smile feels all too teasing. “Maybe we should go out for real.”

You huff, separating yourself from him again. “Maybe you just love attention. Disgusting.”

You point an accusatory finger at him and he bites at it playfully.

“While you're here, wanna see a cool trick I learned?" He straightens only having to tilt his head to look at you.

"If it's you falling on your face, then yes."

"I mean, hey, I could totally do that. Done that several times actually."

You smile despite trying your hardest not to. You like this about him—that he’s easygoing enough to make you look at life less seriously. If it’s with him, you could quit everything that makes you unhappy and start everything you love. 

“So where is your skateboard?” you ask, walking side by side with him, who has finally learned to match your pace.

“It’s with one of my friends,” he answers, and points to a tall girl with long brown hair, wearing a pair of tomboyish shorts and T-shirt. Another girl with short hair and a bucket hat accompanies her, wearing a long hoodie and shorts, but she leaves before you reach them. They must be from a different school because you’ve never seen them before. The first thing that pops into your head is that they’d be good replacements for your cheerleading position if you were ever to leave. You shake your head. Now is not the time.

“That’s Jimin!” he introduces, and you wonder how he’s this way—how he makes friends so easily.

Jimin waves at Sungchan and then proceeds to ask if you’re his girlfriend with a big smile, like a script being followed everywhere you go.

She seems a little disappointed at the answer. “Well, I was going to suggest one of the couples skateboards.”

You flash her an awkward smile. 

“But those are pretty difficult! I’ve been here for a month and my idea of skateboarding is still sitting on it while Soeun pushes me around. That’s my friend, by the way.”

“Ah.” You nod. “This is my first time skateboarding, actually. The only ‘sport’ I’ve ever done is cheerleading.”

Jimin furrows her eyebrows before her eyes widen. “Wait a minute. You’re the cheerleader best friend that Sungchan wouldn’t shut up about!”

Sungchan flusters, in the subtle way he usually does, and waves his hands robotically trying to explain. “I was just saying- that- that you’d be good at skateboarding. Because of the cheerleading.”

A boxy grin accompanies his explanation. 

“Right.” Jimin covers her face and sends an obvious wink your way. “Anyway, you can have my skateboard for the day.”

She hands over a smooth black skateboard with white wheels, but on closer inspection you find that they’re light-up wheels instead. It’s oddly fitting for someone like Jimin even if you’ve known her the entirety of ten minutes. Sungchan is good at finding friends, rather. Soon enough, she runs off after making Sungchan promise he’ll deliver the skateboard home.

The trick Sungchan wanted to show you was a failed kickflip. At the very least, it made you laugh so hard you almost spit out the strawberry milk he’d bought you. Sipping his own banana milk, he sulked for a moment or two, telling you to try it out and see how difficult it is.

On the contrary, Sungchan was right. You are good at balancing on skateboards. But that’s where it ends. You don’t think you’ll be naturally good at kickflips, though being able to glide through the plaza while Sungchan runs after you with the drinks puts a big smile on your face. It’s the most fun you’ve had in a while.  

Accompanied by Sungchan’s panicked “oh no”s and “oh we messed up”s, the two of you try the couple skateboarding move too; no one’s watching you here. It’s fun to see him stress over a skateboard because frankly, you’ve never met anyone as easy-going as Sungchan. (“I’ll figure it out along the way,” he says when you ask if he’s studying for finals, and proceeds to get a decent enough score). Suddenly the wandering gap is closed again. You’re not going to worry about stupid rumours from now on. 

But for some reason, ‘you like him as a friend’ doesn’t sound right either. Despite having said it so many times, you might not believe in it. You shake off the thought. This evening, at least, you’re going to enjoy with Sungchan without thinking of teenage drama and hormones. 

"You still don't think you and Sungchan make the perfect pair?" Yuna pouts. 

You narrow your eyes. "I don't take opinions from traitors."

Chaeryoung leans back on her chair, and whispers to you asking if you’re okay. At least someone is concerned about you.

“It hurts to be left by my own friends but—”

“No, I meant, are you okay? Why aren’t you dating Sungchan already? You’re so cute together! And you’re best friends—Netflix writers literally daydream of this.”

You groan, throwing up your hands in defeat.

“And,” Yuna adds, knocking her chair closer. “Who’s really the traitor here? Us who ditched you with the love of your life—or you, who runs off every time she gets a call from her boyfriend?”

“Sungchan is not my boyfriend.” You cross your arms.

“She even shares her lunch with him more,” Ryujin complains from the side. “And they’re not even in the same class. Unlike me, by the way. Class 1 Shin Ryujin. Same class as you, (name).”

You slump, resting your forehead against the desk. At this point, you wish the teacher would walk in and start the class already. Unfortunately, lunch break isn’t over for another ten minutes and lady luck clearly isn’t smiling upon you. 

“Speak of the devil!” Ryujin announces monotonously, leaning against her desk.

Sungchan and a few of his friends from the soccer team wave at you and the girls from the classroom door. Noticing Taehyun, Yuna quickly fixes her hair and you would tease her if Sungchan hadn’t casually strolled up to your desk and sat down on the chair in front of you. Long legs barely contained in the space, he adjusts himself by resting his arm on the headrest and his chin upon it. It’s all normal. However, when he leans down to match your eye level, you hear the sudden pit-a-pat of your pulse in your ear. At this proximity, you can even see the mole on his lip that he’s pointed out before. The sunlight from the open windows is pulling golden strings over his eyelashes and his lips aren’t dry as a desert like you expected. You know he uses the watermelon flavoured lip balm. 

“Too close,” you croak. Embarrassed at your own voice, you rise sharply and glare at him.

“Is your heart fluttering?” Sungchan asks, smiling as he looks up at you.

You roll your eyes. 

You can hear Yuna’s giggling and before you can shoot her a glare, Sungchan calls. 

"Do you have any bandaids?" 

He points to a rough scratch at the base of his palm, fingers slender and less calloused than what you'd pictured. Then again, soccer players don't use their hands much, do they?

You blink. "You came all the way here for bandaids?"

"Well… I remembered you keep band-aids in your phone case. And the nurse hates me."

You giggle.

Yujin mouths from behind Sungchan, “He just wanted to see her.” 

You would feel flattered if you didn't know these people and their shenanigans. They'd do anything for some drama (and to get two innocent people into the dating trap).

“Why would I waste my cute band aids on you?” you mutter under your breath. “They’re limited edition, you know?”

No way are you sticking Ice Bear on your urban hazard of a best friend. A tall, cute, surprisingly polite hazard but he still annoys you nonetheless.

However, Sungchan's pleading smile has grown on you.

You reluctantly take the band-aid out of your clear phone case, the pink panda doll attached to it swaying with the movement. Proceeding, you take Sungchan's hand and lay it on your desk. With careful focus, you place the band-aid, admiring the size difference of your hands before snapping to reality.

Enough with the pink cloud of thoughts, you scold yourself.

When you look up, the proximity makes your heart skip a beat despite the logical part of you saying you shouldn't. Your faces are too close and this time, you don't even have the energy to croak it out.

"Thanks, (name)," Sungchan smiles at you. 

Right then, the sound of a chair sliding harshly against the floor makes the two of you jolt away from each other. All of your friends and his friends seem to be sporting Cheshire cat grins and you don't like it one bit. You don't like not being in on the gag.

"Anybody up for gaming after this? My treat." Chenle looks around. “Sungchan is banned from the arcade soccer game though.”

"'Ey," Sungchan complains.

"Hey, Jisung and Ryujin are banned from DDR too but that's because they almost broke the handles off last time."

