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wife-of-all-dilfs · 7 months

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a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion—Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

*************

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t describe even it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”

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fairy-hub · 28 days

Text

𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! fluff, suggestiveness - talking about/hinting towards satoru fingering/eating you out but nothing happens, kissing, satoru fondly makes fun of you a lil, he also carries you around, collage au, collage student!reader, collage student!gojo

fey: I’m still gonna be on hiatus for a little longer but in the mean time have this fluff nugget inspired by my hubby

Satoru huffs and pokes your cheek till you swat his hand away. He flops on the bed next to you, the soft breeze and movement disturbing your carefully placed papers.

You whine “Satoru!”

“Sweet pie! You’ve been studying and working in that essay all day for the past three days please!” He throws his hand across his forehead, clutching his chest. “I beg of you feed me attention before I starve. I’m wilting away before you! How cold hearted can you be.” His eyes are with tears.

Tossing your throw blanket over him, “This should keep you warm.” You take you eyes off the screen to read the open text book next to you. Before referring to your notes then glancing back up at your computer screen.

He pops his head out from underneath the blanket with gasp. “No I’m not cold! You’re cold hearted!” He sits up and wraps his arms around you. “Please just an hour, we can order some food, take a shower get you out of your funky funk.” Pinching his nose and waving his hand in front of his face.

“You’re foul.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Like your armpits! Study starting break now! I your wonderful boyfriend refuse to let you be stinky.” He slowly closes the lid on the rough draft of your paper.“I’ll help you write some more after, if you don’t give your mind a break you’ll fry it and make it useless.” He kisses the top of your head.

“Let’s go lil’ stink!” He drags you off the bed, your feet dangle in the air as he holds you to his chest.

Squeezing you whilst you protest, “Hey you can’t steal that! I don’t wanna hear it from the one with the stanky attitude making me take a break for my health how dare you.” He carefully sets you down in the bathroom.

He waves a hand in your direction, “Yes yes, how dare I care for my beautiful girlfriend and rub her naked body down with my large soapy hands in a warm shower, that I as her perfect boyfriend know the temperature of.”

He lights some of the candles arranged around the bathroom. And starts the heater that he insists your bathroom needs. After not stepping into another cold bathroom after a hot shower you can understand why.

You rid yourself of your clothes, throwing them into the hamper. “Do you need to toot you own horn?” Relieving yourself then washing your hands.

Turning around and watching him strip. His arms flex as he pulls his black shirt off. His v line peeks out of his sweatpants, which he pushes down. Your gaze lingers on his soft cock and large balls before you glance up into his sparkling blue eyes.

He corners you against the counter, booping the tip of your nose with his long finger. “You’ve been neglecting me for days I might need to remind you what a awesome boyfriend I am! What if you’ve forgotten!” He pouts.

You slide your fingers through his soft silver white hair. Pulling him in, your lips close to his, “I could never forget, you won’t let me, but I suppose it’s part of your charm. I guess it’s kind of cute when you’re cocky.”

Satoru smirks into the slow passionate kiss he gives you. Lifting you up, reflexively you wrap your legs around his waist. It’s easy to forget everything when you’re kissing him. There is the safety of his arms, the sweet passion of his soft lips on yours.

When he breaks away Satoru suggests, “After our shower would it be too cruel of me to give my girl a happy ending? As some stress relief and reward for all her studying of course.” He massages your cheek. His large warm hand feels wonderful targeting your sore spots.

You softly groan, “Please! I don't know if I wanna ride your face, fingers or cock.”

“Why not all three one after another? I can suck on your pretty clit and let you cum on my fingers then I can fill you up.” He carries you into the warm shower, supporting you with one hand. Closing the curtain behind himself.

He stands underneath the warm water, steam billowing off it. “‘M sorry for not texting for three days, you know I’ve missed my amazing boyfriend, you’re just so talented at so many things like distracting me when I need to study.” He helps you onto your feet, placing your backside facing towards the rushing water.

He protests, “I can behave and help you study.” Pouring some of his favorite strawberry and sugar scented body wash onto his hand.

You close your eyes tilting your head back. Soaking your curls and letting the water wash over your face. The water melts away some of the tension building in your neck and shoulders.

You rub your right shoulder and winch whilst insisting, “You tell me that every time.” Turning around and stepping out of the water, closing your eyes. It’s relaxing knowing he’ll take care of you, from washing your body, to treating your curls to applying your face care.

Rubbing soap over your back and ass, leaving soapy white bubbles. He massages your shoulders whilst pleading his case, “Please lemme help you study! We have the same essay due and test to take. Our study sessions is how we got together I miss them.”

You softly sigh and cave in, “I miss them too, ok you win can stay, you’re too charming.”

He playful croons “I always win.” Kissing the top of your wet head. “You won't regret it I'll be the best study buddy!” You widely smile, the delight in Satoru’s voice is heartwarming.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #satoru gojo x you

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azullumi · 1 month

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"once more to see you" ; aventurine

summary — to him, love was like a religion waiting to be discovered and he’ll find god in the way the sun looks on your skin; alternatively, aventurine thinks he’s rotten work and tiring to take care of but not to you, not if it's him (please get the reference).

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — established relationship (but aventurine wants to de-establish it), somewhat fluff, slight angst with comfort, never proofread never what?!!, 1.3k ; ficlet

note — 2.1 broke me (the whole quest knocked at the door of my house, shook my hands, congratulated me, and invited itself into my home before pouring water on my face, slapping me, throwing me around, and left with the door open, all the while, my family watched). this is day 1 of writing for aventurine until i have him.

“you have a lot of moles.” his voice, despite a gentle whisper, tears through the silence of the night like a drop of water that ruptured and disturbed the surface of the pond. “especially here.” he gently taps on your skin; they seem like stars, he swallows the words back down.

you feel aventurine’s finger trace on the back of your neck and the curve of your shoulders, seemingly drawing—or connecting something. it was ticklish, the way he gently drags his hand and ghosts over your skin, a soft laugh slipping past your lips (you’ll capture his touch on your skin as if you were a sinner remembering how forgiveness tasted on your lips). there was something intimate that lingers in the air between you two as you lay in his bed with him, a fleeting moment that will be inked into your mind.

(the both of you leave your titles behind, mixed together with the scattered objects on the floor, laid on the cold ground to be picked up and worn later like a shiny medal even if you weren’t proud to have them.)

“they say it’s where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.” you stir in your position as you speak, coming to face him and meet his pretty jewel-like eyes—how alluring it was, painted with vivid colors yet it never shines. the sound of mirth laughter bubbles from his throat, a pleasant melody to your ears.

he asks, curiosity tracing the tone of his voice, “and from where did you even hear that?” and you shrug, bringing your form closer to him as you seek for more warmth, “i can’t recall. perhaps i heard it from topaz or maybe from one of the members of the ipc? they’re the only ones i often see and talk to.”

“the doctor?” he wraps his arm around your figure, his hand settling on the small of your back.

“that man will only scorn at that idea and call it stupid. he’ll most likely say that ‘only fools would believe such concepts.’” you mimic the way the esteemed doctor spoke, from the serious expression that he always don on his face to the deepening of his voice. your seemingly successful imitation earned a chuckle from the blonde-haired man before you.

“i’m sure he will.”

silence falls between you two and you took this time to adore each and every line of his being. a few strands of hair fall over his eyes—beautiful, captivating, mesmerizing, you could list out every word to describe his eyes but it would never be enough. you had always wondered why he would hide it until you witnessed the reason why he does so.

aventurine seems to study your expression at the same also, a soft look on his face as he did, and you can’t help but be curious. “what are you thinking about?” you ask him, breaking the silence that nurtured itself in the space between you and him.

you, he wishes to answer. how you look at this moment in his embrace: you were wearing one of his shirts, albeit, not exactly to your size but you insisted, saying that you liked it as it smelled like him. how gentle, loving, adoring, you were everything; he looks and thinks of you as if you were his everything (he doesn’t deserve you). but he doesn’t say it—the thought weighs too heavily on his mind, claws at his throat, and suffocates him—, instead he utters something entirely different that creates a shift in the air between you two.

“i don’t think i can do this.” he turns his head to look away from you, staring at the ceiling instead. it seems to extend itself far and far away from him.

the horrible part of being human is the tendency for destruction that lies in your bones. stained palms, calloused pads, despite the gentleness of your touch and the comfort of your caress. the desire to devour flesh and bones, to understand the underlying thoughts and meanings behind words and unexpressed feelings by consuming them. to submerge and drown in the depths of one's despair and desire (too close that the line blurs into one). the horrible part of being him was his tendency to destroy—hesitation and doubt lies in his being and aches at his chest, tugging on his heart’s strings, and settles on his throat—, it’s not like he doesn’t want to hold you, it’s just that he can’t.

“do what?”

“this.” you know exactly what he was referring to, know what he’s afraid of. he has laid himself bare and vulnerable in front of you countless of times that you have memorized the constellations that adorns his skin. you know him, you have known him enough to recognize the fear that tugs on his voice and see the walls that he tries to build up in front of you. you know him enough to know what thoughts are plaguing his mind.

“why do you think so?”

“don’t you think i’m too much to take care of?” he tries not to choke on his words and bite his tongue, careful not to let his voice crack lest he crumbles underneath your caress. i am undeserving of it. worthless. failure. selfish. discarded. coward. loser. nothing. you are bound to leave.

“not for me.” you caress his cheek and guide him to look at you—instead of the ceiling that seems to appear farther than it originally was in each passing second as the walls glean over him like a shadow—, to meet your gaze and see the sincerity that lurks deep within. “never will i get tired of you. so, let me carry your burden.”

he takes a few seconds to answer, uncertainty lingering in his tone: “it’s not yours to have.”

“it may not be.” you answer with no hesitation, “but it doesn’t mean that you must shoulder them alone.”

he opens his mouth to speak but unable to find the words to say, he closes them. there was a moment of stillness shared between you two. comfort, relief, assurance seeps into the ache of his bones and you say something too heavy even for this steady and silent night to hold, the words too much to be held—light spills in like a flood as if it was pouring out from the sun itself.

“i love you.”

“you utter such words as if it’s something easy for you.” as if loving him was just as simple as waking up in the morning and adoring the way the honey-light hugs your form as the dust settles in the corner of your room. when he’s stripped of everything and left with nothing, would you still love him the same? would you still kiss him as gently as you did? would you still hold the shards of his form even if it makes your hand bleed?

you spoke in a gentle yet firm croon, gaze unwavering, “because it is.”

you see the falter in his expression: his face, that once was crumpled, relaxed and so did his gaze soften. and you smile at him with only adoration in your eyes—like a devout follower to a divine being. “are you still afraid?”

“i don’t know.” he whispers.

“it’s alright. you have all the time in the world.” your hand weaves itself into his own, fingers lacing with one another, and you gently squeeze. it was a form of reassurance, a way of telling him that you’re here with him through all of it.

the warmth has settled in your being and you spill yourself into the cracks of his vulnerability. “i love you.” you say once more and you kiss the mark on his neck—lingering and soft as if you wish that it would take all his hurt away. the way he shudders underneath your touch, the hitch of his breath soon followed by a gentle sigh as he cradles you closer to him tells you everything that you wish to hear.

for once, he sleeps as if he had nothing to carry, nothing that shackles him to the stars that forsakes him.

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altruisticalastor · 3 months

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↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Alastor was on edge from the early reaping approaching. He was in his radio tower every hour of every day. You worried for him. But you didn't dare to disturb his work. You knew better than that.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, smut, implied established relationship, full demonic form!alastor, power imbalance, (alastor owns reader's soul), size kink, dacryphilia, creampie, begging, tentacle usage

☒ Word Count: 1,654

Selling your soul over to Alastor wasn't all that bad.

The Radio Demon proved to be cordial. As long as you stayed in line. You hadn't planned on relinquishing your soul. Let alone to the heartless son of a bitch, Alastor.

But the dapper man presented you with an offer you couldn't deny. Your soul in exchange for protection and power. As a new demon perusing through hell, you knew some help would be needed during the yearly reapings. So, you shook on it. Sealing your fate.

Over the decades of being chained to Alastor, he began to grow a soft spot for you. It was gradual, but before you knew it, The Radio Demon had you hanging on to every word he said.

You assumed your little crush for Alastor was one-sided. But one evening, Nifty blabbered to you about Alastor's habit of slaughtering any demon that even looked at you funny. Your heart skipped a beat. From then on, you picked up on all the glances he shot your way.

Anytime you were in a room together, his crimson gaze was on you. Alastor watched you as if you were his prey. You didn't fail to notice how he only allowed you to touch him without repercussion. The Radio Demon often eased up from your warm embraces, which solidified your suspicions.

It didn't take long after that for Alastor to call you out on your fondness for him. You were more than flustered when he admitted to knowing all along. But The Radio Demon quickly eased your spiraling thoughts. He admitted to the feeling being mutual.

From that day forward, your relationship only flourished. But Alastor always made it a point to highlight that he was the one in control at all times.

Alastor was on edge from the early reaping approaching. He was in his radio tower every hour of every day. You worried for him. But you didn't dare to disturb his work. You knew better than that.

Eventually, you had no choice. It had been weeks, and no one had heard from Alastor. The hotel patrons pleaded for you to bring him out of his workspace. You denied it vehemently until those fuckers peer-pressured you into caving.

You muttered curses as you marched up to Alastor's radio tower. You cleared your throat before calling out to him. Your balled-up fists trembling beside you. "A-Alastor? May I come in?"

As the seconds of silence flew by, your anxiety increased. A few minutes passed before the door flung open. Revealing an unmistakably irritated Alastor. "What is it?" His sharp tone sent a chill down your spine as he stepped aside. Allowing you to enter his sacred space.

"E-Everyone's worried about you. So I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," Your voice was timid as you fixed your gaze on the floor. You heard a deep sigh escape Alastor before you felt his hands on you. He grasped your jaw firmly, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

"You doubt my competence, my dear?" You froze, desperately racking your brain for a response. Alastor's other hand held your hip firmly. His grasp on you was bruising, no doubt. "Of course not! I just- with all the stress you've been under I... I want to help you in any way I can!"

You saw the wheels turning in Alastor's mind from your declaration. His hand at your jaw slithered down. Clutching your other hip as he pushed you backward. You stumbled slightly, and a gasp escaped you as your backside came in contact with his control panel. "Anything, you say?"

Alastor's voice was low as he hoisted you up. You now sat atop the control panel as The Radio Demon slotted himself between your parted thighs. You nodded fervently in agreement. "Anything, use me how you see fit."

That was all the conformation he needed. Alastor wasted no time hiking your skirt over your thighs. A blunt gasp escaped you as his sharp nails dipped between your legs, tearing your panties to shreds in one swift motion. Your eyes widened as you noticed The Radio Demon begin to morph into something more sinister before your very eyes.

Alastor's antlers tripled in size, as did his frame. A glowing red X marked the middle of his forehead, and his pupils turned into radio dials. His body completely enveloped yours as Alastor freed himself from his trousers. You bit your lip in anticipation as you admired his length. His antlers weren't the only thing that tripled.

His cock was an angry red, leaking a copious amount of precum as he bullied himself into your welcoming walls. "A-Alastor!" You whined as the tip of his hard length pushed past the tight ring of your pussy. You outstretched your arms to wrap around his twisted neck. But before you could get that far, Alastor's tendrils came out to play.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, my dear. I'm the one in control. Do I need to remind you of that?" Alastor's radio static was heavier on his tone than ever. A gasp escaped you as his tentacles tangled around your limbs. Your arms were now bound, and your legs were spread wide, giving Alastor better access to your dripping heat.

But that wasn't all. Your glowing green choker appeared before your very eyes. Alastor removed one hand from your hip to clutch the chain leash that dangled off your collar. A loud moan escaped you as Alastor plowed the rest of his cock deep inside your pussy.

"You speak when I say you can speak." He groaned, thrusting into you deep and tugging you closer by the blunt green chain.

"You touch me when I say you can touch me." Alastor pulled back, leaving only the tip of his ruddy cock nestled inside you.

"And you come when I say you can come." His hips snapped sharply, prodding your g-spot faultlessly. "Understood?" Alastor's smile took up nearly half his face as he peered down at you.

You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, waiting for the green light to speak. Alastor granted you another quick thrust. "Look's like someone was paying attention, good girl. You may speak now, darling."

Your lips trembled as Alastor began fucking into you wildly. "Y-Yes! I understand, I'll be good!" You babbled as one of his tendrils dipped between your thighs. The slippery tentacle flicked teasingly over your clit. You couldn't help the way your pussy clenched around Alastor's cock from the delicious sensation.

Alastor grunted from the feeling, but his hips never eased up. The Radio Demon fucked himself into you with reckless abandon. Chasing his own high above all else. The prodding at your sweet spot and the slippery tendril swiping at your clit was nearly too much to bear. You knew the coil within your tummy was merely moments from unraveling.

"Alastor! P-Please, I'm so close... please can I-" You babbled, giving him a pleading look as his sharp claws dug deep into your hip. Your vision blurred as tears spilled past your lash line. Your neck ached from the collar chafing your delicate skin, and your arms went numb from how long they were bound for.

His tongue darted out to lick the tears that ran down your cheek. You felt him throb deep within you from how you cowered beneath him. "Hmm... not good enough. You need to try harder than that, my dear." His pace was ungodly at this point. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

Your mind was fuzzy as you tried to form a coherent thought. Alastor chuckled wickedly above you as his tentacles tightened around your limbs. His grip on your leash was unwavering. "Please, Alastor! Please may I come? I'll be so good I-I promise... I beg you!'

Your pleading voice was hoarse as more tears slipped past your waterline. Bottom lip quivering as you peered up at him desperately. Alastor's pace faltered for a moment. Your pitiful plea riled him up more than he cared to admit. His release was near, it was only a matter of time.

"Much better. Go on, come for me!" The moment Alastor uttered those words, you were gone. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, legs trembling wildly as your white hot release overtook your senses. Your pussy gushed around Alastor's cock as he fucked you through your high.

Alastor groaned loudly above you as he slammed himself to the hilt inside you before stilling. A whine was pulled from your throat the second you felt Alastor's cum painting your walls white. His grip on your leash eased up, the green collar dissipating before your eyes. The Radio Demon slowly began to shrink in size as the last of his load filled you up.

You took a shaky breath as the tendrils slithered away from your limbs, finally allowing you to stretch them out. Alastor took on his normal appearance now as he slowly pulled himself out of your spent pussy. Embarrassment flooded your body from the aftershocks of what transpired. "Well, that was effective copulation, my dear! I feel as right as rain now!"

All you could do was stare at him dumbfounded as you pulled your skirt over your thighs. Alastor was back to his somewhat usual self. Who knew all he needed was to fuck you to get him out of his stressed state of mind. He offered you a hand as you slumped off the control panel, trying to stand on shaky legs.

"Glad you're better, Al. Now that we settled that- can we talk about how you never told me you could do that with your coc-" Alastor's finger pressed against your lips, silencing you.

"Now, now. No need for such vulgar talk! What my body can do is for me to know and for you to find out."

tags; @danveration @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix@littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @chewbrry @nonetheartist @zombiesnips-blog @stargirlplanet @twistedkisses

leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

please have your age in your bio or i cannot add you.

