#he is so full of angst and I'm here for it

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Seduction

Prof Minho x Student! Reader Synopsis: Minho's harsh words come back to bite him. A surprise guest visits you on campus, and life alerting decisions are made Warnings: SMUTTT, masturbating (m & f.), unprotected p in v (be safe!), pet names, oral (f receiving), angst, i think that's it. A/N: Omg i'm so surprised with how much love this lil fic has gotten! Thank you guys so much! Part 4 will be wild but for now, relish in part 3! As always, leave a comment to be added to the tag list!

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Consequences

Minho was a cold, calculated man. He didn’t normally take unnecessary risks, he wasn’t one to usually give into carnal desires whenever they hit, but y/n? She made him tick; and that terrified him.

He was so volatile around her, despite the way he held onto his composure. He let her suck him off under his desk in public for crying out loud. And the worst part, he wanted it just as badly if not more than she did. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her. The way she felt wrapped around him, the way her walls squeezed him as if she was made for him and him alone. His body ached for her, and to keep himself from going down a path he knew led to nothing but destruction, he used who or whatever he could.

He sat on his couch, cock in hand as he thought of you. The way your body was always exposed in some way or fashion, the way you showed him your panties or cleavage when ever you could, to try and rile him up. The way your hips swayed simply when you walked and didn’t realize he was paying too close attention. The way he would watch as your lips curved up in a smile when he seen you around campus with your friends. The way he would do anything to hear you laugh uncontrollably, like the day he shot you a look for it because it was disruptive.

Your name falls from his lips as his hand quickens, hips lifting into it like you’re above him. It doesn’t take long for him to finish, and he doesn’t have long, before he has to be back in time for your class.

-

He walks in, eyes flitting to your seat, a sickening feeling in his stomach. He tried to reason with himself. You weren’t taking the hint; he didn’t want you.

Err

He couldn’t have you. Which to him meant he couldn’t want you, because he knew himself too well. As good as he could resist, it couldn’t last. He tried being nice, tried to correct you softly, but you wouldn’t relent. He had to be mean. Had to be forceful. He had to scare you. That’s what he reassured himself of every time his heart ached when he thought of the look on your face when you left his office.

His class starts to file in, noticing you’re not in at your normal time, he furrows his brows, deciding the leave the door open an extra few minutes. Minho begins class, eyes constantly flitting from your seat to the door, ultimately leaving the door unlocked for the full length of class, just in case.

As he drones on, he can’t help but wonder where you are. Since the beginning of the year, you hadn’t missed a single day of his class. Maybe you were sick, maybe you just needed time.

However, as one day turned into three weeks, Minho was getting worried despite his better judgment. He’d emailed you a week ago saying you needed to come to class or you would flunk out. He never heard back, never seen you on campus, and his worry was eating away at him.

Had he been too harsh?

Was he too mean?

After yet another missed class he pulls out his cell phone dialing your number. Today he had to take attendance, and it was the second of three you could miss. He tried to be lenient, give you time, but he still had a job to do.

He waits, listens to it ring and hears your voice.

“Hey this is y/n, leave your message at the beep.”

Beep

Minho ponders hanging up for a moment, but clears his throat.

“This is Professor Lee, I’m calling to inform you that you need to come back to class. Your grade is quickly dropping and I’m willing to help you make it up, but you need to be here to do so. I expect to see you tomorrow for class, you can’t afford another missed attendance or you will fail my class.” He hangs up, guilt blooming in his chest.

-

You feel your phone vibrate seeing a voice mail you pick up the phone and press play. Minho’s voice cuts on and as quickly as it began, you cut it off. You holed yourself up in your room for a few days before going to your other classes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go back to Psychology. Not yet.

His words still ring in your head.

‘Y/n that’s all it was, I used you for my own personal release. Because that’s all you were good for.’

The last sentence cuts deep. Sure, it was a one-night stand, you told him to use you, but you were never supposed to see him again. He was meant to be a good memory; a ghost. Nothing more.

He didn’t have to look so wicked when the words fell from the lips you desperately wanted to kiss. The words echo in your skull, tears welling up in your eyes once again.

Later that night you hear a knock at your door. You drag yourself out of bed, hair a mess, eyes puffy, clothes frumpy.

You open the door and see a face you weren’t expecting.

“Hayden?” you ask shocked.

“Hey, y/n.” he smiles.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I missed my girl, and wanted to come see you.” He pulls you into him, kissing the top of your head.

“Technically I’m not your girl,”

“Y/n, we’re on a break while you’re here. You’re still mine, and I’m still yours, regardless of any meaningless one-night stands or stupid drunken mistakes.” He reasons as he walks into the dorm with you. Guilt pangs your chest; even if you are a single woman.

“But I’m here, so let’s do something. I missed you like crazy.” He cups your face placing a kiss on your nose. That’s when he sees your face. Your eyes red and puffy, and the little sniffle you do.

“Woah what the hell happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine. Come on, I’ll get dressed and we can go get something to eat. You gotta be starving.” You smile.

-

Minho is in his office late that night, thoughts of you weaving through his mind. He really has started to miss you, in spite of your teasing, he missed your presence. Something about you, while entirely frustrating, was fun. Challenging even. You weren’t like the other girls who would pine from afar.

You aren’t turned off by his harsh exterior, or you weren’t, until you were.

He exits his office, heading to the student center to grab a bite to eat before making his way back home. He steps inside the large cafeteria-esque room eyes scanning the room to see his array of choices when his eyes land on you for the first time in weeks.

And you’re with someone.

A boy.

He feels a pang of jealousy rise up. He hasn’t seen you in weeks, granted not that he deserved to for any other reason other than he was your professor. But still, his curiosity peaked. He could see your body shake with laughter as he walked to your table; social graces be damned.

You feel his presence before you see him, and when he walks up to the table, your body goes rigid.

“Ms. Y/L/N. Glad to see you’re still alive.” He says sarcastically.

“Professor Lee,” you say as you can feel your ex boyfriend’s eyes on the two of you.

“I’m Hayden,” he speaks up reaching out to shake Minho’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he flits his eyes to the boy.

“I hope you being out and about means I’ll be seeing you in class tomorrow.” You quirk a brow before scoffing at his audacity and shrugging your shoulders.

“If I have it my way, this pretty little lady won’t be going back to class.” Hayden smirks and Minho’s body goes rigid, his own brow lifting before he turns his attention to your ex.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, this lil vixen here’s got me going crazy. She may be too sore,” he snickers and you are helpless as you watch Minho grab him by the collar and pull him up, their noses touching.

“Do. Not. Speak. about her like that. Do you understand me? Or we will have problems.” He seethes. Hayden’s eyes are big as saucers.

“It was a joke man,” he stammers before Minho lets him go. Hayden’s face is in utter shock as your mouth hangs open.

“Ms. Y/L/N I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” Minho says with a nod of his head as he walks away like nothing happened.

You and Hayden share a look.

“What the hell is his problem,” he shoots a glare Minho’s direction. You follow Hayden’s eyes, noticing the way he stands there in line, cool, calm and collected; your heart racing in your chest.

“No clue,” you lie.

-

The next day you walk in the door as Minho turns to make his way to it. You see a faint smile on his face, until Hayden walks in behind you.

“My seat is up front, so sit here and chill.” You tell him. You make your way down to your seat and sit down opening your laptop.

Minho starts his lesson, eyes flitting between you and Hayden the whole class. It goes by smoothly, no disruptions, no teasing from you, you’re rather stoic and composed. Nothing like what your professor is used to. Minho finds himself missing your antics.

The bell rings, and Hayden walks up to you helping you pack your things away before you turn on your heels to leave.

“Y/n!” Minho calls out. You sigh.

“I need to speak with you this afternoon, please come by during my office hours,” he casually requests, “Alone.” He narrows his eyes at Hayden who looks confused.

“Yeah, whatever.” You say as you take his hand in yours, Minho’s stomach in knots at the sight; disgust filling his entire being. He’s losing his grip on reality little by little, only this time, it’s not due to your teasing.

-

You knock on Minho’s door.

“Come in,” he calls out to you.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Minho’s eyes rake over your body, noting the sweatpants and loose t shirt, tied up hair and glasses.

“What no short skirt today?” He asks, brow quirked.

“Excuse me?” Your brows furrow as your voice is sharp and warning.  

“You heard me.” He says without looking away from his computer.

“Have a seat, we need to discuss your grade.”

“Am I failing?” You ask with a certain air of reservation as you sit in the leather seat. The thought of him bending your math teacher over the very desk he’s sitting at plays in your head, harsh emotions daring to pop up

“Almost,”

“But I’m not?”

“Technically no,” Minho sighs.

“Then there’s nothing to talk about.” You stand up and make your way to the door.

“Y/n,” he breathes pinching the bridge of his nose.

You don’t turn around, you can’t.

“If you miss one more class of mine you’ll have to retake it and you being here on a student visa means you don’t exactly have the time to do that. You need to get your grade up.” He scolds lightly. A hint of softness in his voice.

“I have homework, Professor Lee. If I’m not failing, I’ll be fine. No one said a diploma needed an A plus average.” You go to turn the knob but a hand presses against the door. You can feel the heat radiating off him just behind you.

“Y/n, I’m worried about you,” he says in your ear, voice sincere. You smile cynically.

“Why? All I’m good for is to be used.” You bite back. He sighs.

“Y/n, please.” His hand tentatively moves to your hip. Your breath hitches as your eyes shut, the way his hand feels on you is unreal. It’s like a livewire; electric and dangerous.

“I need to leave.” Your voice is quiet. He moves his lips to your ear.

“Please come back to class. I don’t want to see you fail.” He pleads and for a moment you think he’s sincere. You shutter as his breath hits you and his lips ghost your ear.

Without another word, you open the door and quickly escape his grip; head spinning in confusion.

-

Over the next week Hayden stays, the two of you getting visibly close again. He meets Duri, follows you to other classes, stays by your side almost 24/7. But as time does, it goes and the week comes to an end.

“I’m just saying, you could come back home with me, if you wanted to.” He says as he packs his suit case.

“Hayden, I can’t leave,” you chuckle but the way he looks at you, you can tell he’s serious.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“You can study social work anywhere; it doesn’t have to be here.” He reasons.

“No, but I’m not just here for school, it’s a chance to travel, get to know other cultures and understand other backgrounds and heritages. It’s a way to expand my knowledge in the real world too.” You explain.

“I’m just saying, you don’t seem too happy. You keep saying nothing is wrong, but I can tell something is bothering you, I just don’t know what.” He sits down on your bed.

“You take midterms in a few weeks, pass those and you can transfer colleges to one in the states. Just think about it. That’s all I ask.” He says before placing a kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes close as his lips touch your forehead. You fist his collar, bringing his lips to yours in a deep and messy kiss, your hands threading through his dark hair, breath mixing as you try to pull him closer.

“God, I hope this means you’re coming home soon,” he says against your lips.

“It means I want to fuck you before you leave.”  You breathe as you capture his lips again.

“And get Minho out of my head,” you think to yourself as your back hits the bed.

-

Its two weeks after Hayden leaves, the thought of leaving has been floating around in your head more and more. As much as you want to stay, seeing Minho everyday is hard. Even if you transferred classes, there are days where being on the same campus as him hurts.

You decided last week to go home, you were able to get a flight out Saturday morning, the morning after your big birthday bash. Duri had promised to make it a birthday to remember and that you guys would stay in touch even if you were half a world away.

Thankfully mid terms meant you were holed up in your dorm studying all week, and it was the last day of testing, and your birthday. Which meant after your psychology midterm, it’s party time.

The midterm comes, and as you take the test, your eyes flit to Minho’s desk, where his eyes are on you almost every time, and he doesn’t look away, he doesn’t smile, just stares. You pull your eyes away from him, trying to focus and finish your test.

-

Back in your dorm, you’re double checking everything, making sure you don’t forget anything. You leave your suit cases by the door as you look at your self in the mirror one last time, smiling to yourself. Tonight isn’t about Minho or the drama that seemed to surround the two of you, it’s about you turning nineteen and having a blast.

-

The party is in full swing, alcohol, sweaty college kids, and substances as far as the eye could see; powders lined tables, pills littering rooms on the carpeting. You’d come with Duri who unfortunately got sick not long after you arrived and you decided to stay without her. It’s your birthday after all. And the boys are making sure you feel special. You have a sash around you that says birthday girl, pink and white, matching the pretty pink bodycon dress that left very little to the imagination.

The music thumps as you brace on the keg, everyone shouting as they lift you up and you drink from it, your feet in the air. The party slowly started to blur, alcohol reaching your blood, that fuzzy feeling kicking in. You’re stumbling around the party, giggly from the second-hand smoke.

“I gotta go home,” you slur to one of Duri’s friends, Taehoon.

“Come on, y/n the party has just gotten started.” He slings an arm around your shoulder. You giggle as you lean into his side.

“Mmm, got a flight to catch,” you stumble as he keeps an arm around you as you walk.

“Ugh, at least have one last good time before you go?”

“No more drinks.” You shake your head. You’d managed to stay away from most of the drugs, until Taehoon holds out a little pink pill.

“Whatssit for?”

“Motivation,” he smirks. You furrow your brows but hold your tongue out flat for him.

“Ah, look at you. Such a good little girl,” he mocks as he places it on your tongue.

“Now swallow,” he instructs as you do so.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

You begin walking down the road when about ten minutes into the walk you start to feel funny.

“Y/n?” you hear your name being called. Your vision is slightly blurry; you rub your eyes.

“Professor Lee. How’s my favorite teacher?” the boy kisses up to him. Your heart thrums in your ears as your vision begins to clear again. Feeling only a little dizzy.

“Fine, I see how you’re spending your evening.” He gestures to you. He halfheartedly laughs it off.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Minho asks as you start adjusting your dress, suddenly very overwhelmed by the material.

“I should probably get her home,” the guy begins to walk.

“I’ll make sure she gets home, Taehoon. Go back to your party,” he says and you feel a firm grip come around your waist. His hand burns against your body, despite the dress.

You furrow your brows and look down, noticing it. Before Taehoon can utter a response, Minho is pulling you with him.

“Woah- hey!” you shriek as he pulls you off in the direction away from the house.

“You mind tell him me why you’re touching me!” You struggle against him, but he only holds you closer to his side not answering you.

“Let me go,” you wiggle in his grip but your body begins to feel warmer. You make a few grunting noises, followed by a few whines, as your body gets uncomfortable.

“Here, get in,” he holds the door open for you. You sit in the seat, still squirming, a slight pulse being found between your thighs. You can feel the sweat cling to your body, your thighs squeezing together trying to soothe the slight ache in between them.

Minho gets in, hearing the quiet whimpers watching as you keep adjusting and re adjusting your dress. He can see the way your chest is heaving.

“Are you ok?” Minho asks, his hand find its way to your thigh to grab your attention.

You practically moan at the contact. Your face flushes when he looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“’m s-sorry,” you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing your hands not to go where you want contact the most.

“What’s going on with you? You’re sweaty and you can’t sit still. What the hell did you take?”

“I don’t know,” you whine hips grinding into the car seat.

“Hurts,” you whimper as you shamelessly try to dig your hips into the seat, begging for friction.

“Woah- shit,” Minho curses as he watches you.

This isn’t good.

He pulls up to his house just off campus and helps you inside. You can’t control the small whines and whimpers, your body feeling as though it’s on fire.

“What are we doing here?” you ask between whines.

“Just a precaution, so I know you’re safe.” He says closing the door behind you.

“Fuck,” you whimper out as you squeeze your thighs together and tuck your face into his neck.

“Minho it hurts so bad,” you sob into his neck and he takes a deep breath. Your hot breath on his neck isn’t helping matters.

“Ok, let’s get you into a bath. That should help you cool down.” He gently leads you to the bathroom. You’re grabbing at your dress, desperate to be free from the suffocating material. By the time you’re in the bathroom. It’s half way down, your chest exposed to the cool air of his house.

Minho is doing his best not to look at you, keeping his eyes forward.

“Go ahead, I’ll start the water.” He says as he deliberately doesn’t look at you. You step into the water, the contact from that not helping. You moan as you sink into it, the water not cooling you off any, but feeling good against your flesh. His lips purse as he turns his back and as his hand is put on the knob, he hears it.

A small gasp before an uncontrollable moan leaves your lips. He freezes, the sound going straight to his cock. He grabs the knob, forcing himself out and slams the door behind him.

How long would you play these games? Was it all a set up? Had you done this on purpose? He warned you and yet here you were, testing him. He could hear you, the moaning getting louder, whimpering turning into full on screams as your fingers worked against your bud, begging for release. And when he hears it, how pretty you sound when it hits, he’s done for. His lip is bleeding from how hard he’s chewing on it. The house goes quiet, and Minho wills himself to turn the TV on. Maybe you were ok now.

Maybe.

You sit in the tub, the burn, sting, and desire not even hardly fading. You’re gasping for air, body writhing in the water. You can’t make it stop.

You force yourself out of the tub, not even bothering with clothes or a towel, drying off so you don’t drip water, and walk out to see Minho sipping his tea in front of the tv. When his eyes cast to your body, he chokes on the tea as the cup is taken away from his lips in haste.

“What the fuck y/n. What did I not make clear to you, I,”

“Minho please,” you whimper, tears brimming your eyes at the red-hot feeling of your body.

“I can’t do it myself I tried, I can’t,” you cry as you lift up your long acrylic nails, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just,” you gasp looking for the words, “ I need help,” you let the tears flow and Minho furrows his brows.

Holy shit. You aren’t kidding.

“What, I, what do you want me to do?”

His voice is shaky, unsure, as he stands up and comes to shield you from the light and vulnerability in the room.

“Please, just, touch me, make it stop.” Your bottom lip pouts and he can’t hold himself back anymore.

Minho’s lips find yours in a needy hot kiss. His hands go to your waist automatically and you gasp, the feeling electric. He pulls you to his bedroom, pushing you back on the bed as he begins to pull at his tie. He flings it across the room, along with his shirt.

“This is just to ease your pain,” he lies to you and himself. Sure, that was the excuse, but Minho knew sooner or later he’d give in.

You’re sitting up on your elbows as you watch him remove his shirt before hovering over you.

“Just lay back, and trust me, ok?” He strokes your cheek with a gentleness you haven’t seen before, both present in his touch and his eyes.

His lips find your collar bone, leaving open mouthed kisses behind. He can feel you squirm beneath him, as he trails kisses down your stomach he watches you through his lashes; no teasing, no harsh movements.

He settles between your thighs, fingers spreading you open, tongue immediately circling your bud.

You gasp, back arching off the bed, hand flying to this head.

“Ah-ha,” you choke out, eyes screwing shut, His tongue is quick, firmly pressing against you. Your hips quickly start to grind against his face.

“P-please, ah, fuck yes, please Minho, fingers,” you sob out as you hold him close to your core. He does as you instruct, slowly inserting one finger into your hole, curling it and pumping it.

“Fuck,” you shriek. Your body could hardly keep up with how good everything felt, how overwhelming it was. He adds another without warning, keeping his pace.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as you feel the tight coil in your belly. As he works you up to it, he holds your thigh; fingers pressing into it so hard you know there will be bruises the next morning. Your coil explodes in your stomach, euphoria hitting every single nerve ending. You gasp for air, feeling the burn start to fade. Your chest rises and falls as Minho cleans you up with his tongue.

“Fuck you taste so much better than I imagined,” he says to himself. You’re too busy trying to see straight to hear him. He kisses your mound, up your pelvis, nipping at your hips and sucking at them a little, lips trailing back up to yours.

“Taste yourself,” he says as he holds your jaw between his thumb and other fingers firmly, forcing you to look at him.

His nose, lips and chin are shiny as he comes down to connect your lips, his tongue freely moving in your mouth. You moan as your taste hits your taste buds, his tongue massaging yours.

Your hands go to either side of his neck, the two of you kissing each other as if you’ll disappear from one another if you stop. So, you don’t. You breathe against each other, tongues dancing together in an intricate and intimate dance.

Minho finally pulls away, lips kiss swollen as he looks down at you, chest heaving as yours does.

“Feel better?” he asks pointedly.

“A little,” you say sheepishly, head still fuzzy. He purses his lips, getting off you and walking out of the room. He comes back with a rag, words not being spoken as you rise up back to your elbows watching him clean you up. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t smile or say a word, just cleans. You watch him leave, and he’s gone for a moment, bringing you back a shirt of his and a pair of his boxer shorts.

“You can wear this tonight, and I’ll take you to your dorm in the morning.” He says coldly.

“Minho,” you call and he stops, facing the bedroom door, listening.

“I, I want you to stay,” you admit before slipping on the shirt.

“Please,” you whisper before pulling your hair out of the collar. You slip on the shorts and he sighs.

“Y/n that’s not a good idea.”

“Please, I, I’m freaked out. I don’t wanna be alone and I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Your voice is audibly desperate and scared.  

“You were drugged with something, I just don’t know what.” He tries to stay distant, but his voice gives away his own concern.

“Minho, please, I’m scared.” You reach out and touch his arm. He turns to look at you.

“Fine, only because you’re scared, but this changes nothing.” He admonishes.

You nod and crawl into bed, cuddling up next to him.

Little did you know, Minho could and would hold you forever if he was able to. Fate simply didn’t seem to want to give him that chance.

Or maybe it did, and he was scared to take it.

About thirty minutes later, Minho sound asleep, it’s back. The burning desire, the want, the way your clit catches at the subtlest squeeze of your thighs and you can’t help but hiss at the contact.

You groan into your pillow, Minho waking up to your small but constant movements. He rubs his eyes, looking at you, desperately trying to rut into his mattress like a bitch in heat.

“What the hell is going on?”

“It’s back,” you moan, your bud catching just right.

“And it’s worse, every little thing feels like it’s setting me on fire,” you groan as you toss the shirt off again.

“Y/n, stop.” He tries to still your hips, but you can’t, you won’t. You need release.

“I’ll make you feel better. Just stop,” the words stop you in your tracks.

You slip the boxer shorts off, Minho slipping his own off, cock springing free.

“Lay down,” he instructs as he fingers your core, gently pumping in and out, feeling how wet you are.

“Fuck,” he growls. He gets a condom from the bedside table.

“No, please, I need as much of you as I can, please, I’m desperate,” you stop him. He sighs as he drops the condom down on the table leaning down to kiss your lips as he lines himself up at your entrance.

You feel the tip push in, and you gasp, the feeling better than words could ever describe. He pushes in slow, letting you feel the way he fills you up, wall to wall. You shudder against his shoulder as he bottoms out, both of your foreheads resting against the other’s body.

“Fuck I forgot how good you feel around my cock,” he whispers, stroking your hair. Your words are gone, the feelings intense.

“’s good, so good, please m-move, I want it,” you babble and he shushes you. Your hands grip his biceps as he slowly pulls out, only to quickly push himself back in, eliciting a gasp from you.

“Tell me what feels good, Kitten,” he murmurs in your ear, voice gentle.

“Harder,” you say as your lips attach to his neck, sucking a bruise to the base of it. His hips buck into you harder, your nails scratching down his back as his hips pound into you.

“Fuck, faster, please,” you pant. Minho knows exactly what you need, and he can’t give it to you this way. He pulls out, you whimpering at the loss of contact before he flops you on your belly.

He grabs a fist full of hair, angles your hips up, and rams into you, causing you to scream in pleasure.

Your eyes roll back into your head, skin on skin echoing in the room amongst your cries of pleasure. Minho pulls your body up against his, your back to his chest as he thrusts, both of you panting as you chase your highs.

“Kiss me,” you breathe out. He connects your lips in a sloppy kiss, tongues gliding, moans being swallowed, your fingers tangling in his hair as his comes around and hold you by your tits, fingers circling your nubs.

“You want me to touch you?” he asks against your mouth. You can only whimper in response.

His left arm hooks around you, hips still going, as his other hand snakes around finding your puffy clit.

“Ah, fuck,” you hiss as he begins to rub it.

“Fuck, fuck, it’s too much,” you sob.

“You can do it, Kitten. You wanted to get fucked, don’t be rude. Take what I give you,” he instructs in your ear. The overstimulation is crazy, your hips grinding down against his cock, walls clamping around him like a vice.

“Aww, fuck,” he growls as feels it, lips attaching to your shoulder. A few tears stream down your face in pleasure as he rubs faster and harder, and your hands grip his arms as your orgasm rips through you white hot. Stars in your vision as your body violently shakes around him, Minho pulling out, helping you lay down, before pumping himself quickly, making himself cum.

His sounds are heavenly and you watch the sight before you, a lazy and satisfied smirk on your face.

You watch his chest rise and fall, his eyes slowly dragging over your frame until they meet yours. You see the smallest smile on his face. He grabs the rag from earlier, wiping himself clean before leaning over and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.

“How do you feel now?” he smirks.

“Much better,” you smile as you kiss him again.

He takes the rag to the bathroom, feeling content with his life for once. He gets another rag to re clean you up, and when he comes back, you’re body is limp, eyes half lidded.

“You’re tired,” he teases as he uses the cloth to clean up the second mess he’s made tonight. Your hips jolt as he touches your clit.

“Sorry,” he mutters as he takes his time before placing a kiss to the top of your thigh.

“You’re still gonna stay with me, right?” you call out.

“If you want me to,” he says as he enters the room. He slips into the other side of the bed, pulling you to him, nestling you in his warmth.

He kisses your forehead, silence blanketing you.

“You ok?” he whispers.

“Mhm,” you murmur.

“Do you need anything? Water, snack, space?”

“Nope,” you say as you grin up at him. You take the time to memorize his face. His dark eyes, brown hair, soft sweet skin and lips. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek for a moment before you place a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Good night,” you whisper as you turn around in his arms.

-

The next morning the sunlight shines into the window of Minho’s bedroom. He squints his eyes, looking around the room. Memories of last night come flooding in as he feels the sheets against his flesh. But you aren’t in the bed. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants.

“Y/n?” he calls out.

No response. He notices the shorts he lent you last night on the floor, but the t shirt is nowhere to be found.

“Y/n!” he calls again.

Nothing. He checks the rooms, but doesn’t find you.