The memory makes you smile. Sungchan was there too, and you don’t know why you’re only just recalling all the memories with him in it, carefully and in detail. Every one of them seems to have been amplified, the little interactions suddenly coming to mind. 

“(name)? You’re coming?”

You take one look at Sungchan and give up. Even if this is another childish ploy by your peers, you don't mind spending some more time at the arcade with infuriatingly addictive games. A tiny part of you is even willing to go along with them and see if it turns out the way they want it to.

“I’ll go,” you mumble, and the rest of the group cheers. 

“But I have cleaning duty today.”

The group groans. 

“Just get someone else to do it. Like a junior.”

“Isn’t that bullying?” You ask, frowning.

“Ask nicely. Anyone would be willing to do your bidding, (name).”

“Chenle, will you do it?” You give him a sickly sweet smile. “You’re class president after all.”

Chenle wrinkles his nose. “You’re getting stupider every day, (name).”

You sigh. “Fine. I’ll ask one of Yuna’s classmates then.”

“By the way,” Chenle announces. “Only twelfth graders are invited—”

A bunch of groans interrupt him. 

“Quit whining.” He crosses his arms, glaring at them. “What do you even have to worry about? We’re preparing for the exam of our lives. Oh, and Jisung is an exception.”

“We’re only two years apart,” Yuna mutters under her breath.

“Oh, and from class 5, only Sungchan is invited.”

Another round of complaints pass and Chenle breaks into laughter. “Just kidding.”

Your friends are and will always be an odd bunch. Sungchan has previously proved to be the weirdest (several times) and it makes him the most lovable too. But then again, you don’t have free space in your timetable to put in teenage crushes, much less falling for your best friend. What you do have time for this afternoon, however, is relaxing at the arcade. 

-

“Let’s go! I am so good at this. Think I’d impress your Steve Curry?” Ryujun gloats, after having scored three hoops in a row at the arcade basketball game.

“It’s Stephen Curry,” Chenle corrects. “And no, let’s focus here. Our goals are—”

He points to the two figures by the DDR machine, looking like a real couple. He’s been acting as damage control for the rumours and making sure you don’t drift apart because of it. They really don’t make guys like him anymore, Chenle sighs. He should get a friendship award or something.

“—those two.”

Really, Sungchan better be thanking him by the end of this. He’s never met anyone quite like Jung Sungchan, especially because Chenle cannot picture himself liking the same person since elementary school.

“Man, now I wish I had a girlfriend,” Chenle mutters.

Ryujin snorts. “Who’s going to date you?”

“You don’t have a boyfriend either,” Chenle reminds and gets a basketball to the shoulder.

“Why are you playing that when you don’t even know how to use it?” Your voice rings through to them.

“I said I’ll figure it out!” Sungchan reasons.

Chenle and Ryujin stare at the two of you blankly, as you bicker over a claw machine game and they share a look.

“Do they need our help?” Ryujin whispers.

Chenle shakes his head. “I think they’ll figure it out from here.”

Soon enough, you were laughing at Sungchan’s failed attempts and trying to outplay him. Your friends have already given you the shove. Chenle and Ryujin share a high five and that’s where the new story begins.

You finally know the thrill of a teenage crush. It makes you so damn infuriated that it had to be Jung Sungchan. 

Now every time he waves at you from the field or hands you a bottle of strawberry milk or explains the calc notes you missed or does the bare minimum, you need to deal with the quickening of your pulse and a few butterflies loose from their cage in your stomach. It doesn’t help that you’re almost always together.

The two of you currently sit by the school field, Sungchan tying his shoelaces while you cool off with the water bottle he offered you. Practice ended a while ago for you and the girls have receded into the air conditioned indoor gym. The indoor gym is apparently occupied by the gymnast club and you couldn’t be more disappointed that you didn’t join them instead. 

If anything, however, you’d rather leave this whole thing and focus on your academics. Hobbies shouldn’t be draining you—they should feel like skateboarding on a lilac evening with the wind in your hair.

With a friend you like very, very much.

“Sungchan,” you call quietly. 

“Hm?” 

When he looks up, you can’t hold in the urge to fix the hair out of his eyes. You’ve never been very physically affectionate so it might have come off strange. Sungchan looks at you quietly, stars in his eyes and you clear your throat.

“How long have you been playing soccer? It was before we met, right?”

He hums, eyes traveling up and then back to you when he remembers. “Since I was six. You were there at my first soccer match actually.”

“I was? Oh my god, was it the one you lost horribly and the whole team started crying?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

You giggle. “Six year old you would be so in awe now.”

Sungchan beams at that. 

“Who knows?” he smiles, looking into your eyes with firm determination. “Maybe I’ll be the next Son Heungmin.”

“Even I know who that is so… no.”

Sungchan pouts and you make a face in disgust. “Don’t act cute, it gives me hives.”

“Okay, maybe not Son Heungmin. I could definitely be the next Park Jisung—and I don’t mean him.”

Sungchan points to a boy passed out on the benches, his exhaustion typical of any high schooler while another boy sits beside him, fanning him with a bunch of assignment papers. Jisung and Chenle really are more entertaining than any game on this field. 

You turn to look at Sungchan, who’s moving his head around trying to catch their attention. When he finally does, he waves at them and gets big grins in response. He’s not all that bad, you think. In fact, he’s quite possibly the most amiable boy in senior year.

“Just be Jung Sungchan,” you mutter. “Not Son Heungmin or Park Jisung.”

Sungchan turns to you, smiling wide. “Advice taken.”

You scoff. “Whatever.”

Maybe it’s just you but Sungchan has been glancing at your lips very frequently today and mentally thank Chaeryoung for letting you borrow her lip tint. You didn’t know something so subtle could get you this giddy.

“Are you… going to give the CSAT?” You ask, glancing at him nervously. Part of you is sad you only developed your first high school crush in the very last semester. Or if it’s comforting, you could believe you’ve liked him all this time.

“Nah. Sports scholarship,” he says nonchalantly. “I was going to tell you but… I’ve been scouted already.”

You gasp. “That’s… great. Your future’s all settled.”

Sungchan seems to dislike the idea, lips pursing. “I don’t think anything’s settled except for the next step.”

You nod, somewhat understanding. 

“What about you?” He asks. “Any university in mind? SKY? I’ve seen you study extra hours at the library.”

You look away, not feeling ready for the conversation.

“I don’t know,” you say quietly. “I don’t know what I like and what I want. I don’t even like cheer anymore.”

Sungchan gazes at you wordlessly but it’s the most comfortable you’ve felt talking about this.

“Maybe I should quit,” you mumble.

You don’t want to commit to something you no longer have passion for. But then again, you’ve spent so much time on it that it’s hard to leave. 

“You should,” he responds, honest. 

You scoff, shaking yourself from that moment of vulnerability. “But why would I quit something I’m good at?”

“If you don’t like it. If it hurts to leave but isn’t any better when you stay, you should leave.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re quite the philosopher.”

“I’m smart, right?”

You smile. 

“Oy, you two!” Chenle calls, making his way to you two with Jisung trailing behind. “I don’t mean to interrupt your flirting but you got a spare water bottle?”

“Are you two going out now?” Jisung asks as a follow-up, and you feel a hot flush for some reason, unlike the previous times you’ve been asked this question.

“No,” you answer. You don’t mind the idea though now.

“Don’t lie,” Chenle complains. “I saw that picture of Sungchan teaching you how to kick a ball. You? And soccer? Something’s up.”

You throw up your hands in exasperation. “Seriously, who keeps up posting to the school page? And where do they get the time?”

"Two people with this much compatibility will always be a hot topic."

"We're not compatible," you retort quickly.

"Wait," Jisung says. "I know how to resolve this."

You raise an eyebrow.