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine

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ja3yun · 22 days

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please be real | p.js

ex!jay x fem!reader warnings: angst, heartache, smut (mdni), fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, teasing, pet names (princess, baby), crying, mentions of alcohol, drunk jay, pure heartbreak in the beginning, not proofread, anything else lmk synopsis: after a six-year relationship, you and jongseong part ways due to different needs for the future. when jongseong's first birthday post-breakup arrives, his struggle with your absence reaches a breaking point, prompting a late-night call from his friend that consequently reignites emotions and unresolved feelings. wc: 9.4k a/n: hi! it's me and it's jay's birthday so i wrote him a little something something. i didn't initially intend to rip my heart out as i wrote this yet here i am. this was oddly a healing one to write but i must warn you it does mention the reader not wanting to have children so if that doesn't appeal to you then this probs isn't the fic for you! as always, like, comments, feedback, etc. is all appreciated! ilysm and happy bday jay <3

A sharp, jarring noise pierces your ears, the peaceful sleep you were in rudely disrupted. You groan out loud, covering your face with your covers but it does nothing to stop the ringing from your phone, it doesn’t even dull it a little, the little black device only echoing around the room louder.

Disoriented and groggy, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, clumsily searching for it in the darkness. It isn’t your alarm, the usual peaceful tones of the birds chirping would be a welcomed sound, one that eases you into the day; no this was a phone call.

Finally grasping your phone, your eyes fight themselves open as you blink away any remnants of sleep, trying to find any sort of centre from your dizzy awakening. You look at the name on your phone but your vision is so blurred you can’t make it out but answer it anyway, knowing that whoever is phoning at this ungodly hour is clearly in need of your help.

“Hello?” you ask quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the quiet of the night, unlike the person on the other end of the call.

“Uh, Y/N? It’s Jake.” His soft Australian accent drifts from your phone speaker into your ears. He sounds unsure whether he is supposed to be making the call, which to be fair, you understand because you haven’t heard from him in months, not after…

Letting out a sigh, you rub your forehead with the base of your palm tiredly, “Jake, why the fuck are you calling me at…” you pull the phone away, inspecting the time now that you’re more alert, “3.36am?” you ask with a hint of disdain. Normally, you would welcome the boy’s surprise call, after all, you did miss him. But considering he woke you up from a good dream involving you, Jeongin from Stray Kids, and a happily ever after; he wasn’t exactly your favourite person right now.

You can faintly hear some music in the background as he stays silent and you swear to yourself if this is to give him a ride home from a concert turned party, you’ll have his head.

“Listen, I hate to ask you this but can you come to Haven?”

“The nightclub? Why?” Your earlier suspicions are proving to be right, he does want a lift home. That would be an acceptable request if you guys were actively talking every day and the best of buddies but he isn’t even your friend, not really.

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, his voice can be heard trying to calm someone down but his words are obscured as if the phone is wrested away from his mouth, leaving only disjointed fragments of speech drifting through the receiver.

This sounds like more than just a simple ride home and it causes you to snap to attention, your senses heightened with concern.

Jake finally brings his attention back to you, letting out a sigh of discontentment, “It’s Jay, he’s a mess and he’s calling out for you.”

Jay. Park Jongseong.

It’s been so long since anyone has dared to mention his name to you that it almost sounds like a foreign word.

Seven months ago, you and Jongseong had decided to call off your 6-year relationship, both of you reaching the understanding that it was for the best considering your battling differences and needs within the relationship.

It wasn’t easy, the furthest thing from it actually. You and him had been inseparable since high school and once you both got together in year 12, it was always you and him against the world. He was the love of your life, that once in a lifetime kind of love that only happens in fairytales. Your souls were both painted from the same brush stroke.

But he wanted a peaceful, routine life - a classic white picket fence dream. Evenings would be spent with friends, savouring white wine and casual conversations over dinner. His heart was set on imagining the echoes of your future children's laughter filling your home, family trips to the seaside, and comforting them with kisses and band-aids when they got hurt.

And you craved spontaneity, to embrace life with vigour, travelling the world together was your dream, free from the responsibilities of parenting, cherishing moments just for yourselves. You longed for random midnight trips to Tesco for birthday cake simply because you could. All you wished for was to be with him, just the two of you.

Suddenly, your brain clicks into an important detail and you hurriedly check the calendar on your phone and the date makes you slump in your bed.

Today is Jongseong’s birthday, well technically not anymore given the time, but that means he has lived his first birthday without you by his side in so long. You would always celebrate his big day by doing something from his handwritten bucket list he has had since he was a child. Over the years he has added more to the list, each birthday scoring one out to add another.

The list wasn't extravagant; it was filled with simple yet heartfelt desires. You bought him a bundle of guitar lessons and a Taylor 114e electric guitar to fulfil his wish of learning to play. When you noticed the Download Festival marked with gold stars on his list, you surprised him with tickets for the year Metallica was headlining. And when he expressed a desire to cook a meal from scratch for his mum, you gifted him a kitchen knife engraved with his name and took the time to teach him how to prepare her favourite dish.

His birthdays were the most precious when you were in them, and you weren’t there with him.

“Y/N?” Jake’s sweet voice draws you back to his attention and out of the memory lane swirl your brain has put you in. He knows this is a tough call for you to take considering you and Jongseong said to cut ties completely; it’s better to act like you both didn’t exist than keep a thread tethered to one another that would only hurt you more.

As Jake and Sunghoon whisked Jay away for his birthday celebration, their intention was simple: to help him let loose and have a good time. Jay had been buried in overtime work lately, leaving little room for socialising. Since the breakup, the idea of going out without you - dancing together, stealing kisses in the taxi ride home - seemed unappealing.

Waking up that morning, Jay realised it marked the first birthday in six years without ticking something off his bucket list. The familiar, worn paper lay dormant on his desk, a stark reminder of your absence. He had no desire to celebrate today without you by his side. If he could fast-forward through the day to escape the weight of his birthday, he would eagerly do so.

Yet, with two very persuading friends and a whole lot of whiskey later, here he was, curled up outside Haven, yearning out for you.

“Y/N please, at least come and convince him to get up and come home with us,” Jake pleads. You can hear the cries of your ex-lover more clearly now as Jake kneels beside his friend, checking in on him.

With a resigned sigh, you nod, “Okay. Keep him warm, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, you quickly put a brush through your hair and change into a baggy top, one you bought for Jongseong before breaking up, and a pair of grey sweatpants. This is a bad idea, you know it is, but you also can’t leave him to wallow in the middle of the street. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you didn’t help and Jake wouldn’t call unless it was something he couldn’t handle.

You don’t want to see the state Jongseong is in, his wailing cries that you could slightly hear over the phone already made your heart clench in hurt.

As you drive to Haven, your heart races in anticipation with each mile that passes. Is your heart ready to face him after all these months? Staring into the love of your life’s eyes once again might break you even more. You’ve done a good job in keeping yourself together, at putting on a facade that everything is okay, when deep down you know that if one person asked you about Jongseong you would crumble and fall apart.

He wasn’t the only one throwing himself into work to forget. You’ve worked hours and hours trying to keep your mind off the heartbreak, you thought that if you just focused and kept your head down, the phrase time heals all wounds would kick in and you’d be free of the torment of losing your first love. But it hasn’t worked out that way, you know that now as you speed down the empty roads to console the one person you are trying to forget.

As you reach Haven, you can vaguely see three boys under the illuminating sign, almost as if shining a spotlight on them to add to the spectacle that Jongseong is making. Onlookers are watching as your ex-boyfriend cries on the pavement, wishing you would come home.

With a quick exhale, you step out of the car before doubts can creep in, determined to be there for him. Jake and Sunghoon's voices float to you, attempting to soothe him and inject some sense into the moment. Bracing yourself, you approach, ready to offer whatever comfort you can, despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

Sinking onto the balls of your feet, you lower yourself to Jongseong's level, meeting his strained figure. Instantly, the sight of his distress instantly shatters your heart into a million pieces.

An abundance of tears cascades down Jongseong's reddened face, obscuring his features like a relentless waterfall. His clenched jaw and the prominent vein on his forehead portray the intensity of his distress as he struggles to draw each laboured breath. Curled into himself, his body seems to contort with the weight of physical agony, mirroring the emotional pain that ripples through his trembling form. He’s been keeping this in for so long that his body doesn’t know how to cope with it.

Reaching out to grab his clenched fist, you shuffle forward, “Jjongie? It’s me, baby, look at me,” you say calmly, trying to reassure him with your soft voice.

As your fingers gently encircle his clenched fist, Jongseong's body tenses at the touch. Slowly, he turns his gaze towards you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with an overwhelming mixture of sorrow and longing. For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before they cloud over again with anguish.

He doesn’t believe you’re actually here, considering the long nights where he has conjured up the idea of you, clinging to his imagination on the lonely nights he wishes for your touch. But as you squeeze his hand, he realises this isn’t a dream-induced sighting, you’re really here in front of him.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. Tears stream down his face in torrents, some landing on your hand that holds his. His cries reverberate through the air, each wail a sharp stab to your chest.

Cupping his cheek, you settle yourself between his legs, ignoring the discomfort of the rocks beneath your knees, your focus solely on him. With a sad smile, you attempt to mask your own anguish, your touch a gentle reassurance amidst his storm of emotions.

"Hey, hey, enough of that now," you hush him softly, your voice a soothing melody in the tumultuous night. Using your thumb, you tenderly wipe away his tears, though they continue to flow unabated.

He leans into your touch, “I miss you so much, Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads as you feel his warm breath against your skin as he nuzzles into your palm, seeking solace in the familiar sensation he's been yearning for.

It’s hurting you just seeing him like this, the man you once knew to be strong-willed and resilient, keeping his emotions under control unless he’s sharing sweet vulnerable moments with you under the covers, is now a shell of himself, stripped bare by the weight of grief.

Turning your face to look at Jake, you offer him a small smile, “I’ll take him home.”

“You sure?” Jake asks, knowing that it’s a dangerous game for you both if you do.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to move unless I do,” you chuckle sympathetically but there’s a bubble in your throat as Jongseong’s whimpers flow into your ear from beside you.

Nodding, Jake gestures to Sunghoon, silently enlisting his help in the task of ferrying the drunk man to your car. The weight of Jongseong's limp form proves cumbersome as you all struggle to navigate his dead weight, his limbs hanging heavily without offering any assistance.

"Let's get you home," you murmur softly, your hands pressing gently against Jongseong's chest to steady him, aided by his friends who lift him onto their shoulders.

His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity burning within them. "Please be real," he whispers, his voice trembling with desperation. Despite feeling your touch and catching hints of your scent, doubt gnaws at him. If this is merely a figment of his imagination, he knows he'll never forgive himself. You're so close, so tangible - it has to be you.

With much struggle, the three of you get him to your car, putting him gently in the backseat so he can lie down, but he wraps his arms around your waist as his legs stay situated outside of the vehicle, holding you close to him.

"Come on, Jjongie, lie down for a minute," you coax gently, guiding him to stretch out along the seats. But he remains unmoving, clutching onto you as if fearing you'll slip away if he lets go. With a soft sigh, you stroke the back of his head, your hands moving in a soothing rhythm. "I promise, I am not going anywhere," you whisper, your words a tender vow to him.

Yet, your attempts to reassure him seem to go unheard. His face burrows deeper into your stomach, his words muffled by the fabric of your t-shirt and the weight of his tears.

You exchange a worried glance with Jake and Sunghoon, “How much did he have to drink?” you ask, scared of the answer they will give. Your ex-boyfriend has always been so good at holding his liquor that it must have been a hefty amount he consumed.

“Like two weeks' wage worth,” Sunghoon winces, his neck tightening as he looks at his best friend.

"Oh, baby..." you sigh softly, feeling a wave of empathy wash over you. Returning your attention to Jongseong, you press a tender kiss to the crown of his head, hoping to offer some comfort amidst his distress. His response is to cling to you even tighter, his sobs echoing against your chest as he seeks solace in your embrace.

You need to get him home, he’s a mess and the longer he stays like this, the more his body is going to wear out.

With a gentle hand, you stroke his hair, your touch a soothing caress against his trembling form. Despite the chaos swirling around you, you find a semblance of peace in this intimate moment, anchored by the bond that still lingers between you.

"I've got you, Jjongie," you whisper softly, drawing back as he eases up his grip on you. His friends go to help you but you halt them with a firm gesture, "You guys can go, I've got it from here."

Sunghoon shakes his head, concern etched on his face. "He's too heavy, Y/N. You won't be able to manage him into the flat without us," he protests.

But you stand your ground. This is your and Jongseong's mess, and you can’t let others help you clean it up, "It's okay. You guys have done your shift for tonight. Go home," you insist, your voice resolute.

Reluctantly, Sunghoon and Jake nod and bid you goodnight before going their separate ways home, leaving you alone with Jongseong and the weight of your shared history.

Taking a deep breath, you hoist him in, his body listening to you a little more now that you’ve reassured him you aren’t leaving him. He sprawls over the backseats and lays still, the alcohol consuming him into some form of comatose now that he has relaxed slightly.

You slide into the driver's seat, the engine humming to life beneath you. Glancing at Jongseong's slumbering form in the rearview mirror, you steel yourself for the journey ahead.

_____

Arriving at his house makes you more nervous than before. This wasn’t just his flat, it used to be your shared home, the place you lived for 2 and half years and made countless memories in.

You were the one to move out and find your own place, thinking it was best since your work was further away and you could find an apartment closer to it. But the truth is, you just couldn’t face being reminded of him in each room and in the pieces of furnishings.

It was selfish of you to leave him with the remnants of your relationship surrounding him, all you thought about was you and your needs, neglecting to think about how he might feel being surrounded by nothing but memories.

Lugging him into the flat, his legs are working in tandem with you now unlike before but he still isn’t proving to be the easiest person to carry. The last time you had to hold his weight like this was when he got drunk at your prom after taking sneaky shots in the hotel garden with his friends. It was funny but you blame him for some of your back pain that you’ve endured in your early twenties.

As you push open the door and step into the living room, a wave of nostalgia washes over you like a tsunami. Though only seven months have passed, it feels like a lifetime since you last stood in this space with him by your side. Everything remains unchanged, frozen in time since the day you left. The same couch sits in its familiar spot, adorned with throw pillows and blankets you bought for last season. Photographs of you both, captured during Christmases and holidays, adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of happier times. Even the vase that his mum had gotten you both for your housewarming gift, one that you loved and he hated, remains in its pride of place on the mantlepiece.

You push your thoughts down and make your way to your once-shared bedroom, walking through the memories and heaving your ex-boyfriend along slowly. His nose nudges into your hair, sweeping in your scent as he loses himself in the feeling of you.

As you reach the familiar threshold, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet longing. This room, once a sanctuary where you both shared your laughter and bodies, now serves as a poignant reminder of the love you've lost.

Gently, you ease Jongseong onto the bed, sitting him up, “I’m going to get you some clean boxers okay?” you ask him but he’s not here, not really, so you make your way to the drawers on the other side of the room.

Walking over, you spot a familiar t-shirt lying crumpled on your old side of the bed. You make a b-line to investigate it and as you pick up the crumpled t-shirt, a flood of memories washes over you, transporting you back to simpler times. Your fingers trace the familiar fabric, still faintly carrying the scent of you, now mingled with his cologne. You piece it all together pretty quickly, the way it still smells faintly of you but is not starting to be overpowered by his cologne. He hugs it at night to find peace of mind.

“Oh, Jjongie,” you sigh, heart reaching out to him. You’re no better, you have one of his hoodies that you snuck into your luggage as you packed and wear it when you’re at home. Just like your t-shirt, his hoodie is starting to lose its scent from the amount of times you’ve hugged yourself to sleep in it.

Jongseong has always been reserved, his emotions carefully guarded behind a facade of reason and rationale. To see him like this, vulnerable and raw, strikes a chord deep within you. If he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, perhaps it would be easier to understand. But the complexity of his emotions only serves to deepen the ache in your chest.

You place the t-shirt back on the pillow before opening the dresser drawer and retrieve a clean pair of boxers, his favourite ones with the faded Hellow Kitty print that you've always teased him about.

Gently, you begin to undress him while he rambles incoherent nonsense that you can’t understand between the mix of tears and drunk slurring. The top half is easy but the bottom half proves difficult as he only looks up at you, whispering pleas as he stares at you, keeping his bum firmly sat on the edge of the bed.

As you finally manage to remove Jongseong's jeans and boxers, leaving him naked, a new layer of vulnerability settles over the room. He sits before you bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, his silhouette outlined in the darkness.

His beauty, illuminated by the faint light, is both captivating and heartbreaking. The familiarity of his form, once etched in your memory, now lays before you in the flesh, a tangible reminder of the love you still harbour for him. How could you not still love him? He was perfect in every way possible.

"Stay with me," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea as his hands begin to roam your sides, tracing the contours of your body beneath your shirt. Each touch ignites a flurry of sensations within you, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He pulls you onto his lap, your sweatpants becoming the barrier between his cock and your pussy. Yet, none of you are really thinking about that right now, all you both want is to hold one another again.

“Jongseong, we broke up, and for good reason,” you rationalise with not only him but yourself as you find yourself sinking into his touch as his hands roam your back.

Nuzzling his nose against yours, he begins to cry softly again, his face rubbing itself against yours as his tears transfer from his cheeks to yours, “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he mumbles as his lips ghost over yours.

He doesn’t just mean tonight, he means forever. A tear from your eye cascades down your face, getting lost in the mixture of his, your empathy for him overwhelming you because you feel the same way he does. You need him in every way, you need to be close to him, to feel his heart beating in synch with yours once again.

But you know better than this. You’re both just prolonging heartache if you succumb to being with him again. You can’t give each other what you need.

“Baby, don’t do this,” you beg him, knowing that he has the power to pull you back into his life with the click of his fingers, that resolve you have worked so hard to build up now hangs in the balance, “Let me get you changed and then into bed, yeah?”

Reasoning with him is a lost cause, his arms now hugging you tightly like before as he ignores your suggestion. The last thing he wants is to put on those boxers because he knows when he does that you’ll leave.

"Please, Princess," his voice is raw with emotion, his desperation palpable in the air between you. And as you look into his eyes, you see the depth of his longing mirrored in your own.

His plea hangs in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on your already burdened heart. You feel torn between the overwhelming desire to give in to his request and the harsh reality of the situation.

With a deep breath, you summon the strength to gently extricate yourself from his embrace, feeling the weight of his disappointment lingering in the air. His hurt expression tugs at your heartstrings, but you shake your head firmly, "Just tonight, okay?" you assure him, your voice soft but resolute.

Curse you and your heart that caves into his pleas so easily.

You disregard getting him dressed and instead, remove your sweatpants and replace them with those very boxers you planned to adorn him with and swap out your t-shirt for the one on your old pillow. Jongseong clumsily climbs into his covers, getting comfortable and finding some happiness in the fact that you’ll be in his arms at least for a little while.

Once you climb into your side of the bed, he instinctively hugs you from behind, the comfort of your body pressed against his. He spoons you, tucking his face in your neck as he exhales in contentment. This is all he has been craving since that night you left and he couldn’t be happier. All the turmoil and anguish from earlier slowly depletes as he finds himself sinking into a much-needed sleep.

You can’t deny you feel the same, his arms wrapped around you feel like home, like you’ve been on a seven-month business trip and you’re now finally back where you belong. You sink into him further, relishing his skin against yours.

“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you whisper, bringing his hand up to kiss it before intertwining your fingers with his.

_____

Waking up, Jongseong feels like his whole body has crashed into a brick wall. His bones ache and his head feels tight, but there is a weight that feels so familiar yet foreign, his legs tangled around something and his arms holding it close. This feels different from the t-shirt of yours he clings to every night, this has more substance.

Please don’t be some random girl he thinks to himself, scared to open his eyes.

Even if he did want to open them he couldn’t because they are being held together so tight by something. Was he crying last night? Actually, what even happened last night?

He replays the fragments of the evening in his mind, a few scattered images begin to surface - Jake and Sunghoon dragging him to Haven, the raucous atmosphere of the bar, and the ill-advised decision to ride the mechanical bull. And then nothing.