He walks into the kitchen, seeing a note on the counter.

Thanks for the release. It was all you were good for.

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Love notes and comments are greatly appreciated!

[tinyshyteacup]

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Gif from @daryl-dixon-daydreams

TW: walkers (zombies), being hit on by arseholes, the monroe kids might be ooc, small angst, blood, talk of past abuse, hunting animals.

Part 33

Dead Weight - Part 34

The house on Birch Street feels like stepping into a time capsule—polished hardwood floors, cream-colored walls adorned with actual artwork, furniture that matches and isn't held together with duct tape or wire.

The welcome party is in full swing, Alexandrians mingling with your group in carefully orchestrated small talk. You watch Rick attempt conversation with a woman in a floral dress who keeps eyeing him with poorly concealed distaste. Carol, transformed into the perfect suburban housewife persona, chats animatedly about casserole recipes while you catch the calculating gleam in her eyes.

Your fingers twist nervously in the fabric of your shirt as you scan the room for Daryl. He'd entered with the group but disappeared within minutes, probably to find a corner where he could observe without participating. You don't blame him—the forced cheerfulness, the abundance of everything when you'd been scraping by for so long, it all feels overwhelming.

The clean clothes felt foreign against your skin as you stood in Deanna's living room, nursing a glass of wine that tasted too sweet after months of nothing but water and whatever alcohol you could scavenge.

The flowy dress Carol had found for you was pretty enough, but it made you feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with necklines.

"Well look at you, all cleaned up," Carol appeared at your side with a knowing smile, her own transformation from road-worn survivor to suburban housewife complete "Barely recognize any of us."

You tugged at the hem of the dress. "Feels weird."

Before you could answer, Abraham's booming laugh carried across the room where he was regaling a small group of Alexandrians with what was probably a heavily edited version of your journey here. His red hair was slicked back, beard trimmed, but his presence still dominated the space.

"That man could charm his way out of anything," Carol observed. "Or into trouble, depending on the day."

You stifled a laugh with your hand.

You spotted Glen and Maggie near the appetizer table, Glen looking almost uncomfortable in the crowd too, while Maggie seemed more at ease, chatting with some of the Alexandria women about something that had her gesturing animatedly.

Despite Glen's unease they looked good together, solid, like they belonged anywhere as long as they had each other.

Your eyes inevitably drifted to the far wall where you finally spot Daryl he's stood, rigid and clearly uncomfortable in his borrowed shirt. He was nursing a glass of something and doing his best impression of wallpaper, but you could feel the tension radiating from him even across the room.

When your gazes met, he quickly looked away, jaw tight.

"He's having a harder time adjusting than the rest of us," Carol said quietly, following your gaze.

"Can you blame him?" you murmured. "This place... it's like stepping into someone else's life."

"Well, well," a smooth voice interrupted. "Fresh faces at last."

You turned to find two young men approaching – both clean-cut with the kind of confident bearing that spoke of a life lived safely behind walls. The taller one had dark hair and an easy smile, while the shorter one carried himself with slightly more swagger.

"I'm Spencer Monroe," the dark-haired one said, extending his hand. "And this is my brother Aiden. Mom's told us all about your group, but she didn't mention..." he gestured vaguely in your direction.

"That some of you clean up so well," Aiden finished with a grin that was probably meant to be charming.

Carol excused herself to talk with Rick, leaving you to handle the Monroe boys alone.

"So," Spencer continued, moving closer, "where are you from originally? That accent – I can't place it exactly."

You found yourself relaxing slightly. Small talk you could handle. "Oversea's, I was traveling before." You gesture vaguely "all this."

"Oversea's, huh?" Aiden leaned against the bookshelf beside you. "Where excatly? We travelled before the world went to hell. Maybe we visited."

"Small country," you replied, taking a sip of wine, trying to keep the sadness out of your voice. "Not really a tourist destination. Just... quiet."

"Quiet sounds nice," Spencer said, and there was something almost wistful in his voice. "Sometimes I miss quiet. Alexandria's safe, but it's not exactly peaceful, you know? Always something that needs doing, someone who needs managing."

For a moment, you glimpsed something real beneath their polished exterior – the weight of responsibility, maybe, or just the particular loneliness that came with being in charge of other people's safety.

"So how'd you end up with Rick's group?" Aiden asked. "Mom mentioned you've been with them since the beginning."

"Not quite the beginning," you corrected. "They found me in a department store. Was on my own for a while after..." you trailed off, the familiar tightness in your chest returning.

"Sorry," Spencer said quickly. "We all lost people. Didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

You shook your head. "It's okay."

"The prison sounds like it was something special," Spencer was saying when you refocused on the conversation.

"It was," you said softly. "For a while, anyway. We had gardens, a council, kids learning in makeshift classrooms. Felt like we were building a real community."

"Like here," Aiden suggested.

You considered that, glancing around the room at the soft lighting and untouched furniture, the way everyone moved carefully like they were afraid of disturbing something precious.

"Different," you concluded. "This is... preserved. The prison was something new."

"New can be dangerous," Spencer pointed out.

"This has worked for years. We've kept people safe, kept families together."

"Safety's important," you agreed, but something in your tone must have shifted because both brothers leaned in slightly.

"But?" Aiden prompted.

You took another sip of wine, buying time to organize your thoughts. "Sometimes safe and alive aren't the same thing."

Before either Monroe could respond, Glen appeared at your elbow, Maggie close behind.

"Hey," Glen said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "How's everyone doing over here?"

"Just getting acquainted," Spencer replied smoothly. "Your friend here was telling us about the prison."

"It was quite a place," Maggie added, but there was something protective in the way she positioned herself slightly between you and Aiden.

"It was home," you said simply, and the weight of that truth settled over the little group.

The conversation continued, but you could feel the dynamic shifting. Abraham's voice boomed from across the room as he told some story that had his audience in stitches, while Carol moved through the party like a ghost, charming everyone she spoke to while revealing nothing real about herself.

"So," Aiden said, his voice dropping to a more intimate register as Glen and Maggie got pulled into conversation with some other Alexandrians, "what's your story with the group? You all seem... close."

There was something in his tone that put you on edge, a subtle shift from friendly interest to something more calculating.

"We look out for each other," you said carefully.

"Right, but I mean..." Spencer glanced meaningfully toward where Daryl still stood against the wall, "some bonds seem stronger than others."

Heat crept up your neck as you realized where this was heading. "I'm not sure I follow?"

"Come on," Aiden laughed, but it wasn't entirely friendly anymore. "Pretty girl like you, stuck out there with some rough characters. Had to be complicated."

Your spine stiffened. "They're good people. They kept me alive."

"I'm sure they did," Spencer said, his tone suggesting something else entirely. "Especially that redneck you came in with. What's his name... Daryl?"

The way he said Daryl's name, like it left a bad taste in his mouth, made your hands start to clench tighter around your wine glass.

"Yeah, about that," Aiden continued, moving closer so he was essentially boxing you in against the bookshelf. "You don't have to settle anymore. You're in civilization now."

"Settle?" The word came out sharper than you intended.

"What my brother's trying to say," Spencer jumped in, clearly sensing the shift in your mood, "is that you have options here. Real options. You could have a normal life, with someone who can actually provide for you."

"Someone who knows which fork to use at dinner," Aiden added with a laugh that made your blood boil.

That did it.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," you said, the words coming out with a familiar cadence that surprised even you, listening to Daryl's particular brand of righteous anger had clearly rubbed off on you.

"You want to know about Daryl? He's the reason I'm alive to be standing here listening to you two idiots and your bullshit."

Both men blinked, clearly not expecting the sudden shift from polite to barely controlled fury.

"While you two were safe behind these walls playing house, he was out there fighting walkers to keep us breathing. He shared his food when we didn't know where the next meal was coming from. He stayed awake on watch so I could sleep."

"Look, we didn't mean—" Spencer started.

"He's worth ten of whatever the hell you think you're offering," you continued, stepping forward so they had to back up. "And if you think I'd trade loyalty for your idea of civilization, then you don't know shit about me."

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel eyes turning toward your little corner of the party, drawn by the sudden tension.

Glen appeared again, this time with Maggie right behind him, both of them taking in the scene with sharp eyes.

"Everything okay here?" Glen asked, his voice deceptively casual but his posture ready for trouble.

"Just a misunderstanding," Spencer said quickly, his charm back in place but strained around the edges.

"Doesn't look like a misunderstanding," Maggie observed, her gaze flicking between your flushed face and the Monroe brothers' defensive stances.

Without another word, you pushed past them, Glen and Maggie falling into step beside you as you crossed the room toward where Daryl still stood against the wall.

His eyes widened slightly when he saw you approaching, clearly not expecting you to seek him out. He straightened up, that guarded expression slipping over his features like armor.

"Hey, wanna get out of here ?" you said, slightly breathless from your confrontation.

"Thought you were busy making new friends." His eyes flicked over your shoulder toward where the Monroe brothers were still standing.

There was something fragile in his tone that made your heart ache. You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing against his.

"I'd rather be fighting walkers then talking to dumb and dumber." You whisper, just loud enough for Daryl to hear.

He stared down at your hand touching his skin, and for a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his face before he could hide it. Slowly he interlaced his fingers with yours and you stepped out into the night air.

The cool night air feels like a relief against your flushed cheeks as you walk beside Daryl down the quiet Alexandria street. Your hands are still shaking slightly from the confrontation at Deanna's party—the way those idiots had looked you up and down, the snide comments about "Settling" that had made your blood boil hot in your veins.

You'd surprised yourself with how quickly you'd jumped to Daryl’s defense, how the words had tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

The shocked look on the Monroe boys faces when you'd told them exactly what you thought of their attitudes had been worth the every bit of the awkwardness that followed.

"Didn't need you fightin' m'battles." Daryl mutters beside you, his voice gruff but not angry.

"I wasn't fighting your battles," you say quietly, glancing at his profile in the dim streetlight. "I was fighting mine. They were being assholes."

Daryl's jaw works silently, the way it does when he's chewing on words he doesn't know how to say. You've learned to read these silences over the months you've spent pressed against his side in abandoned houses and makeshift shelters.

"Hey there!"

Both of you turn toward the familiar voice. Aaron is waving from his front porch, Eric beside him with his injured ankle propped up on a small stool.

"You two heading home already?" Aaron asks, making his way down to the sidewalk. "Party not your scene either?"

Daryl shrugs, not quite meeting Aaron's eyes. You can feel the tension in him—that wariness that never fully goes away, even here behind these walls.

"Just getting some air," you offer diplomatically.

"Well, we were about to have some dinner," Aaron says, gesturing toward the house with genuine warmth. "Nothing fancy, just spaghetti. You're welcome to join us if you'd like."

You look at Daryl, he's quiet for a long moment, jaw working as he considers the invitation. Finally, he gives a short nod.

"Yeah. Alright."

The inside of Aaron and Eric's house feels impossibly normal—pictures on the walls, books on shelves, the kind of domestic touches that still feel foreign after so long on the road.

Eric greets you both with easy smiles, and soon you're seated around their small dining table with steaming plates of spaghetti.

Daryl eats the way he always does—focused and efficient, wiping his mouth on his sleeve instead of the cloth napkin Aaron had provided.

It's such a fundamentally Daryl thing that it makes your chest tight with affection. Some of the Alexandria people would probably find it crude, but to you it's just... him.

Real and unpretentious in a way that feels more honest then half the people behind these walls.

"This is really good," you tell Aaron, who beams at the compliment.

"Eric's recipe, actually. He's the real cook in this relationship."

"Had to learn somewhere," Eric says with a grin. "Aaron would burn water if I let him." He pauses, twirling pasta around his fork.

"Speaking of which, Daryl, you like spending time out there? Beyond the walls?"

The question seems casual enough, but you notice the way Aaron shoots Eric a look—sharp and warning.

Daryl's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "What d'you mean?"

"Eric," Aaron says carefully, "maybe we should—"

"What? He's going to find out anyway." Eric turns back to Daryl with an apologetic smile.

"Aaron's been meaning to ask if you'd be interested in helping with recruitment. Being the other recruiter, actually, he's gotten overprotective since I got laid up with this ankle."

The silence that follows is thick with tension. Daryl sets down his fork completely, his blue eyes narrowing as he looks between Aaron and Eric.

"Ya been plannin' this?" he asks Aaron, his voice flat.

"I told Deanna not to give you a job because I think I have one for you," Aaron says, his voice more serious now.

"I'd like you to be Alexandria's other recruiter. I don't want Eric risking his life anymore."

Daryl's eyes narrow, that familiar defensiveness creeping into his voice. "Y'want me riskin' mine, right?"

"Yeah, because you know what you're doing. You're good out there, but you don't belong out there."

Aaron leans forward, his expression earnest. "You need to be out there sometimes. So do I. But the main reason why I want you to help me recruit is because you do know the difference between a good person and a bad person."

The words hang in the air between them. You watch Daryl's face, seeing him process what Aaron's really saying—that it's not just about his skills or his knowledge of the area. It's about trust.

About Aaron seeing something in him that Daryl's never been sure was there, the thought that others see him how you do makes your chest swell with pride.

Daryl pauses, looking up at Aaron with those sharp blue eyes that seem to be weighing every word. Finally, he speaks. "Got nothing else to do. Thanks."

"Yeah," Aaron says, relief evident in his voice.

Daryl's mouth quirks up just slightly—not quite a smile, but close. "I'll get you some rabbits."

Aaron laughs, genuine and warm. "Great."

"I could help Eric around the house during the day," you offer, wanting to fill the lull in conversation. "Maybe watch Lil Assk— I mean Judith, give Rick a break. While we wait for our men to return from—"

The words are out of your mouth before you realize what you've said, and the moment they hit the air, your face goes burning hot. *Our men.* Like you and Eric are wives waiting at home for your husbands. Like you and Daryl are...

"I mean—" you stammer, panic rising in your throat. "I didn't mean—shit—I was just—"

You're on your feet before you can stop yourself, hands reaching for the empty plates even though it's not your house, not your place to clean up. "I should help with these, I—"

She called me her man, Daryl thinks, and the words hit him like a punch to the chest. Her man. No one had called him that, not anyone that mattered, nit anyone that stayed.

Could I be that? The thought comes unbidden, dangerous. Her man? Could she really want that with someone like me?

The panic in your voice makes his stomach drop for a second—like maybe you're horrified by the slip, by the idea of being tied to someone like him. But then he really looks at your face and sees it's not horror at all. It's just shy embarrassment like how you get when he catches you watching him like you've done something scandalous.

"Hey," Eric says gently, amusement clear in his voice. "It's okay. Really."

But you're already stacking dishes with shaking hands, mortified beyond belief. You and Daryl have been sharing that attic room, falling asleep curled against each other like you have since the prison fell, stealing those careful kisses in the dark when you think the others are asleep.

But you've never put it into words, you certainly didn't mean to bring attention to it so publicly you know how guarded Daryl can be.

"Sit down," Aaron says kindly. "Don't worry about the dishes."

Eric's grin is knowing and not unkind. "Besides, I think it's sweet. 'Our men.' Very domestic."

You make a strangled sound and Daryl shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He should say something, god he wants to, but the words stick in his throat like they always do when it matters most.

The conversation moves on, but Daryl's thoughts keep circling back to those two words, our men. The way you'd said it so naturally before catching yourself, like the idea of belonging to each other was the most normal thing in the world, just fact just a normal part of life.

Maybe it could be.

Maybe, for once in his life, he could have something good without it being taken away. Maybe those voices in his head—his father's, Merle's, all the people who ever told him he wasn't worth a damn—maybe they're wrong.

You finally sit back down, still flushed but managing a small smile when his eyes meet yours across the table. And for the first time since walking through

Alexandria's gates, Daryl lets himself think about staying.

[traiaadd156]

Smt bc im bored

His pov; some sweetness for his unhinged/yandere reader fic bc we love a bit of angst😔

Warnings!; violence, blood, soft angst, damian's self loathing, dirty mess, they shower together(?), CRINGE DIALOG!!! Mention of y/n༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽, body parts.

Long ahh fic.

Something that damian could never understand is people, as in depth as he is within the bounds of the world no one else could ever think of being.

He feels like everything is far.

It wasnt because of that he was upset, far from it.

To have someone to accept him but never understand is something that no one else knows, not his father or brothers. He was just anything what everyone else wanted him to be.

A fighter, a heir, a hero or villain.

The suffocating pressure on his shoulders he never seemed to acknowledge, he knew he was everything anyone could ever want. But you? He seems inadequate, he really wants to be normal, but he knew he couldnt.

He was a monster, in his eyes and everyone else who loathed him.

The things he did, the paranoia of someone trying to get his head for the enemies he made being the son of the demons heir and as a hero.

His hands were caked in blood and the guts of people that never even deserved to be killed. But it was worth it.

Right?

But you? A normal civilian who has no bounds of pressure on their shoulder, it was unfair but at the same time he couldn't really hate you for it. He knew you live a different world from him, similarities but so far from reach.

You were far from reach.

His beloved, he could see the pain in your eyes whenever you patched him up every time he drops to your house since its the closest aid(even if there was any near by).

He would always come to you, like a dog with his tail between his legs. It made him feel pathetic having to feel something he never had experience with, something never taught.

But damian being damian he refuses to heed to those feelings of his, he felt weak being with you.

Now you two were on a date, which he arranged obviously. He would find it demeaning if his woman has to plan something a man is supposed to do, after getting patched up, it was early in the morning. It wasnt a very glamorous date just a simple diner date since you refused to leave him be during patrol but he still paid anyways.

It was irritating.

How are you even still alive with how reckless you were?? Following him as robin, helping him with his vigilante work, even fighting for him.

"I swear you are the most reckless person I ever met." He grumbled, the suns dew shining down his tanned skin whilst you both sat on the booth. Cutting his own pancakes as he eyed your order; french toast with a vanilla milk shake.

As he thought, you and your damn sweet tooth. Thank goodness the diner ran 24/7 so in the early mornings at least it, the clock ticked and the soft jazz of the cool diner made him less tense.

It was nice, its so... Quiet.

And you actually weren't blabbering on, probably since you finally got tired of jumping building to building trying to catch up to him.

His eyes lingered, the way your cheeks puffed like a squirrel whenever you take a mouth full of those salty crinkle cut fries or the fluffy sweet battered bread, its sweet milky scent probably lingering on your lips.

"you know.. if you keep staring I'll start to think your looking at my chest perv." You teased catching his gaze as he scowled at you, hmphing at how ridiculous you sounded.

"Im not ogling." He countered as he ate his own food. "Uhu, right.." well you didnt sound convinced anyways, of course he'd deny such a thing.

He wasnt a pervert.

"hey, you look tense. Is something wrong?" Finally you spoke up when he was scowling down at his pancakes like they killed his family or something.

"its nothing." He excused which your eyes narrowed at that.

"you know I'm here for you right? I mean, I am your girlfriend, I'm supposed to be with you through thick and thin times." You tried to assure before giving him the berries from your french toast.

"you dont have to.." grumbling as he coyly accepted, he knew it was your way of love; sharing, always keeping tabs on him like he did to you.

It was sweet.

Which made him feel worse, he felt like he didnt know anything about you and that was made him feel so bare. Like he was nothing but something to use, but he never was seen as someone.

It was getting hard to not want to ask, for your sake and for his sanity. He needs to think clearly which is getting harder and harder to do.

"do you.. think Im a good boyfriend?" He finally asks, it was diluted since he will rather break his own jaw then to confess his weakness so openly like that.

"hm? Of course. You let me break into your house, take some of your shirts—" before you could say anymore he shut you up.

"im being serious y/n." He couldnt help to cut you off before he shrunk back onto his chair.

"am I... Good enough?"

You just stared a bit blankly to him, your gaze somewhat softened. Damian was a hard nut to crack but for a good reason, he was supposed to be perfect, be the reason why everyone envies your relationship.

But you knew, there was no comforting words he would want more than the truth.

"of course I do, you arent perfect but you're mine. Its all you have to be to be enough for me."

He always wanted to be more, but he didn't know how. His frustration and own insecurity seem to always jab at him whenever he is alone, a voice that was as mocking as his mother, a voice as stern and bitter as his father, and the scrutiny of Ra's that wasnt even his.

"your heart and loyalty is all that matters to me, if it even helps." Your not bad at comforting people, but there are a million different praises you could give but they weren't enough for him to describe how you truly appreciated him.

He just looked down, a soft huff coming from his lips.

He was enough.

Even from a sick person like you, he knew it came from a genuine.

"you have my heart and loyalty." He might as well rip his own heart to hand it to you since he didnt feel like those words were enough for you.

But he was happy.

Happy with you, content with what you had offered.

Time skip

A week after that things were getting normal now, and you noticed something about him.

It wasnt often he was affectionate but he grew rather clingy.

You could feel it but dont know if you should call him out on it.

Nights where you'd be walking alone or even just walking out of school you felt someones gaze always looking at you, a familiar tingle you knew.

Some nights were random gifts and things appearing where he knew you'd spot easily; your bed, the kitchen counter, the couch. Etc.

It was small gifts and trinkets, it ranged from flowers on a vase or a item you were eyeing a little too long at he store(makeup, a dress, shoes, books and what not.)

It was sweet, it made you giggle like a stupid girl with a crush even if you two were together.

Absolutely smitten.

But you did your usual routine; sleep, eat, school and some days trying to find him in the city. Totally not stalking

Usually the meeting spots were at that abandoned warehouse.

The better you got at locating him the more obvious it was he wanted you to find him, he never stayed at the same place. Not by a full thirty minutes at least,

And he knew well that your soon to catch on.

But you never really interfered in his works besides helping people or fighting goons but usually your quiet.

And then after that patrol you both crash into your place, going into the cramped tub before filling it with water.

He sighed softly as you massaged the shampoo into his hair, humming ringing his ears when you sat in front of him.

"this shampoo smells different than it used too." He states, looking at the container you usually filled instead of using the actual bottle.

"well they ran out of the one I like so this is the closest one." Still softly scrubbing his head trying to get the product to bubble so you could secretly shape his hair into horns.

His hand holding the wash cloth soon scrubbing onto your neck and scrubbing, it was so normal . Something he didnt think couples usually do, but then he eased himself in the warm ish water of the tub, leaning back as his hand guided you to also lean in closer since his body was moving back.

"stop moving so much." You grumbled before finally making small horns using the shampoo, humming in delight before sitting back down as he moved you.

Scrubbing your back since he knows it was hard to reach for you.

"did you make horns on my head again?" Huffing out of halfhearted annoyance, a soft smirk on his lips as you denied.

"no." It was a clear lie but he indulged you anyways.

After a good soaking in there you both finally got out, drying yourselves before crashing into your rather small bed full of plushies and squish mallows.

"I should buy you a bigger bed." He'd huff as he layed there, you laying a top him since you didnt want to get crushed.

That you only hummed in agreement too. "At least thank me nothing happened while we were bathing." Not helping to quip which he groaned, he didnt need to be reminded how energetic you were in another way.

A heavy hand soon smacking your thigh making you jump. "Heyy! That one really hurt." A soft grumpy pout on your lips whilst rubbing the whip lash he gave.

"your a pain in the ass minx you know that?"

Okay ignore the last part since i cringed writing that but idk how to make the ending=⁠_⁠=

[theegyal]

FADED, [Annie X Smoke] FANFICTION, SINNERS (2025)

Emotionally charged Chapter. Intimacy, angst, unrequited love

3K words

Sorry for grammatical mistakes and syntax. I asked reverso to correct sum but you never know.

Use Google translate for the Haitian Kreyol. Since it’s not my language. If you’re Haitian please be free to correct me, I love me some creole/cajun black people 😌🤲🏾

CHAPTER 8

"Don't let them in!"

She lunged for Annie's hand, gripping it tight enough to bruise.

"Pa louvri pòt-la, Annie. Yo pa moun yo sé bagay mò."

(Don't open that door, Annie. They're not people. they're dead things.)

Smoke reached to calm her down, but Annie held up a hand, eyes narrowing.

"Lottie," she said quietly, "look at me, girl. Ki ou wè? What did you see?"

Lottie stared, breathing like she'd been chased by demon. "Yo pa vivan. Mwen santi yo. Li frèt. Tout frèt. Tankou lanfè k'ap mache sou de pye."

(They ain't alive. I feel them. It's cold. All cold. Like hell walking on two legs)

Annie's face turned grim. Her fingers twitched, thumb rubbing against the wooden necklace under her dress like counting beads. She closed her eyes a moment and felt it too—the air wasn't right.

Lottie grabbed her again, voice rising.

"Yo pote lanmò. Yo pa ka rantre si nou pa louvri pòt-la. Tanpri, Annie!"

(They bring death. They can't come in unless we open the door. Please, Annie!)

"They need invitation to get in." Lottie continues, trying to get up.

"I know," Annie muttered. Her eyes flashed toward Smoke, Stack, and the others.

"You hear me now, all of you. Don't even speak to them. Let shut the door."

Slim touched his knife. Mary, confused. made the sign of the cross again.

Smoke, now close enough to see Remmick's face in the low light, whispered, "Lottie's right. That man ain't good."

Annie didn't take her eyes off Remmick.

"And he ain't alone."

On this line, the big boned guards close the entry door. Running inside.

Charlotte, still in awe, searched a wall to lean on. World spinning around her, vision blurred and then blackness.

"LOTTIE !"

It was Stack's voice, tearing through the whole room. His boots clashing on the floor so hard even Smoke flinched.

He dropped to his knees, sliding next to her. "Charlotte? Hey, Lottie—"

His hands were shaking as he pulled her up from the floor, cradling her against his chest.

"No, come on, girl, don't do this—look at me. Look at me, Miss Ma'am."

Lottie didn't answer. Her head lolled back. She was ice cold.

"She saw him," Annie said, hurrying toward the kitchen.

"These people outside. They're not human, nor even possessed..." she paused, grabbing a giant bowl of garlic. "They're vampire."

Stack brushed Lottie's face, his thumb trembling as he ran it along her temple.

"I'm right here," he whispered, voice cracking. "It's Eli, you hear me? You come on back now. Don't leave me now."