"How do you have your cereal?" He asks, looking from you to Sungchan.

"Cereal first, obviously," you answer.

Sungchan looks up, finger below his chin as he thinks. "I drink the milk first, then eat the cereal and then breakdance to mix it all together."

You pinch your nose. "I swear I question your sanity all the time."

"Hah! That means you're thinking about me all the time."

You look away, rolling your eyes. He responds with an open-mouthed smile and finger guns.

"See?" Jisung grins. "Compatible."

The gruff voice of Coach Lee startles the four of you and Sungchan leaves with a sigh and a promise of meeting after practice. Jisung leaves with Sungchan and Chenle gives you one last teasing smirk before sitting down and going through the assignment papers he was using as a fan previously. You will never understand his miraculous ways of performing his presidential duties.

You don’t have a good feeling about the next match. The only reason you’re even sticking around anymore—as embarrassing as it—is to spend more time with Sungchan. Being with him puts you at ease, even if the school tries to wrap the two of you in a rope of uneasiness. This is your very last practice, for the next match is the final one of this year and then you’ll be back to spending even longer hours at the library with a stack of textbooks. It’s supposed to be a carefree age. At least, adults say that. Your high school life seems to be riddled with worries, and with that thought, you head into the air conditioned room to take a breather off your anxieties. 

Only one more match, you remind yourself. 

The pre-match buzz is driving you to the edge.

Your form is off, you can feel it already and Coach Kim isn’t as sunshine-as-rainbows as she usually is, courtesy to it being the last match of your life. She’ll never know though, how much you don’t want to do this. 

Sungchan waves at you as he usually does before a match, disappointing a third of his fangirls, but it helps you ease. One last time, (name).

Watching the crowd of people, parents and siblings and friends, all excited and talking makes you take a deep breath. You practiced but it wasn’t good enough. You can never do well at something you don’t like anymore. This time, you feel guilty for committing to things half-heartedly. You want to start that fresh new college chapter already, with all of this behind.

There’s ten minutes left. You go back to the empty hall outside the lockers only to pace. This isn’t helping.

“(name)!”

You turn around abruptly to find Sungchan’s tall figure, and you must be looking miserable because his smile falls.

He doesn’t even ask what’s wrong, only takes careful steps towards you. “Do you need water? Medicine?”

His hands hover over your shoulder but he doesn’t burden you with them. You put your face in your palms and sigh, sinking down to the floor in a crouch.

“I want to quit,” you whisper. Your voice comes off more brittle than you’d like, and you realize that Sungchan hasn’t seen you cry since seventh grade when you failed a math test. You didn’t tell him then but you appreciated him studying extra hours for math just to teach you.

“You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to,” he says quietly, dropping to the floor beside you. “I’ll stay with you.”

You stare at him dumbfounded. “Don’t be ridiculous! They’ll lose without you—you’re the ace, Sungchan!”

“There will always be an ace,” he retorts. “Maybe Jisung will finally get to shine. Or anyone else. I don’t mind spending an hour with you alone.”

You feel a hot flush spread over your cheeks. Looking away to the side, you mumble an ‘alright’ and only glance from the corner of your eye to see him smiling. Jung Sungchan is the most unreasonable boy you’ve ever met. Perhaps it makes him somewhat loveable too.

“It’s your last match,” you whisper helplessly.

“I’ll join the college soccer club and get to play more matches.”

You sigh, giving in. If he’s so adamant, you think that perhaps there is something in you worth sacrificing his game over. It makes an oddly warm feeling bloom in your chest. Sungchan is so damn convincing with his words. You wonder if it’s really okay.

With shoulders touching, an awkward silence takes over in the next second. You turn to him and open your mouth, watch him do the same and close it at the same time he does.

“You know,” he begins, “I was kind of lying about not worrying because I get the feeling coach will evaporate me tomorrow but—I can handle it. Mostly.”

You stare at him with wide, worried eyes. “You don’t have to do this, Sungchan. I’m the one running away.”

You slouch, pulling your knees closer to your chest and burying your face in them. The urge to scream is boiling within you but you can’t get caught. Not now.

“Sometimes to run is the brave thing,” he responds, insightful. “If you’re not up for it, it’s better to quit early than to regret it in the long run.”

You don’t know if it’s the fact that he just quoted Taylor Swift or spoke like your old school counselor—but you find yourself laughing. He makes sense. Sungchan, in his weird, oddball ways, always makes sense. And in that same way, he feels like home.

“You’re so good to me,” you say, looking up at him and at a proximity you’ve never been before.

It’s his turn to fluster, though he doesn’t do so as visibly as you do. He clears his throat, shifting his eyes around before meeting yours. “I- This is bad timing but… I like you. I really do. Since third grade when you drew that birthday card for me. I have it in my bedside drawer, by the way.”

He looks away and makes a face, probably wondering why he said that out loud.

You press your lips tight to prevent the smile that tugs at them. He looks at you with a wobbly smile, trying his hardest to resume his usual dignity—but he’s just a boy, after all. 

“My type is dumb and pretty, though?” You tease, the smile escaping. “You said it yourself.”

He blinks. “Well, I am pretty but if you want me to be stu—”

You shake your head. “I like you too. You don’t have to act cute.”

He pauses, thinking. “I have never acted cute in my life ever. I was born cu—”

You hold his face between your thumb and forefinger. “You do that again and you die.”

He breaks into a smile. 

“I’ve never met someone quite like you,” you whisper, embarrassed of your own feelings bubbling up from the bottle you had kept them in.

He laughs, open-mouthed and pretty. 

“Actually, hey, I didn’t like you all this time from fifth. I liked you and then I didn’t like you and then I liked you again—”

“Okay, I get it.”

His shoulders relax and he smiles at you. You look up at the clock on the wall by the entrance to the field and bite your lip. You don’t love performing anymore but you know all the girls do, even the stand-bys. Jisung might not have to take over Sungchan’s position but you bet one of those tenth graders would love to take yours, the same way you did back then. They’ve practiced harder than you too and it’s only a matter of deserving.

You take a deep breath and get up, pulling up Sungchan by the hand. He raises an eyebrow, inquisitive eyes scanning over your face and you smile at him, strengthening your resolve. You should have done this way sooner.

-

Sungchan plays. You don’t let him sit it out with you. 

Halfway through, you cheer the hardest you ever have, plastic decorative gemstones stuck by your eyes borrowed from the other girls cheering. It’s much more fun, you think. You’ve never experienced soccer like this. You’d love to sit at stadiums and join in victory chants. There’s enough weight off your chest to yell your lungs out.

Sungchan scores a goal almost immediately after and sends a thumbs up over to you. You laugh. This is the best break you’ve ever taken from cheerleading. 

“Ooh, is this perhaps the (name) effect?” Chenle’s voice rings through the speakers and you feel yourself shrink slightly under the eyes. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see your homeroom teacher signal very angrily to the commentator box. You shake yourself off it. So what if everyone’s looking?

Sungchan places his hands on his hips, chest heaving and sends another signal to you before beelining for a straight goal. You whoop and the girl with a notebook beside you is visibly annoyed at this point but you don’t care. 

Without doubt, your school wins and you watch as Sungchan runs to his team, a big smile on his face. The second he’s done getting pet by the team, however, he rushes to the bleachers, skipping over the steps to you, panting when he stops. The risk he took was definitely not calculated. He holds up one finger while he heaves.

“My cheering worked best this time, it seems,” you say to him, laughing.

His face is flushed from the exertion but he laughs heartily. “You could be yelling profanity at me and it’d still encourage me.”

You shake your head at the cheesy line. He takes a step forward, well inside your space but you don’t mind. He leans in.