As he tries to recounter the night, you see him attempt to pry his eyes open and decide to help him out. Swiping your thumb over his eyes, you wipe away the mix of his dried-in tears and sleep. He looks so confused when you touch him and his body tenses.

Either he is having a severe case of hallucinations to the point where he is starting to physically feel you or the girl that he took home last night resembles your touch. God, how he hoped it was the first one.

Opening his eyes with your help, he blinks away the blur and sets his eyes on your face, his expression reading one of relief that quickly turns into astonishment.

“Y/N? Baby?” he whispers, his hands instinctively reaching for your cheek, “Please be real.” The same words he pleaded out last night leave his lips again. Jongseong has spent so many nights dreaming of you, wishing in an alternative universe that he can hold you again, so much so that this doesn’t feel real.

You don’t know what to say but obviously, you have to say something. It was one thing to confront drunk Jongseong who didn’t have a wit about him but now it feels like there’s a boulder on your chest as you try to conjure up the courage to speak to a sober, semi-alert Jongseong.

All you can do is nod, no words escaping your dried lips. You look down to see you and his limbs mangled together just like they used to be, the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against yours almost feels like heaven.

He takes in the sight of you, the lines of disbelief on his features soften, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Slowly, almost tentatively, he reaches out to you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if to confirm your presence.

The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, he’s caressing your cheek so tenderly it reminds you of the time you had the shift from hell and Jongseong held you the whole night, whispering sweet words into your ear and stroking your tears away, just like this.

Except there are no tears this time, you’re all cried out - months of mourning the loss of your relationship will do that to you.

As Jongseong's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passes through them, followed by a wave of embarrassment. His voice is soft as he speaks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words, "What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone laden with confusion.

"You got pretty drunk last night," understatement "And Jake asked me to come pick you up."

You can feel the tension in the air as Jongseong processes your words, his expression a mixture of shame and regret, "Sorry, I don't usually drink that much," he murmurs, his voice tinged with remorse.

The explanation stings, not because Jongseong has been drinking more, but because of the distance it creates between you. It's as if he's explaining himself to a stranger, rather than to the person who once knew him better than anyone else. The past six years you’ve known how he knows his limit and that he doesn’t tend to breach it, not subconsciously.

All you do is nod, accepting his explanation as you slowly start to detangle yourself from him, “I better get going.”

“Y/N, please let's talk,” he pleads as his voice wavers, his grip tightening around your waist, and his desperation palpable as he pleads for your attention. But you've made up your mind, and no amount of persuasion can sway you from the path you've chosen.

"Jongseong, please, let's not do this," you implore, your voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and resolve, "We're only going to hurt ourselves again."

You both know the reasons behind your breakup are deeply rooted, immutable truths that cannot be changed. It's not a matter of cheating or petty disagreements—this is about fundamental differences in desires and aspirations for the future.

But Jongseong refuses to accept defeat, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he breathes his love out, "Princess, we can work it out, I know we can," he insists, his words heavy with sincerity.

You steel yourself against the onslaught of his love, knowing that to give in would only prolong the inevitable pain, "We want different things, Jjongie," you remind him gently, your voice tinged with regret.

“I can do without them. It’s you I can’t live without…I can’t breathe without you here by my side.” His words are sincere and you know it, but you can’t accept it. When you both discussed your future, he looked so excited at the prospect of kids that your heart broke instantly. You knew right away that you couldn’t give him what he wanted most.

Closing your eyes and sucking in the bottom of your cheeks, you steady yourself to have this conversation yet again, “You can’t give up the idea of having kids. Having the life you want is much more important than me. You can find someone who can give you that.”

It hurts to say but you need to rip the bandaid off quickly.

“You think I want that life with anyone but you?” His voice raises lightly, hinting at the anger rising into his chest. He needs you to listen to him, to understand him, “Y/N, if it’s not with you then I don’t want that life.”

Shaking your head determinedly, you sit up, “But I can’t give you that life, it’s not what I want.” You feel like you’re reliving the argument that ended it all those months ago.

“That’s okay.”

“No, It’s not,” It’s your turn to get angry, your eyebrows lacing together as you try to read him. How can he say all of this so easily? Like he wasn’t trying to promise you that he would change his entire life plan just to be with you. Is it romantic? Sure, but it’s also fucking stupid. No one should change just to keep someone they love because if they were meant to be, then their values would align…right?

"It's not that simple, Jongseong," you argue through the silence, your voice tinged with frustration, "You can't just sweep aside your dreams for the sake of our relationship. What about what you want? What about your own happiness?"

Jongseong sits up, the covers hiding his naked lower half; he hadn’t realised he was naked and it only adds a new layer to his vulnerability. He is laying himself bare to you.

But Jongseong's gaze remains unwavering, his determination evident in the set of his jaw, "Since we broke up, I've realised that you are the life I want," he declares, his words carrying the weight of his conviction, "Whatever that looks like for you, I want it."

You feel his words like a pickaxe, slowly breaking away at the wall you’ve spent months building around your heart and reason. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions sweeps over you. On one hand, his declaration of love sparks a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of your fractured relationship. Yet, on the other hand, doubt claws at your insides, gnawing away at any semblance of certainty, the pure love that you have for him only wishes to make sure he’s happy and gets everything he wants in life.

"Jongseong, I..." you start, your voice wavering as you grapple with the turmoil inside. How do you express the depth of your feelings?

Grabbing your face with his large hands, he kisses you, his soft lips now coating yours. You’ve missed him so much that you become overwhelmed by his actions, a soft tear leaking from your ducts.

So much for being all cried out, you think to yourself.

"It's you, Y/N, I only need you," Jongseong whispers against your lips, his urgency evident as he seeks solace in the warmth of your embrace, stealing kisses with a hunger born from longing.

In spite of yourself, you find your lips responding to his touch, drawn in by the familiar sensation of his mouth against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, fingers grazing lightly over the muscles of his back as you hold him close; your brain is telling you to push him away but your heart is pulling him tighter to you.

"It's not fair to you, Jjongie," you murmur, the words weighted with a sense of guilt and remorse.

"I'd rather be with you happily than with kids and someone else miserably," Jongseong confesses, his words carrying the weight of his heart's deepest desires.

Jongseong wishes you could see it from his point of view; of course, he has wanted kids and a comfortable life for so long but the idea of achieving that when you are not his wife seems fucking ridiculous. There is no one in this world he wants to be with other than you and if that means he has to be an uncle rather than a dad, so be it.

You are all he has ever wanted. To grow old with you, to experience each of your accomplishments together and have you close to him. He wants to protect you and look after you the way he knows he should and that is his new life goal. This isn’t a decision he has made lightly but a decision he wanted to make.

His hands glide down your sides, trailing over your thighs as his kisses continue, each touch a manifestation of the craving that has consumed him. His need for you is overwhelming, every fibre of his being yearning for you in every possible way. Another moment without you feels unbearable, as if he might die.

You surrender to his touch, sinking back onto the bed as he hovers above you, his grip on your thighs firm yet tender. The intensity of his desire leaves marks, but in this moment, you welcome anything he offers.

It's astonishing how the feel of his lips on yours dismantles your resolve, scattering your apprehensions like leaves in the wind.

Slowly, he removes from you the t-shirt that has absorbed his tears on countless nights and the boxers you borrowed from him, leaving you exposed beneath him. As he looks upon your naked figure, his eyes drink in every curve and contour, offering silent gratitude to the heavens for letting him have you like this. You are everything he wants and more.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers into your mouth as he presses his body hard against yours, his member rubbing itself against your folds.

The feeling of him rubbing against you is enough to elicit a moan. No amount of toys was enough to satisfy you, not the way Jongseong could. Over the years you learned about one another’s bodies so intimately that no one could ever know you the way he does, not even yourself.

You couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with someone else, even if you and Jongseong had broken up, your heart couldn’t do it. You never even considered a one night stand because deep down you knew that your body belonged to Jongseong and no one else.

He moves his hips, slowly rubbing himself against you, the bell of his cock grazing your clit teasingly. It feels like a dream for him to touch you this way again, and the fact that you were coating his cock with your wetness was enough to tell him that you need this too.

Kissing you desperately, his tongue darts into your mouth and swirls with yours as he seeks to taste you, his buds dancing along with yours. He moans into your mouth and acts as an echo of his love for you.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers as his hips continue to move slowly, teasing your hole with his tip each time he draws back. It’s becoming increasingly obvious how much it’s starting to irritate you, your need to have him inside you is evident in your whines of frustration.

"I missed you too, baby. More than anything," you confess, your hand finding his cock as you press against him, seeking to create greater friction between you. With each movement, the pressure builds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

With each synchronised movement, the tension between you mounts, the desire for one another lingering in the warm air. His hips continue their slow, teasing rhythm, each brush against your core sending sparks of want up your heat and into your chest.

Feeling the urgency building within you, you guide his cock with precision, pressing it against your eager entrance. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the head of his length dip into you only slightly, the anticipation of being filled with him heightening your senses.

"Please," you whisper, your voice laden with need and longing, a plea for him to take you.

With a teasing grin, Jongseong relents to your plea, but not in the way you expected. Instead of thrusting into you the way you want him to, he trails his fingertips along the curves of your body, igniting a trail of fire in his wake. His touch is light and tantalising, tracing patterns across your skin as he savours every moment. He wants to take his time with you, no matter how much his dick longs to be surrounded by your walls.

You like to be teased even for a little bit, the payoff at the end always hits the right spot.

You squirm beneath his touch, aching for more, but he continues with deliberate slowness. His fingers dance over your heated flesh, exploring every inch of your body with an intimacy that leaves you breathless. Each caress sends shivers down your spine, building the anticipation to unbearable heights. God, you missed his hands all over you.

As his right hand dips lower, he begins tracing circles around your sensitive clit and you can't help but arch your back in pleasure, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is electrifying, sending waves coursing through your body as he expertly teases you.

Feeling your body tremble with anticipation, his touch becomes more urgent as he presses his fingers against your throbbing clit h and with practised skill, he begins to move faster, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you writhing beneath him.

“You look so fucking perfect, all desperate and whiney like this, Princess,” he says as he leans down to kiss you, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tries to fill each of his senses with you. It wasn’t just enough to feel you, he wanted to taste you, to inhale your scent, to hear you cry out for him, to see you unravel beneath him.

Your breath catches in your throat as the intensity of his touch sends you spiralling towards the edge of bliss. Each stroke of his fingers drives you closer to the brink, your body humming with the need to let go.

But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, Jongseong suddenly slows his movements, drawing out the pleasure with agonising slowness. It's a torturous tease, the brief moments of intensity followed by long, drawn-out strokes that leave you gasping for more.

“Please, please, please, Jjongie,” you whimper in frustration, your body aching for release as Jongseong continues to play you like a symphony, alternating between fast and slow, building the tension to unbearable levels. Just when you think you can't take it anymore, he finally gives in, his fingers dipping into your heat and thrusting into you at a rough pace, your pussy soaking his digits as he coaxes out your orgasm.

“You’re clamping down on my fingers so hard, Baby, you gonna cum?” he asks arrogantly, knowing that with each curl of his finger, he is watching your body lose control and surrender to him.

Nodding quickly, you pull him down for a long, searing kiss as his thumb joins the party and flicks your clit rapidly, “Oh my god,” you moan out into his mouth through bated breaths, “I’m gonna cum, Jongseong, please can I cum?”

“You never have to ask baby,” he moves his mouth to your ear and lightly nibbles your lobe, “Cum for me, Princess,” he gently commands.

Jongseong continues to work his magic, his fingers moving with expert precision as he guides you through the throes of ecstasy. Your vision blurs and every nerve in your body hums with pleasure as you reach the pinnacle of bliss.

With a final, desperate cry, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You arch your back and cry out his name as pleasure consumes you, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

His fingers remain still inside you, but his thumb maintains its relentless pace, each swipe sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hips instinctively twitch in response, your nub throbbing with sensitivity and yearning for a respite. Yet, Jongseong shows no signs of letting up, his determined flicking only intensifying.

"You like that, baby?" Jongseong's voice is hoarse with desire as he intently watches your reactions. His eyes are dark with need as he continues to work you with wild desire.

Your senses are overwhelmed by sensations pouring through you, so you can only respond with a gasping nod. Every single nerve in your body is buzzing with ecstasy, and all you can think of is the delicious agony of his thumb against your delicate clit.

"Tell me what you want, Princess," he asks, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear, "Do you want more?"

You can only make a frantic plea, your words barely comprehensible in the middle of intense pleasure. "Yes, please, Jongseong... More..."

Jongseong's lips curl into a wicked grin as he hears your plea, his confidence growing with each breathless gasp that escapes your lips. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he moves his fingers again, pressing them against your contracting walls, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

"What do you want, Y/N?" he whispers, his voice dripping with anticipation, "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

Your mind is a haze of desire, but amidst the fog, one thought stands out clear and demanding. You need him inside you, filling you completely with his presence. With trembling hands, you reach for him, your fingers curling around his cock, guiding him to where you need him most, pushing his hand out of the way.

"I want you," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I want all of you, Jongseong." When you utter the words, there’s a deeper meaning to them, a meaning that Jongseong is clinging to.

The way your fingers wrap around his rock-hard member elicits a hiss from him, your touch mixed with your words only fuels him to give you everything you need.

Jongseong lets out a guttural groan, entirely surrendering to your touch and words. His eyes darken with want as he watches you take control, and his breath quickens with anticipation as you guide him inside you. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he looks into your eyes with a mixture of desire and adoration, "God, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, “You feel so fucking incredible. I’ve missed how you just suck me in like this.”

You look down and watch as his entire length gets lost in your heat, his cock’s head hitting deep within you. You’ve missed how he fills you up so much but you hadn’t realised just how badly until right now as he shallowly thrusts into you.

You respond with a low moan of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer, urging him to go deeper. "Yes, Jongseong," you whisper, your voice laced with longing, "just like that. I need this so much, I need you."

With each thrust, he grunts in response, his movements becoming more desperate as he seeks to satisfy your every desire, "I'm yours, Y/N," he declares, his voice filled with raw emotion, "completely and utterly yours."

As he lifts your legs and closes them, gently draping them over his left shoulder, your warmth envelops his shaft, drawing him in closer. Jongseong relishes the sensation of your tightness, revelling in the snug embrace of your canal around him. And you too find delight in the pressure of his girth, relishing the way he stretches you further with every powerful thrust.

Each movement of his hips is deliberate, each one designed to bring you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. As his hands stroke your legs tenderly, contrasting with the intensity of his thrusts, you find yourself lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His jerks grow more intense, the pace quickening as he drives deeper into you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, "You feel so good," he groans, his voice filled with unrestrained passion, "so fucking perfect for me, Princess."

In response, you curve your back and meet his thrusts with equal conviction, the heat between you building to an almost euphoric level. "Jongseong," you exclaim, your voice a symphony of fulfilment, "don't stop, please don't stop."

Jongseong intensifies his efforts with a wild growl, each movement driven by a burning need to push you to the edge of satisfaction and beyond. At this moment, there is only you and him, burned by the fires of passion.

With a swift motion, your lover bends you in half, positioning your legs by your head as he quickens his already rapid pace. Lost in a whirlwind of desire, your eyes roll back and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, your chest heaving with each forceful thrust of his cock. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his shoulder blades as you cling to him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Feeling the sting of your nails, he grits his teeth and strains his neck, the veins in his temples pulsating as he fights the overwhelming urge to release inside you right then and there.

“Fuck, claw my back, Baby,” he growls, his voice thick with desire, “make me yours again.” With determination, he continues to pound into you, each movement bringing you closer to your shared orgasm.

After hearing Jongseong’s go-ahead, you dig into his back, dragging your nails across his skin, leaving fiery red lines in their wake, just like he wants. It burns him in the most delectable way, making his cock throb inside of you.

Your breaths combine in the air, creating an ensemble of desire as you both reach the edge. The tension between you grows with each thrust, a crescendo of want reaching its peak.

As he slams into you furiously, his voice fills the room with urgency, "You gonna cum again, Princess? You want it?" His words are a mixture of want and domination, starting a fire inside you that threatens to consume everything in its path.

With a firm nod, you meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with want. "Yes, Jongseong, please," you beg, your voice a frantic appeal for release once again.

In response, he increases his efforts, his motions growing more frenzied as he propels you both to your orgasms. And then, with a final, strong thrust, you shatter, your body convulsing from the ferocity of your release. Jongseong follows closely behind, his own climax mirroring yours as he finds release within you, “Fuck!”

His body stills as he shoots his seed into you, the tremble of both your bodies vibrates the bed beneath you. Finding it hard to keep himself up, he falls onto you, moving his cock into you further, only drawing out a final moan from your lips.

After a couple of minutes, Jongseong rolls over, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. God, he missed the way you feel under him, he could go another ten rounds if you asked.

But that would mean you would stay, and is that even something you want? He doesn’t want to ask, your answer being the deciding factor of whether he goes on his life with misery or happiness.

He knows he can’t force you into this relationship but he hopes he has done enough to convince you that you are all he wants.

“Please be with me again, Y/N. I can’t live without you,” he whispers into the air, not daring to look at you.

You on the other hand only want to look at him, to see if you can really try this again, “Even if it means no kids? No playdates with other parents? No family trips to Jeju?”

“Even without all that.” He does look sincere, his eyes now burning into yours with a new lease of determination.

The truth is, you’ve missed him so much that it hurts. Behind the strong facade is just a girl who misses her lover. Being without him is like being in a fire with no escape, constantly fighting your way out of a blaze while your lungs collapse. He’s the clear path to fresh air you desperately need, there is no denying it. And clearly, he thinks the same about you.

Seeing him last night so fragile and broken engulfed you in the flames, burning you alive because you know that you feel every ounce of hurt that he is. It was a mirror to how you were feeling and you don’t think you knew how badly you needed him until that moment. You were trying to be so strong about it all, giving yourself only a short amount of time to grieve that as you looked at Jongseong last night, you know he has done the same.

You need one another to extinguish the fire.

“Jongseong, truly think about this, this isn’t me saying no to letting you go on a lads holiday, I’m denying you the opportunity to be a father,” you plead with him one last time, giving him an out to all of this as you lay it all on the table.

“Princess, I have had seven months to think about it. I am not compromising or altering my needs for you, this is a decision that I have made on my own. If I truly wanted the life I thought I did, I wouldn’t be begging you to be with me right now. I know this isn’t an easy choice but I have never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Jongseong kisses all over your face, each one a receipt of his sincerity.

His words strike straight into your heart. He’s serious. A part of you wants to still feel guilty like you’re forcing him into this but on the other hand, he’s right. You’ve given him a multitude of opportunities to leave and find a girl who will cater to him, but he hasn’t.

He doesn’t need to because all he needs is you and your love, to Jongseong, that is all he needs in his life.

“Okay, but if you ever change your min-”

He interjects with a kiss, one filled with so much happiness and love that it’s almost intoxicating; either that or all the booze in his system has transferred its way into your bloodstream.

You giggle as he rolls over on top of you again, peppering loud and wet kisses all over your face and neck akin to a dog licking you from utter joy. Your hands try to fight him off playfully, your laugh growing louder as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Oh, wait!” Your lover's sudden pause catches your attention, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he swiftly rolls off the bed and rushes over to the messy pile on the chair by his dresser.

Curious, you crane your neck to see what he's up to, watching as he retrieves something from the floor.

“What is it?” you inquire, intrigued by his enthusiasm.

Turning back to you, Jongseong holds up the familiar torn sheet of paper that you recognise instantly, his smile lighting up his face. He grabs a pen from the desk and returns to your side, handing you both items.

“Tick it off,” he urges, pointing to the bottom of the page where a new addition was made yesterday morning. Despite his internal conflict about the list, he couldn't bring himself to tear it up. If he never saw you again, this would be a precious memory to hold onto.