"She still here," Annie yelled from the kitchen. "But certainly not for too long. We must keep them afar." She added sea salt to pouches and headed back to the saloon.

"I will give every one of you a pouch of sea salt and garlic. Place them at every corner of doors and windows. We gonna stay there until morning."

Folks started whispering, drunkards began getting violent, and young men and women were cursing, trying to leave.

And among them, Mary raise her voice out:

"I'm sorry to be that kind of person but... Can you think about this a second differently? Maybe these people outside only want to play music and dance?"

Smoke didn't say a word when Mary opened her mouth. He didn't need to.

His eyes alone did the work—burning hot, narrowed into slits, cutting straight through her sweet little peacekeeping plea like a blade. His jaw twitched once. Then again. He held his tongue the way a man holds a blade behind his back: with full intent.

"You outta your mind," he said, real quiet. "That what you think they are ? A traveling band?"

Mary blinked, taken aback. Her gaze darted to Stack, who was still crouched over Lottie, rocking her gently like a broken thing he couldn't glue back together. Something about that image cracked her composure. The way Stack held her, like she mattered. Like she'd always mattered.

Mary felt her stomach curdle.

She moved toward them, her boots clicking sharp across the floor. "She ain't even conscious, Stack. She don't know who she talkin' to, could be talkin' nonsense, tryna rile folks up."

Stack didn't answer. Didn't even glance at her.

Instead, Annie burst back into the room, pouches swinging from her hands. Her eyes locked on Lottie—and her face dropped.

"Give her here."

Stack hesitated.

"I said give her to me, Stack."

His arms tensed, clinging to Lottie a second longer than necessary. But when he looked into Annie's face, he saw no room for argument. She was her sister, and the fire in her eyes said she'd fight God himself for her blood.

He gently passed Lottie over, and Annie held her tight against her breast, murmuring something in Creole only the spirits could understand.

"I'm takin' her to the storeroom," she said, already moving. "Ain't no windows there. No door leading outside…"

Smoke stepped aside for her, barely breathing as he watched Lottie disappear through the saloon hallway, limp in her sister's arms.

Behind them, panic grew. Folks jostled, pushing toward the exits. Pearline held onto Sammie, muttering prayers. Even Cornbread had gone pale.

"She overreactin'," she muttered, voice tinged with venom. "Always did run hot when she didn't get attention."

The juke joint buzzed with fear and confusion, folks trying to find corners to sit, lie down, pray, or drink enough to forget what they'd heard.

Annie back to the dance floor, rejoined Smoke behind the bar whispering

" if it comes to it,and we don't have any choice left, we would have to kill them" she added grimly, "A stake right through the heart."

Smoke didn't argue. Just nodded and stirred up on his cigarette.

Meanwhile, Mary watched from the edge of the room, arms folded. Her gaze flitted from Stack's bowed head at the bar to the clutter of people still murmuring about demons and death.

She didn't believe it. Couldn't. Monsters weren't real—just superstition wrapped in too many hot nights and too much liquor.

And Stack... he needed help. The juke needed money. These people outside might just be misunderstood musicians.

While the others fretted and prayed, Mary quietly slipped out through the side corridor, heels silent on the wooden floor. She waited in the shadows near the kitchen until the noise shifted, then eased the door open just enough to slide into the night.

Outside, the air was filled with the buzz of insects and the night's cold winds

"Hello?" she whispered.

The figures stood in the tree line One stepped forward.

"Good evening dear'," came the smooth voice of Remmick, gliding over the grass "Are you lost ? Or can we finally get in and all be a great family ? "

Mary opened her mouth—to flirt, to talk, maybe to negotiate. But she never got the chance.

In a blur, he was on her, teeth sunk deep into her shoulder, the world going cold and quiet except for the awful sound of her heartbeat hammering slower... slower... slower.

Hours later, Mary regained her consciousness, sat up slow, and took her face in her palms. Her body felt light, too light, her skin frigid, yet burning of desire.

She wasn't breathing anymore.

But she was alive.

Sort of.

She stood, swaying a bit, then turned toward the warm glow of the juke joint. Around the back, a man was grumbling to himself, fumbling with a pouch of garlic at the back window.

"Marcus" Mary cooed, stepping out of the darkness.

The man nearly jumped. "Damn, Mary—you scared me."

"Sorry darling. It's cold out here. It was hot inside, wanted some fresh air but I had enough." She laughed before pointing toward the window. "Do you think... you could pull that garlic down so I can get back in? I can't stand the smell. I might be pregnant, who knows..."

The man hesitated.

"I'm not a vampire, if that's what you're wonderin'," she said with a wink.

The dumb Marcus chuckled. "Alright, alright," and peeled the garlic away, lifting the latch.

Mary stepped inside. Her smile never reaching her eyes.

In the saloon, Stack was still sitting across the bar, his whiskey glass full, eyes red and a painful expression on his face. Lottie was still unconscious and she certainly hate him . It's hard to imagine their last interaction was so tense and chaotic.

Mary's boots clicked on the boards.

He turned, surprise flashing through the fog of his grief.

"Babe ?"

She didn't answer. Just walked straight to him and grabbed his collar, pulling his mouth down to hers in a hungry, unrelenting kiss. Her hands moved fast, tracing his chest, his sides, curling around his belt, stroking his rising bulge.

Stack didn't resist. Couldn't. He was a sinner. And needed carnal  redemption.

She whispered against his mouth, "Let's go somewhere quiet."

He followed. No matter what Mary had for him in stock, he was about to buy it.

In the storeroom, Charlotte's breath got caught in her chest. Her head ached, her limbs were hard as stone, but she could hear, distant footsteps, two voices muffled, whispering honey and fire...

Then closer: a door slammed.

Not the storeroom.

Somewhere else.

Then, at this instant Lottie eyes slowly opened.

Shifting to the said pleasure room. Stack was laying vulnerable on the wooden bed, Mary topping him, her dress slightly hitched up past her thighs. The brunette was riding his cock, starved, feeling all the strokes inside her womb.

" Damn Mary"

Stack moans, grabbing her hips tight, rythming her ups and downs hungrily.

The woman spread her legs suggestively, arching her ass and bend her chest over his face. Closing the gap to his neck, fangs growing out from her mouth, the newly vampire was stopped instantly in her preying endeavor.

"Stay away from him !"

The vampire woman received a full splash of holy water on her bare back. Her skin sizzled, then blistered, burning raw. She let out a high, inhuman wail and tore herself off Stack, stumbling back, smoking, her flesh peeling as she crashed against the wall.

She turned and fled, running as fast as the twins truck.

Lottie stood in the doorway, her dark skin shimmering with a fine sheen of sweat, the empty holy water bottle still clutched in her hand.

Her breath hitched, ragged and shallow, the world spiraling too close. Stack was still splayed on the wooden bed, naked, vulnerable, his eyes wide and stunned.

The air in the small pleasure room vibrated with the acrid smell of burnt flesh and semen fluids, something cloying and intimately wrong that still clung to Stack's body.

Her gaze flickered, drawn unwillingly to him, to the sight of his muscular body, exposed and lowered to the erected stone between his thighs. A sharp, physical ache bloomed in her chest, a familiar pain now laced with a bitter, searing newness.

She wanted to look away, desperately, but her eyes, wide and heavy-lidded, seemed to betray her, catching on the raw, open surprise on his face.

"Lottie... God, Lottie, she... she wasn't—" Stack pushed himself up on his elbows, his voice a choked whisper.

Lottie flinched, pulling her gaze away, focusing instead on a splinter in the doorframe, anywhere but him. Her hand trembled, the bottle rattling faintly.

"Don't,"

she murmured, her voice barely audible, infused with an emotion she didn't want to name, let alone show.

She took a single, hesitant step into the room, her movements stiff, as if her limbs were made of lead. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Stack fumbled for something to cover himself, his movements slow, his eyes fixed on her.

"I... I didn't know," he stammered, his voice filled with a desperate confusion. "I thought..."

Lottie didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the floorboards between them, seeing not the wood, but the vivid, burning image of Mary, riding him, touching him with hands, monstrously bold. She could feel the shame radiating off Stack, but beneath it, she felt only her own heartbreak.

She was here to save him, but he had been there with someone else, chasing a release she could only dream of offering. The room, once a place of fleeting pleasure, now held the agonizing silence of her unrequited love.

"You—need to go upstairs with your brother and the others. We must all stick together until dawn..." she said searching something in the pocket of her torn

velvet dress  "Take this. It's — I well— did it before getting back here—it's well. You can wear it or dump it."

She put the mojo bag on a nearby table then concluded "I'm sorry. I should have given you that earlier. Mh— yeah"

Charlotte turned her back to the alley from which she came through.

Laying on the bed, his naked body half covered by the sheets, Stack's heart skipped a beat.

He got up and wandered his hand close to the table where she displayed the mojo bag. It was a grayed pouch,within it  sage, santos wood and some roots he did not really know... His brother had similar ones he received from Annie.

It sometimes made Stack wondered how it felt to be love to such extend.

"This is crazy" he murmured before putting the mojo around his neck.

Deep back the kitchen, Smoke was sharpening a stake, following Annie's orders. The woman was quite concentrating on the garlic water she was making, dripping all her knowledge into the liquified weapon.

  The water readymade, she hurried upstairs to her shrine. Hearing her footsteps upside, Smoke abandoned his doing and trailed her.

The priestess mixed her cowries and crystals, blew a dark smoke over the herbs, pleading with the gods for answers.

Smoke appeared right behind her, holding her waist and folding his face to her neck. Annie turned to face him. Lifted his head and said :

"Elijah..." her voice scattered, breaking the rhythm of her heart "I want you to promise me something..."

She snatched the stake the man brought up and held it toward her chest.

"If I get bitten.I beg you to release me"

His whole body stilled. "No," he said. "I'll get you out. I'll carry you home safe. Don't talk like that."

"The gods never lie Elijah." She smiled painfully, her heart tight

Smoke's throat worked around silence. He gripped her tighter, like he could hold back fate itself.

"I rather fight the god themselves to have you by my side...Annie"

Annie looked up at him, the candlelight dancing against the sheen of tears unshed in her eyes. Her breath caught, and her fingers trembled against the stake. But she didn't let go. Not yet.

"Elijah..." she breathed, her voice more prayer than plea.

His name in her mouth undid him.

Smoke leaned in, slow and reverent, like a man approaching a sacred fire. His hands found her waist again, rough palms grounding her as if to say I'm still here. I'll stay. Annie met him halfway, her lips brushing his, tentative, aching.

Then — the kiss deepened.

It wasn't sweet.

It was raw, made of salt and smoke, a collision of fear and longing. Her hand curled behind his neck, pulling him closer like she could kiss the war out of both their bones. Smoke pressed her against the altar, the stake dropping from her hand and landing between them, forgotten for now.

Their breaths tangled. Her fingers slipped under his shirt, tracing the scars along his ribs like talismans. He groaned low in his chest, one hand cupping the side of her face, thumb brushing under her eye — as if trying to memorize her alive.

"I'm still here," he said again, against her lips. "You hear me, Annie? You're still here too."

Smoke kissed her like he'd been holding his breath for years.

And maybe he had.

Annie's fingers gripped his shoulders, her body softening under his touch. The moment wasn't rushed. It was earned—pain-wrung and holy. They sank down onto the floor before the altar, their shadows long and flickering against the walls, wrapped in candlelight and ghosts.

His forehead pressed to hers, breaths shaky.

"I should've buried her right," he whispered.

Annie's eyes fluttered closed. She didn't need to ask who.

"Our baby girl," he said, voice cracking, breaking the words like brittle bone. "I let grief turn me into stone. Let you carry all of it."

Tears slid from Annie's lashes. "We lost her... and I lost you right after. Like y'all both got taken."

"I wanted to build you a house, Annie," he murmured, lips at her temple. "Big porch. Cypress out front. Chickens out back. You in the kitchen hummin'... Her in my arms."

Annie sobbed. It cracked out of her like a river bursting a dam.

Smoke kissed the corners of her mouth, her tears, her neck. "You still want that?" he asked. "A new start? You marry me after all this? We try again? Raise something good in this world, even if it's just each other?"

She nodded fiercely, holding his face in both hands. "I never stopped wantin' you. Never stopped prayin' you'd come back whole."

Their lips met again—slower this time. Softer. Their fingers clutched fabric and flesh like anchors in a world unraveling.

But just as Smoke began to lift her dress, the air shifted.

The door banged open.

"ANNIE!"

Lottie.

Both of them froze. The spell shattered.

Annie scrambled upright, wiping her face. Smoke stood and grabbed the stake again, jaw tight. The moment was over.

But the promise lingered—in tears wiped on sleeves, in kisses still warm.

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt."

Lottie stood just past the doorway, her dress torn at the hem, the flask of holy water swinging loosely at her side. Her voice was strained, like it had run through fire to get here.

Annie rushed toward her, hands reaching, palping her sister's face, checking for fever, blood, bite. "You okay? Talk to me, baby, look at me."

Charlotte flinched, flustered under the warmth of her sister's touch. Then, she gently pushed Annie's hands away, steadying her voice.

" I don't know the circumstances but Mary stepped outside. She somehow get back in, totally transformed, and try to eat Stack's—"

Annie gasped.

But Smoke didn't wait for the rest.

He was already gone—bolting down the stairs with the stake in hand, his boots pounding like war drums, voice a broken shout echoing off the juke's old bones:

"STACK!"

A/N : what did you think of the chapter ? I spent days making it. I trapped myself with that Remmick plot twist ngl. Still have the idea of their common story with Lottie but it gonna wait !

TAG LIST : @bigjh ; @boonoonoonus ; @saralance03 ; @stormynovashambler ; @lsc72 ; @prettyisasprettydoes1306 ; @unholyxthoughts ; @lizbehave ; @tadjoa @queenofklonnie22 @katezy2x @m0netm0netxo12 @prettygirl2800 ; @thefutureemmywinner ; @atomicearthquakemusic7 ; @thelifeoflagab @irefusetobeacasualty @anafricandaydreamer,

[redacted-anon]

Can’t be Friends

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Reader Theme: Inspired by "Can’t Be Friends" by Trey Songz

TW: Angst, heartbreak, complicated feelings

The weight of silence between you and Aaron was suffocating. He stood by the window, hands shoved into his pockets, staring at the city lights below. His reflection in the glass was just as conflicted as you felt.

You sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped tightly together as if trying to hold your own pieces in place. The echoes of Trey Songz’s voice drifted softly from the speakers—“The way it felt, no faking it…”—a cruel soundtrack to the unraveling of everything you thought you had with him.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this,” you murmured, barely audible.

Aaron turned slowly, his broad frame illuminated by the dim glow of the room. His eyes, deep and unreadable, locked onto yours with a weight that made your heart ache. He sighed, running a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away the tension etched into his features.

“I know,” he finally said, voice low, almost broken. “It wasn’t supposed to be anything at all.”

Maybe we were moving just a little too fast…

The words stung, though you knew what he meant. You were never supposed to fall for him, and he—he wasn’t supposed to let it happen either.

You laughed bitterly, tears threatening to spill over. “So what, Aaron? What now? Do we just pretend? Like it didn’t happen? Like—”

“Like I didn’t feel everything every time I was around you?” he cut you off, his voice rising. He stepped closer, and the fire in his eyes was impossible to ignore. “Like every look, every touch didn’t set me on fire?”

But what we've done we can't take it back…

Your breath caught as he closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming. You wanted to reach out, to touch him, but you stopped yourself. You’d already crossed too many lines.

“But we can’t go back,” you whispered, shaking your head. “We can’t... and I don’t even know if I want to.”

Now I'm sittin' here halfway crazy…

Aaron knelt in front of you, his hands hovering close, as if he wanted to grab yours but was afraid to. His voice was softer now, but the pain behind it was unmistakable. “And we can’t go forward either. Not like this. Not with everything at stake.”

The room felt too small for the two of you, the unspoken tension, the uncontainable feelings. You could hear the strain in his voice, see it in the way his shoulders trembled, just barely.

'Cause I know she still thinks about me too…

“I thought I could handle it. Thought I could separate you from... this,” he gestured vaguely between you, frustration evident. “But I can’t. And now I don’t know how to stop wanting something I can’t have.”

And it ain't no way in hell…

You swallowed hard, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. The song swelled in the background, the words piercing through you.

That I can be just friends with you…

“I wish we’d never started this,” you admitted, voice cracking, even as your heart betrayed you with the truth.

And I wish we never did it..

Aaron looked at you like the words had knocked the wind out of him. He stood abruptly, backing away as if distance could dull the sharp edges of what you’d just said. But you knew it wasn’t the full truth. It never would be.

And I wish we never loved this…

“Do you really mean that?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

And I wish I never fell so deep in love with you…

You hesitated, because you didn’t. Not really. But it didn’t matter. What you felt, what he felt—it wasn’t enough to fix the damage, wasn’t enough to rewrite the rules of the lives you both lived.

and now it ain't no way we can be friends…

“It doesn’t matter if I do,” you said finally, looking away. “We can’t be friends, Aaron. Not after this. Not after what we’ve done to each other.”

And all I can say is…

He nodded slowly, as if he’d expected the answer but still hoped for something else. Something impossible.

La-la-la la la la la

The song ended, leaving only the sound of your quiet breathing and the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

When Aaron left that night, you didn’t stop him. And as the door closed behind him, you knew it was the end of something beautiful, something tragic. You both had no choice but to walk away, even as the memories lingered, refusing to let you forget what could never be.

[fandomscombine]

T-Shirt

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

BG: Coping with missing Aaron Hotchner. It hits harder when you’re newly engaged but barely had any time to celebrate when he gets sent off for Chief BAU duties. Angst, this whole thing is basically yearning.

A/N: Song fic since T-Shirt by Shontelle was stuck in my head for days.

WC: 1019

>>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<<

>>>CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST<<<

It’s been 16 days, 12 hours and 29 minutes since you’ve been in the loving arms of your fiancé.

No, you aren’t in a lover’s quarrel. In fact, you were at an all-time high, having been newly engaged just 18 days, 8 hours and 17 minutes prior.

But dating the unit chief of the Behaviour Analysis Unit meant that the job doesn’t come lightly. If there’s a case, no matter the time, no matter the location, the team would be on the jet within the hour.

Aaron Hotchner has been upfront with this even before officially starting your relationship, having learned that it was almost always the cause of his failed lovelife.

He had tried his best to keep his emotions at bay but even with his profiling skills, your bright personality and friendship slipped through the cracks and into his heart.

How could he not? You have managed to fit into his work and personal space. Something he himself has yet to perfect. It was the laughter and lightness you were able to bring out of Jack and fill his apartment full of warmth. It was the steady eyes and secret handwritten notes you leave in his Go Bag.

"Wherever you go, know that our love for you travels with you. Be safe, my love. Can't wait to see you soon. - Jack & Y/n "

Seeing Jack’s slightly wavy 6-year old penmanship with yours felt right. It’s these signs of a home to return to that recharges Aaron in rough cases.

But you’re only human. And it just so happens to be one of those days that an empty bed feels like an endless downfall.

The spark in your eyes dimmer and every bone in your body craving his touch.

Your phone lights up. <Hope you’ve got your dance moves ready. Will be there in 30 mins!>

It’s currently 7:43pm and you’re still in the middle of getting ready for the girls night. Officially, the goal of tonight was to reduce stress and let out an end-of-the-work-week frustrations. But you can see past the unusually early and long agenda for the night - the real goal was to get you to forget the past two weeks of “miss yous”.

The reflection looking back at you is a lady dressed to the nines - your dress was flawless, your shoes while slightly heeled, had a secret (as Aaaron likes to call them) foam cushion insoles - perfect to whatever the girls have planned and without the worry of blisters.

On the outside, you’re ready to go but the mood isn’t right. This felt like plastering wallpaper on the cracks.

Tryna decide tryna decide If I really wanna go out tonight I never used to go out without ya Not sure I remember how to Gonna be late gonna be late But, all my girls gon have to wait 'cause I don't know if I like my outfit I Tried everything in my closet

You know they mean well, but tonight is not tonight. Slumping back onto your bed, twisting your ring idly. You don’t want to be the downer to their party nor are you in the mood to be hit on at the club so you text a quick apology.

Nothin' feels right when I'm not with you Sick of this dress and these Jimmy Choos Takin' them off 'cause I feel a fool Tryna dress up when I'm missin' you Imma step out of this lingerie Curl up in a ball with somethin' Hanes In bed I lay With nothin' but cha T-shirt on

Wearing Aaron’s shirt while he’s away on a case became a regular thing near your one-year anniversary. The team had gotten a case up in a fishing village in Alaska and was informed that there would be little mobile.

Since he won’t be able to update you as often as he likes, Aaron devised this deal.

“Here.” He had said, placing one of his home shirts on your lap. “It’s for when you miss me, wear it and it would be like I’m right there with you.”

“Aww, I didn’t know you could be this cheesy.” You say, smirking at him. “I love this side of you.”

Aaron helps you get your head through. “Miss me already?”

“Always” Pecking his dimple. “And this-” You continue, grabbing his phone from his back pocket. “Is something for you.”

That right there frozen in time, a moment of full domesticity, a scene filled with love - Just you and him, wrapped in each other’s arms. Aaron Hotchner, a man people rarely see smile - now has a lockscreen of lovestruck eyes and an infectious smile with you in his clothes reflecting the exact same expression.

Gotta be strong gotta be strong but I'm Really hurtin' now that you're gone I thought maybe I'd do some shoppin' But I couldn't get past the door an Now I just don't know, now I just don't know If I Ever really gon' let cha go And I couldn't even leave my apartment I'm stripped down, torn up about it

It was a dip of the bed that brought you out of your slumber.

“Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your eyes were still adjusting to the dark room, but you would know that voice from anywhere. “Aaron? I'm dreaming?”

“No, y/n. I’m really here, I’m home.” He whispers, pulling you close to kiss your forehead. Aaron missed your touch, your voice - he would want to hear about your days but seeing that it was 4am, he is fine settling for second best which is being wrapped around in your arms.

As he snuggles to your chest, the pattern of what you're wearing catches his eye. “So, my old academy shirt huh?”

“Shut up, it’s cause I missed you.”

“I missed you too”

Curl up in a ball with somethin' Hanes In bed I lay With nothin' but cha T-shirt on With nothin' but cha T-shirt on With nothin' but cha T-shirt on ('cause I missed you, 'cause I missed you) With nothin' but cha T-shirt on (said I missed you baby)

[princessofghosts-posts]

ToA: Hidden Oracle Opinion (3/4)

I just finished the book so I'm going to make the last two post about it.

I left Apollo yesterday fighting off giants ants only to find out how he basically got adopted by the queen. That was extremely strange. I liked how,even with everything that it's happening,he still think sometimes of Artemis and Leto. That's sweet,and I actually hope they will make an appearance even if little. But as someone that hate insects,I found it horrifying. The fact that Apollo himself decided to call the queen mom???? And she was happy about it? Leto come and get your son before he start to get worse!

I admit that I didn't saw Meg's plot twist coming. It's been a while we actually had something like that,I think the last one was in BotL when Percy opened the coffin. Chills,literally. I was also completely wrong about her backstory,but at least now I know why she has roman weapons. And,I know it might be a bit cruel,but I loved how manipulate Nero is with her. He gaslighted her so much that she think he actually care for her,when he was so ready to kill her off with Apollo after she disobeyed him.

I'll probably talk more about this because when manipulators are involved is usually extremely interesting and the situation is so twisted that it hurt so much,and I love to analyze the deep of it.

Apollo being so protective of Austin,Kayla and Meg,even with the fact she betrayed him,was extremely sweet too. Meg will pull a Silena (right now she is more of a Luke) eventually and come back to him,but untill then Apollo is on his own. And the way he felt about the whole situation? The fact that he couldn't let Meg go because she is his master,but at the same he become attached to her? Perfect. (Also,the dude got a lot of abandonment issues and lack of affection,he needs a therapist).

The scene when the dryads died to end the fire is horrifying and it was extremely good too. Apollo was feeling so much guilt and it didn't help him at all,having also Miranda acknowledge what happens (even tho she was still knocked out) put emphasis on how much their sacrifice really meant since a daughter of Demeter could feel them. Trully emotional.

I also wasn't expecting a giant robot to attack the Camp after Apollo got Dodona under control,but of course demigods can't live in peace more than a couple of weeks. The fact that Nico barely did a jump of not even 10 meters of distance and fainted will always piss me off. He got an ancient statue back while said statue was draining his powers,and he had 2 other people with him,and was actively dying but can't do a simple jump to get a chariot without fainting??? Nope,I won't stand for that.

Percy coming in clutch and helping Apollo also wasn't something I appreciated since he needs to start doing things himself. Percy in the end didn't do much (otherwise I was going to have a bad crash out) but I don't like how Riordan make him always came to save/help the situation. Fortunately he isn't going to show much since he stepped down for this. Still,I would have appreciated more if he got there after the fight ended.

And that scene with Mrs. O'Leary on the head of the robot....it wasn't really effective- Percy made a fool of himself,but it wasn't his fault. Idk what Riordan was trying to do here but it wasn't funny.

The fact that the Arrow can talk is another reference to MC I presume,since I know that Magnus's sword can talk and apparently also fly and fight alone. But I loved how Kayla and Austin couldn't hear it so they thought Apollo was insane. That was funny. Poor children,they are having a field week because of their dad and they will probably continue to be worried about him until he come back after finding the other oracles.

I spoilered myself part of the Leo coming back scene,but even with that,it was hilarious. The way Nico got the whole camp in a line to punch him,because he was beefing with him without Leo being aware of it,is something else. The guy is dedicated,you can give it that. And when Calypso mentioned Albania he just went through the 5 stages of mourning. He wasn't having any of it.

Leo scene with Harley was pretty sweet and having Nyssa too was really a demonstration of how far he has come,since at the start of HoO I remember that they weren't pretty welcoming with him. I'm so happy he is loved by his siblings and everyone else,even with his non-existent self-esteem. His copying mechanisms need to be revisited tho....