“Everyone is looking at us,” he says under his breath. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

You look behind him to find the whole team, along with your girls sharing furtive glances and giggling at the sight of the two of you. A few of the junior girls slap each other’s arms, bouncing on the balls of their feet in excitement. You’re not a celebrity. But everyone wants to cheer things on once in a while, don’t they?

“Good,” you answer, before pulling him by the shirt into a chaste kiss. When you pull apart, Sungchan’s face is so struck with awe that you want to look away but instead you bite back an obvious smile. It’s about damn time, someone from the soccer team yells.

“Woah. I think I scored a goal either way,” he says, an offbeat smile on his face.

“Oh come on, we didn’t even get to chant ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ yet—oh shit, the mic’s on.”

Chenle is definitely getting an earful from your teacher after this. The two of you wave at him at the box and end up laughing at him trying to hide behind the desk. 

As expected, the whole crowd surrounds the two of you in less than a minute’s worth of time, with several congratulations and “good score” offered to the two of you. The boys mess up Sungchan’s hair while the girls compliment you on how cute a couple you are. There’s also the question of when you started dating that pauses the buzz and makes everyone look to the two of you for an answer. Sungchan turns to you and you turn to him, and there’s no way you’ll tell half the school that your confession came in a private hallway outside the field—teenage imaginations run wild. 

Instead, you slip your hand into Sungchan’s and run down the bleachers and towards the exit, laughter spilling from your lips. There’s only one place you can think of going to spend a cool blue late afternoon with.

“Skate plaza?” He asks.

“Skate plaza,” you answer.

[saintshigaraki]

THESE ARE HARD TIMES FOR DREAMERS

title from bones by ms mr

pairing: yandere nanami kento x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

excerpt: You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always. 

You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.

a/n: nanami if ur reading this i’m free thursday night. 

tags: yandere, angst, reader is once again full of rage, nanami love what have you done, overuse of the word hate

warnings: yandere tendencies, obsessive and possessive behavior, slight infantilization, noncon/dubcon, gaslighting (?), kidnapping, slight stockholm syndrome, mention of past suicide attempt 

MDNI!

You can’t exactly pinpoint where it all went south. There’s not a specific date that stands out to you when you actively noticed things taking a turn for the worst. It’s like that fable. About the frog slowly being boiled alive. Except, in this case, the frog is you and the boiling water is Nanami. And in this case, this is not some story your mom used to read to you about the dangers of gradual escalation, it’s your life. If you can even call this monotonous hell you’re living a life. 

You’ve got to hand it to him, you really didn’t see it coming. Nanami’s always been smart like that. Even now, after everything, or maybe even especially now, after everything, you can’t deny that. 

You don’t bother moving from where you lay, sprawled out on the floor, when you hear the first click of many locks signaling that your sweet and doting lover has returned. 

You used to try to rush him, or get the jump on him with the heaviest thing you could find. Once you started to get really desperate, you just screamed over his shoulder before he had time to clamp a large hand over your mouth. 

None of it ever worked, of course. 

It was months ago that you decided hopeless escape attempts simply weren’t worth Nanami’s wrath. He’s faster than you, stronger than you, and far bigger. And he always will be. 

When your relationship with Nanami was still somewhat normal (though looking back you can’t help but notice all the things that weren’t normal, you suppose hindsight really can be quite the bitch in that regard) you never really thought too hard about how much stronger he was compared to you. In some ways, it might’ve even been comforting, instead of just horribly depressing. No one could touch you when your hand was tucked in his. 

It hurts more than you’d like to admit that something you once found such solace in, is now what stands between you and any semblance of normalcy and shred of happiness. 

(And fresh air. God, you miss fresh air so much it hurts, a dull never-ceasing ache deep in your chest. You miss the stars too. Sometimes, when you’re laying on the floor like you are now or in the dead of night when it’s all you can do to swallow down your screams, you try to map out constellations on the ceiling. You’re not very good at it though, and the few constellations you actually remember are starting to slip from your memory like water through fingers, no matter how desperately you try to hold onto them.

You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always. 

You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.)

It takes Nanami’s slightly disapproving hum to snap you out of your celestial spiraling. 

You tilt your head back, just enough to find he’s towering over you. His mouth set in a grim line. His glasses, jacket, and tie have already been discarded, his shirt rolled up to his forearms. The sight of him like this use to make your cheeks burn. Now, it’s hard to rein in the urge to spit at his feet and hiss out every seething thought you have about him burning below the surface. 

But the lecture you’d receive after a ‘tantrum’ like that wouldn’t be worth it. He always manages to twist your words, your own feelings, sometimes even your very sense of self, until you can hardly tell what’s up and what’s down. Until you can hardly distinguish your reality from his. Until all you can hear is Nanami’s voice in your ear, reminding you of everything you’ll never be. Of just how helpless you are. 

(It’s like his hands are around your throat, choking and choking and choking.)

And once you’re nothing but a sobbing heap on the floor, he’ll pull you into his lap, tuck your face against the curve of his shoulder, and rub soothing circles into your back while saying something along the lines of ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll always be here take care of you’ until your sobs have quieted to the occasional hiccup.

You hate it, how he manages to make you feel so dependent on him. He’s so, so good at knowing just what string to pull so that you’ll unravel completely, just so he can put you back together again with his painstakingly gentle hands. 

Nanami’s smart like that. 

So, you’ve learned to bite your tongue. 

“You’re insistence on laying on the dirty floor when we have a perfectly good couch and bed truly astounds me,” he says, monotone. 

You don’t justify his sarcasm with a response, partly to stall what inevitably will come after this and partly to annoy him. Nanami doesn’t like it when you ignore him. It’s one of the few things you have the power to do that manages to get under his skin. 

It’s these little rebellions, you’ve found, that make all the difference. 

You eye the couch warily, it’s plush and huge. The perfect place for an afternoon nap. Nanami had traded out the smaller one he’d had before, for this one, a few months after you’d started dating. He’d wanted one big enough that you two could comfortably lay together as you slept and he read. You spent countless hours there, tucked into his side, with the setting sun warming your skin. 

It’s also where you had told him that you wanted to end things. That he’d gotten too overbearing, too controlling. That you felt suffocated. That you still loved him dearly, but that you couldn’t do this anymore. It’s where you left him as you walked out with only a single bag in hand. 

That night you went to sleep in some shady motel room and woke up back in Nanami’s bed with a padded handcuff chaining you to the frame. 

These memories from before have a way of coming back to haunt you, they pass through the walls, whispering poison in your ears, caressing your skin one moment just to dig their claws in deep the next. 

They mock you as you sit and rot and dream of stars you’ll never see again. 

“You’re stalling.” He always manages to sound so distinctly unimpressed with you whenever you don’t follow one of his unwritten rules (and God even if you were actively trying to follow them, there are so many that keeping track of them is nothing short of an impossible feat).

You finally get to your feet, wringing your hands in a way that you know makes you look weak and pathetic. Just the way Nanami likes you so that he can swoop in and take such good care of his little darling love. 

“Kento, I-” 

“Save it,” he says, already walking towards the bedroom. 

You could put up a fight, but all that’d do is make him angry, and then you’d have to do what he wanted anyway and deal with being tethered back to the bed for a few days while Nanami fusses over you like some sort of deranged mother hen.

You make your way over to the bedroom, already starting to strip, ready to get this over with as soon as possible. 

You’re half-naked by the time you enter his room. 

Even after months and months of this, the humiliation of standing nearly naked in front of him while he stays fully dressed never dulls, it’s still just as sharp and awful as the first time he made you do it. 

(It’s like you’re peeling back your own skin, defenseless as he rubs salt in the wound.) 