So he added a new aspiration at the bottom.

Taking the pen from his hand, you read it slowly, “Make Y/N mine again..”

You gaze up at him in awe, understanding the significance of this gesture and how much the list means to him, “You wished for this?” you ask, to which he simply nods at your question, “Then you need to tick it off.” You push the pen and paper back to him but he stops you.

“No, you made the wish come true, so you need to tick it off,” he replies, the corners of his lips upturning slightly.

So with the pen, you draw a line over the words, scoring it off once and for all as you beam proudly, happy that both of your souls are now joined together again. You pull him in for a long, deep kiss, the bucket list discarded as you lose yourselves in the moment once again.

#enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen angst #jay smut #park jongseong smut #aj writes #jay x reader #park jongseong x reader

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irndad · 2 months

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won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man.

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one.

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk.

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership.

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you.

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself.

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning.

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks.

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection.

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone.

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation.

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically.

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this.

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting.

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride.

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth.

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips.

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic.

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?)

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cherienymphe · 2 months

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There Will Be Blood

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader x Lady Margot Fenring

Summary: Knowing that you are too afraid to ever find yourself alone with the Harkonnen heir, Lady Margot secures his heart's desire for his celebration day.

warnings: Dub-Con (use of the voice), blood, knifeplay, choking, threesome, mentions of cannibalism, non canon ages, spoiler free

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies

⭑

“She looks almost good enough to eat,” were the words that reached your ears in that low timbre, head tilted as he gazed at you. “I don’t know whether to feed her to my darlings…”

The feeling of his finger underneath your chin was almost nonexistent as he tilted your head up. You were too anxious to look away—his reputation preceding him—and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. You felt paralyzed, held captive by that dark blue gaze you swore was actually black as night in certain lighting.

“…or make her one of them.”

You swallowed at that, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the subtle movement.

He was referring to his ‘pets’ as you knew he sometimes called them, the three strikingly beautiful Harkonnen women with an appetite for human flesh. The thought of being killed and fed to the women in question made your heart skip a beat…but the thought of being added to his harem made you shudder.

…and you couldn’t tell if the feeling was good or bad.

Hands slid over your shoulders from behind, making you shiver again, and your lashes fluttered at the feeling of soft lips grazing your throat. You faintly tried to remember how and why you ended up here, and you could only recall staring into enticing blue eyes. Her familiar face was all that stood out in your memory, features soft and lips curved into an even softer smile. With all of that being said though, you couldn’t remember your thought process behind following her perfect figure down the hall.

Lady Margot Fenring—golden-haired and willowy with that Bene Gesserit serene repose about her that you found subtly disturbing.

Usually.

In this moment, her calm disposition and quiet authority made your heart race. She was a comforting contrast to the man before you, his intense gaze and sharp features serving to make your imagination run wild with what he was capable of. He was so different from his brother, vastly so from his uncle, but he still possessed similarities with the two that made you nervous all the same.

Especially with his hand so close to your throat.

“This one isn’t for consumption.”

Her lips brushed your skin as her soft and even tone filled your ears.

“Not in the literal sense, at least…” mirth colored her voice at this remark. “I saw you watching her.”

Those words made your heart sink, and you were sure that the brief stab of fear you felt passed through your eyes.

Feyd-Rautha was psychotic. He was the kind of man that would kill someone solely because he felt like it. He had an animalistic stare that made alarm bells go off in your head, telling you to never take your eyes off of him—to always keep him in your line of sight. He was the kind of man you couldn’t let your guard down around.

He was the kind of man you didn’t want watching you.

As if he could read your worrisome thoughts, a glint passed through the man’s eyes, and he leaned in closer. Not one to conceal his feelings in any situation, his expression twisted into one of amusement, a sight that made your hair stand on end. Those soft hands slid over your shoulders and down your arms, gently caressing them.

Don’t be afraid.

A voice that didn’t sound like your own filled your mind, its influence settling into your bones and deep into the crevices of your subconscious. You felt yourself relax, felt the tension leaving you, and her soft hum had you leaning back into her chest. You didn’t want to be afraid, and you felt confident in repeating those words to yourself, confirming that there was nothing to be afraid of.

“You want her,” her fingers grazed your jaw, briefly touching his own. “…but she fears you far too much to ever find yourself alone with her.”

“I like them afraid.”

Those words made you blink, your lips parting at the sincerity in them. By the way he held your gaze, you could tell he wanted you to know he meant it, but that voice in your mind assured you that you had nothing to be afraid of. Not when he leaned in closer, and not when his hand traveled from your chin and down to circle your neck.

“You get too excited,” the blonde woman steadily told him, a hint of authority in her voice. “You would kill her.”

Her fingers on your jaw forced you to turn your head, making you look at her, and when she kissed you, you welcomed it. It was a comforting kiss, one that relaxed you further, and you couldn’t help but to close your eyes and bask in the feel of her lips touching yours. Your skin grew warm, and you touched her arm.

“I’m here to keep you in line.”

She spoke the words into your mouth, but she wasn’t talking to you.

Feyd-Rautha’s lack of protest or anger at her words gave you the impression that you were being included in something that already existed. He let her kiss you, the heat of his gaze burning a hole into the side of your face as she drew you in closer. The feeling in your chest was both light and heavy, and you felt as if you couldn’t get close enough to her.

Lady Margot had an aura about her that you’d always been ensnared by—the way she talked, the way she swayed when she walked, and especially the way those attentive eyes watched everyone and everything so closely. She smelled fresh and crisp, an airy feminine aroma filling your nose as her hand rested on the side of your throat, Feyd-Rautha’s arm long falling back at his side.

When she pulled away, only the tip of her nose lightly touched yours.

“He wants you to touch him.”

Her voice reverberated in your mind, influencing your thoughts and movements, and you found yourself turning to look at the man in question. Your advance was slow, hesitant in reaching out to place your hands on the black fabric of his shirt. He visibly shuddered at the contact, and despite the fact that you were clothed, you felt vulnerable and naked underneath his intense gaze.

“This one is fragile, Feyd-Rautha,” amusement danced around her words. “You have to play gentle if you want to keep her.”

Almost as if he wanted to defy her, his hand quickly wrapped itself around your throat, forcing you closer. Your heart stuttered at the action, and despite that brief bout of adrenaline—your body’s way of telling you that you were in danger—that influential voice in your mind told you that you were safe. Your breathing was shallow as you looked at him with wide eyes.

His own gaze traveled over your form, his perusal slow and his hand tightening. You reached up, grabbing his arm, and the noise of protest he made was a cross between a grunt and a hum. His nose touched yours, and when he spoke again, it sounded like there was gravel in his throat.

“Do you fear me?”

The thought settled in your mind that he wanted you to say yes, and so you did, barely whispering it.

That pleased him, and he presented you with a terrifying smile. His fingers were pressing into the skin of your neck, and his blue gaze studied yours, eyes flickering between your own. There was a carnal excitement there that told you he lusted for more than just your body, and when you winced at the grip he had on your throat, it only grew.

“Good,” he praised in a guttural tone.

Kissing Feyd-Rautha was nothing like kissing Lady Margot.

It wasn’t meant to be a gentle and comforting experience, but instead one that forced you to face every one of your discomforts head on. His teeth pressing into your lips, his hand cutting off your airway, the lack of warning as he pushed you back. Every action was designed to make you squirm, and despite that feeling, heat still settled in the pit of your stomach as his weight pressed down on you.

Lady Margot’s gentle touch made your leg tingle. She was pulling on it, making room for him while her other hand grabbed your arm, and you shuddered at the feel of her lips kissing a path to your wrist. The contrast in their efforts made your head spin, and Feyd-Rautha’s constricting grip on your throat only disappeared when his lips replaced his hand instead.

Pain blossomed beneath where his teeth were, and you gasped, chest arching up into his involuntarily. His hands on your frame were tense, like he wanted to twist and tear you apart, but something disallowed him from doing so. When he kissed you again, the pain in your neck lingered, flaring from spot to spot, and you didn’t doubt that bruises would be there.

When you were forced to sit up, the soft and thin fabric of your dress was pulled at by two sets of hands. A feminine touch loosened the back, her lips following behind where his once were, soothing the irritated skin there. He, on the other hand, was yanking your sleeves down, and the sound of a slight tear or two in the fabric could be heard.

The cold air hit you for half a second before a warm mouth covered a sensitive bud before it even had time to harden. The sharp feeling of his teeth pressing into the skin of your breast made you shy away, but with Lady Margot at your back, you had nowhere to go. Her lips along your neck and shoulder was a welcomed feeling, a soothing contrast against the pain the Harkonnen man was inflicting. It almost faded to the background completely when her hand found its way between your thighs.

Your lips parted, and your lashes fluttered, and you couldn’t help but to lift your hips. Her fingers were soft against your skin, the appendages sliding between your folds and stroking you. One of your hands reached down to rest on hers, riding along with her ministrations while the other reached up to grip the arm of the man intent on breaking skin.

The feel of Lady Margot’s fingers pushing into you and curving against your walls made you circle your hips. The pain and pleasure were starting to blend together so closely that you couldn’t tell what you liked and didn’t like. His teeth scraping down your torso had your breath hitching, and the Bene Gesserit woman behind you hummed when you clenched around her fingers. It sounded like a noise of approval, and when she spoke, her tone and words confirmed that suspicion.

“She likes that,” she mused, her free hand coming up to run over your chest. “She’s starting to like the pain.”

She was right.

Almost as if that triggered something in him, the blue-eyed man relinquished control completely, fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as he pulled you forward. The action caused you to collapse, your head resting in Lady Margot’s lap as he finished removing your dress, the fabric falling around you in tatters. There was only a brief bout of alarm when he brandished a small blade from his waist.

There was that voice again, settling and taking up residence in your mind, telling you not to be afraid.

Pain flared along your skin in a singular path as the tip of the blade just barely grazed your flesh. It was so sharp that a thin line of blood followed the weapon’s descent, but it was gone as quickly as it came as his tongue slipped past his lips, ingesting your essence and soothing that sting. Your eyes closed, and you welcomed her kiss as she leaned over.

Feyd-Rautha’s own lips kissed you too…just before he sank his teeth into your skin.

You were given bites and nips between the kisses—along your hip and along your thighs and eventually in between your thighs. Your hips lifted, and your back arched, and you unintentionally bit Lady Margot’s lip. She smiled into the kiss, and you knew that she could taste the same blood you felt on your own tongue.

Feyd-Rautha was a mad man between your legs, tongue and teeth playing with you, the blade in his hand pressed against your thigh. The soles of your feet pressed into the bed, wanting to both run away from the pain and run towards it. Every shallow cut made into your skin was soothed by his tongue almost immediately, and you wanted to be embarrassed by how wet their combined ministrations made you.

When you found yourself on your knees, the blade at your throat and his naked chest at your back, you could see the way Lady Margot’s gaze held his. Her face was serene and thoughtful, almost as if she were having a silent conversation with the man at your back. The sharpness of his blade drew blood, and by the way his free hand smeared it along your skin, you knew that it turned him on.

“Gentle,” she reminded him, standing.

He wasn’t so gentle when he pushed his way into you, making you sharply inhale, but the blade remained light against your throat. You tilted your head back, both to relieve the sting and because the feel of his cock sliding into you had you submitting. His own deep grunts were right at your ear, and his bloody hand trailed down your frame to roughly knead into your skin.

The sound of skin slapping against skin made your ears twitch, and when he roughly pushed you down with a hand on your back, your fingers twisted into the sheets of the luxurious bed. Your head was bowed, forehead grazing the fabric as he fucked you, power and aggression driving every thrust. Lady Margot was right, you were afraid of the Baron’s sole heir, positive that you’d never find yourself alone with him before today.

Even if you doubted it, you would have never guessed this is how he’d choose to spend his birthday celebration. While fireworks were exploding and food and drink was being passed around, Feyd-Rautha was spending his time burying his cock in you. His fingers twisted painfully into your hair, making you yelp, and the sound only made him fuck you harder.

“Are you still afraid of me?” he roughly asked you, and when you started to nod, he pushed your face down into the bed.

Understanding what he wanted, you managed to force out a small affirmation.

“Yes,” you choked out.

The low laugh that he let out was menacing, and he was aggressive in pushing you onto your back. His hand was tight when it found a home on your throat, pinning you in place as he snapped his hips into yours. The force was enough to make you wince, and his brutal treatment didn’t go unnoticed, the blonde woman coming up behind the man.

Her gaze found yours, holding it as she whispered something into his ear that yours weren’t privy to. Her beautiful hands came around to slide along his smooth chest, her lips still brushing against his ear. Her lips traveled to his throat as he pulled away from you, pulling out and allowing the other woman to guide him to sit back.

He was uncharacteristically still as he watched her take his place.

“Come.”

Her simple command was impossible to disobey, and you sat up, doing as she said. With a hand on the back of your head, she guided you towards the man, an imposing urge to touch him descending over you. With your hands sliding along his lithe frame, her fingers applied pressure, and your head lowered.

Your lips stretched around him as you tasted his cock, tongue flat and cheeks hollowed. Feminine hands were gliding over your curves, fingers eventually sinking into you again. You closed your eyes at the feel, relaxing and heart calming at the 180 from Feyd-Rautha’s earlier brutality. At the thought of him, you peeled your eyes open, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

It amazed you, how he could be so dominant and forceful with you but so obedient and almost subdued with her. With one look into his eyes or the feel of her hands against his skin, he became a momentarily tamed wild animal. The feral glint in his eyes couldn’t be done away with, the desire to cause pain coloring his features whenever his gaze connected with yours.

As Lady Margot gently curved her fingers into you, you found yourself craving that feeling again.

Your neck and torso still faintly stung from where his blade had drawn blood, and you got the feeling that your skin was already starting to bruise from where he’d tightly held you. You recalled her earlier words, about her presence serving to keep him in line, and your mind lingered on the aches you felt from what he’d done while she was here. You wondered what would be in store for you should he ever get you completely alone.

You suspected that she was right.

He would get too excited…and probably kill you.

When his lips curved into a small smirk, you knew then that your thoughts were written on your face—along with your fear. His hand on your head made you nervous, and still you slid your mouth up and down the length of him. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, Lady Margot’s soft ministrations stroking that fire deep within your stomach. It made you moan around him, and if possible, you swore Feyd-Rautha’s eyes darkened at both the sound and feel.

“She would make a well-behaved pet,” he haughtily said.

The way he stared into your eyes told you that was meant more so for you than her. They both shifted, leaning in and you heard them kiss above your head.

“I knew that you would enjoy her,” the blonde woman confidently said, her even tone unable to hide her satisfaction. “Provided you don’t break her.”

When she pulled away, she pulled away from you too, and with a hand on your chin, she lifted your head. She guided you to kiss him, her own lips resting against your cheek, her soft voice telling you not to be afraid. You wanted to listen, your own mind agreeing, and so you welcomed the pain when blood bloomed along your lips.

Feyd-Rautha enjoyed the taste, roughly grabbing your hands and pinning them behind you at the small of your back. He didn’t tell you to lie down, instead making you, and you winced at the feel of your hands trapped beneath your own body. His lips were stained red when he pulled away, and your mouth parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock started to stretch you out again.

You were completely powerless—at his mercy—and you cried out at the rough curve of his hips. He looked vicious above you, focused not on chasing his high but on seeing the register of pain on your face instead. That was what brought him pleasure, watching you wince and squirm beneath him and his intense thrusts. If his hand wasn’t on your throat then it was yanking your hair or digging into the soft flesh of your breast.

He seemed to like the sight of marking you up whether it be with his teeth or his hand…or that blade.

He held it against your throat while he fucked you, sometimes sliding the flat part down your chest, blue eyes transfixed by the metal pressing against your skin. Occasionally he’d turn it, the edge grazing you, making a cut just shallow enough and then he’d lean down to taste you. Spots of his own flesh was marred by your blood, and he obviously didn’t care as he smeared it over both of you with every movement.

With your hands free, you clutched onto the sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head. His hands were painfully tight on your waist, keeping your hips lifted for him as he thrust into you. Lady Margot—silently and appreciatively watching—slid her hands along the bed to grab your hands. Her fingers intertwined with your own, holding them down, and you welcomed the gentle kisses she placed on your wrists and then your cheek before finally your lips.

The man above you made a noise of disapproval, and after some time, she granted him what he wanted, his own rough lips replacing hers. You panted into the kiss, tasting your blood on his lips, and you felt almost delirious. It was a constant cycle of pain and pleasure that had you chasing him when he started to pull away. The laugh he gave at the sight told you his thoughts on the matter, but you didn’t care how much power you were giving him.

His gaze suddenly lifted, and his thrusts didn’t stop as he faced Lady Margot. You felt hypnotized as you watched them, eyes focused on the way Feyd-Rautha stuck out his tongue, elongating it in a way you didn’t think possible. The willowy woman had let you go, taking his own blade and dragging the edge of it down his tongue.

It was then that you realized the man inside of you enjoyed pain almost as much as he liked inflicting it.

You wondered if that was why he was so submissive towards her, why she could order him around and why she was so confident that she could keep him in line. You were unsurprised when they kissed, the brutal man kissing you after a while when they finally parted. You swore that his blood tasted completely different from your own.

A thin layer of sweat coated your skin, and you felt almost completely spent. You were sure that the celebration of his birth was still being had while he chose to celebrate between your legs. His strength and the knowledge of how easily he could snuff you out played a part in the way you clenched around his cock. You could feel that you were close—and so could he.

His hand completely obstructed your breathing, and you could only hold onto his wrist. With every thrust into your cunt, the heat in the pit of your stomach grew. Your heart was racing, and your eyes struggled to remain open, and your toes curled as he stretched you around him. A noise of appreciation reached your ears, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to snap your neck.

He could do it. The strength in his hand told you so and that he would probably barely exert himself doing so. You felt your neck strain underneath his fingers, and your nails drew blood over his skin. You knew he liked that because he kissed you again. Your shallow breaths hit his face, and just as you were on the verge of passing out, you came.

…and his hold loosened.

The rush of air into your lungs coinciding with the release of pressure inside of you made your world momentarily go dark. All you could feel was the snug fit of his cock—and the way your walls fluttered around it—and his teeth against your lip. You could faintly feel softer hands on your face, and a choked moan left your lips his hips continued to connect with yours.

His hand tightened again just as your vision started to return to you, and the smile you were met with was chilling. So turned on by watching you straddle death, the fearsome fighter came too but much more violently. He practically growled above you, the noise so animalistic and inhumane sounding. Your neck almost cracked beneath the force of his hand, and the overstimulation from the feel of his cock made you want to clench your thighs together.

You were struggling to breathe when he stilled, chest burning, and when he roughly let you go—pushing himself away from you—you gasped for air. You turned on your side, sweaty and bloody and feeling like you couldn’t breathe deep enough. A hand smoothed along the side of your face—a feminine hand—and when you looked up, the blue-eyed man was cleaning his blade with a crooked smile, terrifying teeth on display.

“I think I will keep this one.”

#feyd rautha #feyd-rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd-rautha #margot fenring #lady margot fenring #margot fenring x reader #dune fanfiction #dune imagine #feyd-rautha imagine #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #lea seydoux

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writers-potion · 2 months

Text

Writing Strong Opening Lines

This is the kind of information your first line should provide:

the name of the character (the speicifcity creates and illusion of reality from the get-go)

Notify that something bad is about to happen.

Provide a feeling of motion (it doesn’t neccessarily have to be the character moving)

Talk about a (small) disturbance to the character’s everyday life.

Types of Novel Openings

Action (in medias res)

Jump into the story with no delay - have something interesting happening.

“They threw me off the hay truck about noon."

2. Dialogue

Show conflict between the characters speaking.