Calypso putting aside her grudge with Percy was a scene awkward at the start but at least they can finally let everything go in the past. She probably didn't even know that her curse actually effected Annabeth since she couldn't know they would fell in Tartarus. And the fact that she also put aside her hate for Apollo,in a situation where both of them are mortals that can die pretty easily and without powers? That's a good thing too,since now they can sympathize with each other and know each other better. But you can't stop hating a person in just a moment,so I'm hoping to actually have some communication issues between them while they try to figure out each other. Otherwise is fake as fuck.

Having Calypso and Leo as his "quest-mates" right now was not something I was expecting,since I thought he was going to go with someone else (read:Jason,Will and Nico) but that will probably happen later on. Can't wait to see the new characters dynamics with them since they are a strange mix,and with their past too....it won't be so easy.

I also liked how Apollo felt sad about leaving camp,and how guilty he felt thinking about how his children gave him a home/made him feel welcome,while he couldn't even do the bare minimum for them. And his interior monologue when he was trying to hit the robot was actually a good wake up call for him. He is starting to understand he needs to do better,but at the same time he was a self-esteem under the shoes. He isn't different from a TLT Percy and I quite like that.

Python is going to be like Gaia here,while the emperors are the Giants and the Oracles a very important quest to complete. Riordan put a lot of things to work here,and I hope that he will be able to do everything right,without rushing anything (looking at you Gaia-) and make Apollo complete all the stages. It's like a chain reaction: if he doesn't free the oracles he can't defeat the emperors,and if he doesn't defeat the emperors he can't free Delphi from Python. But the final boss already got put in the background since the race in the Labyrinth,so we are going to focus more on the emperors until we got to him. I don't have an high expectations of this,since Gaia got done pretty dirty in her own serie.

Anyway,the book was ok,I enjoyed it and it was more funny than the other books. Riordan lost something during HoO and,he found it again for ToA: the desire to write and create. PJO and ToA have the same feeling for me,they seems pretty similar,while HoO is totally different. It's probably for the narrative choice since they are both in first person PoVs,and only from the main character (one character). Can't wait to see how it will go in the next one.

[alygator77]

࿐ vows of duty ── part 1

࿐pairing. arranged clanhead! satoru x fem! reader

࿐summary. the gojo clan is untouchable, and their new ruler, gojo satoru, is the most powerful sorcerer of his generation—unrivaled, unrestricted, and utterly uncontrollable. for years, he has defied the expectations of his clan, rejecting tradition, resisting the cage they built for him. but even the strongest must bow to duty. a deal struck, a marriage arranged. you, the daughter of a fallen clan, are chosen to stand at his side. not out of love, but because gojo satoru always gets what he wants. and if he's obligated to marry, fuck it, he wants you. though, you quickly learn that your place is not beside him—but beneath him. why? because gojo satoru doesn’t do love.

࿐tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, smut, angst (with eventual fluff), slight canon divergence, arranged marriage, satoru is emotionally detached, he's kinda a dick at times, breeding, breeding kink, praise kink, some degradation, loss of virginity, mentions of infidelity, mentions of a prior scandal (i'll update tags as i write more) » 【this part — involves a 7 yr time skip, from both reader and satoru's pov. satoru's a little shit. he's arrogant and gives no fucks. suguru defects. sexual content. fingering, handjob, orgasms, male ejaculation on tits, lots of dirty talk】

࿐wc. 16.4k (suuuurprise.... heh)

࿐a/n. hiiii. it's finally here—the full fic of this drabble. you can expect this fic to be multiple parts, i'm just not sure how many yet. anyways, i had fun writing a canon version of satoru. i love my canon pookie. even if he's emotionally constipated here. enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/_3aem on X )

Your mother had always told you—there were four great clans in jujutsu society. Four names that shaped history, wielding power that stretched back for centuries.

The Zenin Clan, ruthless in tradition, where strength dictated worth and weakness was met with exile.

The Kamo Clan, a relic of the past, clinging desperately to their once-unshakable influence, willing to spill whatever blood necessary to remain relevant.

The Gojo Clan, untouchable, revered—the bloodline of gods. A name so powerful it stood above all others, their very existence defined by the Six Eyes and Limitless, abilities so rare they might as well have been myth.

And then, there was your clan.

A family as old as Kyoto itself, a bloodline sharpened by centuries of discipline and technique. The fourth great clan, standing alongside these names not as a rival, but as an equal. You were always told that your family had not built its legacy on brute force or deception, nor had it relied on a singular, overwhelming ability to dominate the battlefield.

No—your clan thrived on precision. Strategy. Control.

Respected. Feared. Established.

Yes, let it be known that your family produced some of the finest jujutsu sorcerers Kyoto had ever seen—that alone secured your place among the elite. And so, you had spent your life walking the delicate line between tradition and expectation, power and obedience. You were raised to be precise, to be measured—a perfect reflection of the strength your family stood for.

And that was why you were here tonight.

Because power, recognized power.

And tonight, the most powerful clan of them all was crowning a new king.

Tonight—December 7th—on his eighteenth birthday, Gojo Satoru would be proclaimed Clan Head of the Gojo family. The invitation had been sent to only the most respected and esteemed. This was more than a celebration; it was a display. A reminder.

All of Japan had known for years that the next ruler of the strongest clan had been chosen. Ever since the moment Gojo Satoru was born, it had been inevitable. But tonight, it would become official.

Inhaling deeply, you forced stillness into your spine—your expression smoothing into something unreadable.

You were no stranger to moving through halls filled with power—no, you had been raised for moments like these. You knew how to hold yourself, how to command respect, how to navigate a room full of Kyoto’s most dangerous and influential figures.

And yet…

There was something about tonight that felt… different.

Perhaps it’s because, for the first time, you would stand in the same room as him. The prodigy. The untouchable. The strongest sorcerer of his generation—a living legend before he was ever grown, a force of nature wrapped in a human body.

You had heard his name more times than you could count, but you had never seen him.

Not in person. Not until tonight.

"Fix your kimono.”

Your mother’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the car, sharp and precise as ever.

She didn’t look at you as she said it—she never had to. The flick of her gaze toward your reflection in the window was enough. Cool, assessing. She expected perfection.

You didn’t argue. You never argued.

Instead, your hands moved instinctively, smoothing the silk draped over your lap. Midnight blue, embroidered with delicate silver cranes in flight—a symbol of strength, of longevity, of duty. A reminder of the life you were bound to.

The obi at your waist had been tied flawlessly earlier that evening, its silken folds pressed into place with meticulous care—yet you still adjusted it. Not because it was imperfect, but because she had told you to.

Exhaling softly, your mother’s eyes swept over you briefly—as though the smallest flaw in your presentation might tarnish the family name.

"Appearances matter," she murmured, smoothing the folds of her own ivory kimono, embroidered with peonies and bamboo—symbols of wealth and resilience. Even in the dim light of the car, she radiated elegance, flawless as always.

"Tonight, we do not lower ourselves."

She spoke as if you didn’t already know. As if she hadn’t spent years molding you into a perfect reflection of the family’s strength.

Across from you, your father shifted, stretching his legs slightly as he leaned back into his seat. The glow of his phone screen flickered over his face, casting sharp shadows across his features. As his fingers tapped idly against the side of the device, the screen was angled just enough that neither you nor your mother could see it.

Yeah… that was a habit of his. One you had learned not to acknowledge.

Your mother never acknowledged it either. Not in words, at least.

But you saw it in the way her fingers tensed against her sleeve, in the subtle shift of her posture, as if willing herself to ignore the obvious.

"You put too much weight on these things," your father muttered, carrying an air of finality. "The Gojo Clan already knows who we are. No amount of perfect posture is going to change their minds."

The silence that followed was familiar.

A subtle tension seeped into the space between them—the kind that had no beginning and no resolution. Something ever-present, like a thread woven too tightly through the fabric of their marriage.

Lowering her gaze slightly, your mother adjusted the folds of her sleeve with slow, deliberate care.

"Power is not always displayed through strength alone," she said, softer now. "It is seen in the way others perceive you. The moment you allow someone to look down on you, you have already lost."

Exhaling through his nose, a quiet sound rumbles through your father’s chest—neither agreement nor disagreement. He wasn’t listening. Not really.

"Depends," he sighs dismissively. "There are worse things than being looked down on."

Your mother’s hands froze for just a moment, before she recovered, smoothing out her sleeve with a quiet nod.

"Of course…" she murmured, conceding with practiced ease.

She would not challenge him. She never did.

Turning yourself toward the window, you felt the weight of their silence settle into your ribs.

You had seen this scene too many times before. So you looked away. Focusing on the world outside, rather than the quiet battlefield inside the car. Then, finally, it came into view.

The Gojo Estate.

It did not sit among the rest of Kyoto. It stood above it.

Carved into the mountainside, the estate loomed over the landscape like something untouched by time. Its outer walls stretched endlessly into the dark, built of aged wood and blackened stone, reinforced not just with craftsmanship but with sorcery itself. A silent warning. A declaration of power—this was not a place where outsiders were welcome.

Beyond the towering gates, the estate unfurled like a painting.

The courtyard was vast, an expanse of raked gravel and polished stone pathways that twisted through pruned bonsai, moss-covered lanterns, and koi-filled ponds shimmering beneath the moonlight. Each element was a silent testament to a clan that valued not just power, but control—as if even the earth beneath the Gojos’ feet bowed to their authority.

A long row of cherry blossom trees lined the outer garden, their pale petals quivering in the night breeze. Winter had stolen the color from Kyoto’s streets, but here, the blossoms remained in eternal bloom—preserved unnaturally, suspended in time by the lingering touch of sorcery. As the wind passed through them, petals drifted down in soft flurries, catching in the air like falling snow.

Your breath stilled slightly.

Even for someone raised in a powerful clan, the sight of the Gojo estate was enough to humble.

The car slowed to a stop, just before the entrance, and your gaze flickered toward the attendants waiting outside before shifting upward, toward the main hall that loomed beyond the courtyard.

It was not a home.

It was a throne.

And tonight, the man who would rule it was waiting inside.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Y’know, I really don’t get why everyone’s making such a big deal out of this,” Satoru drawls, tugging at the stiff collar of his ceremonial robes with a dramatic grimace. “They’ve known I’m the strongest since birth. Feels a little redundant, don’t y’think?”

Across the room, Suguru lets out a slow exhale, his shoulder pressed lazily against the wooden frame of the window. Beyond him, Kyoto stretches into the night—rooftops bathed in silver moonlight, the glow of distant lanterns flickering like dying embers. But he isn’t looking at the view. His gaze flickers toward Satoru through the mirror’s reflection, watching as his friend fussed with the layers of fine silk draped over his shoulders, like it’s a burden rather than an honor.

“They have to make a big deal out of it,” Suguru murmurs, quiet, almost bored. “Otherwise, what’s left for them?”

Satoru scoffs, shifting his weight as he tugs at the sash around his waist, loosening it just to tighten it again.

“Yeah, well. If this keeps ‘em busy, maybe they’ll hold off on nagging me about marriage for another year.”

Suguru hums, pushing off the window frame. Taking a slow step forward, his hands slip into the wide sleeves of his yukata as he watches Satoru wrestle against his robes like they were shackles.

“You say that like they won’t have a new excuse next week.”

Catching Suguru’s gaze in the mirror, Satoru’s lips curl into a lazy, knowing grin.

“Think they’ll get creative?”

“They always do.”

Clicking his tongue, an exaggerated sigh slips from Satoru’s lips as he finally turns from the mirror to grab the ceremonial overcoat folded on the edge of the lacquered table. The fabric is rich and regal—deep indigo silk embroidered with gold, the threads gleaming under the dim candlelight.

“Tch… I swear…” he barely spares the elegant silk a glance before throwing it over his shoulders, the heavy material settling like a crown he never asked for. “Maybe I should start charging for every goddamn time they waste my time.”

Suguru hums, tilting his head.

“You’d make a fortune.”

“Please,” Satoru scoffs, flicking at the intricate gold trim on his sleeve, grin sharp and self-satisfied. “I’m already loaded.”

Suguru lets out a quiet breath, one hand slipping into his sleeve before pulling out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers.

“And yet…” he muses, placing it between his lips as he fishes for his lighter, “all that money, and you’re still stuck wearing that ridiculous thing.”

Satoru let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling his shoulders under the weight of the overcoat, shifting slightly—like he could somehow make it sit lighter on him.

“Right?” He turns back toward the mirror, tugging at the stiff collar with an annoyed pull. “I look like I belong in a fucking museum.”

Suguru says nothing at first. The metal flicks, a sharp scratch of sound, flame briefly illuminating his face as he lights the cigarette. The glow reflects in his violet eyes for half a second as he takes a slow drag.

“Or on a wedding altar,” he exhales smoke in a measured breath.

Satoru’s hands freeze mid-adjustment. His head snaps up, and through the mirror, he shoots Suguru a flat look.

“Not funny.”

Suguru smirks, the cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers as smoke curls through the air. “I’m serious,” he murmurs, tapping ash into a nearby tray. “Wouldn’t put it past them to slip an engagement announcement into tonight’s festivities. You know how they like their surprises.”

Clicking his tongue, Satoru runs a hand through his hair, deliberately messing it up again.

“Yeah, well… first sign of trouble and I’m teleporting the hell out of there.”

A quiet chuckle slips through Suguru’s lips, but there’s no humor in it.

“And then what?” his voice softens, but the words weigh heavier. “You gonna outrun your own clan forever? Your duty?”

Satoru shrugs. “If I have to.” He’s grinning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

With quiet consideration, Suguru exhales, watching Satoru with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion. But this time, it’s not his reflection he’s looking at. It’s him—standing there in those ceremonial robes, draping over him like chains, wearing arrogance like armor.

“You… really think it’s that simple?”

Satoru doesn’t hesitate. His grin sharpens, flashing white teeth like a blade.

“Of course it is. I’m Satoru fucking Gojo.”

Though Suguru’s expression doesn’t shift, his gaze darkens, something quiet and knowing creeping into his features.

“Yeah…” he murmurs. “You are.”

“C’mon, you think they actually care?” He pauses, eyes flicking to Suguru through the mirror. “This isn’t about me. It’s about the name. The bloodline. Hell, they’d be throwing this same party for a rock if it had the Six Eyes.”

There’s a lingering silence.

Through the mirror, Satoru sees Suguru’s expression shift—his posture still loose but somehow weighted, as if each breath he takes is heavier with words unspoken. Suguru’s long raven hair falls slightly into his face, but it doesn’t quite hide the quiet strain pulling at his features.

“Damn…” Satoru exhales sharply through his nose. “You look like shit, man.”

Suguru blinks, briefly startled, before scoffing, rolling his eyes as he flicks ash into the tray beside him.

“Gee, thanks.”

But Satoru doesn’t let up. His gaze lingers, cutting through pretenses like a blade.

“No, seriously. Have you slept at all this week? ‘Cause from here, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

Suguru lets out a quiet chuckle, but it’s weak, hollow—gone before it ever really forms.

“Yeah…” he lifts the cigarette back to his lips, taking another slow drag. “I dunno. ‘m just tired.”

The ember burns bright for a moment, casting sharper shadows along his best friend’s face—deepening the lines of exhaustion—a quiet weight that Satoru’s been too busy to address. Then, clicking his tongue, Satoru focuses back to the mirror, dragging a hand through his hair with careless ease.

“You’re thinking too much again…” he mutters. “Always a bad sign.”

“Yeah, well...” Suguru exhales, smoke curling lazily around him. “Guess someone’s gotta do it.”

Quirking a brow, Satoru turns toward him fully this time.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Suguru smirks, but it’s small, faint—the kind that barely lifts the corners of his lips before disappearing altogether. As he leans back against the wooden frame of the window, his fingers tap against his arm, holding the cigarette loosely in his grip.

“What are you thinking about?” Satoru asks.

Suguru quirks a brow before he huffs, shaking his head slightly.

The silence sits heavier this time. There’s something distant in his expression—like his thoughts are a step ahead of him, somewhere neither of them can quite reach. Flicking the cigarette between his fingers, he taps ash into the tray with slow precision.

“I’m just wondering…” Suguru mutters, his voice quieter now, something careful in the way he says it. “If you weren’t who you are—would they still be kneeling at your feet?”

Satoru blinks.

“Uh. Duh.”

Suguru scoffs, shaking his head, his fingers tightening slightly around his bicep.

“No, Satoru. If you weren’t—” He stops himself, exhaling sharply through his nose, his jaw flexing slightly like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself to. Instead, he shakes his head. “Never mind…”

Satoru’s gaze narrows.

“Um. The hell was that? You can’t just say something cryptic and then drop it.”

For a moment, there’s something unspoken between them—something lingering just beneath the surface, pressing at the space between words. Then, just as quickly, Suguru’s expression smooths over. Whatever flicker of thought had been there vanishing behind an effortless, practiced mask.

“It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t.

But whatever it was, Suguru wasn’t going to say it.

Exhaling through his nose, Satoru watches him for a second longer before rolling his shoulders—shaking off the conversation entirely.

“Anyways,” he sighs, stretching his arms above his head as he strides toward the door, loose and unaffected, like he’s just heading out for a stroll instead of stepping into the weight of his legacy.

As he passes the lacquered table, his hand instinctively reaches for his sunglasses, flipping them open with a careless flick before sliding them onto the bridge of his nose.

Suguru’s gaze drags back to him, eyes lingering over the contrast of expensive, embroidered silk and dark tinted glasses. He smirks. “Doesn’t really fit the robes.”

Satoru groans, shoving his sunglasses up into his hairline before letting them drop back onto his nose.

“Tch. I know, I know. Too fucking modern for their delicate sensibilities, right?”

Suguru chuckles, putting out his cigarette. “Something like that.”

With a resigned huff, Satoru tosses the sunglasses onto the table with a clatter.

“Fine fine…” he grumbles, pausing—considering. A wicked smile curls onto his lips. “Hey… what do you think—should I blindfold myself instead and pretend I can’t find the stage? Give ‘em a little show?”

Suguru barks out a short laugh, shaking his head as he exhales.

“You’re really gonna make a fucking scene on your own celebration?”

“Oh, Suguru,” Satoru’s grin is all teeth as he makes his way toward the door. “Make a scene? When have I ever done that?”

Suguru gives him a long, slow look as he follows.

“Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?”

Satoru snorts. “Smartass.” He shoves the door open without hesitation. “Y’think I can piss off at least three elders before the night’s over?”

“Mm... four, if you really try.”

“That’s the spirit.”

And as Satoru steps forward—toward the weight of a legacy that meant nothing to him, Suguru lingers behind him, watching as Satoru walks ahead, carrying the world like it’s weightless.

But Suguru knows better.

He always has.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Stand up straight,” your mother murmurs quietly—so soft that only you can hear it. “And try not to stare.”

Your spine straightens instinctively, shoulders pressing back—but stare? Fuck. How can you not? The Gojo estate is unlike anything you have ever stepped foot in.

The ceilings stretch impossibly high, wooden beams arching overhead like the ribs of some celestial beast. Hand-painted fusuma panels line the walls, gold leaf catching the candlelight, depicting Kyoto’s landscapes in elegant brushstrokes. There is a stillness here—something ancient, untouched by time. Unshaken by war or weakness.

A faint trace of aged incense lingers in the air, blending with the clean scent of fresh tatami, wrapping around you like something sacred—a quiet reminder that tradition is absolute here.

The steady flow of guests direct you down the grand walkway, toward the main hall, and the air hums with low voices—silk robes rustling as elders and elite sorcerers file in, taking their assigned seats.

Assigned by status.

The highest-ranking families settle nearest to the center of the hall, where Gojo Satoru will take his place, while the lesser clans drift toward the outer edges, far enough to understand their place.

You barely register it.

Because just beyond the walkway, past a row of sliding doors left slightly open, something catches your eye.

A dojo.

Wide and open, its polished wooden floors gleam under the dim glow of candlelight. Tall, arched windows invite in the cool night air, carrying the rustling of bamboo from the gardens beyond. Along the walls, beautifully crafted bokken rest neatly in their racks beside long naginata and aged katana, their lacquered hilts gleaming faintly.

It is… perfect.

Unlike anything your own estate has ever had. A proper space for training—not the rigid, structured sessions dictated by the elders, but something freer. A place to move, to breathe, to fight.

God… it’s everything you’ve always wanted.

After all, your clan was built on precision, control, intelligence. Not raw combat. You have trained—mastered every movement drilled into you since childhood—but never were you allowed to spar without restraint. Never trained to be a sorcerer, never encouraged to fight in a way that would leave bruises—that would stain silk with sweat and blood.

You were raised to be a perfect reflection of your family, a perfect wife—that is all.

And yet, here it is. Fuck. A proper dojo—what a dream. So perfectly built for battle, yet it’s tucked into the halls of the most powerful clan in Jujutsu society, probably taken for granted as if it were nothing.

As your steps slow, you barely realize how long you’ve been staring, until you feel the lightest tug on your sleeve.

“Enough,” your mother mutters, grip light but firm.

Your heart jumps. Shit. It was one thing to observe. To admire. But it was another to linger.

“Eyes forward,” she lifts her chin, and you follow her deeper inside.

Moving ahead, the crowd shifts around you, elders and elite sorcerers weaving through the grand hall, settling into their assigned seats—but damn it. You’re still thinking about that damn dojo.

What must it be like to strike and be struck back, to train not just for form but for battle?

But your mother’s grip subtly shifts. Tightening.

Then, with the slightest turn of her head, she murmurs, “…w-what? Where did he go…”

Your breath stills as you realize, your father is no longer beside her. Glancing around, he is nowhere to be seen, lost in the sea of flowing silk and quiet murmurs. But you don’t need to ask where he’s gone—you already know. And… so does she.

Despite it, she doesn’t curse. Doesn’t let her expression falter. Doesn’t break stride. But you see the way your mother’s lips press together, the way her fingers curl slightly against the sleeve of her kimono, gripping fabric like it’s the only thing she can control.

A slow, measured breath leaves her nose. Then, with a practiced ease, she smooths out the folds of her sleeve.

“Wait at your seat…” she instructs softly. “I’ll find him.”

And just like that, she is gone.

It’s not the first time.

Not the first time she’s swallowed the weight of his absence, nor the first time she’s forced herself to chase after a man who has never once stopped running. A man who dishonors her with such frequency that it no longer feels like betrayal—only expectation.

And she goes anyway. Every time.

Why?

You begin to ponder.

How many wives have had to smile through disgrace, bound by duty to men who do not see them? How many have sat in silence, enduring the quiet disintegration of a marriage, knowing their suffering is only theirs to bear?

The thought lingers as you move toward your assigned seat, your steps slow, lost in quiet contemplation. You barely register the way silk brushes against you, the flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows across the polished floors.

“You’re in my seat.”

The words are crisp. Clipped.

You barely have time to process them before the weight of who they belong to settles in your chest like stone. Glancing up, your stomach drops.

Shit.

You’ve sat in the wrong seat.

Not just any seat.

His seat.

Gojo Hajime.

An elder of the Gojo clan. A man whose presence alone commands respect and caution in equal measure. His reputation is built upon unforgiving discipline, a fierce advocate for upholding the hierarchy that governs jujutsu society. You have seen how lesser-ranked sorcerers bow deeper in his presence, how his voice alone is enough to quiet a whole fucking room.

And you—you—have just taken his seat.

You should apologize. Immediately. Stand, lower your head, bow so deeply your knees kiss the floor—but you don’t even get the chance. Because the moment your lips part, his voice cuts through the air again.

“How disgraceful.”

The murmurs start immediately. Soft at first. Rippling outward.

A misplaced seat is not just an accident—it is an insult. A disruption to the hierarchy, an unspoken challenge to status. And it is not just your mistake—it is your family’s.

Eyes begin to turn.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, panic coiling tight in your stomach. You can feel the weight of scrutiny, the silent condemnation pressing against your skin like needles. But just as the tension threatens to crack open, before you can even move, before you can correct your mistake—

“Damn,” a voice cuts in. “I didn’t know we had assigned seats based on grumpiness. If that’s the case, maybe we oughta scoot you a little further up, gramps.”

The murmurs die instantly. A ripple of silk as heads turn, a breath caught collectively in the throats of the room.

Because everyone knows that voice.

Gojo Satoru.

And when you finally force yourself to look, when you finally shift your gaze toward the source of your salvation, you find yourself staring into the bluest damn eyes you’ve ever seen.

They are a color not meant for this world—icy, piercing, almost otherworldly under the flickering candlelight. Not simply blue, but something deeper, something endless, like the sky when it stretches too far, too high, too unreachable.

And then, just as effortlessly, he drops into the seat beside you.

“Hope ya don’t mind if I sit here, gramps,” he sighs, propping his chin against his palm with a lazy grin. “Since, y’know… you’re already standing.”

The elder bristles.

“Gojo-sama…” he says slowly, voice strained. “Seats are assigned with purpose.”

Satoru exhales loudly, stretching his neck. “Right, right,” he drawls. “And lemme guess—some dusty old men in a room decided where everyone sits?”

“The council—”

“Right, right,” he interjects, waving a dismissive hand. “The same council that decided I needed to wear this stiff-ass robe tonight.” He tugs at the embroidered silk draped over his shoulders for emphasis before flashing a sharp grin. “Real forward thinkers, those guys.”

A flicker of disbelief passes over the elder’s face.

Satoru hums, tapping his fingers idly against the table. “Tell ya what… since I’m feeling generous tonight, how ‘bout we just let it slide? Y’know, pretend we’re not wasting all this energy over a damn seat?” He leans back, stretching his arms over his head, his voice dropping to something lower, lazier. “Unless, of course, you’d rather keep arguing with me in front of all these lovely guests? On my birthday, need I remind you?”

The words are spoken lightly, casually, but there’s an underlying challenge in them—something daring, something edged with amusement, as if he already knows how this will end.

And the elder does, too. Because what can he say? What will he do? It’s a battle he can’t win. Not against the strongest.

A long breath drags through his nose before he bows his head stiffly.

“…as you wish, Gojo-sama.”