You suppose you should feel lucky that he lets you keep on your bra and underwear. Not that the undergarments he bought you really cover all that much, but in these four walls, beggars can’t exactly be choosers. 

He takes off his watch, setting it carefully onto his dresser before walking over to you and starting his nightly inspection for any cuts or bruises you may have received (or given yourself) throughout the day while he was off at work. Off in the world you’ll never see again. Just the thought is enough to make you want to scream. 

You used to be able to wiggle your way out of this, before the incident, as Nanami has dubbed it, but now it’d be a cold day in hell before he doesn’t painstakingly go over (almost) every inch of your skin with a careful eye and calloused hands. 

His thumb always brushes terribly gently over the scar a few centimeters to the right of one of your jugular veins, where you had attempted to slit your throat after you realized that you would probably never escape this place. Never escape him. 

You’d never seen Nanami as scared as when he walked in on you holding a knife to your throat. And you’d never seen him as angry as after he’d wrenched it from your hand using a type of speed that shouldn’t even be humanly possible. 

He took a full month off work after that which coincidently also happened to be the worst fucking month of your life. 

He cups your face in his large hand and presses a kiss to your temple. A sign that he’s deemed you just as pristine as when he left you and that he’s very pleased by it. 

You want to bite his hand. You want to rip his flesh from the bone. You want to hold his heart in your hand and crush it. 

(You want to go home. You want to feel the earth beneath your bare feet. You want to sit on a roof in your childhood neighborhood and watch the sun dip below the horizon and drown the world in golden light. You want to step out on an autumn day with winter just around the corner and smell the crispness in the air, feel it claw its way into your lungs. 

You want to remember what it’s like to be human.)

Nanami’s lips are on yours before you can think, soft and enticing. You could push him away or just say no. He’d listen. Not even he can apparently justifying forcing you. 

(We all have our limits, don’t we?)

But you don’t. You haven’t in a long while. And you hate yourself for it more than you could ever hate him.

He loses his shirt rather quickly and you manage to discard your bra before he lifts you up and tosses you on the bed. You don’t get a second to breathe before he’s over you, monstrous and awful and so terribly beautiful. 

He takes a moment to caress your face, his knuckles brushing over your cheek so tenderly that it nearly makes you sick. You’re thankful when he finally says, “Open up.” 

You do as he says and in the next second two of his fingers are stuffed into your waiting mouth. 

“Suck.” 

And you do, without hesitation, because you know what’s coming next. You know that for the next hour or so, there’ll be no denying the fact that you’re alive, that you’re not some ghost haunting these halls. It’ll prove that it’s blood that flows through your veins instead of stone, that you have not yet started to rot in your own skin. 

He he pulls his fingers from your mouth without a word and leaves a trail of burning kisses down your sternum and stomach. He wastes no time pulling your underwear off and attaching his calloused thumb to your clit, rubbing tight little circles in a way that has you keening almost immediately. 

In an embarrassingly short amount of time you’re wet enough for him to comfortably slip a finger in. Just one of them reaches spots you never quite manage to hit on your own, and you hate how much you love it. It has you moaning, nearly loud enough to drown out the lewd squelching by the time he adds a second finger. 

“You’re so, so good for me,” he murmurs, voice rough. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate that the praise has you clenching his fingers in a near vice grip. You hate that he still affects you in any way after what he’s done to you. After what he’s reduced you to. 

You don’t have time to stew in your self-loathing before his fingers find that spongy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. 

(And this is the reason you don’t push him away. 

You’ll never step foot under the night sky again. But here, with his fingers hitting all the right spots in your cunt, you’ll make your own galaxy and pretend that it holds a candle to the real thing.)

With the pace he sets, his constant low grunts of just how lovely you are creaming around his fingers, and the way his thumb never lets up on your puffy clit, you’re coming within minutes, you spasm around his digits so hard that the stars you so love burst behind your tightly shut eyelids. 

He eases his fingers out of you and licks them clean, his dark eyes half-lidded and nearly glowing in the dimly lit bedroom, burning straight through you. 

You’re the one to look away first. You always are. Shame settling heavily in your gut. Shame that you enjoyed it, shame that you didn’t push him, shame that you’ll do this all over again tomorrow.  

When he finally sinks into you, he does it slowly. Sometimes you wish he wouldn’t, sometimes you wish he’d make it hurt. It’d be easier to hate him instead of yourself if he did. 

When Kento fucks you like this, chest to chest, there’s not a single part of you not swallowed whole by him. 

You hate it. 

You hate yourself more for moaning when he changes the angle and starts fucking you so hard and fast that your hands can’t help but scramble for anything to hang on to, they tear down his back, drawing blood which seems to only spur him on to go harder. 

“Kento I-- I’m-,” but you can’t finish the sentence, not when you can feel your orgasm teetering on the edge, so, so close that it’s painful, you just need- 

“You want to come?” He asks, his voice annoyingly steady.  

It’s unfair of him to expect you to be able to answer when he has you nearly folded in half. You can hardly even think. 

(But when has Kento ever really been fair?)

“Use your words, darling.” His lips are right against your ear, his tone unbearably condescending, and maybe a bit mocking. 

You hate him for asking you to beg. 

You hate yourself more for giving in. 

“Kento, please,” you whine. 

He laughs, low and mean, you feel it in your own chest and for a moment it really is as though you are nothing but an extension of him, a limb left useless without Nanami guiding you. You hate it. You hate it.

Eventually, he relents and brings his thumb back down to your clit, resuming those tight, firm circles, and that’s all you needed to finally push you over the edge.  

This time, when you come, there are no stars to comfort you. Just Kento’s eyes, bright and burning. 

Your cunt clamping down on his cock is all it takes for him to let out a low groan and still completely inside you, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt is awful in it’s familiarity. 

His eyes finally close as he drops his forehead against yours, breathing your air and forcing you to breathe his. 

He closes the gap between your lips, gently, sweetly. You can almost pretend for a moment that this is the Kento you knew years ago. Who held you so sweetly and smiled when you smiled. 

You don’t realize you’re crying until he kisses your temple tenderly and wipes away your tears. He’s not worried, you cry more often than not after he fucks you. You don’t really want to think about why. 

You let your mind wander as he carries you bridal style to the bathroom, where in a minute he’ll run a warm bath for you two to share, then afterwards he’ll dry you off with the utmost tenderness, then dress you himself before carrying you to the kitchen where he’ll set you on the counter as he makes dinner (you won’t be allowed to help, of course) then he’ll force every last bite down your throat if you refuse to eat (he hasn’t had to do that in a long while though), then he’ll have you curl up on his lap, head tucked into his shoulder, as he reads. After about an hour he’ll bring you back to the bathroom where he’ll brush your teeth for you because you never do it right, and then he’ll drag you into bed no later than 10:30 PM so that you can do it all over again tomorrow. 

“Do you want the lavender or rose soap today?” Nanami asks you. 

You ignore him in favor of trying to remember the details of your galaxy, but it’s already faded away to nothing by the time you close your eyes. 

a/n pt 2: i feel like it was painfully obvious that this was my first attempt ever at smut. i’m so sorry yall. i really did try. 

[mysticalrambling]

Coming Home (C.E)

Chris Evans Fanfiction (Fanfiction Masterlist)

Summary: dad!Chris Evans. Chris comes home to his twins fighting and he scolds them. But he also takes care of their wounds with you and then you all go out to eat ice cream and have a family day.

Warnings: None. Minimum angst but fluff all the way.

._._._._.

"Where are the kids?" Your husband came and sat right next to you on the couch. It was a shock to him when he didn't see his two little munchkins clinging to his legs the moment he entered the house. It has been kind of their routine from the moment they could walk on their little two legs.