“Isn’t it true you ahve a motive to lie?” / “Excuse me?”

3. Raw Emotion

Make readers sympathize with the MC, who is experiencing a strong, universal emotion (like sadness, anger, etc.).

“I do not look. I don’t ask where. I don’t because Annie’s mother died seven months ago. I stand motionless in the line, looking just like everyone else except for the hot tears that have begun to sting my eyes.”

4. Look-back Hook

Suggest that there is a not-to-be-missed story that’s about to be told

“The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years — if it ever did end — beganm, so far as I can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newsppaer gloating down a gutter swollen with rain”

5. Attitude

When using first-person narration, show some attitude and unique voice.

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”

6. Prologues - entice the reader to move to chapter 1

Action Prologue: Start off with some big scene, often involving death

Framing a story - give the reader the view of a character about to look back and tell the story.

The teaser - present a scene at the beginning that will happen later on in the book

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee! ☕

Reference: <Write Great Fiction: Plot and Structure (techniques and exercises for craftin a plot that grips readers from start to finish)> by James Scott Bell

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luveline · 7 months

Note

Badass!reader in the verge of crying but still pretending like she isn't? Spencer doesn't even try anything and he just lets her be until eventually she cries? Just some hurt/comfort :)

If it's a no please feel free to ignore this! Have a lovely day jade <3

tysm! hope this is okay angel ♡ fem!reader, 1k

"Irresponsible, sloppy, and pig-headed." Spencer winces. "I expected more from you. I'm extremely disappointed."

Spencer winces worse. You can take a scolding. You can take a beating. But disappointing the people you care about, and disappointing Hotch? His chest hurts for you.

He pretends to have been reading as the door to Hotch's office opens and you step out, glancing up as you take the stairs down into the bullpen. Your desk is adjacent his and Morgan's, crowded by case files you nearly send flying as you hurry into your chair.

Spencer takes his computer mouse and clicks on the work contact page. Your instant messaging is still open, the last message he sent you glaring and awkward, hey, think hotch is going to call you in for cincinnati. don't stress.

You'd opened it but not answered. He peeks around your monitors to analyse you. You're staring hard at a single spot. The longer he looks, the glassier your eyes become.

He sighs and cracks his knuckles, thinking. The last thing you want is for him to make a big deal of this, he knows that, but he needs you to know that he's here for you.

"Did you want to get dinner tonight?" he asks without raising his head.

You respond eventually, two seconds too slowly, "Where from?"

Your voice is fraught with the weight of your upset. Spencer ignores it for now. "Luh Bem?"

"If you want to."

"What I want is a cup of coffee." He stands, still without staring at you —an impressive feat of self control— and begins toward the office kitchenette. Predictably, you follow him. He's already putting a second mug beside his own when you step into his reach.

"So, did you want to go?" you ask.

Spencer nudges your hip with his gently. "Duh. What else would I wanna do on a Friday?" He makes your coffee exactly how you like it without asking and leaves it billowing steam by his own as he adds his five sugars.

Bringing his coffee to his lips and turns, he leans on the counter. You do as he does, murmuring a thank you as you pick up your mug. Spencer lets his arm rest on yours, ever so slightly taller, more as your back begins to slouch unconsciously. There's no point in asking you if you're okay, because you'll say that you are. There's no point in trying to comfort you, because, despite your affection for him, you're not someone who cries easily in front of others. It would have you pushing him away.

You're a nice girl under all your hardened exterior, and Hotch's disappointment hurts. You try very, very hard not to cry, swallowing and taking little sips of your hot coffee.

You press your coffee into his hand and turn your body toward the cabinets, away from the office. Spencer waits, and waits, his relief immeasurable as you finally hide your face in his shirt sleeve and sniffle. Even though his heart breaks for you, he's glad you're giving in. You need to let stuff out before it eats you alive.

He puts the coffees down behind him one at a time so as not to disturb you. Hands free, he lifts the hand furthest from you to your arm. If you were somewhere more private he'd hug you to him by the small of your waist. For now, he rubs a short line down to your elbow. Up, down.

"He was being harsh," Spencer says quietly.

"Sorry," you whisper.

He can't imagine how mortified you are. You won't sob or even shake, but these hot and fast tears aren't unfamiliar to him. Theyll be followed by an abundance of remorse.

"What are you sorry for?" He pulls you in closer, a squeeze of a hug. "You're okay. It's okay, he's just– he's mad about other stuff, he's upset about Beth. It's not just you."

"He's right, I messed up," you say, your breath hitching.

"You messed up," he agrees. "It was an accident. You'll be better next time."

You sniffle rough and lift your face, wiping your tears with a cruel hand. Spencer takes your wrist in his hand to stop you, turninh to cover you from any nosy eyes. His fingertips are as soft as his voice wiping the rest of your tears away as he laments, "Please don't cry, don't get upset." Your face is hot to the touch. "Don't be embarrassed."

"I'm not crying," you say, a last teardrop streaking from the corner of your eye.

He wipes it away. "Okay."

You pout at him like you want to cry more, and Spencer wouldn't mind, he'd stand here wiping your tears for hours if you needed it, but that's your worst nightmare.

"Are people looking at me?"

"Nobody's looking," he answers honestly. "You're only making a scene for me."

You laugh but quickly cough. Spencer takes his opportunity to hug you and pats your back, considers kissing the side of your head but can't make himself commit to it.

"Do you still wanna get dinner?" you ask weakly.

"Yeah, I do. I really do. I'll get you whatever you want."

If it were Morgan offering, you'd step on his foot. For Spencer, your clear and evident favourite, you nod into his chest, your hand slinking low on his back.

He hugs you so hard he feels his ribs.

"Wanna sleepover and watch Golden Girls?" he asks, prepared for rejection. You're the type to lick your wounds alone.

But maybe in the privacy of Spencer's apartment you'll let yourself be upset properly, so he can comfort you appropriately. It aches how badly he wants to rub the tight space between your shoulders, tell you it's fine, you're fine, and one mistake doesn't define you, it never could.

It's evidence of your affection for him that you agree. "Could we get the dinner to go?" you ask.

Spencer tries not to look to triumphant. He's going to coddle and comfort you half to death, and by the looks of you, you're happy to let him. "Absolutely. Whatever you want."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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gyuwoncheol · 7 months

Text

Slowly; All At Once

Pair: Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: fluff, best friends to lovers with Mingyu, boyfriend material!Mingyu, slight angst.

Summary: Kim Mingyu fell in love with you slowly, but you fell in love with him all at once.

Warnings: short hair Mingyu (yes this deserves a warning. He looks too good), rowdy house party setting, mentions of alcohol, angst (but not with Mingyu), mentions/allusions to a panic attack/sensory overload, kissing, fluff because mingyu is so sweet and protective 😩 Half proofread.

WC: 5k

Author's Note: listen, short hair Mingyu is SO boyfriend coded okay, it just does things to me.

“Gyu?” You spoke as loudly as you could.

“What’s up?” Your best friend answered through a yawn and you would’ve regretted disturbing him so late in the night but you really needed him now.

“Gyu, i’m so sorry..”

Mingyu sat up from his position in bed, the drowsiness in him suddenly gone at the sound of your voice trembling. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his senses heightened, suddenly now hearing the loud music in your background.

“Could.. if you’re free, c-could you come get me?”

Mingyu was already slipping his shirt on and turning off his tv right after you asked. “Where are you? Are you okay? Are you in danger?” He quizzed, rushing down the stairs to grab his car keys and the hoodie hanging off the hooks.

“I’m at Jamie’s house. So many people, I jus’ wan’go home,” you slurred, stumbling into a corner of the house party you were at.

You could hear the sound of his engine rumbling to a start and somehow, that made you breathe a little easier. That was the thing about your best friend, when you needed him, he would be there, any time, any day, no questions asked. “Ok hang tight. I’ll be there.”

The line went dead as you cowered a little more to the corner of the house party you were at. The more the crowd grew, the more out of place you felt. Sure, most faces were familiar to you as they were the same ones that walked around your school building but no one was really close enough to you. Jamie, herself, was nowhere to be found. You weren't a stranger to house parties, you actually enjoyed them but this one really made you feel like you didn't belong. The crowd was quite rowdy, noise was obnoxiously loud, people were shoving drinks to you left and right, frat boys— both those senior and junior to you— were hitting on you, and, well, the sight of your ex-boyfriend's tongue down your ex-roommate's throat just wasn't exactly what you expected to see tonight.

You wished you had stayed home instead or spent your Friday night with your best friend watching Shark Tank episodes and talking about all the inventions you both could make and would definitely get invested on. But no, you had begged off from Mingyu this one time, telling him that you wanted to let loose a little bit and hang with some of your girl friends.

The night started fine, you and the girls having cocktails after dinner at a bar nearby, until one of them had all but dragged you guys to the house party a common friend was throwing. What you didn't know was all their boyfriends had already been there, eventually leaving you alone as soon you all walked in the doors.

You wanted to get out of there but as you looked at the volume of people in front of you, you were sure you wouldn't be able to push through them without getting pushed around. You felt trapped, your breaths becoming shorter whilst you tried to calm your heart. You were in need of air and of water real bad.

"Hello?" you picked up your phone at first ring.

It was Mingyu. "Where are you?"

"I-i'm by the end of the hall towards the kitchen at the back."

Mingyu grimaced at the mixed smell of alcohol, cigarettes, sweat and weed in the place, not to mention the huge crowd that the party had gathered. He spotted numerous acquaintances and friends who all excitedly greeted him, offering him shots and beers but he ignored all of them, brain laser focused at finding you. It took him about five minutes before he reached the hall you were in and immediately spotted you thanks to his height which allowed him a “bird’s eye view.”

"Y/N," you felt a towering presence stumble in front of your crouched position, but was immediately comforted at the owner of the voice. It’s a really good thing you knew his voice well because you were still getting used to his new and much shorter haircut.

"Gyu!" You sighed in relief, hands immediately gripping his forearm as you steadied yourself against him. He kept a protective hand on your waist, caging you in between him and the corner to shield you from the crowd. He noticed the natural blush on your cheeks from the alcohol and the slightly far away look in your eyes. He could tell you weren’t exactly drunk, but he could also read the fear and sadness in them. He gave you a little bit more time to steady your breathing and comfort yourself in his presence, whispering "it's okay's" and "you're alright, I'm here."

"Gyu, I'm dizzy," you declared. You weren't drunk, just slightly tipsy at most, it was the stuffiness in the room that had you wanting air.

Mingyu glanced back at the amount of people in the hall, mentally mapping the fastest way out to the closest door, before turning back to you. "Y/n,” he cupped your cheek to guide your eyes to his, "We'll make our way out, okay? Hold on to me?" He laid out his large hand for you to take and you gripped it like a vice as you gave him a small nod.

There are many reasons to be thankful for Mingyu's height and build, and tonight, as he pushed through the crowds with one hand tightly intertwined with yours, was one of them. You were only but a few steps away from the door when your face collided with Mingyu's back. Someone had blocked his way and you were too slow to stop yourself when he did.

"heeey leaving so soon?!" A very familiar but very drunk voice slurred. It was Jung, your asshole of an ex-boyfriend. "You just got here,bro."

"Not here to party. Just—"

"Oh come on, Mingyu! At least take a shot!"

"Yeah!!" another party goer whom you recognize to be from the same frat as Jung cheered on, "In fact why don't you and y/n take a shot together!" Two shot glasses filled to the brim with tequila were suddenly raised at you both. You made a face, hiding yourself behind your best friend’s broad back, hoping it would be enough to make you disappear.

"Y/n!" Jung sang-song in a way that had Mingyu gripping your hands even tighter, "Why don't you take a shot for me, baby? It's still too early to call it a—"

"Don't touch her." Mingyu growled at your ex who was attempting to bypass him and snake an arm around your waist, "Let’s go, y/n" Mingyu pulled at you, desperately hoping to just get the both of you out of there.

As you stumbled past your ex, you yelped when you felt his hand pull on your free wrist, almost yanking you away from Mingyu's hold. "Cmon, baby. Just one more shot. Like old times." A disgusting smirk was plastered on Jung's face, one you wanted to wipe off with a punch.

“I said. Don’t. Touch. Her.” Mingyu repeated louder and firmer this time, pulling your caught wrist and now purposely standing in full height to tower over your drunken ex.

“Gyu, let’s go,” you whisper, noticing that the exchange between both boys have suddenly gained the crowd’s attention.

“Oh come on Mingyu, it’s just a shot!” One of the other guys pushed.

With a roll of his eyes, Mingyu took the shot glass and downed the liquor easily. But it wasn’t until he took the second shot of tequila— supposedly yours— and poured it down his throat that the crowd erupted in cheers. “Happy?” Mingyu sneered at Jung, “now, let us go.”

“Still her savior, huh?” Your ex called out, making Mingyu freeze in his tracks as he tried to navigate through the crowd, “you still the best friend? Or are you finally the boyfriend now?”

You felt your breath get caught in your throat at what you just heard. But nothing could have prepared you for the next thing that tumbled out of your best friend’s mouth.

“So what if I was?” Mingyu looked back at your ex bitterly, eyes filled with anger, “At least I know I’d treat her right.”

You had no chance to see the sour, defeated face Jung sported, but the crowd’s ‘oooh’s’ were enough to let you know that Mingyu definitely had the last laugh in that exchange. Everyone had even made space for you both to successfully exit, not wanting to mess with the 6 foot 2 man.

Mingyu watched you carefully as you stabilized your breathing, the fresh air paired with the water he had just given you was slowly erasing the dizziness you felt earlier. He had his hands in his pockets while you looked up at him, your back leaning on his car, and a thick silence in the air. You wanted to say something, you wanted to say a lot of things actually, but didn’t know how to start.

“Here, put this on,” Mingyu said softly, grabbing his hoodie from the back seat and pulling it over your shivering frame since your dress did little to protect you from the cold. You hummed in satisfaction, the warmth of the cotton shielding your exposed skin and the smell of him grounding you even more.

“Thank you, Gyu. For saving me. And for taking that shot.” You squeaked, looking down at the ground, wanting to say many other things but it’s all you could put together for now.

Mingyu’s mind however, wandered some place else. Like how you were still so beautiful right now? Looking so tiny in his hoodie, cheeks flushed and your makeup a bit smeared. To him, you were still the prettiest thing his eyes had seen. God he just wanted to kiss you. If only you were in your right mind, no alcohol in your system and not reeling back from what could’ve been a panic attack. And maybe, if only it didn’t ruin the friendship.

‘I’d die for you,’ is what Mingyu would’ve wanted to say. “Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it… as long as you’re okay. I mean… you are okay, right?”

He stood closely in front of you, watching intently as you tried to form words but your growing silence did nothing to quell his worries.

“Y/n,” your best friend’s voice firm, “did something happen back there? Are you hurt? You think your drink got spiked? Did someone harra—“

“No, no!” You confirmed, sensing the agitation in his voice, “nothing happened to me. Was just really overwhelmed with the crowd… the boys were annoying, the girls left me, and I… i didn’t even know Jung was dating Cass now.”

Ah, there it is, Mingyu thought. It always has something to do with your stupid ex.

“Cass? Your ex roommate, Cass?”

“Yeah.”

“Dating or not, they were definitely making out,” Mingyu could hear both the pain and disgust in your voice, “i just don’t get it.” Yeah, neither does Mingyu, why were you still so hung up on this—

“I’m over him, you know?”

“What?” Mingyu looked at you so quickly, he might’ve gotten a whiplash

“I’m over him.” You confirmed and Mingyu would be lying if he said he didn’t want to just jump in joy right there and then. But your face still looked sour, angry even, like you had just been forced to chew on a whole lemon. “I realise now I was such an idiot for even loving him. But Cass? Really? My ex-roommate? I don’t know.. I know we’ve broken up months ago but it just feels weird. She knew how much he hurt me.. she even wanted to, and I quote, ‘stab him in the gym,’ but now she’s practically dry humping him in the middle of the worst house party known to man?!” You frustrated, your voice reaching a higher pitch than you had expected only to fall down to a very quiet whisper, “i just… I can’t help but feel betrayed.”

Mingyu noticed a lone tear roll down your cheek, the back of your hand immediately wiping it away. He knew how close you were to Cass, he still remembers how you cried to him when she suddenly cut off communication with you and moved out of your apartment. For the longest time, you had thought you did something wrong and had beaten yourself up over it. But now it all just made sense.

Your best friend pulled you in for an embrace, mumbling about how you deserve better and how he’s sorry this happened to you.

“God,” you scoffed, “i’m sorry, i’m such a loser… everything about tonight just makes me feel so… alone.”

“Hey now!” Mingyu pulled back harshly, holding you firmly by the shoulders, an arms length distance between you both. “I take offense to that. I’m literally right here, you know.”

“Exactly. When you really could’ve been sleeping peacefully, or maybe even be on a date with some pretty girl. Instead you’re here, rescuing your pathetic excuse of a best friend.”

“Well.. you know what?” Mingyu challenged, pulling you in again into his arms for a warm hug, “there’s nowhere else i’d rather be. Now let’s get you home, yeah?” He assured instead, opening the door to the passenger seat of his car. You slumped into the seat and Mingyu went as far as strapping your seat belt for you, your lips just mere centimeters away from his. He stopped to look at you, eyes scanning yours before dropping to your lips momentarily and then back to your eyes again. You could feel the tension in the air and you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he finally moved away and closed the door gently.

Mingyu couldn’t help but notice a few tears escaping you as you looked out the car window, lone tears slowly falling on your cheek. You couldn’t really shake the idea from your brain of your roommate and your ex getting together, the betrayal just squeezing your heart in pain. Maybe the alcohol also just heightened your sensitivity too. When the car stopped at a red light, a gentle squeeze on your left hand had you looking up to your best friend, soft eyes matching yours as he flashed you a lopsided smile. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. You knew his action was that of comfort, as if to tell you you weren’t alone.

Mingyu kept his hand tightly on yours throughout the ride, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand and that small action really helped keep the sad thoughts away. It wasn’t until you reached the exit of the freeway when you noticed Mingyu suddenly take a left turn.

“Where are we going?” You squeaked

“Mine,” Mingyu confirmed, “is that ok? I just don’t wanna leave you alone for now, and i don’t think the sight of Cass’s empty room is something you’re ready to see either.”

You pondered on his suggestion quickly and knew it made sense. If anything, your best friend’s comforting presence is exactly what you needed right now.

The moment you got to his place, everything was like clockwork. He let you shower and freshen up, then handed you one of his large shirts and one of your old shorts you kept at his place for sleepover nights like these.

A bottle of water was left by the bathroom door when you had finished. Drink this all before you go back down, Mingyu had written in a note and you cooed at the thoughtfulness of your best friend. As you got to changing, you couldn’t help but notice just how much comfort his place brought you. His bedroom— and the rest of the apartment— was littered with photos of the both of you through the years. Your favorite conditioner was in his bathroom. He had a little basket in his closet that had things for you— hair brush, your favorite makeup remover, a few of your skin care items (which he bought himself), some old clothes, and even sanitary pads. You smiled at the sight of the little disney nightlight he had bought especially for you last year because even though he liked his lights off when he sleeps, he knew you hated the dark. You knew he kept some of your favorite snacks in his pantry, and he always had a pint of your favorite ice cream in his freezer. You were grinning by the time you had thought of all these things. You were feeling way too giddy and and then it hit you, those are butterflies you feel in your stomach. You felt like a tidal wave just hit you, your brain suddenly replaying every encounter with Mingyu and the longer it went on, the more you felt your heart being squeezed. You’re reminded how he didn’t even hesitate to pick you up tonight, or take that shot for you, or how he might’ve just thrown a punch at Jung if he so much laid another finger on you. You remember the tension in the car when your lips were inches apart. Yup, definitely butterflies. You simultaneously cursed yourself for not seeing it sooner. For not feeling it sooner. Do best friends really go this far? Could Kim Mingyu be in love with you? Better yet, did you just fall in love with him? There’s no way. Right? Mingyu was simply a really nice guy, and he would be especially kind to you, his best friend, and you are just very, very appreciative of it.