Satoru grins, entirely pleased with himself. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

With that, the elder moves stiffly to another seat, the murmurs gradually settling into quiet acceptance, though you can still feel the lingering weight of curious glances thrown your way.

And finally—finally—your lungs remember how to breathe.

You should say something. Thank him. But before you can, Satoru turns his attention to you, tilting his head slightly, that easy smirk still curving his lips.

“There,” his fingers play idly with a tousle of your hair, letting it twirl between his grasp. “A lady of your caliber deserves the best seat in the house, don’t y’think?”

You blink, still caught between lingering panic and something dangerously close to awe.

Because just like that, with a grin and a few well-placed words, he had made a mockery of the entire situation. Had turned the weight of expectation into something trivial, something meaningless.

Had made defiance look so damn effortless. And for the first time tonight, you wonder what it would be like to live that freely.

Satoru watches you, head tilted slightly, as if waiting for something. Amusement flickers in those ridiculously bright eyes, sharp and unreadable beneath the flickering candlelight.

You realize then—you haven’t said a word.

Shit.

Heat pricks at the back of your neck. You force yourself to blink, to breathe, to gather the scattered remains of your dignity before finally managing, “…oh, um… t-thank you, Gojo-sama.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Ugh. Don’t do that.”

You blink. “…do what?”

“That whole ‘Gojo-sama’ thing. Bleh.” He scrunches his nose, expression twisted in exaggerated distaste. “You make me sound old.”

You hesitate, caught between confusion and amusement. “But… you’re the Clan Head now.”

He groans dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

Your lips twitch, just barely suppressing a laugh, and his gaze flickers to you at that, something playful sparking in his eyes. Leaning in slightly, his elbows rest on the low table, voice dropping to something conspiratorial.

“You wouldn’t believe how many speeches I’ve had to sit through already. I swear, they’ve been reciting my life story like I’m some kind of historical relic.”

You raise a brow. “…aren’t you?”

Satoru gasps, clutching his chest like you just struck him. “Wow. The betrayal.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you finally allow a small laugh to slip out.

“I… didn’t mean it like that.”

“Uh-huh.” He squints at you in mock suspicion before his lips stretch back into an easy grin. “Alright, I’ll let that one slide, since I like you.”

Your stomach does a strange little flip.

It’s nothing… right? Just the nerves. The residual stress from earlier. The weight of too many eyes lingering in the periphery.

But as he watches you—head tilting slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out—you don’t know what the hell to say. And yet… you also find yourself not wanting to look away.

Because Satoru Gojo is beautiful. Undeniably.

He is elegance without effort, arrogance without apology, a man who moves through the world like it was built to accommodate him. His snowy-white hair is a tousled mess, catching silver beneath the candlelight, framing the sharp angles of his jaw, the high curve of his cheekbones, the ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

And his eyes—God, his eyes.

They aren’t just blue. They’re endless. A shade too sharp, too striking—like fractured gemstones, like glacial ice catching the light at just the right angle. They don’t just see, they consume, pulling you in as if the whole fucking world just disappears when he looks at you.

What the hell are you supposed to say to him?

Shit. You’re lingering again. Your mother would curse you for this. You should speak—say something, anything. But the words never come.

Luckily, you don’t have to figure it out.

Because just then, a sharp chime rings through the grand hall, signaling the start of the formal ceremony. A ripple of movement stirs through the guests as heads turn toward the center of the room, where the elders begin to take their places.

Satoru exhales, stretching his arms overhead in a lazy arc. “Guess that’s my cue.”

He rises smoothly, adjusting the heavy silk of his robes with little care, as if he’s already bored of the whole affair. But then—before stepping away—he casts you one last glance, that ever-present grin still playing at the edges of his lips.

“See ya around, sweetheart.”

And then, like this entire night is nothing more than a game to him, he waves, casting you a playful wink. Casual. Effortless. Like you’re old friends. Like this moment, fleeting as it is, belongs to just the two of you—despite the dozens of eyes still lingering in your direction.

And, without hesitation, he turns, stepping toward the center of the room, where the weight of his legacy awaits him.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

The ceremony is exactly what Satoru expected—long, tedious, and filled with more self-important speeches than he cares to count. The elders take turns praising the significance of his ascension, the legacy he carries, the burden he must now bear.

As if he doesn’t already fucking know. As if the weight of the Gojo name hasn’t pressed against his spine since the moment he was born.

He stands at the center of it all, a crownless king in layered silk, his every move watched, measured, and judged by the dozens of expectant faces surrounding him.

Whatever. Let them say whatever they want.

Because at the end of the day—he is still Gojo Satoru. And they can dress him up in their finest robes, seat him at the highest throne, weigh him down with the expectations of an entire clan—but they can’t make him care.

And they know it.

So, when the speeches end and the ritual formalities dissolve into something more palatable—celebration, sake, music—the real scheming begins.

The moment the first note is played, an elder clears his throat. Satoru doesn’t even look up.

“We have taken the liberty of selecting your first dance, Gojo-sama,” the man says, hands folded neatly in his sleeves, the picture of diplomatic grace. “She is from a highly esteemed bloodline. A perfect candidate for marriage and—”

Satoru groans. Loudly.

“Oh, come on.” He drags a hand down his face, tilting his head back like this entire conversation physically pains him. “You’re really pulling the marriage card already? I just fucking turned eighteen.”

The elder’s expression doesn’t shift. Doesn’t falter. They’ve played this game with him before. They know Gojo Satoru only bends when it suits him.

“We must get ahead of things. And it is tradition for the head of the Gojo Clan to take his first dance with a suitable partner—”

“Right, right.” Satoru waves a dismissive hand, eyes scanning the room for anything more interesting than this conversation. “And lemme guess—she’s got a nice lineage, proper manners, and the personality of a wet napkin?”

A pause as the elder clears his throat. Yeah. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

Satoru exhales, shaking his head, fingers drumming lazily against the lacquered armrest of his chair.

“Yeah… I think I’ll pass,” he’s rising from his seat as the elder begins ushering a poised, graceful young woman towards him—clad in silk, the color of cherry blossoms.

Satoru doesn’t even look at her.

He’s looking for an escape, and as his eyes sweep the crowd, he sees you.

The girl from earlier.

And just like that, his mind is made up.

Before the elder can say another word, before the girl can step any closer, Satoru moves.

Not toward her.

Toward you.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Dance with me.”

You blink, gaze dropping to his hand, extended toward you, palm open, fingers relaxed.

It’s not a request.

It’s a decision.

A disruption—a defiance of everything expected of him.

And the room knows it.

The air seems to tighten, a subtle shift in the atmosphere as hushed murmurs flicker between the guests, silk rustling as heads turn. The weight of attention presses against your skin, heavier than the finest-woven kimono, heavier than the eyes of your parents, now fixed on you, unreadable.

Your lips part slightly, but no words come. Fuck. You should at least breathe. But you don’t. You can’t. Your mind is barely processing what the fuck is happening.

Then, a quiet but pointed sound—your mother clearing her throat beside you.

“She would love to.”

Her voice is soft, but firm, a smooth, graceful assertion that leaves no room for question. A response crafted not for you, but for those watching, those weighing this moment, those who will whisper about it long after the night ends. Because this is not just a dance. This is a spectacle. A shift in the script carefully written for the evening.

And your mother knows that. To refuse would be foolish. To hesitate would be disgraceful. To accept, however—

An honor.

So, when she turns toward you, offering the smallest, most practiced of smiles, you understand her meaning entirely.

You will dance with Satoru Gojo.

With a breath you weren’t aware you had been holding, you glance back toward him. He’s watching you, amusement flickering in those impossibly blue eyes, that lazy, knowing grin still curling at his lips.

“See?” he hums. “Mother knows best.”

You don’t know what possesses you—perhaps the weight of expectation, or perhaps something else entirely—but your hand lifts. Fingers barely brushing against his before he takes it completely, enclosing it in a grasp that is warm, steady, unwavering.

And just like that, he pulls you into the center of the room.

Into the center of everything.

His grip is firm but unhurried as he leads you, like none of this is a big deal. Like he hasn’t just overturned an entire evening’s worth of careful tradition.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, your breath barely finding its way back into your lungs as you let him guide you into position. One of his hands settles lightly at your waist, the other still holding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly.

“Relax,” he murmurs, just low enough for only you to hear. “You’re stiffer than my old kendo instructor.”

You huff, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm against yours. “I—this is just… unexpected.”

Exhaling dramatically, he spins you effortlessly into the first steps of dance. “Tell me about it,” he groans. “You just saved me from another goddamn elder trying to shove some proper young lady into my arms.”

You blink. “What?”

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, twirling you smoothly before pulling you back into his grasp. “The matchmaking schemers are working overtime tonight. Bet they’re seething right now.”

You stifle a laugh. “So… you picked me out of spite?”

“I picked you because you looked like you needed saving too.” His eyes flicker toward you, sharp but warm, like he’s seeing straight through you.

You hesitate. He’s… not wrong.

“Well… my mother was about to give me a very long lecture about decorum,” you admit quietly.

His grin widens as he hums. “Guess that makes me your knight in shining silk, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the laughter bubbling in your chest betrays you.

Satoru’s grip shifts slightly, his hand pressing just a fraction firmer against your waist as he leads you through another step. He moves so effortlessly, like the weight of expectation never touches him, like the rules of this world bend just for him.

For a moment, the heaviness in the air fades.

For a moment, you almost forget the crowd watching.

For a moment… it’s just the two of you.

As the melody slows—the last few notes stretch through the grand hall like a fading breath—you barely register the shifting of the crowd around you. It feels like the world has shrunk.

And then, stillness. The dance is over.

You should step away. You should let go.

But Satoru lingers.

His fingers remain curled lightly around yours, as if he’s forgotten to let go—or maybe he just doesn’t feel like doing so yet. His touch is warm, steady, and entirely too deliberate for someone who seems to take nothing seriously.

As his gaze drops to your hand for a fraction of a second, his smirk deepens, something unreadable flashing in those impossible blue eyes. Then, with a casual ease—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—he lifts your hand slightly and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

Soft. Unhurried.

Barely a brush of his lips against your skin, but enough to send something fluttering wildly in your stomach.

Damn him.

You feel it everywhere—the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way his hold lingers a second too long before he finally lets go. When your hand drops back to your side, it’s still tingling from the contact, and you know you should say something, but your tongue feels too damn heavy in your mouth again.

Satoru, however, looks perfectly at ease, like he hadn’t just turned your world sideways with a single fleeting kiss. Still, the moment stretches—something about it feels… different. A beat too long, a silence that carries something unspoken.

But when he shifts, the moment simmers away as he turns his head slightly, his attention suddenly caught by something beyond you. Or, someone.

Geto Suguru. His best friend.

His posture loosens as he exhales through his nose, casting you a final glance. “Well, sweetheart,” he drawls lazily, taking a step back. “Hate to dance and dash, but duty calls.”

And just like before, he lifts a hand in that same casual wave, and winks—slipping back into the crowd with the ease of someone who has done this a hundred times before.

Following his gaze, you look just past the cluster of mingling sorcerers, at the figure leaning lazily against one of the wooden pillars. His dark long hair falls across his shoulders, his arms are folded neatly into the side sleeves of his yukata, and his eyes are half-lidded, bored.

Satoru reaches him in just a few strides, and whatever the two of them exchange is lost to you beneath the hum of the room—but they’re laughing, at ease.

Exhaling slowly, you force your trembling hands to steady at your sides, your racing heart to settle, remembering where you are. Because the world moves on. The music starts anew. The guests return to their conversations.

But you don’t. Not yet.

Because this—this is something you’ll remember. The night you first met Gojo Satoru.

The night you first saw him for who he was—not just the head of the Gojo Clan, not just the strongest, but something untouchable, something defiant. Something free.

And maybe, just maybe, a small part of you will always hold onto that moment.

A moment you wish you could claim for yourself.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

Seven years have passed since that night. Seven years since the weight of an entire clan was draped over his shoulders like a silk noose.

Gojo Satoru is still the strongest, still the untouchable ruler of the Gojo Clan, but the years have done little to change the one thing the elders have always hated about him—he refuses to be controlled.

But their patience is wearing thin.

The moment he steps into the council chamber, Satoru already knows he’s going to hate every second of this.

Same old stiff-ass room, same old stiff-ass elders. The walls lined with painted screens depicting wars won centuries ago, incense burning in the background like it’s meant to cleanse him of his sins or some shit. He exhales loudly, rolling his shoulders back, then strolls forward with all the urgency of a man walking to his own execution.

Dropping lazily onto the tatami, Satoru lets out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Alright,” he drawls, popping his neck with a slow tilt of his head. “Let’s hear it. What crime have I committed this time?”

A tense silence follows.

Gojo Hiroshi, the eldest of the council, lets out a long, deliberate sigh, his sharp gaze steady beneath thick silver brows. “Your inappropriate conduct has reached our ears again.”

Satoru smirks. “Oh? I’ve got fans? You geezers keeping tabs on me now?”

His words are met with cold, unimpressed stares.

“You mustn’t treat this as a joke,” another elder chimes in, voice lined with restrained patience. “Your recklessness is a stain upon our clan’s legacy.”

Satoru scoffs. “Recklessness? I’m pretty sure I’ve saved more lives than any of you sitting here. Y’know, by doing my actual job.”

“The strongest should not act so carelessly,” Hiroshi cuts in. “And yet, all you do is goof off. Throwing yourself around, jumping from woman to woman, acting like some common fool—”

Satoru groans loudly, tipping his head back with a dramatic sigh. “God, is this really about me having a good time? I hate to break it to ya, old man, but I’m twenty-five, not fifty. Maybe if you all had a little fun in your youth, you wouldn’t be so damn uptight.”

The closest elder levels him with a stern glare. “We have tolerated your… indulgences long enough.”

“You speak of a ‘good time’,” another elder continues, fingers steepled together. “But you must consider the future. This—this frivolity—must end.”

Satoru clicks his tongue, tapping his fingers lazily against his knee. “Yeah? And just where are ya gettin’ at, gramps?”

Silence. A slow exchange of glances between them.

Satoru watches as they silently decide who will be the one to say it. They always do this. Always sit in their stiff little circles, acting like their words carry the weight of gods.

Finally, Hiroshi exhales, slow and measured, before speaking.

“The next leader of the Gojo Clan must be born.”

There it is.

Satoru lets out a slow, exaggerated breath, tilting his head back. “Man… you guys really need a new hobby.”

“We have been patient,” Hiroshi continues, ignoring him. “But the time for childish defiance is over.”

Satoru’s lips twitch. Childish? He could wipe this entire damn room off the map if he wanted. Not that he would, though—he’s mostly reasonable.

An elder shifts slightly, fingers curling over the edge of a plain, unassuming folder resting beneath his palm, and as Satoru’s gaze flicks to it, recognition flares.

Ugh. Not this bullshit again.

This isn’t new. He knows what’s inside. A folder full of names. A folder of candidates—eligible women, bloodlines deemed strong enough, clans deemed worthy. A relic of a past he never fucking asked for.

His irritation spikes as he begins to rise.

“Yeah, so… fuck this. I’m gonna stop ya right there—”

“You will sit down, Satoru.”

The words are sharp. Final. Satoru freezes mid-step, the weight behind them pressing like a blade against his spine.

The fucking audacity. A command? A fucking order?!

Exhaling through his nose, he bites back the burn of frustration clawing up his throat. “Nah,” he mutters, waving a dismissive hand as he turns on his heel. “Fuck off.”

“The next leader of the Gojo Clan must be born.”

Satoru stops.

A slow laugh bubbles up from his chest—sharp, humorless, before turning back to face them. Tilting his head, an icy chill threads his voice.

“Let me get this fucking straight. You dragged me all the way here, wasted my precious time, just to tell me I need to knock someone up? Wow.” He lets out a sharp whistle, slowly clapping his hands together in mock awe. “Out of all of your excuses, this one takes the fucking cake.”

“You fail to take this seriously,” Hiroshi’s voice is quieter than the others, but heavier in its own way. “You never have.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens. “Maybe because I don’t need to. I’m the strongest, remember?”

“And yet,” Hiroshi exhales, “even the strongest will one day fall.”

The words settle in the air like a foregone truth. Satoru doesn’t flinch. But something in his jaw ticks, barely perceptible.

Even the strongest will one day fall.

He hates the way those words burrow under his skin, clawing at something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“You refuse to take a wife. You refuse to consider the future,” Hiroshi continues, voice steady. “You’ve left us no choice. And so, we have taken it upon ourselves to make the choice for you. Marriage arrangements are already in place.”

Satoru’s brow furrows—a seething rage building underneath his skin. Pulling down his blindfold in a slow, deliberate movement, he reveals the impossible, piercing blue of his Six Eyes.

“Excuse me?”

The air shifts, thickening under the weight of power, of warning—of a challenge.

For a moment, all he can hear is the rush of his own blood in his ears. And then, just beneath the suffocating weight of his own fury, another voice cuts through.

‘You gonna outrun your own clan forever? Your duty?’

A memory. A voice.

Suguru.

The words hit him like a hammer, striking something raw, something he thought he buried a long time ago.

Geto Suguru.

His best friend. His brother. The one person who had ever truly understood him. The only person who could ever match him step for step, thought for thought.

The person he lost. A man who had abandoned all right or reason. Who had turned his back on everything. On Jujutsu High. On their ideals. On him.

And suddenly, the weight of it all presses heavier on Satoru’s shoulders. It feels suffocating. Because for the first time in years, something inside him wavers. And damnit… that pisses him off.

With a sharp step forward, Satoru’s hand snatches the folder from the table in one swift motion, the rustle of paper slicing through the silence like a blade.

The room tenses as he flips it open, eyes scanning the pages, the names, the faces—the future they’ve decided for him.

As he goes through its contents, a folder he’s seen often but never truly looked into, he realizes it’s exactly what he expected—polished profiles, lists of pedigreed women, hand-selected for their bloodlines, their breeding, their usefulness.

Every file reads the same.

Perfect posture. Proper etiquette. Skilled in traditional arts. Fluent in tea ceremonies. Raised to serve, obey, bear children.

Gross.

His brow furrows in irritation as he skims through the neatly cataloged qualities, as if he’s browsing a fucking menu.

Expert in tea ceremonies. Elegant calligraphy. Well-versed in ikebana.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, he flips to the next file with a flick of his wrist.

Gentle temperament. Raised to uphold family honor. Culinary excellence.

Jesus.

It’s all the same.

Not a single original thought, not a single fucking thing that isn’t meant to mold them into perfect little wives and mothers.

Satoru’s fingers twitch as disgust curls up his throat.

What? Is he supposed to just pick one, put a ring on her, fuck her like some obligation? Breed an heir with a woman whose only defining trait is knowing how to arrange flowers?

Tch.

He’s already itching to slam the folder shut and walk out of this room, consequences be damned.

But then—he halts. His gaze briefly catching on a familiar face.

You.

A picture clipped neatly to your file, just like all the others, but something about it makes him pause.

He knows you… right?

Or—at least, you look somewhat familiar.

Satoru has slept with countless women, but he’s pretty damn sure he’d remember if you were one of them. Plus… you’re a virgin, according to your file, so… that can’t be it.

He scans the page with mild curiosity, barely reading at first—and low and behold, it’s another list of fucking perfect traits designed to impress him.

Cooking. Baking. Floral arrangements.

Right. Of course. Same as the rest.

But then, his eyes flick lower.

Martial arts.

His brow lifts.

Huh. Now that’s new.

Shifting his weight, his gaze lingers on that one detail.You practice martial arts? Interesting.

The corner of his lips twitch, intrigue curling at the edges of his amusement as he flips through the rest of your file—skimming for anything else that isn’t some prim manufactured selling point.

Not much stands out amongst the crowd, expect that, yeah, you’re hot too. That certainly doesn’t hurt.

If they’re really forcing him to do this shit—if he really has to fuck a woman and produce an heir—he’s at least going to pick someone who can actually hold his attention. Hell, if he has to fuck her, she better be someone who can at least get his dick up.

Exhaling through his nose, his eyes flicker back up to the elders, their bated breaths held with anticipation.

“…fine,” he mutters, “I’ll marry.”

A ripple of movement shifts immediately—a murmur of approval.

“But.” His voice cuts through their satisfaction like a knife. “Cancel whatever bullshit arrangement you had planned.” His Six Eyes gleam as his gaze flickers up, sharp, glacial. “If I’m doing this,” he exhales, voice smooth as glass, “I’m doing it my way.”

And with that, he slams the folder down, open with a photo of you.

“I at least want a say in who the fuck I’m picking,” he mutters, voice cool, final. Then, his gaze flickers up. A smirk—sharp and defiant—curls at the corner of his lips. “So… there ya have it. I pick her.”

A beat of silence. Then another.

Satoru watches as the elders’ expressions shift as they take in your photo, their brows knitting together, their lips pressing into thin, disapproving lines. There’s something unspoken between them—hesitation. Uncertainty.

Jesus Christ... what now?

His fingers tap idly against the table, impatience curling at the edges of his composure. Rolling his eyes, he exhales sharply before plopping back down onto the tatami. 

“What?”  his irritation spikes, gaze flickering between the stiff-ass old men. “You gonna tell me she’s not good enough? That her tea ceremony etiquette isn’t up to your impossible fucking standards? She was in your folder!”

Silence.

Then, Gojo Hiroshi clears his throat.

“There is… history.” His words are careful, measured. “With her clan.”

Satoru lifts a brow, unimpressed. “Okay… and?”

A flicker of unease passes between the elders.

“Satoru,” another speaks, voice steady, placating. “Clan politics are not so simple—”

He scoffs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You think I give a shit about clan politics?”

More exchanged glances. More unreadable expressions. But Hiroshi remains still.

“It is not just politics…” he finally says, gaze unwavering. “There was a… scandal.”

Satoru exhales, fingers pausing mid-drum.

God, he fucking hates when people beat around the bush. His patience is wearing thin. He agreed, didn’t he? What the hell more do they want?

“Scandal?” he echoes, voice flat, uninterested. “Oh, let me guess. Daddy lost a business deal? Mommy hosted the wrong kind of dinner party? Spare me.”

A slow breath.

“…her family has been outcasted.”

A pause.

“Disgraced,” another adds. “Stripped of their status. They have nothing. They live in ruin.”

Arching a brow, Satoru lets the silence linger—lets them wait for him to grasp the supposed severity of the situation.

But he doesn’t give a shit about status.

He just wants these crusty old men off his back, and your folder was the least boring in that entire damn stack.

“…and?” his voice is flat. “I fail to see what the fuck any of this has to do with me. She was in your folder. That’s who I pick.”

The tension thickens as the air feels heavier. The elders remain silent, exchanging glances, waiting for him to finally understand—to realize what he’s signing up for.

Hiroshi is the one to finally speak.

“She comes with nothing now, Satoru,” his tone’s heavier now. “She was a suitable candidate… yes. But now? She has no wealth. No influence. Her mother is drowning in debt. If you choose her, you will be marrying into ruin.”

Satoru groans, loudly, dragging a hand down his face. He’s so fucking tired of this conversation. With a sigh, he rises, reaching into his pocket for his blindfold.

“You old geezers really think I give a shit about money?” he mutters, shaking out the fabric before sliding it over his eyes slowly—like he’s already disengaging from the conversation. “God, you’re all so dramatic. I’m loaded. Who fucking cares.”

“Satoru—”

“I said I’d marry. It’s her or nothing,” his voice is final, unwavering.

The folder snaps shut in his hands, the sharp sound slicing through the hushed tension. A flick of his wrist sends it skidding back across the polished table.

“So, there you have it. Call her mother, we’ll draft an arrangement.”

A ripple of unease shifts through the council, their stiff expressions unreadable. Hiroshi’s brow knits. “An arrangement?”

Satoru exhales, rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms overhead like this entire conversation has physically exhausted him.

“Yup.” His fingers splay lazily as he waves a hand through the air, tone entirely too casual. “I’ll pay off their debts. In return, she marries me. Win-win. There. Easy.”

Then, that smirk—cocky, taunting—pulls at his lips as he leans back, tipping his chin up in mock amusement.

“Anyways. Good talk.” He pauses. “Sooo… uh. We done?”

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Eat.”

The command is soft but firm, breaking the silence that has stretched too long across the small table before you.

Your mother sits across from you, poised as ever, lifting her chopsticks with careful precision, plucking a small piece of tofu from her bowl. The once-pristine silk of her kimono has dulled with time, its ivory threads faded from wear, from struggle. But she wears it the same way she always has—with quiet dignity, spine straight, hands resting carefully in her lap, an image of control that nothing—not scandal, not exile—has managed to break.

She doesn’t look up as she speaks to you once more.

“You’re staring at your food again.”

You don’t remember the last time dinner felt this quiet.

Well, at least not this kind of quiet. This quiet is… different.

It’s not the quiet like when your father was still here—sitting where your mother is now, tapping idly at his phone, barely listening as you spoke about your day. Not like the quiet nights when he would come home late—smelling of perfume that didn’t belong to your mother.

Not like the quiet night he left—walking out the door, taking everything with him.

A soft clink pulls you back—the sound of your mother setting her chopsticks down with slow, deliberate care. When you lift your eyes, she is already watching you, her expression as unreadable as ever.

“You must eat.”

Picking up the chopsticks, your fingers feel stiff against the smooth wood. The miso soup in front of you has gone lukewarm, its thin broth barely fragrant, stretched with water to make it last longer. A meal meant to sustain, not satisfy.

“I’m… not hungry.”

Your mother doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t frown. She simply takes another bite of her meal, chewing with quiet deliberation before dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“A weakened body leads to a weakened mind,” she murmurs. “You cannot afford to be careless with your health.”

You don’t roll your eyes, but damnit, the urge is there.

Even now, she speaks in lessons, in discipline. As if you still had a name to uphold, a family to represent. As if any of that mattered anymore.

Frustration coils in your stomach, tight and twisting, but you don’t let it show. Because she won’t. She never has.

Not even the night he left.

You still remember it—the way your mother stood there, unmoving, as your father walked out the door. No screaming. No pleading. No chasing after the man who had stolen everything from her, from you.