“They are busy playing in their play room. Why are you not happy about it?” You knew that after a full day of shooting, coming home to two energetic kids was tiring and stressful. So you were shocked when he wasn’t glad to have a moment of peace by himself.

“Well, they are a part of my routine now. It feels weird not having them jumping around me.” The three year olds have always been more attached to Chris than you. Initially, you were a little jealous that the twins focused all their attention on your husband but now you were glad. Having a piece of quiet while he handled the children was pretty awesome.

You both had pretty successful careers and when the twins came into your lives, you both decided that you would handle it all together. In the start, each one of your married girlfriend told you that you had to quit your job as the marketing head because being a mom was a full time job. You were scared and when you shared your concerns with Chris, he consoled you and told you that you would both do it all. Having successful careers while being good parents.

“Just spend sometime with me while Emma and Jason are distracted.” Pouring him a glass of wine, you leaned in to him with your head on his shoulder.

“That is a good way to spend my evening. How was your day, sweetheart?”

“It was hell. My boss gave me a project to complete with a bizarre timeline and when I couldn’t complete it on time. He just took it all out on me in front of my colleague.” Today was humiliating for you and you couldn’t wait to get home, drink a nice glass of wine and relax. “Hated it, babe. How about you?

“Well, my co star couldn’t get her part right so we had to do the same scene five times. We are behind on shooting now and I have to get up early tomorrow morning so that we can catch up to the schedule.” Sighing, he took a long sip of the red liquid and felt his muscles relaxing.

There was a moment of silence that enveloped the room and you just basked in it. “A crappy day for us both.”

“Indeed. Let’s do something exciting then.” He kissed you and just when things were about to get heated, a piercing scream interrupted the moment.

“What-What is happening?” He was still in a haze and couldn’t properly interpret anything.

“It looks like your kids are fighting again.”

“Are you going to handle them?”

“Oh no!” Laughing at his incredulous request, you picked up your glass again. “You wanted to spend time with them so go on.”

Chris got up from the couch and went upstairs. Emma and Jason love each other to death but they have been fighting from the womb. Emma is the stubborn one and while, Jason backs out most of the time. Sometimes, he retaliates and it turns real bad, real fast. They were pretty hot headed, just like you.

“What is happening here?” The dad mode was fully in place when he saw his little girl sitting on the floor with hands pressed to a bloody forehead and his little boy trying to console her.

“She pushed me and then I pushed her. Not my fault. But she hurt, daddy.” The panic in Jason’s eyes was evident.

“(Y/N)! Come here, right now!” You scrambled to your feet as soon as Chris’s voice boomed across the living room. “You never hurt your sister, Jason. This is not alright.” The stern voice was new for Chris but the situation required it.

“But, daddy-”

“No excuses, Mister. Now, apologise to your sister and no toys for you for the whole week.” He got in to action with the first aid kit that he took out of their walk in closet. Emma was still crying her lungs out even when Chris tried to console her. She was not letting him touch the wound and was squirming uncontrollably in his lap.

“Daddy, why you always bla- blame me? Hate you.” Hiccuping, he stuttered on the big words and then stomped out of the room. You tried to stop your son but he just ran past you.

“What is- Oh my god!” The blood was now soaking up your little girl’s shirt and she still wouldn’t let Chris touch the wound.

The one thing that your kids inherited from your husband was the fear of blood and stitches. The small three year old knew that a boo boo that hurts really bad will lead to stitches. You knew how to handle all three of your babies in situation like these. Taking Emma from your husband, you hugged her lightly.

“Bubba, I need to look at your boo boo and then you can have the Elsa bandage.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” When she removed her chubby, little hand, you were relieved that the cut was not big or deep. A bandage would just do the trick. You softly hummed a tune in her ears while you applied an antiseptic to the wound and then the band aid. She had tears streaming down her face and she was sniffling quietly. Chris took her from you when you were done and gently rocked her in his arms. He always loved it when both your children seeked comfort in you. It reminded him of how lucky he was to have you. “Where did Jason go?”

“I scolded his regarding this and he threw a tantrum.” When Emma heard Jason’s name, she further curled herself into his chest.

“Give her to me.” Raising her face by holding her chin, you sternly asked her. “Tell me what happened, young lady?”

With a guilty tone, she told you both that she was the one who pushed Jason first. They were both playing with the doll house that Chris bought Emma as her third birthday present. Jason wanted to add his toy cars to the doll house but she won’t allow it. She pushed him first and he hit his wrist on the small coffee table but then he pushed her back. When she fell back, she hit her head on the side of the wooden house.

“You are going to apologise to him, Emma. I told you that this much anger is not alright, bubba.” Chris took her to the twin’s room that had two different themes running through it. Emma was never a fan of the color pink so she went with purple and Jason really loved yellow, so he got that. The room looked like a clown’s den but Chris was never the one to deny his children’s requests. They had his whole heart well, except you.

“Jace, Emma would like to say something to you.” Setting her on her feet, she went towards his elder brother by barely three minutes.

“I am sorry, Jacey. Never should have pushed you. Kiss your boo boo to make up?” He nodded gently when his sister climbed in to the body. Extending the bruised wrist, Emma held it in her hands and lightly pecked on it. Meanwhile, you got a numbing cream for Jason and you stopped in the doorway with Chris and watched their interaction. They were your and Chris’s two little bundle of joys and you both couldn’t get enough.

“I am sorry that I yelled at you, baby. You two will not have your toys for a week. But who wants ice cream right now?” They both jumped at the mention of their favorite treat.

Chris had a way with the children. He completed all their wishes from eating ice cream as dinner or buying the most expensive toys for them. Making them happy was his primary job and he fulfilled it with great joy. However, he knew when to step up. He knew when to tell them no because he didn’t want his children to be some spoiled brats. He knew how to mediate and that was one of the many thing that you loved about him.

“I will get your jackets while daddy will help you with your shoes.” Going downstairs, you placed Dodger’s food in his bowl because you were going to be out for sometime. Chris always turns a simple outing to a full blown family day. A walk in the park, dinner at a high end restaurant and then shopping at the mall.

“Let’s go.” He buckled both the kids in their respective booster seats and made sure that they both had their preferred stuff toys. God knows, if they didn’t have them on their car ride.

The ice cream place on the fifth avenue was your favorite because it was where Chris took you on your first date. Both the children went for chocolate ice creams and Chris cleaned them up after they were done anything. It was so wholesome to watch him perform his dad duties.

“Then Oliver tried to eat dirt and the teacher gave him a time out.” You never understood why your son was friends with that boy because all he ever cared about was dirt.

“That’s why I hate boys. They are dirty.”

“That’s right, bubba. They are all dirty and disgusting. You stay away from all of them.” Gently nudging him with your shoulders, you playfully scoffed at him. He was sometimes very protective of his children.

“Ollie said girls also have icky germs.”

“Yes. You also stay away from them.” Chris was full on laughing at the situation right now because both the kids were in some serious thoughts.

“Okay dadda.” They both started skipping on the side walk and already started bickering about who was their dad’s favorite. He took you in his arms and kissed you on the forehead.

“Thank you for all this, babe. I love you.” He was truly thankful for you and for everything that you brought in his life.

“I love you too. Now let’s buckle them in before they start pushing each other again.”

Hope you guys enjoyed it!!

._._._._.

A/N: Dad Chris Evans is a dream so I wanted to write a little blurb related to this idea. Hope you guys enjoyed it. You guys can send in requests but I will get to them a little bit later because I am focusing on my drafts right now. Tell me if you guys want to be added to the tag list.

Taglist: @justile

Like, comment and reblog.