Yeah, just best friends.

That’s all.

So why do you suddenly want it to be more?

Mingyu, on the other hand, was a ball of nerves in his living room. The events of tonight made him feel like he might not be able to hold back his feelings any longer. Seeing you tonight, your helpless self in such a huge crowd of people and then silently crying in the car just awakened something in him, like a very strong urge to protect you and embrace you in so much love that you won't ever remember the feeling of being hurt. He loves you very much, for quite some time now actually, and not just in the best friend kind anymore, he knows that much. But he can't quite figure out when it happened. There was no specific moment or grand gesture that made him think "i'm in love with my best friend." Your friendship certainly began platonic, no hidden intentions or attraction. It started when both your chaotic selves ended up paired for a group work in freshman year and you just haven't been separated since then. Over time, he's unconsciously made more space for you in his heart. What started as him giving you food every now and then so you could test his culinary experiments eventually turned into packed meals every Tuesdays and Thursdays when your classes stretched until 8 in the evening. He began omitting mustard in the dishes he cooks for you because of your allergy, even though he personally loves it. He once helped you do groceries and noticed you liked to buy your juices and milks in large cartons, and so he eventually scheduled his grocery days the same as yours so you wouldn't have to carry everything by yourself. You brought out the best in him. He witnessed your thoughtfulness and kindness and that made him want to be a better person for himself. One day, when he cracked a lame joke, he realised nothing sounds sweeter than your laugh. Mingyu always listened to you, even when you spoke nonsense most times. Your crazy ideas were something he questioned a lot before but now it's what makes him laugh the most. Kim Mingyu fell in love with you slowly, he never stopped himself from it because he's learned it was simply impossible. The joy you brought to his life was unexplainable. So he just let it happen, but he'd never tell you that, not when it could mean losing the single most important person in his life. But tonight, it seemed his heart was bursting at the seams and he wasn't so sure how long he could control his mouth from vomiting the words. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have you sleep over tonight.

"Gyu? you good?" you asked, sitting beside him and getting under the same throw he had placed over him. He looked so soft and cuddly in his dark gray sweatshirt he changed into. God, he looked every bit of boyfriend right now.

"Huh?"

"You were spaced out," you giggled

"Oh. Yeah, i'm ok, just waiting for you… Was the shower ok? Did you drink your water?"

You nodded and pointed to the empty water bottle you had placed on the coffee table in front of you, "I'm alright, Gyu. Tired but feeling much better." You punctuated your words with a small thank you and a kiss on his cheek and Mingyu tensed. The scent of your shampoo washed over him and even though it was only a few seconds, it's like he could still feel your lips on his cheek. You saw his eyes grow wide and his shoulders slightly square up but whatever it was, he chose to stay silent.

"okay!" he announced, trying to break the awkwardness he was feeling. "movie?"

"about that... could we... maybe talk first?"

An ice bucket might as well have been thrown on top of Mingyu's head, either that or have the ground open up to swallow him whole. He seriously might not keep his feelings at bay this time around. "uhhh... a-about what?"

"About what happened in the party."

"Oh," your best friend relaxed a little, "I thought you were fine? You said no one hurt you right? I mean, of course aside from seeing Cass and—"

"Gyu," you interrupted him with a hand on his forearm, turning to the side so you could face him, "I don't mean that."

"Then what?"

"About what you said to Jung," your voice barely above a whisper, "about being my boyfriend..."

At that very moment, the both of you paused, the same thought in your brains: will my heart actually start beating out my chest?

"Oh. What about it?" Mingyu played it off and you gulped hard, maybe you shouldn't have brought it up. You normally thought you could see right through your best friend, but this time, he seemed so nonchalant about it all and if you were being honest, it broke your heart a little.

The tanned boy waited for your answer, eyes holding a glint of fear as he watched you look at everything else in the room except his gaze, "I just... I don't know. You said if you were my boyfriend, then you'd be treating me right."

"I would." Mingyu responded a little too fast, making your eyes find his immediately. He cursed himself for the lack of self control, now literally biting his tongue to stop from spilling the rest of his feelings.

"Then am I crazy for thinking that... that all you've done tonight was treat me right?"

You watched your best friend swallow hard, eyes boring into your soul. You waited in bated breath for a response but Mingyu opened his mouth only to close it, and then open again. Mingyu steels himself, genuinely wanting to run away from the conversation. If he spoke any further, he just knows he'd lose his best friend and get his heart broken, so he chooses to point out the obvious instead. "Well, you are my best friend."

"is that all you want me to be?" There it goes. The million dollar question. It's now or never, Kim Mingyu, he hears the subconscious in his brain. He could feel the sweat on his back, his hands fidgeting under the throw. Mingyu was not fond of how straightforward you were being. It's like you were ready to catch him red-handed and then tell him to start acting like a bestfriend instead of some love-sick puppy, or worse, stay away from you altogether. This is it. The end of a friendship he so carefully protected even if it meant it will never be more.

"What do you mean?" He croaked, his throat feeling drier more than ever. Oh, if only Mingyu knew just how nervous you were too.

You closed your eyes shut, inhaling sharply to muster up some confidence as you carefully place your heart on your sleeve.

“Because I look at your place and your life, and though I see a lot of you in it, I see me too. Pictures of us, my favorite food always in your kitchen, my number in your speed dial. I think about the past and all that you've done for me, laughing at the stupid shapes I think the clouds are forming, listening to me vent about all my frustrations, holding me when i cry about a broken heart, you’re there. You're always where I am. And it might have taken me long to realize this, but maybe you do love me more than just your bestfriend. And I just I hope i'm not too late to tell you that when I think about all of it, it hits me like a truck that I'm in love with you too."

If Mingyu was deaf, then everything you just said is probably the one thing that would help him regain his hearing. Every single word was loud and clear, your last sentence obnoxiously ringing in his ears, yet all this six foot something man could reply was an awkward “huh?”

You blinked hard at his dumbfounded expression, the back of your eyes immediately stinging with tears. Your efforts of confessing dying together with your heart. You felt the blood rush to your cheeks in embarrassment, hands flying to cover your face because wow, you seriously just misread the whole thing. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I- i must’ve misread. For—forget I said anything.” You mumbled, your voice shaking towards the end.

“No, no!” Mingyu panicked, his large hands prying yours away from your face and then cupping your cheeks, “i’m sorry. I love you. I heard you, loud and clear. And I love you, more than just a best friend. I’m so in love with you, have been for a while now.” He inched closer to you, the shyest smile on his face.

His eyes glanced at your lips before looking back at you again, asking softly, “Can I?”

With a small nod, he slotted his lips to yours and you immediately hummed in relief. Your eyes fluttering close with how gentle he was. His lips were slightly chapped but they were so pillowy against yours.

“I love you,” Mingyu mumbled in between a kiss, not being able to contain the smile that was breaking on his face. He swore he saw fireworks explode, his stomach churning in the best way possible.

“I love you too,” you responded as you broke apart for air. Both your eyes were twinkling, pure happiness just flowing through your veins.

He couldn’t quite believe it. Just moments ago, he was certain he’d end the night without a best friend. “Could you say that again?” He asked shyly, and if you weren’t just so whipped for the man, you wouldn’t have indulged him.

You climbed onto his lap, grinning as you placed your hands by the sides of his face. “I love you, Kim Mingyu. I’m so in love with you,” you obliged, peppering kisses on his cheeks and nose and lips.

Mingyu let out that tiny giggle he does when he’s really happy, the crinkles in his eyes appearing and his canines showing. “I love you,” you said one more time before properly latching onto his lips again. This time, your kiss was slightly deeper. He continued to mumble i love you’s to you in between before finally slipping his tongue into your mouth. Mingyu let out a low hum of sayisfaction when he felt you run your fingers through his short hair. His large hand stayed firm on the small of your back while the other was on your neck, making sure you couldn’t pull away too far or too fast, not that he should worry, the warmth of his body alone was already drawing you impossibly closer to him.

You rested your forehead on his when you broke apart the second time, matching grins on your faces as your eyes looked deeply at each other.

“You scared me, you know?” You scowled out of nowhere, your fist hitting his chest playfully.

“What?”

“I thought I really misread. Thought you didn’t actually love me.” The pout that appeared on your face was one Mingyu had seen before, but this time around, it pulled at his heartstrings even harder.

“Well I thought you saw right through me and didn’t want any of it. Thought you wanted to stop being best friends even.”

You raised a brow at him, tilting your head to the side slightly, “well now you’re not just my best friend, you’re also my boyfriend.”

The squeal that came out of Mingyu’s mouth was definitely one you wouldn’t expect from someone as large as him, but you loved it nonetheless, even though he paired it with a bone crushing hug that had your face uncomfortably smushed on his hard chest.

“G-gyu… c-can’t br-breathe.”

“Oh sorry,” he pulled back, still giggling from the thought of being called your boyfriend. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this happy before and it makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter even harder.

You felt soft lips on your forehead, another “I love you” rolling past Mingyu’s mouth.

You responded back with the same three words, allowing yourself to look into his eyes intently, marking this important moment in your brain. You’ve heard of best friends falling in love and then falling out of love, the friendship sinking together with it. You knew there was no certainty that you and Mingyu wouldn’t meet that same fate, and it scared you for sure. But there was something about being in your best friend-now-boyfriend’s arms that just felt right. Like you were home. And somehow, that was more than enough to take away all the fears. It took a while, but you’ve never been more sure of something than you are now of loving Mingyu.

“So… we’re really doing this?” Mingyu asked as he tucked your hair behind your ear. You looked beautiful with the light pink that dusted your cheeks and the deeper crimson on your slightly swollen lips.

“As long as it’s with you.”

#svt #seventeen #svthub #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagine #seventeen imagine #svt fic #seventeen fic #svt one shot #seventeen one shot #mingyu #mingyu fic #mingyu fluff #mingyu one shot #mingyu imagine #kim mingyu #paula writes ✨#Slowly; All At Once

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awritesthings1 · 5 months

Text

Gone with the Leaves

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife Reader

Summary: Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good.

ao3 link

A/N: I'm starting a tag list, comment if you want to be added :)

“You write like you’re running out of time,” mused Lizzie Stark, former prostitute, now Tommy’s secretary. “They have typewriters for those types of things, y’know?”

You saw the volley of cannonballs that launched and subsequently landed on Tommy’s desk as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t that you expected more of poor old plain Lizzie, but you thought that the time she had spent lying on her back staring past the shoulder of a customer at the ceiling would have taught her to read a room. Nevertheless, she stood there, quite amused with herself, smiling stupidly at your husband.

Tommy, who had been sitting at his desk all afternoon attending to letters, the ledger, and god knows what else, peered up from the paper. “What did you say?”

This time, it was your turn to be amused. He pointed accusingly at Lizzie, who by then had realised her impetuous mistake. Her wide eyes fluttered to you desperately, like a bee that had indulged itself in so much pollen that it became stuck in its own honey. No, that was putting it lightly. She looked to you like a frightened child who knew exactly what kind of trouble they were in.

You made sure you looked the other way.

“It was only a silly joke,” came her spluttering apology.

Tommy squinted, and his mouth curled into a frown. Smoke chased the deep exhale from the cigarette hanging between his lips. Your husband carried this terrifying look to him that many feared. Without the peaky cap to cover his striking blue eyes, you saw his glare cut away the cords in Lizzie’s throat with just one look. How could poor Lizzie defend herself from eyes that had witnessed nightmarish things?

“I’m not clear. Is it funny that I sign my letters by hand, or are you above using ink now that you have graduated from the bed to the desk?”

Lizzie’s mouth wormed into a thin line, yet she still looked to you for help. Of what help she thought you would possibly spare, you weren’t sure. For once, Lizzie used initiative and showed herself out.

Your heels clacked across the wooden threshold of your husband’s office. Now that no one was there to disturb you both, you sat down on Tommy’s lap. By then, he was leaning back on his chair, work abandoned for the time being until he could wash the sour sight of Lizzie Stark from his eyes.

“You know I don’t like her,” you said plainly.

There was no need for fake smiles or lies with Tommy. You knew him, and he knew you.

Tommy exhaled loudly, stubbing out the last of his cigarette on his ashtray and taking a swig of whiskey before his calloused hand found your waist.

He clears his throat. “It’s only business with her.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I like her any less.”

Tommy loved you, not Lizzie Stark, yet you couldn’t stomach the undeniable jealousy that arose with her presence. Perhaps it was a natural inclination women had toward their lovers. Lizzie had never done anything outwardly wrong to you. So, what was it then that turned your plain teeth into hissing fangs?

Everyone knew that Tommy was one of her paying customers before you met him, but so were all of Small Heath. You never felt insecure in your relationship with Tommy; there was no need to feel threatened by a prostitute. Yet that wouldn’t stop the catty feline that emerged from its slumber when Lizzie’s wandering eyes battered at your husband.

No. Lizzie Stark would never know what it felt like to be loved by a man like Tommy. What you held in your hands each night was a transcendental, unconditional type of love—one that surpassed the heart and soul, which drew two beings together in the most unconventional yet fitting way. The way that covers kept you warm at night, Tommy watched over your hearth and kept the fire burning, even if he were on the other side of the country.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the valley between Tommy’s neck and shoulder as you listened for the bah-dum-bah-dum of his heart. They sat together in silence, cherishing each other’s presence, while Tommy rested his cheek on your head. Outside, the world waited, barking at their front door and scratching at the delicately carved wood. Even the rain lashed at the windowpanes, playing together like one elemental orchestra.

The hand not resting on your waist rose to gently stroke up and down your arm. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“I think you have some work to attend to in the bedroom,” you mumbled into his neck.

Your nose searched for the spot where he applied his aftershave.

“Eh?” Came his gruff response.

Your hand wandered down his suit in answer.

The sheets were bundled around Tommy’s naked waist when you sauntered back over to the bed with his case of cigarettes in hand. Gratefully, he took the case from your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into the warmth of his chest. Then he began the usual routine. He fished out a cigarette to offer, but you shook your head no, so he slid it once, then twice, across his bottom lip. On the bedside table, he grabbed the half-empty matchbox to light the cigarette.

Tommy was the resident chain smoker in your house. With an appetite for tobacco and whiskey, you often wondered just how he sustained himself throughout the day. Of course, there were the home-cooked meals at Arrow House waiting for his return, although that didn’t stop you from worrying any less. It was pathetic, really, sitting all alone in his study, twiddling your fingers, and sitting beneath his portrait like you were praying to him. Tommy was no god, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone else. Yet whenever headlights passed the window and lit up the office momentarily, you would stand up and peer out, hoping to spot your husband exiting the car.

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. You loved watching the way the cigarette shifted between his lips when he spoke, even more when his hooded eyes looked over at you. Tommy was a man of few words, simply because he didn’t need language to communicate. His body spoke for him in tongues for all his enemies to understand. And more importantly, in a way your body understood.

Your hand abandoned his tattoo to stroke a thumb across his full bottom lip. Lust swelled there, eager to chase the rest of the night away into a haze of pleasure until the sun rose. As tempting as it was, you sighed at the thought. You would rather spend this time taking in your husband, remembering the fine details across his face and body, from the scar in the hollow of his cheek to the rough texture beneath his shoulder blade where a bullet was once lodged. You wanted to trace the sockets of his eyes the way a blind person would, treasuring each valley, mountain, and cut of skin as if it were to disappear the second you stopped touching him.

“You’re beautiful,” you decided, bathed in candlelight, tangled up between the sheets and Tommy’s arms.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, and the cigarette hung dangerously loose from where his lips curled into a frown. He grunted, clearly dissatisfied with your words. Tommy wasn’t beautiful. He was hard, ambitious, and unmovable force.

Beautiful was a conventional word savored for the finest women. To you? It meant so much more. Crafted in a way that would cause people to stare, sure, but there was also a poetic sense to the word. The type of beauty you would use to describe a well-written novel or heart-wrenching poem. Thomas Shelby stood for something, and that was beautiful.

“Then what are you, eh?”

A lazy smile floated onto your face, so much so that you had to bite your lip to refrain from looking devastatingly pleased at his answer.

A woman, a dreamer, a friend, a reader, an achiever. “A wife.”

He huffed, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Why was it that most women felt like they could only fit the frame of one? With Tommy, you were never limited to the endless possibilities. You treasured being a wife the same way you treasured your other roles. Marriage wasn’t the end all be all. Perhaps that’s another lie men spun—that perfectly capable women stopped existing as soon as a diamond ring slid onto their finger. How sad, you thought, to waste away all that potential when men were still free to pursue stupid ideas like war and dog fights.

Tommy was unbothered by traditional ideas like that. Change powered his ambition; he had no time for parallel lines. You could be his wife, a writer, a singer, or a mother—whatever you wanted—and he wouldn’t think of you any less.

You hummed, chasing that cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out in the ash tray by his bedside table. Tommy didn’t seem too heartbroken about it. In fact, there was some mirth in his gaze. His hands traced up your naked spine, pulling your body further into his until you could smell the smoke in his breath.

“Yes,” he breathed in loudly through his nose, “my wife.”

The following day, you were invited to the Basnett's hunting party. You would’ve been more enthusiastic to write about your excitement to attend if the whole ordeal hadn’t been so troublesome. Because a few days prior, when you were visiting your husband’s office, you had caught sight of the letter on Lizzie’s desk, a letter that was supposed to reach you days earlier.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Lizzie had said, too occupied with filing her nails while on the clock.

You kept your composure for the sake of keeping the peace. You didn’t wish to disturb Tommy if he were to walk by.

“This is a letter addressed to me,” you pressed.

“Oh.” She stopped for a moment, then leaned over to read the letter you had pulled from the messy pile. “No, it’s addressed to Tommy.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” you hissed quietly, with emphasis on the missus.

“Hm, I didn’t notice.”

“You are paid to notice.” You fought the urge to comment that she was paid for other things not long ago. “How long has this been sitting here?”

Lizzie tapped her cigarette ash into the tray. “The post boy dropped that lot off yesterday.”

Even if it was only two days late to reach your hand, by society’s standards, that may have well been taken as you snubbing the invitation. Frustratingly, you had to cancel your plans that day and personally deliver your letter to the Basnett’s door, citing some excuse of it having been lost in the post.

“That woman is up to no good.” You said glumly that night into Tommy’s chest.

“I’ll speak to her,” he promised in that stoic tone of his.

Whether he had been true to his words, you weren’t sure because Lizzie made an effort to avoid you when possible.

“Oh! Mrs. Shelby! How wonderful for you to join us! Come in, come in. The men are readying their rifles for the hunt outside. How exciting!” Gushed Lady Basnett, shooing you into the atrium of her lavish mansion.

Your riding boots clacked across the floor before being muffled by an intricately woven rug. You stared up at the chandelier, childishly wondering if it would hit you if it were to fall at that moment.

“Right this way, Mrs. Shelby!” Lady Basnett ushered excitably.

You debated if all her energy was for show—to please her husband and be the good wife he expected of her. After she showed you through to the veranda and down to the circle of wives who had gathered under the trees while their husbands readied for the hunt, you decided that no, she must truly enjoy planning social occasions like this, as evidenced by the way she kissed Sarah’s cheek in greeting with a wide grin.

It pleased you to know that Lady Basnett found joy in something. Ever since her eldest died in the war, she has been known to be a bit of a recluse.

“Oh, what a beautiful ring! May we see it?” Doe-eyed Catherine asked.