Just stillness. A quiet that swallowed everything—a quiet that never fucking leaves.

And then, the fallout.

The scandal that burned through the clan like wildfire. The disgrace. The exile. The slow, agonizing unraveling of everything you once knew.

You swallow hard, forcing the thoughts down, lifting your chopsticks to take a bite.

Because your mother doesn’t dwell on the past. She doesn’t even acknowledge it.

And so, neither do you.

Suddenly, a sharp ring slices through the air.

Your mother stills—her gaze lingering on the telephone for a moment before she moves, rising to her feet with effortless grace, lifting the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

As she silently listens to whoever’s on the other line, her shoulders stiffen. It’s subtle, but you see it. The faint tightening of her jaw. The way her fingers curl around the receiver, gripping it just a fraction tighter than necessary.

“I see…”

Another pause.

“Yes. Understood.”

The quiet click of the receiver settling into its cradle echoes through the small room, and you study your mother for a moment as she remains still—motionless.

“…mother?”

When she turns, something flickers in her eyes. Not worry. Not resignation. Something else. Something you haven’t seen in years.

Hope.

“…we have been summoned.”

Smoothing down the fabric of her kimono, she settles back at the table—smiling serenely.

You blink. “Oh… okay. By who?”

“Gojo Satoru.”

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

A familiar weight settles over your shoulders as you step past the towering gates of the Gojo estate. It’s been so long since you last walked these halls, and yet you still remember the first time, seven years ago—the grand ceilings stretching impossibly high, the golden glow of lantern light against hand-painted fusuma panels, the hushed murmurs of Kyoto’s elite.

Now, as you pass through the inner courtyard, it is just as intimidating as you remember.

Just as breathtaking.

A servant bows low, silently ushering you toward the tea room, leading both you and your mother in graceful step. As the entrance nears, her voice breaks the silence.

“You will be on your best behavior,” she murmurs, not unkind, but firm.

Right… as if you needed the reminder.

Stepping inside, the tatami mats barely creak under your careful steps, and the scent of incense greets you first—rich, woody, cloying. A low table sits at its center, the lacquered wood polished to perfection, a ceremonial tea set already in place. And across from it, seated with an unmistakable air of ease, is him.

Gojo Satoru.

Even draped in expensive silk—his robes stitched with the distinguished colors of his clan—he carries himself with an irreverence that clashes against the rigid atmosphere of the room. One arm rests against the table, the other draped carelessly over his knee. His blindfold is absent, and for the first time in seven years, you once again meet those impossibly blue eyes head-on.

“Ah, there she is,” he hums, lips curling into a lazy grin. “Thought I was getting stood up.”

Your mother clears her throat pointedly, bowing in greeting. You quickly follow suit, the practiced motion ingrained in you.

“Gojo-sama,” she says smoothly, “it is an honor to be welcomed into your home.”

Satoru waves a dismissive hand, leaning back. “Yeah, yeah. Big honor. Let’s skip the formalities, huh?”

Seated around the table, the elders watch the exchange in silence, their presence heavy, suffocating. You recognize Gojo Hiroshi among them—his sharp, assessing gaze narrowing on you briefly.

Oh… awkward.

Is he still mad about his seat?

Hiroshi exhales, dragging his gaze to your mother. “We will discuss the terms of the arrangement in the study,” he says, voice calm, measured. “In the meantime, Gojo-sama and his intended should use this opportunity to… familiarize themselves.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, Satoru sighs—stretching his arms with a dramatic groan. “Right. Tea ceremonies. My favorite.”

Placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, your mother gives you a knowing glance, a silent reminder—behave.

And then, with a final bow, she follows the elders as they shuffle toward the adjoining room, their hushed voices retreating beyond the sliding doors. The quiet click of wood sliding echoes in the stillness, leaving just the two of you.

Alone with Gojo Satoru.

A familiar weight settles in your chest, something tight, uncertain. His gaze lingers—not scrutinizing, not cold, but assessing. And God, he’s just as beautiful as you remember him. Too beautiful. The same easy confidence. The same impossibly blue eyes that seem to pierce through everything.

You’ve always held onto that feeling from the first time you met him—what was it, exactly? Admiration?

“Well,” Satoru exhales, stretching his legs slightly beneath the table. “Guess it’s just us now.”

Something about the way he says it makes your tummy clench. Is that the admiration? Fuck, whatever. You know what this meeting is supposed to be. A display of grace, a demonstration of propriety. A wife’s first duty to her husband-to-be.

And so, you inhale, slow and controlled—reaching for the tea set.

“Care for some tea?” you murmur, lifting the delicate porcelain into your fingertips, moving through the familiar, measured motions of ceremony. Of tradition.

Lifting the teapot with both hands, you tilt it just so, allowing the warm liquid to pour in an elegant arc, no wasted movement, no hesitation. The way you were taught. The way it has always been.

Then, with just as much care, you offer it to him, your gaze respectfully lowered.

“Please… enjoy.”

With an unreadable expression, Satoru’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the cup from your hands. Exhaling through his nose, his eyes flicker down at the tea, before taking a slow sip.

There is an unnerving silence.

“Is it… to your liking?”

“Uh…” he shrugs, flashing a boyish grin. “Tastes like tea?”

You blink.

What are you supposed to say to that?

A growing nervousness flutters in your chest. Your mother is depending on you—don’t fuck this up. Nodding, your hands fold neatly in your lap as you recite the lines of tradition.

“It is an honor to serve you, Gojo-sama. May this tea be a reflection of the harmony I hope to uphold in our union.”

For a moment, nothing.

Then—Satoru laughs. Not a small chuckle. Not polite amusement. Full-bodied, head-tilted-back laughter.

It startles you, your body tensing at the sound as he sets his cup onto the table and doubles over, catching his breath between chuckles.

You stiffen. What the hell was so funny?

“…did I say something amusing?” you ask carefully.

Satoru waves a hand, shaking his head as he wipes beneath his eyes. “No, no. It’s just… wow. You really went full perfect wife mode, huh?”

Your brows pull together slightly. “Yes… well. It is only proper to conduct myself with—”

“Yeeeah… let’s not,” he waves a hand, leaning forward slightly, arms folding over the table. “You don’t have to do that with me, y’know.”

You hesitate. “Do… what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely at you, expression amused but pointed. “The stiff politeness, the whole ‘it is an honor to serve you’ thing. Jeez… feels like I’m at another meeting with the elders.”

You blink, your fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your sleeve. “But… this is a formal arrangement.”

He hums, tapping a long finger against the porcelain cup. “Yeah, but we’re also people… aren’t we?”

His words catch you off guard.

People.

You’re not sure if you’ve ever been allowed to simply be that—just a person. Not an heiress, not a proper wife, not a disgraced daughter in need of redemption.

You glance at him, at Gojo Satoru, and suddenly… he doesn’t feel so unreachable.

Oh…

He’s the same as you remember—the man who saved you seven years ago. The one who made defiance look so effortless, so free.

Perhaps… with him, you can breathe. Live freely.

Shifting slightly, your fingers relax in your lap.

“…Very well,” you murmur. “Then how would you prefer I speak to you, Gojo-sama?”

Satoru exhales dramatically, tilting his head to the side. “Well for starters, drop the ‘Gojo-sama’ thing. Hate that.”

You bite back a smile. “It’s a title of respect.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves a hand. “But every time you say it, I feel like I need to go yell at some underlings or something. I’m twenty-five, not fucking ancient.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “Alright… what should I call you then?”

He grins. “Just Satoru s’good.”

“…mmkay,” you hesitate for a moment. “Satoru, then.”

His smile widens, pleased.

“Perfect.” He leans forward slightly, resting his chin against his palm, one long finger tapping against the table. “Now… be honest. You don’t actually like this crap, do you?”

You blink. “Pardon?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely at the tea set, the meticulously arranged porcelain, the lingering scent of incense curling in the air. “All this traditional, stiff-ass, sit-in-silence tea ceremony nonsense.”

Your fingers clench slightly in your lap. “It’s… important.”

Satoru hums, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. But do you like it?”

You hesitate. It’s a simple question. A stupid one, even. But for some reason, it feels… foreign. Like no one has ever asked before. You should say yes. It would be the correct answer. The proper one.

“…it’s familiar,” you settle on.

Satoru hums again, watching you closely. “That’s not a yes.”

Looking down at the tea in front of you, a quiet weight settles in your chest. Then—he leans back with a sigh, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Sooo… whadda say we ditch?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I mean, c’mon,” he groans, tilting his head to the side like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “This is boring as hell. You don’t actually wanna sit here drinking tea all day, right?”

You lift a brow. “But… isn’t this what the elders want?”

Satoru’s grin turns sharp. Mischievous.

“Yeah, and I like pissing them off,” his voice dips slightly as he shifts closer. “So… let’s try something.”

He pats his lap. Once. Twice.

“C’mere,” he says, lazily.

You stare—heat rising up your neck, your fingers gripping the fabric in your lap.

“…what?”

Satoru lifts a brow. “What?” he echoes, with a grin. Then, he pats his thigh again, nonchalant. “You heard me. C’mere. Sit.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Then open it again. “Erm… how does… this have anything to do with ditching?”

“Hmm… maybe, it doesn’t.” Satoru shrugs, lips curling at the edges. “Maybe I just wanna see if you’ll do it.”

A pause. Your stomach flips. Your pulse skips. Your brain is screaming at you. This is improper. Completely inappropriate. Unbefitting of a proper woman, much less a bride-to-be.

And yet—

Fuck. He’s watching you with expectation, amusement, curiosity. Because this is Gojo Satoru. The man who has always done whatever the hell he wants—and somehow, that makes you feel like you can too.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you drag in a deep breath, then move—shifting onto your knees and leaning forward. With a quiet exhale, you turn, lowering yourself onto his lap, your back against his chest as your hands rest awkwardly in your lap.

The moment you settle, his arms curl around your waist. The air changes, and your heart flutters.

“…huh,” his voice is closer than expected, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

You swallow, refusing to meet his gaze—when suddenly, the world bends.

Weightlessness seizes you—like free-falling, like slipping through space itself. Your stomach lurches as reality warps around you, fleeting, untethered—until solid ground finds you again.

A slow blink. Gone is the tea room.

Where the hell are you?

Soft lantern light flickers against dark wood and paper screens, casting shifting shadows along the floor. The air is crisp, laced with pine, and beyond the open veranda, a private onsen awaits—its surface steaming beneath the early evening sky, mist curling lazily across the mountain air like silk. The distant hum of cicadas thrums through the silence, the world around you untouched, secluded, still.

Satoru exhales, a pleased hum, shifting beneath you.

“Ahh, much better…”

Warm fingers thread through your hair. Slow, deliberate—gathering the strands to one side. You feel a brush of lips against your shoulder as he murmurs,

“…don’t you agree?”

Shit. The realization settles over you like heat—you’re still in his lap.

“Wha—” the room is hazy—you’re a bit breathless from the sudden shift in reality, and fuck, it’s mixing dangerously with the heat of his touch as his fingers slowly drag along your waist.

Hesitantly, you tilt your head back, meeting his eyes. Blue. Endless. Watching you. You should look away, but you don’t.

“Um…”

“Ta-da,” he murmurs smugly.

Shifting slightly, you try to will away the heat in your face, slipping away from his chest as you adjust. Your thighs drape over his lap now, half-facing him. And fuck—was that a mistake?

Because now, he’s all you can see.

Snowy white hair, framing a face too perfect to be real—his mouth curving into a lazy grin that makes your tummy clench in a way you’re entirely unfamiliar with.

“Where… are we?” you manage.

Satoru hums, shifting beneath you—his fingers dancing over the silk of your obi. “Oh… y’know,” his hand drags higher, resting just below the curve of your breast. “Just somewhere no one will bother us…”

As your dizzy mind tries to recalibrate from teleporting, you blink, finally processing the position you’re in. Or rather, the position he’s in—lounging on a shikifuton.

His fingers twirl the tie of your obi, and you tense, suddenly incredibly nervous.

“G-Gojo…”

He clicks his tongue. “Satoru.”

“Um…” his other hand begins to slide higher up your thigh. “S-Satoru,” you amend, barely above a whisper.

A dangerous grin. “Good girl.”

Oh. You’re fucked. A shudder rolls through you.

“This place… um…” you try to distract yourself with words. Because what the fuck are you supposed to do when he’s touching you like this?! “Its… not the estate, is it?”

“Nah,” he murmurs lazily. “One of my private villas.I’ve got property all over Japan, sweetheart. Figured I’d take you somewhere more… comfortable.”

Comfortable.

Because sitting in his lap counts as comfortable… right?

And shit. Just what is this heat coiling at the base of your stomach? It’s dizzying. You need to move—need space, need air. But as you shift, attempting to slip from his lap, his grip tightens.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, hands steadying you with effortless strength. “Easy there, sweetheart.”

Your pulse stammers, and for a second, you forget to breathe.

“I—I just need to—”

“Stay put.” His fingers flex against your waist. Firm. Unyielding. “We just teleported. Move too fast, and you’ll tip over.”

As your lips begin to part—a protest forming—a sudden wave of dizziness washes over you. Your breath hitches as the edges of your vision blur for a fraction of a second, and you sway, balance slipping.

“Ohp. There it is.”

Satoru moves before you can even react.

One hand slips behind your back, the other finding your hand as he gently lays you back against the futon. The silk of your kimono pools around you as his palm slides back to the curve of your waist.

And suddenly, he’s everywhere.

Leaning over you, elbow propped up—half above, half beside you. A frame too broad, his snowy-white hair falling forward just slightly, strands ghosting against your forehead.

The air shifts.

Those impossibly blue eyes drink you in, framed by thick lashes that soften the sharp cut of his jaw. “Still dizzy?” he murmurs teasingly.

Inhaling shakily, your eyes flutter shut for just a second, searching for something steady, something solid. But there’s only him—his presence, his warmth, the scent of him—clean, crisp, intoxicating.

Yup. You’re fucked.

“…no,” you whisper. But it’s a lie.

Because it’s not the teleporting that’s making your head spin anymore.

Satoru hums, knowing.

“Since we’re to be wed…” his fingers resettle just below your breast, lips curling into a slow, deliberate smirk. “I think you deserve a sample, don’t you?”

Huh?

You should say something. Anything. Your lips part instinctively, but before you can form a thought, before hesitation can settle in—Satoru is leaning in and your brain is short circuiting.

His hand lifts, cupping your cheek as he tilts your chin just so, and with a tenderness, his lips brush against yours in a soft, lingering press.

It’s like a dream. Gojo Satoru—the man you’ve admired, so sweet, so charming, so free—kissing you? Is this real life?

When he pulls back, he studies your expression, a smug grin dragging up his lips.

“What? You want more?” his lips brush against yours, and you barely process it when he mutters, “…wanna ruin you…” kissing you again.

This time, his lips are moving—slow, languid, like he’s introducing himself to you in a way words never could, coaxing you into the unfamiliar rhythm. He doesn’t rush. He guides. Mapping out your hesitation, your breath, the way your body tenses before melting beneath him.

Is your heart going to beat out of your chest? It feels like it. Just as you ease into his movements, his tongue flicks against the seam of your lower lip—soft, teasing.

“C’mon…” he quietly demands, tongue tracing your lips again, “open up f’me…”

And God, you do. Because he feels too good not to.

“Atta girl…” he hums, tongue slipping past your lips with ease. And now, that slow, lazy exploration turns headier, more consuming, more demanding. Groaning quietly, he’s pulling you in, guiding you. Leading. Teaching.

Oh.

That heat in your tummy… it’s spreading down between your legs now. You’re simmering with an inexplainable heat, and you instinctively clutch his robes, whining involuntarily as he kisses you stupid.

He’s grinning smugly against your lips, your sound fueling him as he devours you more. As your lips crash, you feel him shift, his fingers tugging at your kimono—toying with the delicate knot of your obi.

Wait.

You freeze.

Oh god.

Are you about to lose your virginity to the man you are to marry—before your wedding night?

Noticing you tense, Satoru’s smirk gentles and his movements slow. His lips taper, trailing down your jaw with tender pecks.

“Heh… relax, sweetheart…” he purrs against your skin, caressing your body. “In case you’re wondering, ’m not taking that tonight.”

Your breath stutters, heat curling beneath your skin.

Are… you relieved? Fuck… do you want him to fuck you? He’s making your head spin, and with him, tradition feels unnecessary.

 “Oh… I-I just…” you swallow. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

He raises a brow, a slow smirk pulling up his lips. “Yeah? Then I can show you, baby.” His lips graze the curve of your throat, fingers still teasing at your obi. “But I need to hear it from you first.”

You blink up at him, heat pooling between your legs at the look in his eyes—dark, heavy-lidded, consuming.

“What do you want? Gonna let me play with what’s mine?”

Your heart stammers. Fuck, you should hesitate. This is entirely unbefitting of a proper lady. It’s against everything you were raised to be. But the moment his teeth graze your jaw, fuck it, you’re already nodding.

“…yes, please.”

Satoru hums. “Good girl.”

And then, with a deft tug, your kimono slips open as he pulls it apart—the cool air kissing your skin just before he does, lips trailing from your collarbone to the curve of your breast.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “So pretty… look at these tits…” His tongue flicks against your nipple, and you whine, “S-Satoru—ahhh…” shuddering as his mouth wraps around it, swirling his tongue as he sucks the peak.

Smirking, he releases your nipple with a wet pop. “Bet you’re not as prim and proper as you look…” he muses, lips dragging lower, nipping at the sensitive dip of your waist. “Bet there’s a filthy little thing hiding under all this tradition…”

His palms descend, smoothing over your thighs, coaxing them apart with ease, but you tense just a bit.

His gaze lifts, ice-blue and smoldering. “Nervous, sweetheart?” he teases, kneading at the soft flesh of your thighs, thumbs sweeping slow, lazy circles—soothing, patient. But there’s a tension in him, the way his breath deepens, the way his hands flex like he’s holding back.

Your lashes flutter. “I… I just… I dunno how to, I—”

“Shhh,” he coos, smirking, “relax f’me, yeah?”

You give him a little nod as your thighs part further beneath the coaxing of his hands, and fuck, fuck, the sight of you like this—open, pliant, so soft and untouched—has his cock aching.

His breath shudders, fingers dragging up your inner thigh. “Mmm… I can already tell—you’re gonna be a dream wrapped around my cock.” A choked whine escapes you, body shivering, and his smirk deepens. “Ohhh, you like that?” he chuckles, fingers slipping beneath the silk of your kimono, spreading it further open. “Like hearing how bad I wanna fuck you?”

And fuck, does he want to fuck you. The restraint it takes to not flip you over and rut into your cunt is damn near unbearable.

It’s been days since Satoru’s had someone in his bed—days of listening to those stiff-ass elders drone on about duty, responsibility, marriage. Fucking is his stress relief. His role—this position as clanhead, as the strongest. God, he acts like he doesn’t give a shit but it’s exhausting. So, he fucks who he wants, when he wants. And now? Now he’s got you beneath him, trembling and breathless, your kimono slipping from your shoulders like a perfectly wrapped gift waiting to be undone.

It’s almost enough to make him say fuck it and take you right now.

Almost.

But he’s not completely selfish—knows you’re untouched, knows he’d probably wreck you if he took you raw the way he wants to. And as much as he loves breaking pretty little things, he’s gotta prepare you. Prepare you for the worst. Because Satoru? He doesn’t make love, he fucks.

“Satoru… I… I’ve never—"

“I gotchu sweetheart,” he drawls, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your cotton panties. “Gonna take my time. Let’s see how filthy my pretty little wife can get f’me, hm?”

You whimper as his middle finger circles the entrance of your slick cunt, teasing, testing, before pressing in an inch, feeling a small taste of your tight heat wrapped around him.

“Mnnh…” your voice wavers as your fingers grip his robes. “S-Satoru.” He groans, dragging his fingers through your slick, spreading it, making sure you feel every stroke. “Shit, baby…” his voice dips, husky, teasing. “Already soaked, hm? Just from me kissing you? Heh… see.” A wicked grin curls against your neck and you’re whining as he parts your folds, circling against your wet heat. “Knew it. You’re a naughty girl. Feels good huh?”

You nod, head tipping back as your cunt drips on the futon, hips shifting toward him.

“I-I… haaa…” you look up at him with pleading eyes as the tip of his finger sinks inside your tiny hole, then retreating just as quickly, playing with you. He groans, “God I’m gonna fucking ruin you… lemme feel how tight this little pussy is f’me…” and then he pushes his finger in fully, sinking knuckle-deep in your entrance.

“Ahhh!” you gasp, body shuddering, face burying into his neck as your cunt clenches him greedily. “Ohhh, shit,” he groans through his teeth because fuck—your tiny pussy’s already swallowing his finger like you don’t wanna let go. Satoru’s cock is twitching painfully in his hakama, leaking, straining against the fabric. He can’t wait to split you open on his thick throbbing dick.

“There ya go, sweetheart,” he coos, lips brushing against your ear. “Nice and easy, baby.” He’s moving now, curling his finger against that tender spot, and you gasp “S-Satoru…” burying further into his neck as you soak his hand, clutching his kimono as you whine, “nngh… s’too much…”

“Aww… s’okay…” he’s pressing wet open-mouthed kisses along your throat, finger slowly fucking into you, “Shit… this is only one finger sweetheart. Poor thing. M’gonna have to stretch you real good, huh?” he pumps through every word. “And you’ll take all of me, wont’cha? Take me like a good girl?”

Your lashes flutter. It’s overwhelming, but god, you love it. Stretching your hot little cunt with his long finger, the way his pretty blue eyes watch you, the way his voice drips into your ears, coaxing you further under. “I-I… nnngh…” your needy pussy’s gushing all over his knuckles, “Satoruuu…” you whimper, squirming slightly, unsure what you’re asking for.

But he knows. Of course he fucking knows.

“Faster?” he croons, nipping at your earlobe, pumping you fast, and fuck, your eyes roll back. The sounds of your sopping slick mix with the hum of cicadas. “That’s it… m’gonna teach you. Show my perfect little slut of a wife how to take cock, how to be a good girl for her husband.”

He curls his finger further, sliding against your tight wet walls. “S-Satoru—ahhh…”

“Shhh, I got you,” he soothes, cock angry in his pants as he pumps you stupid. “Shit, you’re so wet… feel that?” his free hand splays over your stomach, feeling your tiny hole flutter around him. “Ah, fuck… you’re gonna feel so tight around my dick… can’t wait to fuckin’ pound this needy pussy.”

Your breath is stuttering as he’s stretching you faster, making your cunt drool all over him, pretty blue eyes watching you through fluttering white lashes.

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby…” he murmurs in your ear, voice deep, velvety. “Hope you’re ready, gonna milk my fuckin’ dick, be my little obedient, sexy toy for me to use whenever I want. Yeah?”

Your body moves on its own and you arch further into him, desperate for more of his ministrations.

“…satoru,” you pant, and his cock leaps in his pants the moment you ask, “m-more… please?”

“Shit…” he groans, slipping another finger into your sopping cunt. “Knew you’re not as innocent as you look. Gonna pump you so fucking full, paint your insides white with my hot, thick cum,” he pants, finger fucking you faster. “This want you wanted needy girl?”

“Mhmm…” you nod, eyes squeezed shut, legs squeezing around him, a whimper spilling for your lips. “Ohh, fuck yes…” he growls, licking into your mouth.

Fuck, Satoru’s cock is throbbing so much is hurts now.

The thought of fucking you raw? Of splitting you open on his cock, ruining that untouched little cunt, making you stretch around him, crying, gasping, begging? Fuck—he could cum in his pants just thinking about it.

Because that is something he doesn’t do with other women. He’s always careful. Always keeps things clean, simple. Never finishes inside—ensuring there’s something between him and whatever meaningless distraction is spread out beneath him. Because at the end of the day, Gojo Satoru has a lot of meaningless distractions, and none of them are worth that kind of indulgence.

But you? Breeding you? Filling your tiny little hole, stuffing you full, making you drip with his cum until you’re leaking, messy, begging for more? Fuck, that’s more than a perk—that’s a goddamn plus.

A plus that, at least in marrying you, he’ll have someone to fuck whenever he wants. Satoru always gets what he wants. And he loves to fuck.

That’s all this is. That’s all you’ll be. A perfect little wife, ready to spread your legs and take him like you were made for it. Why? Because Satoru hates being tied down. But if the elders want an heir?

Fine. He’ll fucking give ‘em that.

“O-Oh… ohmygod…” you’re whimpering now, nails digging into his shoulders as he’s scissoring your dripping pussy, stretching you wider. “Ahhh!” The moment his thumb finds your clit, your body jolts, and he chuckles. “Mmm… there it is…” he’s rubbing slow circles against your swollen bud, pumping your cunt as your whimper and writhe. “That’s what I wanna see… let it take you… let it break you, baby.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you—eyes hooded, lips parted, white hair falling over his gaze. Fuck, he looks ruined just watching you come apart. You’re gasping, chest rising and falling, and he smirks. “S’too much,” you whine, voice trembling, “too much, Satoru… I… ahhh!”

Leaning in, his lips brush against yours. “C’mon sweet thing,” he rasps, “Cum f’me. Lemme see how pretty you look when you fall apart…”

And fuck, you do.

Your pussy clenches, tightening around his fingers as the coil in your stomach snaps, sending pleasure crashing through you.

A choked cry slips from your lips as your body shudders violently, legs squeezing around his wrist, cunt gushing down his knuckles. He groans, feeling every pulse of your release, the hot slick dripping down his hand as he fucks you through the aftershocks.

“Oh, fuck,” he grits out, watching you unravel beneath him. His lips curl, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. “That’s it, baby… look at you, makin’ such a mess on my fingers.” His thrusts slow, easing you down from your high, his free hand stroking up your trembling thigh as you’re panting, gripping the sleeve of his kimono as you look up at him with dewy eyes.

“Mmm… such a good girl f’me,” he murmurs.

Your lashes flutter, hazy and weak, as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your spent, fluttering hole. You whimper, body jerking slightly at the sensitivity, and a thin, glistening string of arousal connects his fingers to your soaked entrance before it snaps, slick dripping down your thighs.