[reidjumpers]

would you ever write something along the line of the minimal loss episode reimagined. so instead of emily being in the ep it’s the reader and spence has the biggest crush on her. it kills him knowing that she’s getting hit and bruised. yeah i don’t know if you would do it but i love that idea.

GUESS WHAT I really love this idea too so I tried to rewrite Minimal Loss reimagined. Please emphasize on tried.

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

Spencer could feel his blood run cold at the question Benjamin Cyrus fired at him and you. He subtly glanced towards your direction, pressing his lips and tried his best to maintain his composure. He watched you shift on your seat a little bit, eyeing the gun on Cyrus’s hand intensely.

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer furrowed his eyebrows in faux confusion.

“God will forgive me for what I must do,” Cyrus said calmly. Too calmly. Spencer gulped as he heard the clicking sound of his gun. He caught the sight of you gaping and eyes widened in horror as a gun aimed against his head.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“One of you does. Who is it?”

“Me,” your voice was firm, slicing through the thick tension. Spencer slowly turned his head towards you with a wide eye. You glared at him with an eye that screamed don’t you dare at him, determination and fear swirled together in your eyes made him shiver. He could feel dread and helplessness slowly sinking in. “It was me.”

Cyrus lowered his gun that aimed at Spencer, slowly turned his direction towards you. Spencer shot you a glare and silently demanded you for explanation at your stupid sacrifice. You had just deflated your own fear and bargained for your safety in order to save him. There was a bitter taste curled and overwhelmed him at the tip of his tongue upon knowing he couldn’t do anything to diffuse the situation.

Spencer let his shoulder sink a little bit as Cyrus silently holstered his gun into his pants, allowing himself a brief relief upon knowing that he didn’t have to watch your demise today. It took everything inside him not to jump and inserted himself in between you and Cyrus as he yanked you to the ground by hair and a sound of your pained whimper filled the room. He couldn’t even bring himself to flinch when a rifle aimed towards him as his eyes fixated on the sight of you being dragged across the room.

“I told you not to put me in this position!” Cyrus snarked, releasing his hold on you and slammed you to the concrete floor. Spencer bit the inside of his cheeks and could feel the tip of his fingertips go frozen as dread and fear pumped rapidly into his system.

The sound of you being slapped filled the room made him flinch a little bit. He glanced briefly towards the rifle against him, giving him a brief break from the horrifying sight before him. Spencer could feel anger and disappointment filled him with the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything besides watching you being beaten mercilessly by Cyrus. It was supposed to be him. It was supposed to be him who took all the beating instead of you. You were everything good left in the world and you are a living reminder that there are lights and hope in life despite all the horror and worst face of humanity he was constantly being contaminated with.

What would he do if you were gone then? The brief horrifying thought flashed before his eyes as he watched Cyrus slammed your defenseless body into the ground again. He could feel hot tears prickling in his eyes at the thought of living his life in void and helplessness if you ceased to exist before his eyes. Spencer collapsed his balled fist into his lap as the realization that he couldn’t live without you washed through him.

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut as your body was slammed against the wall and hit the mirror, refusing to picture the sharp shard of glass cutting your skin.

“Proverb 23rd tells us that bloods and wounds cleanse out evil,” Cyrus recited as he yanked you by the collar again and slammed you against the wall. Spencer could feel anger and disdain boiled inside him as he watched your body helplessly fall into the floor after the impact of your collision with the wall.

“I can take it,” you said with a firm voice. Spencer caught your eyes briefly as your eyes flickered in between him and Cyrus that stood in between you and him.

His heart fell into the bottom of his stomach like a heavy sandbag. He knew what you meant from your firm stares alone. You only said that to reassure him and signal the team outside not to come in a rush. It was a minimal loss situation, Spencer had concluded. He drew a sharp breath as he mentally prepared himself for a situation where he couldn’t possibly save everyone and had to accept however many people he could save while others perished.

Spencer glanced up to meet your eyes again before Cyrus moved to block his sight. He furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of your eyes screaming I’m fine, I’m okay at him with blood flowing freely from your broken nose. Dread settled painfully in his bones that the possibility of the team having to choose between your life or his was too close than he liked.

He blinked his eyes to shoo away the tears that threatened to fall. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t risk blowing up another cover that guaranteed his life when you had sacrificed yours for him.

Cyrus beat and slapped you for another round with disdain painted clearly on his face. “Pride comes before the fall,” he said as he punched your stomach and slammed you to the floor, thinking you were antagonizing him as you repeatedly said you could take it. Spencer let out a relieved sigh as Cyrus took a step back from you and left you shaking with pain on the ground, instructed Cristopher to tie you up and took you upstairs.

Not today, he reassured himself. Forcing himself to be satisfied and grateful for your spared life. Not today.

***

Spencer had just successfully coaxed Cyrus into testing the negotiator for the FBI and proving them that they were not a liar and ensuring your safety. Disgust and anger brewing at the pit of his stomach every time Cyrus glanced his eyes towards him. He somewhat marveled at the plain trust Cyrus gave him effortlessly. The memory of him beating you hadn’t left his mind, still painted fresh and clear as if it still happened before his eyes. He had to mentally restrain himself from glaring in disgust at the thought of Cyrus molesting a child and beating you up until bloody and bruised.

“What is it, Christopher?” Cyrus addressed his man that had been trying to shot down Spencer’s suggestion regarding the situation. Only then Spencer turned his attention fully at him who had been pacing around in agitation repeatedly.

“Some of them had been talking about leaving,” he sighed.

“Leaving?” Cyrus pressed his lips together as Christopher affirmed his question. Spencer balled his fist and hid it inside the pocket of his pants as he waited in antagonizing anticipation with whatever next step Cyrus would take. “Wake the baby. Let’s get them meet the orphan that they made.”

Spencer nodded mutely at Cyrus’s decision. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding this whole time, letting himself loose a little bit and allowed himself to feel relief washed through him. Cyrus had taken the big bait and he had ensured your safety with his lies and negotiation skill. It was the least thing he could do after what you did for him.

He knew he would be damned if he couldn’t get you out of his god forsaken place alive. For now he just has to give and surrender with whatever fate is waiting for him into the hands of the team waiting outside. He took one longing glance outside from the window, wishing that he would be staring into the starless sky with you right now.

***

Spencer watched from the back silently as the members of the cult filled the empty chair inside the chapel one by one. What was once an empty and quiet chapel now buzzing with life and the air was stale and raked with fear. The negotiation test went as smoothly as Spencer could wished for. He heard Rossi rattling out your identity to Cyrus in exchange for your safety from a speaker phone as they released the orphan into the team outside.

You emerged from the opposite end of the chapel, a swarm of children and women pushed through from behind you. Spencer stared and watched the way the sunlight that slips through the chapel window fell into your skin. The glowing sunlight from behind your back casted a halo behind your figure. He noticed that your blood had been cleaned up and there were a few specks of dried blood on the collar of your shirt. Some newly formed bruises littered your face, angry and red and was a painful sight to behold. He hated it.

Cyrus was listing out names from the list he had written the day before as Spencer slowly made his way towards you. Everyone’s attention was focused on their leader calling out the names on the altar, but Spencer’s focus was solely on you. Your eyes were watching Cyrus solemnly as you leaned yourself into the wall to support your weight.

Spencer lifted his hand to touch your face and stopped midair before he realized a tad bit too late. His finger twitched painfully with a burning desire to feel you underneath his fingertips, but he couldn’t risk another round of beating and blowing up plans that had been rolling quite smoothly so far.

Guilt surged inside him like the sea, disdain and bitterness brewing and threatening to explode from the bottom of his stomach. He could feel himself dying a little bit inside at the frightening state you were in, all because you were sacrificing your life for him. For his sake when he wasn’t even sure he deserved it.