She was one of the younger wives, like yourself. Catherine married an older man, twice her senior. Many of the wives here faulted her for it behind her back, but not you. You saw more of yourself in her than you did in any of the other women. Because, despite the age gap, the girl seemed to be utterly head-over-heels in love with a man society deemed old-fashioned for her. And how could you blame her when you swore an oath to a gangster of all people?

You obliged and let the wives twist and turn your hand to better inspect the diamonds on your ring finger.

“It’s perfect!”

“How many carats?”

“My Mary would be so jealous!”

After dutifully showing your wedding ring, you noticed the men beginning to mount their horses.

Catherine hooked her arm around yours. “Come on, we are going to be left behind!”

She jovially pulled you along the stone tiles at a speed that made you grateful for wearing riding boots. The backyard was grand in the sense that the acres they owned stretched vastly into the nearby forest. Although there were impressive features, like the hedge they had grown into a maze and the trees that were shaped into birds.

“Lady Basnett owned an aviary of budgies. Dear little things they were, she was devastated when they all escaped one night after the groundskeeper forgot to close the door,” Catherine commented, having noticed the way your head was turned.

You laughed, because you could precisely picture Lady Basnett as the type to fawn over little budgies.

Catherine led you to the horses, where some of the wives were already perched, waiting for the party to leave. None of them carried rifles, but rather wicker baskets strapped to the saddle for the picnic they planned to have at the top of the hill while they waited for their husbands to finish hunting.

Together, you set off, having mounted the back of Catherine’s mare. Deeper into the forest you went, the black mare trotting over loose dirt and rocks. Both of you remained at the end of the pack, preferring to keep to yourselves in light conversation.

Then it all happened so suddenly. One of the rifles went off up ahead, and a flock of birds rushed at you from the break in the foliage, startling your mare. You gasped in shock and reached for Catherine’s jacket to hold on, but only skimmed her. She went face first into the dirt while you were swept into the air like a leaf and fell with the grace of a rock. The ground thundered as the mare galloped into the distance.

“Fuck!” Catherine spat.

(On her fall she had taken a mouthful of soil and leaves.)

“They’ll come back,” you tried to reassure her.

Hours later, the two of you still had not been found.

“I was a prostitute before George found me, y’know.”

No, you didn’t know.

“That’s why I’m so young and he so old,” she smiled fondly, laughing as if it were the most normal thing.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike her because of her circumstances. She was your friend, and a true one at that.

What was it that Tommy said? The past is the past.

The sun began to set when one of the men from the hunting party found you both huddled together under a tree. Kindly, he let the two of you ride the rest of the way back despite your hesitance to mount another horse.

When you returned to Lady Basnett’s, with Catherine in arm, the sun had been set for at least two hours. You hadn’t realized what trouble you had gotten yourself into until you noticed Tommy’s Bentley parked in the crowded driveway of the mansion. Men stood at the gate, armed and waiting. Catherine opened her mouth to remark how ridiculous it was, but you kept your lips sealed after recognizing the guards to be Peaky Blinders.

Tommy had to be beside himself.

A young boy who was playing between the cars popped his head out when the gates squealed open. His ears perked up, and he ran inside, clutching his peaky cap, to probably inform the adults inside of your arrival. People pooled out onto the front steps, the women covering their hearts and sighing with relief, and the men holding their hats to their chests. But when your husband, Tommy, came storming out, they parted like the red sea.

He stalked across the gravel like a predator, his eyes trained on you with an unblinking stare.

“Are you hurt?” He ignored Catherine, cupping your face and frantically looking between both your eyes as if you would disappear.

Upon further inspection, his eyes were bloodshot, and the white sleeves of his blouse were bundled into the golden garters. Your hands itched to muse his disheveled hair into place, but with all the curious onlookers, you thought better of it.

“No.”

George, Catherine’s husband, was quick to whisk her away inside. You heard Lady Basnett’s voice trailing after them: “Oh my, what a terrible thing. Come now, let me pour you some tea.”

Unfortunately, tea wouldn’t make up for any lost ground with Tommy.

“We’re going.”

You knew better to open your mouth to disagree. This was Tommy being afraid and carrying on. He retreated into himself. It didn’t look pretty or like he cared, but he cared; you knew he cared. It was only that no one else was allowed to know that the great Thomas Shelby felt any emotion.

At Arrow House, he swallowed two glasses of whiskey before saying a word. You were pulling at the hem of the overcoat that Tommy had shook off his shoulders to give you for the ride home. Your fingers just couldn’t stand the anxious silence that rang throughout the room.

“What the fuck happened?”

He stood in front of you, stoic as a soldier but cracking around the exterior thanks to his hand, which itched for the cigarette case inside his pocket. (A nervous tick of his.) You grab his hand between your own before he can fish out the case.

“The horse got spooked. It bucked Catherine and me off, but we’re fine.”

His thumb rubs across your knuckles as he looks past your shoulder out the window.

“Do you know where I was when I got the call? Eh? I was handling some business when Lizzie came in and told me some posh old woman was on the line, saying you were missing.”

He exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to you, where you noticed his eyes soften.

“I thought…” He broke off.

His chin dropped, and he went to itch his nose with his other hand.

“What did you think happened? Is there something I should know about?” Concern leaked into your voice.

“No,” he huffed, clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter. You’re home, and you’re safe.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying anything that might push him over the edge. He was fragile in a state like this in the sense that he pushed the stronger, more vivid feelings to the side because you were his wife, not a Peaky Blinder. No, you would never be, even though you married one.

Often, you would wish you could turn into the leaves that swept off the pavement and into the air. Imagine then how much easier life would be for you both—to forget the animosity of life and rise above it all, breathe in that crystal air, and then finally exclaim the truth because up there no one could hear them or cared enough to try anyway.

Cautiously, you let go of his hand and traced your fingertips up to knead away the tension in his jaw.

“Thomas… Do you remember what you asked of me? To help you with the whole fucking thing—”

“From now on—”

“Thomas—”

“From now on, let me know where you are going. I will organize a guard to watch over you.”

‘You write like you’re running out of time,’ Lizzie’s poorly placed joke from the start of the week reverberated in your skull.

Was he?

“I need you,” he breathed, the smell of whiskey fanning over your senses.

You nodded, pressing up on your toes to kiss him. A soft breath escaped him when you pulled away.

“You have me.”

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bumbleboa · 6 months

Text

I am back with more sketches for @calysto1395 's AU!

Fic snippet of her writing behind the cut:

EDIT: Fic is also now available HERE

“Fine, fine! I’m going. Stop shoving me.” Law throws his hands up and steps onto the train.

“I don’t want to see you for at least 24 hours.” Bepo retorts, his paws on his hips and blocking the doorway like a bouncer. If Law wasn’t so fucking exhausted from a ten hour surgery session he would have a clever comeback right about now. As it stands, he can only repeat Bepo’s words at him in a mocking tone. He flips Bepo off as the train doors close between them for good measure before he turns to find a seat as they slowly roll out of the station.

There is as usual only one other person on the train. Hiriluk Hospital Station is usually the one where everyone gets off as the line continues out of town into the shitty outer district where Law has his dirt cheap apartment. It’s a good thing too because Law usually has no patience for anyone after work and before work he needs to save what little he has for his patients.

His usual companion is a young man, maybe around Law’s age, who has tan skin and green hair who nods at him when Law falls into one of the empty seats. He’s always there before Law gets on and doesn’t get off anywhere before Law does. Law sees him as often as he does his coworkers so he would say they are almost friends. Save for the part where Law has no idea who he is besides a passenger and incredibly attractive.

“Trouble in paradise?” The guy asks, snorting with a smirk. He’s huddled into one of the seats that run sideways along the walls of the train, jean jacket and a hoodie today, legs propped up on his huge backpack with the long case sticking out of it.

Law just rolls his eyes and lets his head fall against the headrest. It’s part of the routine at this point. Guy will make a comment or greet him and then it will be silent for the rest of the ride, just the way Law likes it. The stranger on the train might be Law’s favorite person, right after Bepo. Then again Bepo humiliated and bullied him onto the train today so maybe the stranger has taken top spot.

“You got blood on your cheek.” The guy says and Law feels the annoyance at the routine being disturbed before he processes the words. His eyes blink open and he rubs at his cheek with his sleeve, feels the crusted flakes rub off and sees them clinging to the fabric of his hoodie.

Law stares at it for a long time, feels his eyes losing focus for a minute before he blinks and shakes his head. Maybe Bepo had a point in sending him home. He sighs deeply, feeling the exhaustion deep in his bones. “Yep.” He says and rubs his cheek once more just to make sure he got it all.

Stranger just gives him a nod when he shoots a questioning glance at him before he buries his hands in his jacket pockets and closes his eyes, settling deep into his seat. Law takes it as his cue to do the same. Just to rest his eyes for a little bit. He has about twenty minutes until he’s at his station and the conductor usually doesn’t check tickets this late at night. Law tells himself it's just for a few minutes. Just until his retinas stop burning.

Then before he knows it there is a hand on his shoulder. He jerks, flailing wildly and smacking something before he gets his bearings.

The stranger is standing next to his seat, looking down at him, hand falling to his side from where it had hung outstretched between them. “That’s your stop right?” He asks.

Law blinks, confused. Head swirling to look outside the window to see the Tang Station sign out front. “Shit.” He manages to say, scrambling with his bag to hustle outside just in time before the doors close on him. He’s catching his breath on the platform, heart racing in his chest when he looks back at the train and sees the guy standing there still. He leans down a little to wave through the window as it sets back into motion and Law’s sleep deprived brain doesn’t manage to respond in any way before they are out of view.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #zolaw #op train AU #I love this AU a lot if you couldn't already tell #my art

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shibaraki · 7 months

Text

OPEN ARMS, OPEN EYES ┊ GOJO SATORU

tags: GN reader, no curse au, meet-cute, gojo has a visual impairment (modern take on his six eyes), the divine dogs are service animals (seeing-eye dogs), original child character, reader is babysitting, fluff + flirting, (takes place in my foster dad au)

wc: 3k

Overhead, the bell rings a soft welcome. You quickly shuffle Kota out of the drizzle and into the warm embrace of the cafe. A full staccato can be heard over the soothing music as the wind begins to whip the rainfall against the windows. You sigh, having escaped the worst of it.

Kota squirms, his pink face scrunched into a glare as you bend to undo the buttons tucked beneath his chin and let down his raincoat hood. Free from the nylon confines he shakes out his hair and swipes at the strands stuck to his damp forehead with a whine.

“I know little man,” you murmur placatingly, reaching for the napkins on the nearby condiment bar. You pat his skin dry from his cheeks to his neck, and then under his cuffs around his wrists. His sniffling has allayed, to your relief. “Is that better?”

When he doesn’t answer you look up and find him entranced by something across the threshold. You follow his line of sight and feel the breath stolen from your lungs.

The stranger is imposing and beautiful in a way that is hard to look at; yet it’s the intense air of confidence and ease about him that makes it impossible for you to look away. Standing tall at the counter he’s all slender angles and fluid movements in his fitted white dress-shirt, rocking on his heels as he waits.

The shelves fixed to the wall behind the counters are littered with decorative trinkets doused in warm-gold light that crowns his white hair like a halo. Everyone’s focus has gravitated toward him, so much so that they don’t appear to notice the large black dog at his feet.

Kota, however, paid the man no attention. Instead his chubby fingers curled around your shirtsleeve to tug insistently at your arm, “Puppy!”

There’s a blue padded harness strapped to the dog’s torso, ‘assistance’ printed in bold reflective letters across the chest and along the adjustable handle. Their body language shows that they’re comfortable but alert, ears standing tall and twitching in Kota’s direction. Kota, who has managed to free himself from your grip.

And is tottering towards the service dog.

You rise to stand and amble after him, frantically whispering his name. “Kota—no. You can’t pet the dog,” your arm scoops around his belly to keep him from tripping as you grab the back of his coat and gather him to your front. The boy stomps his foot and whines, forcing his body pliant in protest and becoming deadweight.

Nervous about causing a disturbance you survey the surroundings. Nobody stirs. A woman and her two young children are seated nearby, and she offers you a sympathetic smile. You grimace, steadying Kota on his feet.

“But I wan’a pet the puppy,” Kota warbles, making grabbing motions toward the dog.

“You can’t sweetheart. Look,” you run a soothing hand down his back. Bringing him close you point at the blue harness. “See what they’re wearing? Can you read that word?”

Kota’s brow knits in concentration. “S’big word,” he says. You smile at his seriousness and suppress the urge to squeeze him.

“That word says ‘assistance’,” and he repeats it with imprecise intonation, thrice before he’s satisfied. “That’s right,” you praise him, sneaking a kiss to his temple. A frisson of happiness has him burying into the crook of your neck. “Do you know what it means when an animal is wearing a coat like that?”

Kota shakes his head.

“It means,” you cast a quick glance to the owner and almost swallow your tongue. His face is angled in your direction, as if listening in on your conversation, though his eyes are well hidden behind a dark pair of glasses. “It means that dog is working. They have a very important job to do, so we can’t interrupt them. It would be bad if they got distracted, right?”

Kota thinks long and hard about this. A litany of emotions wash over his expression. It ranges from confusion, to petulance and sadness, then finally, acceptance. “Yeah. Okay,” he nods, staring longingly at the fluffy tail sweeping back and forth across the tiles.

“Good. Now you’ve learned something new today. You can tell your parents all about it once I get you home,” you stand straight and brush down the front of your jeans. “How about we get some cream puffs to celebrate once it’s dry out, hm?”

“Yeah!”

The disruption thankfully hadn’t bothered the dog. You watch as the man drops his hand to his hip and they immediately nuzzle into the touch. “Good girl,” you hear him croon as his fingers crook behind her ear. Then he cocks his head and a pair of lustrous eyes are visible over his opaque, round-rimmed glasses.

Hair prickles on the nape of your neck. His stare settles just beyond your shoulder. The pigment in each iris is oddly dispersed and startlingly light, a clear blue with infinite depth, as if they were plucked right from a celestial body. “Thanks for keeping him on a leash,” he tells you with teasing cadence, mouth curled into a smile. Kota gives an affronted grumble and you laugh, combing your fingers through baby-soft hair.

The man inclines toward Kota, “Her name is Maya, by the way. You can’t pet her but you can say hello”.

Enthralled at this development Kota bends his knees in an bouncy little dance. “Maya-chan. Hi. My name is Kota,” he gurgles, hands covering his cheeks. Maya simply snuffled, a long tongue licking at her snout, and shifted on her front paws.

The attractive stranger nudges his dark glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. He wets his lips. “And what’s your name?”

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for you to realise he is asking you. Rattled by the prolonged silence you set your sights firmly on Kota and clear your throat to introduce yourself, “It’s nice to meet you”.

“Yeah? I don't get to hear that too often,” he replies, mouth thin as if fighting a broader smile. It’s a lovely shade of balmy pink. “I’m—”

“Gojo-san?”

The barista glances up from reading the name on the ticket, visibly flustered that he interrupted. “I’m sorry. Your drinks are ready,” he makes an aborted motion to hand the tray over and then seizes. “Ah—would you like me to take this to your table, Gojo-san?”

“That’d be great,” nothing about Gojo’s visage, nor his posture, changes. You feel pinned under his broad scrutiny. Anticipation swoops through your stomach as he angles his gaze in Maya’s direction, where Kota remains besotted. “Y’know, my other dog is here too. She’s actually retired now, so you can come and pet her if you want, Kota-kun”.

You balk. This guy.

“Yeah!” Kota effuses, crashing into your legs. He pats at your thighs. “Please. Can I, can I?”

You cast a lingering glance at the poor weather, a sheet of rain obscuring the view to the street, and ponder what Kota’s parents would want. As he’s an only child they’ve expressed their desire to get a pet in the near future. It could be a good lesson for him, and you have nothing to do until the shower calms.

“That's—kind of you. If it’s no trouble…?”

“Wouldn’t offer if it was,” Gojo replies. You are at least reassured by the fact that he doesn’t sound all that put-out. More than anything he looks pleased, like the cat that got the cream. He gestures toward the poor barista, waiting to the side with fingers flexing around the tray handles.

You nudge the little boy, “What do you say?”

Kota takes a deep breath, the air pushing out his cheeks. He bows, hair falling over his eyes, and gives an emphatic: “Thank you!”

Gojo’s runs a hand through his hair. It looks silky. A smooth glide, no tangles caught on his knuckles. Then he rolls his shoulders, expression schooled into something comically serious. “In that case I’m going to need you to do something, Kota-kun,” he says.

The tone has Kota’s spine ramrod straight. “This guy here is going to my table. Think you can walk behind him and lead the way for Maya?”

Kota’s eyes are wide and sparkling. He vibrates at the promise of responsibility. You observe the exchange with an odd fondness. Gojo is a stranger. Yet he has somehow has managed to win over the most stubborn kid you know.

“Maya,” he kisses his teeth. Maya rises to attention, locking onto her owner while he readjusts his grip on the harness handle. She tracks the movement of his free hand through the air as it comes to lightly tap Kota’s shoulder. “Follow,” he states.

Spurred into action as though commanded himself, the barista leaves to find Gojo’s table. Kota looks to you seeking permission. You nod and he wanders closely after the man on his little legs, glancing back every few seconds, brighter each time he notices Maya trotting onward at his heel.

Gojo’s gait is languid and purposefully slow. There's buoyancy to him as he navigates the space, trusting Maya completely to get to their destination. You walk a suitable distance from his side, inwardly dithering and unsure whether or not to push aside the few chairs obstructing the path. Maya doesn’t appear concerned. You’d hate to break her focus.

She takes Gojo deeper into the cafe with confidence. Tucked away in an alcove at the back of the room is a booth. In the booth is another dark haired boy, much older than Kota, around twelve or thirteen if you had to guess, and curled under the table is another large dog.

The boy is not impressed in the slightest. He frowns at the sight of you and Kota, disgruntled. Thoughts visibly pass over his face and whatever conclusion he comes to he glares up at Gojo for it.

As the barista sets down the tray of drinks the cups rattle against their respective saucers. He bows and slips away. Kota is beginning to squirm again. You can tell his patience is waning.

“I’m being glared at, aren’t I?” comes Gojo’s amused murmur. Though the boy’s ire isn’t directed at you it feels awkward to be in the line of fire.

“You are,” you reply, pinching the back of Kota’s hood to prevent him from diving under the table. “Are you sure this is fine? If your son isn’t—”

Gojo waves his hand as he strides forward, carefully resting it on the backrest of the cushions and he uses it to pivot himself into the booth. “Not my son. More like a nephew, or something. Right, Megumi?” the boy—presumably Megumi—flares his turned up nose and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Or something,” he says.

“Maya,” Gojo continues in a clear voice. “Down,” Maya is deliberate in where she rests, remaining within his reach. “Stay,” her paws cross one over the other, and she rests her chin atop her wrists. When she’s settled, he coos another, “Good girl”.

Maya’s tail swishes happily. Megumi grunts. “Don’t be like that, Megumi. The kid only wanted to meet Ren,” Gojo drawls. At the mention of her name Ren crawls out from under the table seeking attention. “Why don’t you show Kota-kun how to pet her?”

“Why me?”

“You’re older. Set an example,” Gojo rests his cheek in his palm, taking his glasses off to hook them on the end of his slender finger. Those startling eyes drag aimlessly over your form as he sighs, “Tsumiki would be so disappointed if she knew”.

At that Megumi’s arms drop in deference. He scoots out of his seat and coaxes Ren to sit. She’s a lovely dog, and big, with a luscious thick white coat and soulful eyes. He sticks his hand out, expression a complex mix of boredom and determination. Like he didn’t want to do it, but if he really had to, he wanted to do it well. “Kota-kun, right? Give me your hand,” he says.