Satoru hums. “Well, well…” he’s lifting his hand to the lantern light, watching you glisten on his fingers. “You really did make such a mess, sweetheart…”

Your dazed gaze meets his just as his tongue slips between his fingers, sucking them clean. “Mmm…” he groans, lashes fluttering, eyes rolling back before pulling them out with a wet pop. “Can’t wait to devour your cunt properly… bury my face between those pretty thighs n’ make you cum on my tongue while I feed you my dick…”

You’re fucking speechless, barely processing his filthy words before he’s shifting, his free hand dipping beneath the folds of his hakama. Blinking, dazed, you look down and—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

He’s pulling himself free, that thick flushed cock springing up—flushed, red, and glistening with precum. It throbs, slapping against his abs, needy and aching. You look at Satoru’s blue eyes and they’re watching you, amusement tugging at his lips.

Gripping the base, he gives it a slow stroke. “Mhn… see what you do to me?” he smears his arousal lazily over the swollen head, exhaling. “Ahhh… look how fuckin’ hard I am just from playing with your pretty cunt…”

Swallowing, your thighs press together, heat blooming in your tummy. Each pump of his cock is hypnotic, deliberate—like he has all the time in the world.

You can’t take your eyes off it.

Fuck

His fingers were already enough to drive you insane, but that? How—how the hell are you supposed to fit that inside your pussy?

Satoru catches the way you bite your lip, the flicker of uncertainty in your gaze.

He smirks, tilting his head. “C’mere,” and he’s reaching for your hand, bringing it toward him. “Wanna play with it?”

Your fingers twitch. “But, Satoru—”

“Shhh,” his thumb brushes soothing circles across your wrist. “Told you, ‘m gonna teach you.” Lifting your hand, he presses a chaste kiss to your palm—soft, sweet. “You’re gonna be my wife, baby… that means learning how to handle my cock, too.”

“Oh…” your lashers flutter, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Okay.”

For a fleeting second, the moment feels… almost tender.

But it shatters as he’s spitting directly into your palm—hot, slick, filthy.

“Gotta get it niiiice and wet…” he mutters, guiding your drenched hand to his throbbing dick, smearing the sticky substance around his shaft. “Grip it like this… kay?”

“Okay…” your murmur, thumb brushing against a thick vein. And god, it’s hot—hotter than you expect—twitching in your grip, heavy and pulsing beneath your tiny fingers.

“Mm, good girl,” he exhales, watching you through lidded eyes. “Start slow, yeah? Let me feel you.” He moves your hand beneath his, setting a pace, slow and teasing. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, lashes fluttering as his head tips back. “Fuuuuck… yeah… that’s it, jus’ like that, baby…”

Biting your lip, you look up at his filthy expression. “Like…this?” you experiment, squeezing a little harder, gripping his dick with more purpose. His cock twitches violently and his lips part. “Fuuuuck…” he grunts, grip tightening on your wrist, “y-yeah… that’s it—shit—keep going, just like that.”

God, the way he looks right now has you dizzy—lidded eyes, jaw slack, breath coming short and heavy. He’s falling apart from your touch alone—like there’s a power to it. That realization makes you bolder, your strokes growing more confident.

And fuck, he seems to like that.

“There ya go, sweetheart,” his cock’s jerking in your grip as he pulls back completely, pretty blue eyes flicking form your hand to your face, smirk turning pure filth. “God, look at you… pretty little wife, strokin’ my cock so fuckin’ well. Maybe I oughta let you do this every night, huh? Put those soft little hands to good use.”

The slick, obscene sounds of your hand working over his cock fills the space as he leans back, shamelessly reveling in it, hips twitching into your grasp.

“Nnngh… keep strokin’ me just like that…” his lips hover a breath away from yours, panting, desperate. You squeeze a little harder, rolling your wrist, and his brows furrow, a sharp hiss escaping him. “Shit—” his head lolls back, voice wrecked, “fuck, you’re such a quick learner… bet you’d let me fuck that tight little throat next, wouldn’t you?”

You cunt is throbbing at his words, slick pooling in your panties. God, how are you supposed to answer him? He’s filthy. But you love it. Your thighs squeeze together, and Satoru sees the way you shift—his grin stretching, wicked.

“Betcha like strokin’ me.” His voice is rough, thick with need, fingers threading into your hair. “Betcha like feelin’ my cock throb in your hand, huh?”

Biting your lip, you squeeze his dick harder. “Y-Yeah…” your cheeks burn at your own filthy admission, and his smirk is vicious, pure sin. “Knew it. Fuckin’ knew it.” He groans, cock twitching in your palm as his flushed tip drools all over your tiny hands. “Naughty little thing… keep that up, n’ m’gonna cum all over these pretty fingers…”

You swipe your thumb over the tip, rolling the head as you murmur “what if… I want that?” and as the words slip out, Satoru’s eyes snap to yours, blown wide, something feral in those cerulean depths.

“Oh?” His grip in your hair tightens, a sharp, desperate inhale through clenched teeth. “Say that again.”

You breathe slowly, smearing his drooling dick, and Satoru’s cock leaks more, jerking violently the moment you mutter, “I… I wanna see you cum.”

With a primal growl, he snaps—lunging forward, lips crashing against yours, messy, consuming. Breathless, desperate, your strokes turn frenzied as he’s groaning into your mouth, his hand groping your tit, his cock jolting in your palm, pulsing vigorously.

“Fuck,” he pants, forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged, needy. “Faster—m’fuckin’ close—fuck, baby, don’t stop—”

You obey, jerking him quicker, harder, your palm slick and messy with his slick. The lewd, obscene sounds spilling from his lips are shameless, his hips jerking up, chasing the friction.

It’s invigorating, and so—fuck it.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you lean forward, part your lips—and spit. A long, slick stream dripping down, coating his thick cock, gliding over your fingers as you pump him faster.

Satoru chokes on a breath.

“Shit. Shit. Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, head tipping back, throat bared, veins straining. “Goddamn…” his voice cracks, laughter breaking through. “Look at that. Gonna turn you into the perfect little slut f’me, aren’t I?”

Your hand is a blur now—stroking, twisting, rolling over the ridge of his cock, milking him as he gasps, shuddering, hands roaming over your tits, groping, squeezing.

“G-Gonna cum all over you,” he groans, voice unraveling, grip tightening as his thumb flicks your nipple. “Wanna see it? Fuck—my cum dripping down your hand—” A ragged whine catches in his throat. “Or maybe—m-maybe your tits? Haaa… s-shit… yeah.”

Suddenly, his hand shoves you down, pinning you against the futon as he straddles you, knees pressing against your sides. Your eyes widen as his cock hovers above you, dripping, leaking, his grip tight around the base as he strokes himself furiously.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck!” The wet faps of his fist grow louder, his panting wrecked, desperate. “Gonna fuckin’—haaaa—s-shit, take my cum!”

And then, he’s spurting his thick gooey seed all over you, spilling rope after rope of that sticky white essence, shooting it from the ridge of his pulsing dick as it erupts is messy arcs. It's warm and wet, his body lingering above you, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants as he wrings every last drop.

Groaning, his head lolls, lazily pumping the last few spurts, blue eyes dropping to the mess he’s made of you—cum dripping down your tits, pooling in the dip of your stomach.

“Fuck…” he exhales, thumb grazing your bottom lip before tilting your chin up. “Just look at you. Drenched in me.”

You blink, dazed, body still humming, skin sticky and dewy with sweat and cum. Satoru watches you for a moment, then huffs a lazy chuckle, shifting off you. You barely register the way he reaches for something beside the futon, only catching the warm press of a damp cloth against your skin a second later.

Lying there, breathless, he carelessly wipes his release off you. He’s not gentle, not exactly, but he’s careful—moving with the ease of someone who’s done this plenty of times before. When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside, stretches his arms over his head, and flops onto his back with a satisfied sigh.

There’s a beat of silence as you both exhale. The weight of what the fuck just happened, settling in your chest. Then, his smirk returns as he tilts his head at you.

“Welp,” he sits up, rolling a shoulder, cracking his neck, as if already moving past the moment. “S’pose we oughta head back, huh?”

Your stomach knots. “Oh… um. B-Back?” Because how the fuck are you supposed to sit in front of the elders, in front of your mother, after this? After he’s just—after this?

Satoru snorts, already adjusting himself, tucking his cock back into his hakama like none of this just happened. “Yeah.” He grins, fixing the folds of his robes. “I got what I wanted. You had your fun, yeah?”

O-Oh? Your breath stutters. You swallow.

He smirks, glancing over at you, a few stray drops of his cum still drying on your skin. “Besides… can’t have ‘em thinking I already knocked you up before the wedding.”

The implication is clear. The possessiveness is clear. But the affection? That’s missing. It’s like… he’s already moved on, like this was nothing more than a way to pass the time.

Gojo Satoru doesn’t love you.

He owns you.

And as he extends his hand to you, waiting for you to take it so he can pull you up, there’s… no warmth in his touch.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coos, blue eyes gleaming—calm, unreadable, detached. “Time to go home.”

Home.

But, it’s not a home—it’s a throne. And not yours to claim, only yours to be kept in.

a/n. hiiii welcome to the debut of this fic! i had to set a lot up here before we dive into the angst and the smutfest that's to come. ngl, this is a bit out of my comfort zone bc as a demisexual i crave emotional connection with sex. like, i'm really gonna want satoru to hold me after he fucks me stupid 🥲 but ALAS. this fic is not that (at least... not yet. give satoru some time, soon he's gonna be whipped for readers coochie, hehe 🤭) anyways, tysm for reading. would love to hear your thoughts 🫶🏻 like i said, this is going to be multiple parts. no clue how many just yet tho!

taglist pt 1:

@forest-nymph420 @linabugaboo @enhasrii @indiewritesxoxo @yamagucji

@aerareads @devils-blackrose @starpachinko @sadmonke @sylussss7

@slutoru1207 @satoruxsc @sukunasunflower @reihimbo @madamechrissy

@sleepykittyenergy @artist1936 @eggrollforyou @nishloves @serenxtii

@lastsubstance @sarapherna1ia @7thsthings @merrydoe @earliergrave

@106-94 @propan-3-ol @oromanticism @chxllix @nonamebbsblog

@honeybunnnnie @beereadzzz @moonchhu @bunheadusa @atschii

@cherriee-ee @kiyoko182 @itsinherited @fairygardenprincesss @7haze

@hedgefundmeg @adreamingpendulum @etsuniiru @velvetyshu @genshingeeksworld

@waterfallu @haruhatake @schooki @magnificientscarlett @strychnynegirl

[madamechrissy]

Arranged Husband Sylus - headcanons/taglist

pairings - Sylus x f! reader

MDNI- NSFW- You are arranged married to the powerful Sylus, just how will that go? Arranged marriage trope, a lil bit enemies to lovers, oral (f recieving) light angst, explicit sex, Sylus calling you Kitten, consent asking ofccc, talking you through it, getting fucked on his desk, getting 'tied up', breed kink - heavy breed kink- going to be part of a much larger fic <3 This wc- 3k

Full long oneshot here (11k)

Arranged Husband Sylus can't take just how beautiful you are when you step up in that pretty silk white dress, he had seen a picture of his bride to be, but in person you make his heart race. You meet his gaze, and you can hardly stand how beautiful he was, beautiful and dangerous, the leader of Onychinus, your groom to be. He stands tall and elegant in that blood red suit of his, matching those insane eyes. You eye his shoulder, where a mechanical crow sits, blinking in confusion, clutching your bouquet of flowers in your hands while you step down the altar, marrying a man you've never actually met.

Arranged Husband Sylus glares when you say 'what's a crow doing here?' offended you'd dare to refer to his crow in such a way! He already doesn't like your attitude, even though you're drop dead gorgeous, when you step in front of him, in a room scattered with just a few people, who have made today happen. Sylus, the richest man there is, and one of the most powerful, needed the 'perfect bride' which you suppose you are on paper. But in person? 'don't disrespect Mephisto' his deep, raspy voice makes your tummy clench. 'Now, on with the wedding, you're late' you gasp at his audacity- 'I am not late, I'm on time!' 'hmm' is all you hear in response, as the two of you are soon bound, forever.

Arranged Husband Sylus does not carry you over the threshold of his beautiful mansion, no he simply opens the door, sighing and shaking his head, carrying in your suitcases and handing them to two men there, as you eye the splendid manor before you. 'follow me' he says, so unceremoniously, you do just that, while two men wearing masks observe you quietly, adding to the eerie nature of this red and black interior. You eye the ceilings, watching Mephisto fly, cawing at you as if to let you know Sylus is his, you swear that's what he's thinking, you're so distracted you bump into Sylus's chest, making his jaw clench, catching you by your bare shoulders, while your hands touch his strong chest, feeling his hearbeat increase rapidly. 'pay attention, or you'll get lost' you sigh, now he's gripping a wrist, leading you to past enormous paintings, elaborate seats, a roaring fireplace where the crow perches, pausing only to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Arranged Husband Sylus soon shows you what is to be your room as well, and you gulp nervously, as what you are about to do hits you. Surely, having Sylus in bed would be nothing to complain about, he's absolutely gorgeous, but... it's for a duty. To bring him an heir, and nothing else. He surely wouldn't want this... right? you watch him while he pours two glasses, eyeing the four poster bed with the black canopy, the bearskin rugs under your now bare feet, when you take off your heels, wincing at the relief. He raises a brow at you, handing you a glass then, leaning against another ridiculous fireplace. 'How many fireplaces do you need, hmm?' he smirks at you, taking a sip of the wine, just a bit dripping down the corner of his mouth like a drop of blood, you watch his tongue lap it off, and can barely hold yourself together from it. 'you're just mad you don't have as many' you laugh then, shaking your head, sipping the wine. 'no, and let's... get on with it tonight, yes?'

Arranged Husband Sylus sputters a bit - 'get on with it?' you nod shyly, sipping wine far too quickly, making him glare. 'do you know what vintage that is, you are supposed to savor it' you gulp the rest down to his anger, licking at your own lip, making his thoughts go haywire. He was furious he'd been forced to take a bride, to 'settle down' if you will, to make heirs, but when your glaring little eyes hit him, quite like the angry kitten he describes you as, something heats up in his gut. He gulps down his now as well, eyes trailing down your body, eager to see every pretty inch, when you cross your arms under pretty breasts. 'I know what I'm here for, let's not pretend with each other, right?' you amuse him then, fuck you're... adorable, all feisty and acting as if you know what to do, when he can see your breasts rising and falling with your nerves, tempting him with every breath.

Arranged Husband Sylus arches a thin brow, smirking down at you now, murmuring - 'oh, do you know what to do tonight, Kitten?' you roll your eyes, nodding and undoing the silk ties of your gown, letting it fall and revealing the deep red lingerie underneath, momentarily making Sylus lose his mind at how delectable you look. 'I'm not a kitten, you... crow' he's laughing then, throwing his head back, before he steps closer, closer, pushing you back until your knees hit the back of the enormous bed, looming over you. His huge hands grip your waist, before he unceremoniously hoists you up, letting you bounce on the bed as he lays on top of you in mere seconds, gripping your delicate wrist with a huge hand, teeth glinting with his grin. 'you scared, kitten?' 'no! and stop... calling me that I...' he slams his lips on yours, plump and sweet from wine, shutting you up firmly.

Arranged Husband Sylus leans over you, lips parted in a sigh, watching how you look under him, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes blown out from just that. He leans up on an arm and a knee now, hand trailing across your breast, gripping it and eliciting a slutty little moan, making him ache for you. 'wear this just f'me, hmm?' he's brushing a thumb over your nipple through the thin lace, before leaning down, tongue lapping at it. 'Ah!' your cry of pleasure makes him harder, need gnawing at him for his new bride, shocking him with the intensity, while his hand trails your stomach, making it tense before it hits your lacy panties. 'fuck, you're that soaked already, sweetie?' you're dripping and stick when he peels them down your thighs, slowly, bit by bit, exhaling as he sees your perfect cunt. 'she's pouring out, isn't she?' 'n-no she's... not I ... ah!' he's grinning. 'how cute...'

Arranged Husband Sylus barely fingers your slick cunt, sucking your juices off one of them, defined cheeks hollowing with the action. 'you taste so sweet for such a brat' you want to pop off another remark, but you're too sensitive, gripping his expensive dress shirt, wishing it were off him suddenly. 'we should... consummate this, get it over with, right? my duty...' you murmur, and he pauses, shaking his head then. 'your duty... yet you're this wet, tsk... are you sure that's what this is?' you blink rapidly when he kisses down your stomach, your pussy so wet just his finger flicking up and down it is embarrassingly loud. 'listen to her' his sharp teeth are nipping your inner thigh, you scream out. 'Sylus... you're... we...' your mind can't comprehend the desire filling you. 'Can't speak, can you? from just this? ah... thought you had a little more fight, so pathetic already f'me?' you're scowling as he grins like a smug jerk, and you want to call him that, but you are at loss for words.

Arranged Husband Sylus who practically purrs like a damn cat himself when he spreads your thighs in a fluid motion, chuckling a bit as they tremble, his fingers pressing into the plush of your thighs, breath ghosting over your eager cunt. 'W-what are you...' Sylus looks up at you with those crimson eyes, so dilated they're black, silvery lock falling just so over his brow. 'I like to play with my food, just a bit sweetie' you blink a bit then, 'your food!?' he's smirking as he laps his tongue on your inner thigh, your hips jerk up for more without you even knowing, earning his soft, husky groan. 'yes, I enjoy to toy with my meal'

Arranged Husband Sylus swipes his long tongue up your slit then, and your hands grip his silky locks without thinking, nails pressing against his scalp, making him throb for you. 'Kitten does have claws, huh?' your answer gets stuck in your throat and turns into a throaty moan as he spreads your lips, peering at the little hole drooling arousal, his breaths heavier and heavier. 'w-what are you... d-doing?' he smiles against your pussy now, teeth right against your entrance, shoving your thighs even further apart - 'just as I said, playing with my food before I eat it'

Arranged Husband Sylus devours your pussy then, drinking you up with the lewdest noises, he's pressing his cock against that elegant bed spread under his slacks, precum dripping from his reddened tip while you pour all over his face. Your hands grip even tighter, while he laps at your cunt, fucking his tongue into your soppy entrance, while you scream out, forgetting just who he is and who you are even. This is not what you ever heard of, of being married and baring his heir, when his glowing red eyes shoot up at you, and his tastebuds delve against your gummy walls, you feel it, pressure building, tummy tensing, he sees you holding back, leaning up now. 'don't fight it, kitten, let go.

Arranged Husband Sylus watches as your eyes roll back, slipping two long, elegant fingers deep in your cunt and curling, his other hand pressing down on your tummy, picturing filling you, making him fucking feral. 'That's it, don't fight it- bratty kitten' he's curling those fingers right on your spot, and when he flicks his tongue on your engorged clit, you're gushing all over, pulsing around his digits when you shatter, orgasm rushing through you. You blink, gasping and disoriented when he has your wrists bound by red, swirling energy above your head. 'you're claws hurt just a bit, and I'm not finished yet. Look how much you came for me, you can listen' you're bound under him then, when he shoves your thighs up further. 'Too much! mnh!'

Arranged Husband Sylus can't stop his grin when you cum again with a mere few flicks of his tongue, and you eye him between your thighs, flushing when you realize his chin is glistening from you. 'So easy, aren't you?' you scoff, shaking your head and he parts your lips, just breathing on your clit and watching it twitch, feeling you writhe in pleasure under him, moaning. 'Oh... g-get up here!' he's smirking as he slides up your body, still in his damn slacks, pressing his thick length against you. 'Need something, kitten?' you glare, just making you cuter really, grinding up your hips now 'w-we need to make heirs... we...' Sylus is off you now, making you feel so empty, and stands suddenly, eyeing your naked body longingly, releasing your wrists, still fully fucking clothed damn near, just his jacket gone. 'Sylus, aren't we supposed to-' he shakes his head, walking over to his night stand, picking up that glass of red wine.

Arranged Husband Sylus takes a sip, as you try to compose yourself, and he's got the smuggest smirk on his face. 'We'll do that when you want to, not because you have to' his words make you blink rapidly, heart still racing. You want to. But he's already bending down, tilting your chin up just a bit, sipping that glass with his plump lips. 'Open, sweetie, let's see if you can listen' you do as he commands, and he sips the wine, pouring it down into your mouth as he kisses you, you drink the sweet red wine down your throat, mixing with your own taste, your thighs clench when the tall man straightens, brushing your hair back. 'I have to be gone for a week, I expect you to have my answer when I come back' you frown now, asking- 'answer?' - when he heads to the door, heels clicking on the polished marble, turning his head to look back at you. 'mmhmm'

Arranged Husband Sylus has Kieran and Luke, the two giant masked men, constantly watching you the week he's gone, if you have to leave the house, they follow you, if you have to do anything, they're there. At first annoying the shit out of you, eventually you tolerate them, asking sly questions about just who Sylus was. You angrily call him - hearing his sigh as he picks up - 'What is it?' you scoff at him. 'So friendly' Sylus rolls his red eyes. 'I'm in a bit of a bind, can this be brief?' You roll your own eyes now. 'Why are these two bozos following me everywhere!?' You hear their indignation and Sylus' chuckle 'Hey!' they both cross their arms at you, you just stick out your tongue. 'because, you're my wife, and you need protection' 'I can protect myself-' Sylus hangs up, leaving you to glare... but you find yourself touching your clit that night, remembering his mouth.

Arranged Husband Sylus comes back and is in his pristine, ostenaceous office, aglow with soft lights as he sits at his enormous desk, bent over elaborate screens he's touching. His gaze meets yours, and you see his soft gray shirt shows a body you're dying to see more of, making your throat dry. 'did you decide, kitten?' he asks softly, for once just a little less smug, standing and leaning over the desk, you shut the office door with a click, heart racing as you step up to him. 'yes, I have'

Arranged Husband Sylus has everything shoved off his desk moments later, his shirt slid half up his body, your dress shoved over your hips, kissing you eagerly over and over. 'are you sure?' he asks again, when you're stroking his long, veiny cock, pussy drooling down the polished magogony beneath you. 'I want it' at your words he presses his tip inside you, so deep, you're gasping as you feel it, stretching and filling you, when his hand entwines with yours over your head, he fucks you against that desk, you're spasming around his girthy length. 'f-fuck... feel her, she's taking me so well, huh?' he's whispering, crying out in your ear when he's buried his face against your neck, your nails dig into his back, so fucked out already you can't function, whining out, head slamming the desk screaming - 'Sylus!'

Arranged Husband Sylus fucks into you harder and harder, until he finally busts so deep in you, that it coats every inch of your walls, breathing heavy as he lays over you, so much unspoken between the two of you. That night he's in your room, fucking you again, this time with you on your tummy, wrapping his long arms around you, fucking one load of cum out, just to pour another, and you're seeing stars, all you can keep whispering is his name, over and over. The next morning you're riding him on top, his hands on your waist, tits bouncing against his face, even at breakfast in the immaculate banquet hall, he's lapping your pussy up, murmuring 'kitten' ignoring the servants who walk in and out, merely making him more apt to feast on your perfct cunt, while he drinks his own cum out of you.

Arranged Husband Sylus makes you both question... is this more? Is it convenience, amazing sex... but when his ruby eyes glow while he's got you folded in a mating press, and he's insane and feral, the two of you falter. What is this feeling? Sylus can't take it, how sexy you are bent in half 'so small compared to me, huh? could break you, sweetie' you're past trying to care, to glare or make remarks, Sylus is huge and his heavy weight just makes you feel so small, helpless, while his cock splits you apart. 'ready for me to breed you, huh? fill you up-make you so full of me?' you're clinging to him, cunt drooling down the sheets, wet sounds and skin smacking filling Sylus' bed chamber. 'I asked a question, sweetie' you're biting your lip now, making him pause, chuckling 'you just don't listen, do you?' gripping your throat and letting your thighs fall. But the words that threaten to spill - that you think you're in love- are cut off by his brutal kiss, while he muffles his own declarations.

Could there be more between you both, or are you bound by your duty?

THIS WAS LONG AF for a damn preview - oneshot is linked above!

PERM tag crew - @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji  @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @naomi-main @fairygardenprincesss @estrellaexists @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff

[nightingale-prompts]

Phantom is so Moody-DCxDP prompt

"I don't even understand what I am. I'm a clone so I can't age. But what does it even mean to be a clone? I'm not 100% Superman but I'm still nit like him or Lex? I wasn't born like a normal person so does that mean I don't have a soul?" Kon ranted.

Danny the multi-dimensional godlike being the team had contracted into being their aid slowly shuffled from under his mountain of blankets and pillows and yawned.

"What are you talking about?" He drawled lazily. "Of course you have a soul.

"But I'm like artificially made in a lab." Kon retorted.

"And? So what? Are you telling me I'm wrong?" Danny challenged " Hey stupid, everything has a soul. You, your friends, animals, a tree, a fucking blade of grass, even a kid's toy. If it has energy it has a soul. I'm not talking metaphorically, I mean literally. Souls are a real tangible thing and I will eat your soul if you don't put some food on my sacrificial altar. Also, get therapy."

Kon much like the others had gotten used to Danny. He was mostly all bark and no bite.

As Kon headed to the kitchen to get the god his post-nap snack he heard Danny speak again.

"Also, you can age. Who told you that you couldn't? Age isn't anything but the slow decay of atoms. You are aging. You just aren't changing because your body is so new. Given enough years it'll start to show. Then you'll be no different from anyone else. Granted Superman's race also grows differently. You are so fucking dramatic. You are fine the way you are." The godling huffed, "Ancients, you guys are annoying. You treat existence like it's torture and you'll bearly understand how blessed you are to exist simply because of how un-ideal it is. Look shit sucks, it sucks most of the time but human suffering is caused by humans. You are torturing yourself with all these what-ifs and angst. Just stop caring."

Danny wasn't saying all this to be comforting. He rarely does stuff like that. If anything he was ambivalent to Kon. It still made him feel better though. One thing you could trust about Danny was that he was honest. He could even be helpful considering his job was to be a living encyclopedia of information from beyond the pale. He has always been an asset if you can wake him up from his days long naps.