You finally acknowledged his presence and spared him a glance. Your eyebrows furrowed together in distress and Spencer had to restrain himself from the temptation to put his thumb in between your eyebrows and smoothen out your stress wrinkle between your eyebrows. If he could take away all your pain, he would.

“He looks pissed,” you whisper-yelling at him. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to respond to your words. Even after you took the downfall and hard beatings for him, you still think about other’s well-being instead of yours.

You took another glance towards him from the lack of response from his part. Your eyes scanned his face briefly before your lips twitched into a soft, reassuring smile. “I’m okay. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Spencer shook his head, refusing to believe your words. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and full of regret scratching his throat painfully.

“No, no,” you shook your head and quickly squashed his apology. “No apologies. We both know one of us has to take it.”

“But why should it be you?” Spencer hissed through his greeted teeth. His distress and agitation, and overall emotions that he had been trying to tuck and buried it away seeped into the surface. He could feel his mask cracking and threatened to be broken, and he was thankful for the roaring voice of Cyrus listing out names that masked his own. “Why should it be you? Why couldn’t it be me?”

“He had a gun against your head, Reid!” you hissed back with an equal amount of emotions laced on your voice. “I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t let them kill you. I know they would kill you first if one of us refused to answer. I can’t, Spencer, I—” you took a sharp breath and glanced away from his prying wide eyes. He could hear your voice wavering and your eyes glossed with tears. “Look at the people he’s releasing.”

“It’s the one who failed the loyalty test,” he observed. The previous slip of emotions was being put to the back of his mind again as he noticed the new fact he just found. “I’ll get word to the team, wait for the sign from outside indicating what time the raid will come.”

You stared at him with a wide eye, confusion and fear swirled together. You looked so vulnerable and small like that, like a polished porcelain that could crumble into dust anytime. Spencer nodded firmly and gave you a reassuring smile, silently asking you to believe him. He almost jolted with surprise when you grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly and briefly, understanding what he was trying to do.

“Be careful,” you whispered.

He nodded and turned away to make his way to Cyrus, not believing himself to utter any single words without breaking down. He was determined to make sure you were safe and would make it out alive, whatever it takes.

“Told her she shouldn’t have blinded you like that,” Spencer told Cyrus with a faux exasperation and disappointment. He shuddered when Cyrus nodded sympathetically.

“To either of us,” he corrected him sympathetically, which made Spencer want to do nothing but curl up in disgust. Cyrus jerked his chin towards your direction and addressed Christopher, “Bring her back.”

Spencer watched you being dragged up by your upper arms into wherever they were keeping you. He forcefully gulped and shook away the lump of dread on his throat, disbanding it as soon as it was formed. His eyes were apologetic and yours were nothing but filled with determination and forced bravery.

Those who had failed for the test were ushered out of the farm through the front door. Spencer mentally counted the amount of people who walked out into a guaranteed safety, relieved that it held a much greater amount that he had prepared. It was only a matter of saving the rest and finding a way in for the team to bring you and him out of this place.

Cyrus was making his final and last negotiation call with Rossi, asking for a fried chicken and its sides for their last supper and the presence of media to document his sacrifice to God. A suicide attempt to bring down himself and his faithful fanatic followers was a more appealing option to him rather than surrender himself to the authority apparently. It was obvious from the first time Spencer stepped into the building, but it still didn’t fail to fill him with dread and fear.

“I’m always looking for signs of things to come,” Spencer explained to Christopher with a polite smile after he demanded how he had known Cyrus’s plan of final act of sacrifice all along. He maintained his gaze firmly and silently wishing that the team would catch his words through the parable microphone planted outside. It would be his only hope and way for them to come in.

***

Thick smog and fire blinded his sight and blocked his way. Spencer stumbled upon a block of brunt wooden log as Morgan dragged his limping body outside the chapel. Cyrus was dead, but Jesse had finished his suicide mission by blowing up the chapel and the rest of the building. He could hear sirens blaring outside and faint sounds of wails and fearful screams mixed together in the air.

The thought of you trapped inside the building flashed before his eyes for a moment. He didn’t have a moment to glance back to make sure about your whereabouts as he kept coughing and stumbling, Morgan’s grip still firm on his upper hand to drag him outside into safety. Fear started to paralyze his body that he nearly fell into the concrete fall face first. He just needed to see you, to make sure you were safe.

He didn’t know that the sight of armed soldiers and police cars could bring an immense amount of comfort for him. Spencer nearly cried at the overwhelming relief that he was out unharmed, slipped by the last strand of his hair from his ultimate demise. But he couldn’t allow himself to be relieved and comfortable before he knew where you were. Before he knew if you were safe.

“Spencer!” your voice came faintly in between the chaotic sirens and the sound of angry fire eating up the chapel. “Morgan!”

Spencer watched you squirm out of Emily’s embrace, running limpy towards him. He knew he had burst into tears as soon as his eyes landed on you, safe, alive, although littered with bruises and dried blood on your shirt. His shoulders sank and shook as your arms wrapped around him tightly, all the horror, fear, and dread that he didn’t allow himself to feel in the past few days before had rushed into him and knocked all the air out of his lungs.

Relief and comfort of knowing you were safe in his arms was a breath of fresh air for his burned lungs. Usually he would squirm at the thought of touching someone, but the steady rise of your chest as you breath against him overcame all the unfortunate uncomfortable thoughts that came with the activity of hugging someone.

“You’re safe,” Spencer gasped as he released you from his embrace. He was aware that everyone was watching him hugging you and he fought all the mortification that slowly crept up his cheeks. He tried to mask it away as being a relief to find his coworker made it out alive from the sticky hostage situation.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you reassured him with one last firm squeeze on his arms. He wanted nothing but to pull you into his arms again, shield you for any harms lurking in the outside world. The anger that had been forgotten on the back of his mind surged inside him again. But he had to be satisfied with only one final squeeze as you parted from him to be checked by the paramedics.

The flight back to Quantico was quiet and a peaceful one. Everyone was winding up and breathing from the horror of the case that just wrapped up. Spencer tried his best to distract his mind with his book, burrowed in the furthest corner of the jet as the comforting and steady hum of the jet lulled him to sleep.

You slipped into the empty seat right across from him. A weak smile and a timid greeting were exchanged between you and silence followed right after. Spencer knew what conversation would follow after this, and he didn’t want to face it just yet. He had stopped reading from the moment you took the seat and watched him with careful eyes, but he still put up the act in the hope it would steer you away from bursting his bubble.

It did not. Spencer didn’t put up a fight as you gently took his book away from his hands and placed it gently on the table.

“I need you to listen to me,” you started with a firm voice. You were wearing the nice lilac shirt that Spencer liked, and the bruises on your face had started to heal and fade away. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault. It was my decision and I would do it again.”

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but you tilted your head with your lips pressing together, discouraging him to counter your statement. He took a sharp breath and shook his head.

“Do you hear me?” your voice was softer this time. Your hands silently reached for his and held them gently. Your thumb made a soothing pattern on his knuckles, a reassuring and determined smile was on your face. Spencer couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. “Do you hear me, Spencer? I will do it again. It wasn’t your fault. It was my decision.”

“I know,” he answered finally.

“Thank you.”

“Please know that I will do the same for you.”

His words had caught you off guard. You stared briefly before nodding, patting the top of his hand gently with your hand as you gave him a really bright smile. Spencer let himself sink further into the comfortable leather seat and let relief washed through him again. Everything will be okay.

[valdomarx]

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

-

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

-

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

-

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

-

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

-

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”