Kota bounces on his toes and obediently drops his hand into the older boy’s. “You have to let animals smell you first. Let them decide if they want to be touched,” Megumi guides it toward Ren, proffered and upturned for her to scent. She nuzzles into Kota’s small palm and licks it for good measure, making him squeal.

Gojo melts into the booth cushion, entirely mellowed out. You stare at his profile, appreciating the soft line of his cheekbone right to the shell of his ear, just peeking out under fluffy white hair; lightly cow licked at the ends from the rain, curling right around the stud in his earlobe.

Feeling the weight of your gaze his eyes slide over and you quickly turn away. In the seconds you spent distracted Megumi has shown Kota where Ren likes to be scratched the most. Kota beams as he strokes down her flank, making her tongue loll out and her hind leg reflexively twitch.

You clear your throat. “She’s very pretty isn't she?” you muse, bending to Kota’s height and smiling gently at Megumi. Ren’s warm puffs of breath fan over your fingers as you let her smell them. “Is she the same breed as Maya-chan?”

“Yeah. They’re cousins,” Megumi answers stiffly. There’s a tinge of pink in Megumi’s cheeks now as he buries his hand in Ren’s fur, vying for reason not to look directly at you. “We’re letting them spend time together before we send Ren away”.

“Eh?” Kota’s bottom lip wobbles. His head whips around to Gojo, “Away?”

“Not like that,” you quietly reassured.

Gojo crossed his ankles under the table and reclined with his royal milk tea, wisps of steam curling over the rim. “Ren is too old to do her job now,” he smiles behind the cup, “She’s going to live with a good friend of mine and his two sons. Don’t worry”.

This comforts Kota a bit. “What, um,” he pats Ren’s face, and your heart aches, because he’s being so uncharacteristically gentle. “Maya-chan really has a job?”

“She really does”.

“But babies can’t work,” Kota beseeches. “Mama told me so”.

Megumi huffs, though you think it’s more of a laugh. “Maya isn’t a baby and she isn’t a puppy anymore either,” he says. The proud gleam in his gaze doesn’t escape you as he points at the younger dog. “She’s the best of her litter. I helped pick her”.

“Megumi has a good eye for that kinda thing,” Gojo sets down his cup and gestures to his uncovered eyes, framed by pale and unfairly long eyelashes. You are secretly grateful for the excuse to look at them again. “My eyes? Not so much. That’s what I have Maya for—and Ren before her. She helps me get around”.

Kota’s jaw slacks and he makes a long, drawn out sound of understanding. Ren bounces from paw to paw and you marvel at just how good she is with him. Calm, and attentive. Reacting whenever he reacts. Remnants of her training that she’d likely never lose.

“Go—go…”

“Gojo-san,” you prompt gently as Kota’s brow knits in that very familiar ‘I-don’t-want-to-cry’ manner.

“Gojo-san,” he tries again. “M’sorry your eyes don’t work good”.

Mortification washes over you. “Kota, sweetheart. You can’t just say that—”

Gojo barks a laugh loud enough to draw the attention of onlookers. While he remains unaffected, growing evermore amused, you shy away from their curious stares with a grimace. “Don’t worry. He meant no harm,” he says. “And look, it’s not that I can’t see anything. Want to know something cool?”

Megumi sighs indolently and you suspect he’s heard this spiel before. Kota unfurls from his brief flinch and nods. Gojo tips his chin and bends forward. Kota stares right into his lucent eyes, mesmerised.

“I can see shapes. To me you’re just a weird smudge,” Kota giggles from behind his hands as Gojo pretends to wet his thumb and makes a rubbing motion, like he were wiping Kota from his vision. “But I have too much pressure inside of my eyes. So I don’t just see shapes,” Gojo leans closer and lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “I see colours around things, like when you squeeze your eyes shut real tight”.

“Woah,” Kota breathes. His fingers clench and unclench where they’re clutched around his coat. “What colour am I?”

The older man decides to entertain the question and pauses to consider Kota with a ruminative hum. You find yourself waiting with bated breath, a shamefully scant portion of your brain focused on the vibration from your jacket pocket. Numbness is spreading up your feet to your calves, knelt on them for too long, but you don’t want to disturb the atmosphere.

“Red,” Gojo answers decisively.

Kota covers his mouth. He swivels on his heels to find you. “That’s my favourite colour!”

“It is,” you echo as you rub his shoulder, your tone gentle and indulgent. Your phone buzzes again and you slip it out from your pocket to check the screen. “Ah,” a brief glance toward the cafe window informs you that the rain has mostly stopped. Gold slats of sunlight are flooding the wet pavement. “It’s your parents, little man. They’ll be expecting us home soon so say your goodbyes”.

“No”.

“Kota”.

A stubborn beat passes. Sulking, Kota is deliberate and slow while he gives Ren a final stroke. “Bye bye, Ren, Maya-chan. Bye bye Megumi-nii. Bye bye Gojo-san”.

“Sure,” Megumi chokes somewhat at the honorific. “See you, Kota-kun”.

Gojo listens to the interaction with a smile. Close lipped and genuine. Though small the weight of it causes his eyes to crinkle slightly at the corners. “It doesn’t have to be goodbye forever,” he suggests.

You hesitate, “Meaning…?”

“If we exchanged numbers then Kota-kun could keep in touch with Maya and Ren. I’ll send cute pictures”.

Megumi scoffs and it makes the blood prickle under your skin. Your face feels hot. “Right. For Kota,” you reply dryly, mouth trembling as you valiantly try to keep the smile out of your voice. He must sense it anyway, because his own widens and he holds his phone out to you.

Kota claps excitedly while you input your name and number. “And how do I know you’re not a bad guy?” you ask, saving the details before closing out the app and handing the phone back.

“I pinky promise?”

Shaking your head amusedly you fix Kota’s coat collar, refastening the buttons before petting Ren farewell. “I suppose I’ll take your word for it,” you tell him. “Thanks again, for letting Kota meet the dogs”.

“My pleasure,” Gojo returns.

“I’ll—we’ll be seeing you, then,” you wave at Megumi, directing Kota toward the front of the cafe. Gojo drapes his lithe body over the table surface and rests his chin to his hand, as if watching you go.

“I’ll text you,” he chimes after you. People lift their heads as you scurry through to the entrance.

What have you gotten yourself into?

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader

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moonchildstyles · 1 month

Note

has Older!Harry ever had to work later than he thought, maybe running into plans he had with pretty girl?

wordcount: 3k+

—————

"What do you think, H?"

(Y/N) twirled in front of where Harry sat on his couch, showing off the new dress he had pushed her into rewarding herself with (with his credit card, of course) after getting through midterms. He'd seen the photos online, but she wanted him to get a look at the real thing—see if he liked it on her as much as he said he would.

Looking up from his phone, he gave her a bright smile. "Sweetheart," he crooned, appraising her with an adoring gaze, "Y'look—"

His phone buzzed in his hand, the disturbance cutting him off as he was forced to glance down at the device. His features posed into something grim with a set line on his jaw and pursed lips.

"What is it?" (Y/N) asked, fiddling with her nails with her purse hanging from her wrist. He'd been attached to his phone since he'd come over to pick her up, constantly going back and forth between doling out his attention to her before being taken away by his phone.

He shook his head much like he had done every other time (Y/N) had asked what had been going on. "Jus' something at the office—trying to figure out what happened."

"Is it bad?" she asked, sinking into the couch next to him in hopes of skimming a glance at his screen.

"A little, if it is what I think it is," he murmured distractedly, scrolling through a report (Y/N) had no hopes of recognizing.

Quietly, she watched as he tapped away, aware of the time ticking down towards their reservations. "Do you think you'll be done before we need to leave?"

Seemingly suddenly realizing the time, he heaved a sigh. "I hope."

Just as the words left his mouth, an incoming call colored his screen.

"Hold on," he told her, rising from his seat with his phone in a tight grip, "If 'm not off the phone by the time we need to leave, come and get me, 'kay?"

As soon as she gave a nod, Harry had his phone pressed to his ear and was heading upstairs towards his office. His voice was rumbling and low, but she could hear the curt tone even from where she sat. She watched as he disappeared up the staircase before pulling her own phone out. She'd give him ten minutes, she decided—it would be cutting it close to the reservation, but she didn't want to stress him out any more than he obviously already was.

—————

(Y/N)'s lips thinned as she watched the time tick off one more minute.

6:45pm.

Harry had been tucked away upstairs for the full of the ten minute timer she had set for him. She hoped the problem wasn't as bad as he had feared, but she had a feeling it was that or much worse. He hated being late for any kind of appointment, so she doubted he had just lost track of time while working.

Rising to her feet, joints popping from being folded up on his couch while she had waited, she started for the stairs. Her heels clicked over his floors, following her up the case and towards his office. Only a few paces away, she could hear him speaking behind the door. None of the words were clear, but it definitely wasn't a good sign to hear him still on the phone.

She quietly knocked on the door, pausing for a moment before pushing it open. Peering around the wood, she found Harry just as she figured she would: sat behind his desk, features pinched and sharp as he stared at his computer screen with his phone pressed to his ear.

He hadn't even noticed her peeking in, mumbling something to his associate with his eyes reflecting whatever he was scrolling through on his screen. Clearing her throat, (Y/N) finally gained Harry's attention.

His features quickly softened at the sight of her.

"H? Are you ready to go?" she peeped, hoping whoever was on the other end of the call couldn't hear her.

Lips thinning, he murmured an excuse to his call before pulling the phone away from his ear for a moment. With the receiver pressed to his shoulder, eyes speaking apologies before he'd even shared a word.

"Sweetheart," he started, the syllables floating on a sigh, "I can't leave, yet. 'S worse than I thought."

While she was sympathetic to whatever he was dealing with—Harry never liked to bring work home if he could help it, especially if it was problem based like this—she couldn't help the way her shoulders deflated some. "Will we still be able to make dinner? It's almost six."

Harry glanced at the time himself then, hesitating meeting her eyes once more. "I don't know, love. 'M so sorry, I really didn't think it was going to be this complicated."

"It's okay, it's okay," she waved him off, already creeping out of the room, "I'll call and see if they have anything later, but don't worry."

A sad smile wormed its way onto his lips, molding into the apples of his cheeks though the curl didn't meet his eyes. "Thank you, love."

After offering her own small smile, (Y/N) slipped out of the room with the door clicking behind her. Taking in a deep breath, she slipped her phone out of her bag before pulling up the restaurant's website. She had a feeling, just with how coveted their original reservation was, that there wouldn't be anything else available but she didn't feel like telling Harry that kind of news at the moment.

Taking in a sigh, (Y/N) started towards the stairs with her phone pressed to her ear.

"Thank you for calling Elio, how can I help you?"

"Hi—um—I have a reservation in thirty minutes, but I was wondering if..."

—————

After shooting off a text to Harry that there wasn't anything else available fore the night, (Y/N) had resigned herself to a night on the couch. Even when he'd answered with a promise that he would figure something out as soon as he fixed whatever was going on, she hadn't bet on the possibility.

When it came to things like these—problems outside of his control, unanticipated mistakes—Harry had a hard time letting them go until they were back up to his standards. He wouldn't be able to relax enough to spend the night with her, she knew that. Instead she had only messaged him back that she'd be downstairs for him whenever he was ready with a heart emoji tacked on the end.

That was how she found herself tucked into the cushions of his couch, shoes kicked off under the coffee table, and a fluffy blanket over her lap with one of her reality TV shows on screen. She wasn't paying much attention to the scenes, the episode one she had already seen, instead poking at her phone for entertainment.

As the time ticked on, closer and closer to Harry having been stuck working for over an hour, part of her wanted to head upstairs and see if she could pry him away. If he finished soon, they could still at least go out somewhere, keeping her dress and makeup from going to waste. But, she could still hear his rumbling voice at times carrying through the walls—he was still stuck on the phone. She could only imagine the kind of stress he was feeling if he was still stuck on the same problem almost an hour later.

Curled on his couch, (Y/N) almost winced when her stomach growled. She had kept herself from snacking after class, knowing she was going to want to have all the room possible for the immaculate dinner Harry had planned. Now, with the time ticking well past their reservations, she was feeling the consequences of her abstinence.

Though she wasn't particularly keen on the idea of padding upstairs and asking Harry if he would be okay with some takeaway for the night, there wasn't much else she could do. (Harry had been teaching her as much as he could when it came to the kitchen, but that didn't mean that she was particularly good yet). Especially after she had made the choice to indulge in watching too many sushi videos that popped up on her social media—she doubted she could wait for Harry to finish up before scampering off for dinner.

Moving upstairs, (Y/N) paused outside of Harry's office, her ear keen to the door in hopes of finding a good time to pop in. Though she wasn't encouraged at the stretching silence on the other side, there wasn't much of a better time, she decided when she finally knocked on the door. A responding grumble came from the other side.

Peeking inside, he didn't look much different than when she had seen him last. Now, his sleeves were rolled to his elbows and his hair mussed, but that pinch between his brows lingered with his jaw in a strong set. He looked tired this time when he glanced up at her, the fan of his lashes becoming a drooping frame around his eyes.

"Sorry," she started, keeping her voice low at the sight of his phone still pressed to his ear, "Um, I was thinking about ordering dinner, if that's alright with you?"

He took a moment, pulling his phone from his ear, poking at the mute button before clearing his throat. "Are y'sure? If I finish soon, I can still take y'out," he told her, voice softer than what she was sure he was sharing on the phone.

"It's almost eight-thirty, H," (Y/N) gently reminded him, resting her head on the doorjamb as she gazed at him, "I'm sure you're hungry, too."

He seemingly suddenly realized there were other things going on than the emails and clients he was dealing with. He deflated after taking in a deep breath. "Right. 'M sorry, (Y/N), really."

"No, it's okay, don't worry. I under—"

"Mr. Styles, Dean has the group scheduled for a conference call in the morning, but is—"

"Michael," Harry said, pulling the phone to his ear with the speaker off and mute unselected, "'M going to have to call you back."

(Y/N) was taken aback at his sudden suggestion, though she continued listening from where she stood at the threshold. She hoped he wasn't ending the call on her account.

"Ten minutes, and I'll call y'back. Can y'handle that, or do I need to keep holding your hand?"

Maybe it was a bit harsh, but (Y/N) had to hold back her laughter with her hand stamped over her mouth. It wasn't like her boyfriend at all to snap at anyone, including his colleagues, but she couldn't Balme him after being corralled in his office for over an hour. The man on the other end—Micheael—must have stood down seeing as Harry hung up the call with nothing else to share.

Plopping the device face down on his desk, Harry pulled in a sigh before fixing his eyes to (Y/N) once more. "C'mere, pretty girl."

His open arms were an offer as she padded across his office. He collected her against his chest once she had rounded his desk, pulling her as close as he could with her folded in his lap.

"'M sorry," he murmured, voice low in her ear as she settled her chin on his shoulder with her arms looped around his middle, "I didn't mean to ruin the night, sweetheart."

"It's not your fault," she reminded him, "And nothing is ruined. Sometimes things like this happen. I'm not mad."

He pulsed his arms around her, tightening his hug with a kiss pressed to the side of her head. "You're too good to me, love. Thank you."

Drawing away, (Y/N) shifted until she had his cheeks cradled in her hands. Thumbing at his cheekbones, she attempted to draw a smile out of his solemn features when she squished his cheeks with his lips forced into a puffy pout. Her responding laughter was enough to have him straining against her hands with his own attempting smile.

"You know I'm never upset to stay home," she told him, leaning forward to peck a kiss to his puckered lips, "It's okay, H."

"Promise?" he mushed out, words muffled against her squish.

"Promise," she resounded, giving him another kiss before releasing his cheeks, "I think I'm going to order Chinese, so just come down whenever you're done and it'll be waiting."

His arms were a cradle around her, one that kept her locked on his lap as he pressed forward and gave her a lingering kiss. "I love you, you know that?"

"I do," she answered, smiling into his kiss, "I love you, too."

Though he opened his mouth, prepping to say more, his phone began to buzz on his desk once more. (Y/N) could feel the way he deflated in response, hesitant to answer the call.

Untangling herself from his lap, she gave him a soft smile. "Finish whatever you need to do, okay? I'll be downstairs whenever you're done."

His apology was clear on his face without a single word having to be shared. "I'll be fast," he vowed.

"I know."

With that, Harry pressed the phone to his ear with a sharp greeting while (Y/N) scurried out of his office. Though she was still tired and hungry, she felt better after getting a chance to talk to him. She doubted he would finish up as fast as he wanted, but she hoped he understood there was no pressure to be felt on her end.

Chinese food kept perfectly well, anyway.

—————

"Goodnight, Micheal. Have a nice weekend."

Harry didn't wait for a send off on the other end, hanging up on his coworker as soon as the words left his mouth. He'd heard enough of Micheal's voice to last a lifetime, especially after finding out that this entire mixup was nothing more than a paperwork error he hadn't properly checked the first time. Nonetheless, Harry was just happy to no longer be glued to his phone with his laptop lid shut for the foreseeable future.

He dreaded to look at the time on his phone, but knew he had no choice.

10:16pm.

Sighing at the sight, he pocketed his phone with his joints cracking as he stood from his chair. (Y/N) had been quiet for a while now, no more padding around coming from the floor below for the better part of the last half hour.

She had been so understanding, letting him disappear and forcing them to cancel their dinner plans only for her to give soft condolences and sweet kisses in response. He hoped she hadn't fallen asleep before he could make it up to her as much as he could.

Making his way downstairs, the streaming service she had pulled up on his television was paused on one of her favorite shows, the program asking if she was still watching. The coffee table was set up with Chinese takeaway containers, everything clean and sectioned away with his own servings still packaged and warm. He knew what he would find when he peered over the back of the couch, but he still felt a bit of guilt when he saw her wrapped up in a too-small throw blanket on her body and a too-stiff decorative pillow under her head.

Her hair was clean of every pin she'd used to style it, her dress replaced with comfortable pajamas, and face clean and shining in the low light. She was asleep, her breath coming in small puffs with each line and plane of her features left relaxed.

He didn't even tell her goodnight.

Petting his hand over her temple to push stray baby hairs out of her face, he allowed his fingertips to linger over her skin. The warmth of her was enough to thaw the strain he hadn't realized he was still carrying in his muscles.

This would never get old, he decided. The evidence of her around his home was enough to get his heart kicking against his ribs, but to find her on his couch after a long night was something he hadn't realized he craved until he met her. Though he would prefer to have had more time with her, the stress of the night seemed worth it when he came downstairs to see this.

If not for the fact he was just as hungry as (Y/N) had guessed by the amount of containers she left out for him, he would have tucked in beside her and slept off the stress. Instead, he settled for kicking off his shoes and heading for the linen closet for a warmer blanket to spread across her form.

With (Y/N) snuggled under the fleece, he settled himself on the floor beside her. Though it wasn't a show he enjoyed watching without her commentary, Harry still pressed play on the episode she had left off on. He kept the volume low, reaching for the chopsticks that had come with the delivery.

Twirling a bite of lo mein on the sticks, Harry hesitated before that first bite despite his gnawing stomach. Maybe it was the fact he couldn't get her soft face out of his head the last time she'd come to his office, or the way she had arranged all of his favorites out for him to pick through by the time he came downstairs, but it didn't feel right to have his dinner without her.

There was no way he was going to wake her up, but that didn't stop him from reaching for the hand she had sticking out from under the blanket. Though it wasn't a particularly comfortable angle, he laced his fingers between hers. His chest warmed when she seemingly recognized his touch, reciprocating his hold as best she could in her sleep before snuggling the back of his hand to her cheek.

Despite the cooling food in front of him, Harry let his eyes linger on the peaceful set of her features and the way she clung to his hand. A small smile thumbed a dimple into his cheek.

He'd still be making it up to her tomorrow, but tonight hadn't turned out too bad.

—————

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