****

"You sleep all the time." Raven complained.

The Titans were here this time. They needed something from Danny. Something about having to seal a threat away.

"Just death being shy." Danny mumbled curling up on his raised platform. "Now go away."

Raven pulled out a smudge stick of white sage when Nightwing silently held up a hand to stop her.

"Phantom, look we need your help. This issue needs your assistance. We just want info on how to seal this threat properly." Nightwing said.

"Ask Constantine."Danny whined back as he shuffled deeper into his blanket cocoon.

"Unfortunately he can't help. This is Darkseid—"

"WHERE IS HE?"

Immediately he was wide awake. You see there are few things to stir Phantom to his full attention. He isn't inactive out of pure laziness. He lets the hero do their thing and he helps when he thinks it's appropriate. But he will not let anything or anyone harm the planet

*****

"He really doesn't like people," Impulse whispered to Aqualad.

"I still don't understand how the Justice League managed to get in contact with him let alone sign a contract with him. " Aqualad answered.

"Flash said he was pretty easy to convince. Hell he said that Phantom was so docile he let Wonder Woman carry him around. Now he'll practically snap of your hand if you touch him."

"Emm...think about it he must have just been really weak back then. If he was injured badly enough maybe he—"

"Stop talking."

*****

"I still don't trust you. What is your game?" Raven said sternly.

A being with origins like Phantom couldn't really be helping them out of the kindness of his heart. What did he gain from this contract.

"You assume you are worth games."

"Were you sent by my father?"

"Your father, Trigon? That nuisance? A petty demon like that having any say over me? I'd crush him if I ever saw him. He claims to have conquered a billion worlds. That alone makes me want to destroy him. No one OWNS a world. If anything I own all worlds. No one touches my universe, all universes are mine. And if people would just stop touching my stuff I wouldn't be here." Phantom growled furiously.

"So you are just like him." Raven hissed in anger.

"Like I said. I own it. It is my domain. My realm. So no one can destroy it. No one can control it. I make it. Every star, every planet, every person is a product of chaos. It is the universal law. I keep my chaos in check. Trigon, Darkseid, Anti-Monitor—I don't care. If they touch what is mine I will destroy them."

"Anti-Monitor?"

Phantom curled his lip in anger then relaxed.

"He is someone you don't need to be concerned about. Not anymore." Phantom sighed. "Just know; I don't care what you think of me. I only care about keeping things the way they should be. I'd prefer if you didn't trust me."

Raven narrowed her eyes in thought before she relaxed. Then a small smile appeared on her lips.

"No. I think I can trust you."

Phantom immediately frowned. This wasn't the response he wanted.

"I think you are doing this on purpose. I think you want us to dislike you." Raven teased "Phantom do you perhaps have a heart?"

Phantom just sighed, his cheeks were greenish hue. He was blushing. Then went back to his dais to sleep.

****

Phantom was certainly a prickly guy. He was sweet deep down. Everyone could tell after a while. It didn't help that Wonder Woman always gave as good as she got.

"Answer the question Phantom. No cryptic riddles either." She said climbing the dias.

Phantom scrambled to escape as she grabbed him by the ankle and held him upside down.

"That's not fair! Kronos said I didn't have to answer this one. I have permission to tell you wherever I feel like."

"Oh? Then how about not having snacks on your offering plate? We'll burn nothing but vegetables until you tell me."

"How dare you! That's child abuse. You'll be starving me."

"You don't even need to eat."

"I still taste everything you burn. That's force-feeding. That's bad too."

"Just tell me!"

"Fine!" Phantom grumbled "Trevor Barnes...didn't pass over yet. He waits for you in the realms between. You shouldn't know that though. He doesn't want you to know."

"Why wouldn't he—"

"Because he wants you to live for yourself. He wants you to love again. You have a long life ahead of you and he didn't want to hold you back with his memory. Although he contradicted himself because he still wants you to think of him fondly."

Phantom phased through Diana's grasp and retreated to his lair.

****

Phantom was like a stray cat or maybe a spoiled one. He was wary of most people.

But even the most moody cat likes at least one person.

"Phantom I—"

"What do you need?"

Tim had entered the chamber only half expecting Phantom to be awake. Though Phantom was always awake when Tim entered. He guessed he was lucky since he didn't have talk to empty space.

"Eh, nothing. I got put on sacrifice duty. I brought some Bat Burger and cookies from home. I'm warning you now that Wonder Woman said you have to eat a serving of vegetables. So I'm burning them first." Tim placed the steamed vegetables on the offering plate and before he tossed them into the green fire he felt the cold hand of Phantom wrap around him.

"Don't." He said softly.

"It's just broccoli and cauliflower," Tim said still putting it on the electrum disk.

"Don't wanna," Phantom whined petulantly holding Tim in place. His head buried in his shoulder.

"You big baby." Tim sighed.

If anyone saw this interaction they'd be disgusted. The oh-so-great and moody god is l acting like a soft and pitiful little guy. Phantom seemed to have such a unique fascination with Red Robin. To the point he acts completely different if Tim was in the room.

"Two-faced." Kon mumbled as he watched Phantom readily answered Red Robin's every question without complaint.

"He's always like that," Tim said afterward " It's probably because I was the one to help form the contract with him when he was summoned here. The League treated him like a threat when it wasn't his fault he was here. He just wants to keep his distance but he is the same age as us."

"He is?" Kon asked astonished.

[jaylaxies]

CALL ME WHEN YOU HATE ME LESS

PAIRING: lee jeno x fem!reader (ft. jaehyun and jaemin)

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, eventual fluff, porn with plot, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, fingering, choking, blowjob, using panties as a gag, spitting, edging, squirting, mentions of fighting, blood, usage of nicknames, slowburn if you squint, emotional trauma, lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 18,321 words. (18.3k)

PLAYLIST: here.

SYNOPSIS: Jeno Lee was a walking academic hazard—hot, broody, and failing just about everything that wasn’t football. Enter you, his new tutor: organized, overachieving, and absolutely not here for his attitude or his annoyingly perfect jawline. But between late-night study sessions, petty insults, and one very inconvenient almost-kiss, things start spiraling—fast. He’s supposed to be you project. You are supposed to hate him. Instead, you both are one sarcastic comment away from either a breakdown or a makeout—and honestly, it could go either way.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni (the full fic will include smut).

A/N: hihi, angels! i'm finally back with a jeno fic aaa thank you my girls @jaeminvore @hoondrop @gojosmojodojo for giving me ideas and listening to me losing my shit over this fic <333 i hope y’all enjoy reading it <33 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Chapter 1: Raised in Shadows, Told to Shine. 

Comparison. 

The core of all insecurities. The onset of overthinking. The path to self loathing. 

That’s what comparison does to a person—drive them to the edge of insanity in hopes of turning into something; into someone the others will look up to, compare themselves to. 

It was a bad thing per se, but it was motivation enough for Jeno to work harder in order to leave the country, to get away from his family. 

The reason? His mother ever so conveniently happened to have fallen in love with a rich guy, someone who never knew what struggle meant, and Jeno was just four back then. It didn’t take much time for him to settle into the lifestyle, however, no matter how much he could have prepared to face his step-brother, he simply couldn’t bother looking him in the eye. 

Why? Because he was known to be the epitome of perfection. Jung Jaehyun was the son every parent wanted, the student every teacher was fond of, the doctor every nurse wanted to work with. 

The sweet dimple on his cheek was a great asset in melting the hearts of everyone in his proximity or afar. 

Jeno on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t considered to be enough, especially when he got decent grades throughout his school life, he wasn’t a bother, kind to those who were around them, but it changed. 

It changed when he got daily reminders of how he wasn’t even close to how amazing and successful his step brother was. 

That’s when things started looking down for Jeno. He stopped caring about the grades, he wasn’t sure why he was supposed to put up a I’m so good, so smart act in front of others when there was no reason for him to do that. 

Others didn’t bother doing the same for him. 

Rather, he tried to work upon the only thing he was passionate about, the only thing that mattered to him—football. 

Despite winning several trophies for playing the sport, his parents labelled it to be useless, which broke the last fragment of his heart, shattering it to the point of no return. 

Which would explain his current demeanor—moody, permanent scowl on his perfectly sculpted face and no care for the others around him. His sole focus being football, which is also the reason behind his current dilemma. 

“Being an excellent player in the sports team does not guarantee you your scholarship, Mr. Lee,” Jeno’s teacher incharge spoke up, taking off her specs right after reviewing his annual grade report, “you’re failing three out of five modules, and if you don’t start getting back on track soon, then I’m afraid you won’t be able to play in the team anymore.” 

Fuck. 

Jeno had been neglecting his studies, he admits, yet he never thought that he’d reach this point. It’s not that he wasn’t smart, he simply had no motivation to go on with his studies. His parents could easily pay the university to keep him around, however, he wanted nothing from them, which also explains why he got himself a scholarship in the first place. 

“I’m sorry if I’m late.” Jeno’s eyes snapped wide open, turning back to see his step brother entering the teacher’s cabin. 

“Why are you here?” Jeno asked, a muscle in his jaw twitching but Jaehyun only smiled. 

Jeno’s professor was equally stunned, probably even more with her jaw wide open at the appearance of such a handsome young man. 

“I called him in since your parents were busy,” his professor said, handling Jeno a letter, “go and find your tutor in the council room, she’ll be helping you with the upliftment of your grades, Mr. Lee, and now if you’ll excuse us, I’ve got to fill in your brother with your current situation,” she said the last part awfully sweetly as Jaehyun sat down in one of the vacant chairs, smiling at her kind tone. 

Jeno scoffed, the demeanor change around Jaehyun went crazy and he wasn’t a fan of it, especially when he was called in to complain about his mistakes. 

He simply wanted to leave the university and never come back. 

He waited, taking deep breaths before punching the wall, not being able to contain his anger. The impact did hurt, yet he paid no heed to it, the blood dripping as he walked towards the council room to get over with the day. 

The name written on the sheet wasn’t unfamiliar to him, rather it only wearied the already infuriated boy as he knocked on the door of the student council room, which was empty except for you sitting there, working on a few papers which appeared to be the newsletter for the month. 

“Come in,” you allowed, not looking up as Jeno made his way inside the room, observing the surroundings where he’s never been before. 

Then he looked your way, taking in your appearance. You looked cozy in your university varsity jacket, your specs sitting on your nose as you buried yourself in reading whatever it was that you were reading. He couldn’t deny you looked pretty in a way that’s comforting to eyes. 

With no words exchanged, he pushed the letter towards you, which finally made you look up at the source of disturbance, your eyebrows raising slightly as you most certainly did not expect the star football player to visit you in the council room, which he’s never been to before. 

He simply stood there, hands shoved into his pockets while still looking around, and you took a second to grab the letter, skimming over to read and understand that the letter was given by Mrs. Kim, the teacher in charge of your department, requesting you to take up the few teaching sessions you had applied for, Jeno being the student you’ll have to teach for the same. 

You clicked your tongue, folding the letter exactly as it was before pushing it his way, your arms folding across your chest as you finally spoke up, “I reject. I don’t wish to teach you.”

His eyes were quick to snap towards you, finally staring right into your own eyes, irritation clear as he pushed his tongue on his inner cheek, eyebrow raised. 

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss your professor’s feet, given that you’re in student council? And here I thought you’d be a good girl.” Jeno rasped, resting his arms on your table, leaning down to your level. 

You chuckled, expecting the exact response from him, “this is exactly why I don’t want to waste my time on you—you athletes don’t wish to study, you just require a passing grade, for which I don’t have time to spare.” 

“What the fuck do you mean waste your time?” 

“Lee Jeno, you’ve got more money with you than your bank account can handle, so I’m sure losing your scholarship won’t do you much harm,” you said with a sickening smile, “you’ve got no interest in studying, your attendance record states that oh so proudly.” 

“You don’t know shit about me,” Jeno seethed out, messy hair strands falling over his eyes. 

“I know everything I need to know about you. Now excuse me, unlike you, I actually have work to do,” you said, passing him a tight lipped smile, not letting the proximity faze you. 

“You—” 

Jeno’s sentence was cut short with two sharp knocks on the slightly ajar door, a head peeking in, successfully garnering your attention. You could feel your mood doing one eighty with the sudden intrusion of this stranger—whom you didn’t wish to be a stranger around anymore, your eyes softening, lips parting as you stared at him in awe. 

Meanwhile, if Jeno thought that the day was done being a bitch to him, then he was wrong because the level of irritation that bubbled up in him the moment he saw the change in your expressions. 

“Sorry to interrupt, may I get in?” Jaehyun asked, smiling his usual dimpled smile, which had you swooning in record time. 

You could practically see veins of frustration popping out on Jeno’s neck, “no. Your work is done, you should head back home,” he groaned, but Jaehyun only looked you way, continuing to get in, looking your way. 

“I’m Jaehyun, Jeno’s elder brother. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing on giving him tutoring lessons, especially with how busy you must be with council duties,” he spoke up, shaking your hand, which was smaller in his warm, big hands. 

Jeno scoffed, “she’s not—”

“Of course, Jaehyun! It’s my pleasure to help him out, and it’ll only help me better with my extracurricular credits! It’s no problem,” you nodded, a gentle smile on your face as your eyes practically twinkled with excitement, taking in the beauty that Jaehyun beheld. 

It was ridiculous. 

It was absurd how just two sentences; paired with a sweet smile from his brother, were enough for you to change your decision, in the span of two seconds at that. 

He tightened the hold he had on the strap of his black bag, “no fucking need. I’ll find another tutor,” Jeno deadpanned, walking out of the room, not paying attention to Jaehyun who called out his name in the background. 

He wouldn’t let you use him to get to his brother. 

With that thought, he decided to detour and make his way to the gym, trying to blow off steam by practicing punching, each one getting progressively stronger as his mind replayed the difference in your behaviour when it came to him and his brother. 

It didn’t bother him that his knuckles were bruising, he knew he needed this extrinsic pain to get rid of the obvious hurt he felt each day. 

And he couldn’t understand why he felt so affected by your actions, especially when it was the first time you had met. 

Jealousy was indeed a bitch. 

Chapter 2: Surrendered to the skirt. 

Two days passed by and Jeno’s mood showed no progress in terms of improving, rather, he felt worse each time the memory invaded his brain. He tried his best to sit down and open the first module of the unit he had to study. 

It’s not like he was bad at studying, he was just a bit out of practice, and well, his mental health wasn’t doing much to help him get any better. 

Just when he was about to actually get a hang of getting into the topic, the doorbell rang. His parents were out for business, as usual, and his step brother was busy doing morning shifts, which meant that he was alone at the mansion, minus the myriad of worker staff they had to take care of the place. 

Essentially, he had to get down to see who it was at the door, only to spot you leaning against the doorframe as one of the attendants had asked you to wait. He stopped, observing you from the staircase as you typed something on your phone. 

Why were you here after clearly rejecting him? Why were you here when he’s clearly told you he doesn’t want you to be his tutor?

Scoffing, he walked down the stairs and towards you, standing right in front of you, clearly invading your personal space as he decided to lean against the same side of the thick door frame with his brows raised.

You took a second to take in his appearance as he was clad in casual gray sweatpants with a black tank, which honestly did nothing to hide his muscles. 

“Why are you here?” Jeno asked with a bored tone. 

“I’m here to teach you, remember?” You gave him a pointed look. 

“And I clearly told you I don’t wish to study from you, it’s better if you leave now. I’ll just tell Mrs. Kim that you taught me,” he said, almost turning back to go inside. 

“And have them wondering how you failed even after getting tutored by me? Yeah, I don’t think so,” you shook your head, inviting yourself in without second thoughts. 

“Y/n, I’m not fucking kidding, you should leave. Besides, the one you came for isn’t at home at the moment,” he muttered bitterly. 

That caught your attention, “oh? Busy with a job then?” You asked, looking around the exquisite paintings hung at the entrance of his place. 

“Are you gonna leave or do I have to call the guards to escort you out?”

You chuckled, “you really don’t want the previous year questions I have? The council students get them each year you see, they’re bound to guarantee you good marks,” you explained with a smirk. 

Jeno groaned, his lip bitten as he tried to think if tolerating you would be worth the questions, but his football career was at stake and there was no better option but to accept it. 

“What’s the catch?” Jeno asked after a few seconds, sighing with defeat. 

“Nothing at all. We both know that you need these papers to get the grade that you wanna achieve and I’ll get my extra credits,” you reason. 

“You just wanna meet my brother,” he said dryly, “either way, you won’t get to see a lot of him, he’s always at the hospital, working and being the perfect son he is. Plus, he’s definitely not into uni students,” he looked you up and down, soon gulping and looking elsewhere. 

You were clad in a pretty skirt which showed off your legs—which you did wear in hopes of crossing paths with Jaehyun, but you completely missed how Jeno was staring at your body. 

He wasn’t sure if it was out of hatred that he stared at you, or it was admiration because you were one of those people he despised—overachievers.  

You were in the student council, got good grades and professors favoured you, it wouldn’t be a surprise if your parents loved you for being the ideal daughter. It most certainly didn’t help that your appearance seemed as if you were the sweetest, kindest angel on earth, which wasn’t the case when you were around Jeno though. 

“I’ll manage,” you shrugged, “so, I need your final word, Mr. Lee.”

“I am sure I can find better tutors than you,” he raised his brows, challenging you and you didn’t look fazed at all. 

“I am quite literally the best, professor Kim asked me to tutor you for a reason, besides, no one’s gonna agree to help you out with exams being only one month away,” you made your point, extending your hand for him to finalize his decision. 

Overconfidence. He sighed. 

Jeno stared at your extended hand, thinking of the bigger picture here. He’d get tutoring and would be able to score decent grades if he gets back to his usual routine of studying. 

Downside? He’d have to face you each day. 

Sighing and keeping his feelings in check, he simply nodded, taking your smaller hand into his as he accepted the offer, suddenly aware of the warmth of your palm and how it leaves a tingling feeling behind as you shake his hand firmly with a smirk. 

“So, where are we gonna study?” 

Chapter 3: Silent room, a loud mind. 

Turns out, it’s not that easy to sit down and just teach Jeno. 

Given the amount of classes he had missed, or rather, the amount of classes he had managed to attend, it was clear that he didn’t even have the basic idea of the syllabus for the semester modules. 

Moreover, you had already pissed him off by mentioning how you didn’t expect him to have such a clean and organized room, as if you had already decided that he was going to be a messy human. 

Moving forward, you both sat down next to each other with your laptop open in front of you as you made him write down all the topics he needed to cover for the next month, forming a sort of timetable of a kind. 

It was surprisingly peaceful between you two, as if you both wished to get over with it as soon as possible, behaving as civilly as you could but there was this one thing that Jeno couldn’t stop doing. 

Overthinking. 

It’s the way you looked his way with disappointed and concerned filled eyes whenever he messed up, the way his jaw clenched when you told him to do better, the way he couldn’t help but stare at your glossed up lips as you looked around his room, eyes settling on his childhood pictures which were framed. 

It was also new to him to actually interact with people outside of his football team, especially girls. He couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to one. He wondered what was going on in your mind, he wondered if you were silently judging him through it all.

That’s all what people in his life did anyway. 

“You were cute as a kid, what happened to you now?” You joked, chuckling as you looked his way, only to find his mouth slightly agape.

He hadn’t expected you to say that, and he certainly didn’t want to retort back with something that would ruin his mood, “I grew up to be hot is what happened to me,” he replied smoothly. 

“Oh, so you do know how to joke around,” you raised your brows in surprise. It was indeed the image he had formed over the years. The image of him being nothing more than a rude jock who wouldn’t even reply to someone nicely. 

Now that you were actually interacting with him, you were going to find out how many of the rumors were true about him. 

He only leaned closer at your statement, you could see his muscles flexing as he rested one arm on the table in front of you both, “it’s not a joke, love. I am hot.”

You scoffed at the term of endearment, suddenly aware of his scent now that he was so close to you, “and egoistic too,” you helpfully added. 

“Rightfully so.”

Your childish argument was interrupted that very second as the door to Jeno’s room swung open, revealing the exact man you came to see. 

Jaehyun was smiling, dressed in black slacks and a button up shirt as he welcomed you here, and you were quick to notice Jeno’s mood turning fowl that very second. 

“Thank you so much for coming here, Y/n. Let me send a few snacks and drinks for you both while you study,” he smiled, and you rushed up to stand, not even bothering about the pen that fell down as you did so. 

“Jaehyun,” you walked up to him, much to Jeno’s dismay, “oh, you don’t have to do anything,” you smiled sweetly, and he only shook his head softly, grabbing your arm. 

“Don’t worry about it, just sit and relax, okay?” He squeezed your arm, going downstairs and you sighed with a smile. Even his scent was perfect to you. 

“You done daydreaming?” Jeno asked, deadpanning once his brother had left. 

“You done solving the question?” You retorted. 

He sighed, as if his energy was drained already, “yeah, just check and get this over with,” he said, handing you the binder and looking elsewhere. 

It was probably the first time you actually paid attention to his dejected tone, as if he didn’t have the energy to fight back, and you obviously didn’t wish to irk him more, especially when he looked so frustrated right now. Thankfully, a lot of his answers were indeed correct, which was another surprise to you. 

He was smart, he just simply didn’t wish to study. 

“Something wrong?” He asked, cocking his brow and you blinked, “you’re actually not as dumb as you portray yourself to be,” you mumbled, checking everything thoroughly. 

It should’ve been insulting to Jeno per se, but even the slightest amount of approval was a big thing for him, causing the corner of his lips to curl up. He felt insane, the amount of emotions he felt in a single day was perhaps the reason for the same, courtesy of you. 

He was glad Jaehyun didn’t enter the room again, sending in a servant staff to give you the snacks instead, which maintained the peace throughout the session. 

You couldn’t help but notice how well he concentrated once there was silence in the room, your eyes focused on his hand gripping the pen, making it seem more veiny than it already was. 

Also, you didn’t miss the hint of a smile ghosting his face when you told him he did a good job right before leaving, which made you think of a few things, one being— 

He looked beautiful with a smile. 

Chapter 4: You can’t read my mind, so read my lips. 

As much as Jeno loved the comfort of his room, he really wanted to avoid you bumping into Jaehyun again.

Even the thought of your interactions, your fake sweet smiles, made him wanna punch the wall. Jaehyun really had it easy and Jeno never understood why, it was no joke that Jeno was decent looking as well, talented in his own way, and a kind hearted person who just happened to have a protective wall around him so as to not get hurt any further. 

Which is why you had been tutoring him in the library from the past ten sessions, his own personal request to avoid having privacy with you. 

Heck, even Jeno didn’t know it was his own mind trying to protect him, which is why he couldn’t let anyone in, anyone.  

Which made this situation far from ideal as he had you pressed against the library wall, no distance between you both as you closed your eyes in pure distress. 

“What the actual fuck is he doing here?” Your question was directed more to yourself, which confused Jeno further.

He poked his tongue into his cheek, annoyance creeping through, “what the fuck is going on?” He asked. 

“Shhh, not so loud,” you pressed your palm against his mouth, “just hide me.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrist effortlessly, pinning it above your head, “you don’t tell me what to do, yeah?” He mumbled, flustering you under his gaze before your eyes travelled back to where you were looking initially. 

He sighed in annoyance, looking back at the direction of your supposed fear. 

Na Jaemin. Another of Jeno’s football teammates. 

“Why are you hiding from Jaemin,” he asked, brow raised as he leaned into you. 

“Ugh,” you groaned, “he’s my ex, he shouldn’t even be in the library, he’s never here!” You were stressed and Jeno smirked devilishly. 

“Fucking hell, you’re the girl he keeps on stalking and crying about?” He chuckled, “let me call him,” he turned away for a second. 

You used your free hand to grab his nape, “don’t fucking move,” you mumbled. 

Perhaps you were too harsh with the grabbing, also not calculating the proximity enough, because Jeno’s nose was brushing against yours, lips close to the point of touching, and a low groan escaping his lips as your name rolls out his tongue in the most angry grunt ever, “what the actual fuck are you doing?” 

“J—just let him leave,” you mumbled, gulping and closing your eyes, his mint breath fanning your face as heat crept up your neck, up till your ears. 

“What will I get out of it,” he asked, his free hand resting on your waist now, “why should I help you?”

“I’m literally helping you study, Jeno,” you seethed out.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he groaned, making you open your eyes, staring into his deep ones now, suddenly feeling small under his gaze, and well, his body. 

“What?” you asked, looking away to check if Jaemin had left, pushing Jeno away the second you confirmed it. 

Jeno, however, wasn’t having any of it. 

With a scoff and the shake of his head, he grabbed your wrist again, twisting it behind your back, not putting too much pressure so it just hurt but still made it clear how he would not let you go so easily, “you can’t run from me.”

“Let go, I fucking swear—” you let out, squirming around and pushing him, he didn’t budge at all sadly. 

“You do realize I’m a lot stronger than you, right?” He chuckled. 

“Fuck—what do you want me to do?” You rolled your eyes, jaw clenching as you looked at him. 

Before he could answer, your eyes widened in fear yet again as you yanked his arm so forcefully, he had no chance to balance himself, a yelp leaving his mouth as you ran and he was following right after you. 

Jaemin was back and you could just not deal with his ass anymore, hence the overwhelming response. Fight or flight? Flight for sure. Dragging Jeno into it might be a stretch but hey, whatever helped you run away from the gremlin, right? 

“Y/N,” Jeno hissed yet again, once you stopped by your seat, gathering both yours and his belongings scattered across the table from when you were studying a few minutes back, before getting up to find a book, before seeing Jaemin roaming around the halls of the library. 

It was quite amusing to Jeno if he was being honest, a mix of feelings as you grabbed his wrist effortlessly yet again, your eyes set on the exit door leading to the parking lot where Jeno’s Ferrari Purosangue stood proudly. 

“Get in!” You screamed even though you were far from the threat (read: Jaemin) now. 

“That’s my car in case you forgot—”

“Now.” 

“So fucking annoying—” He grumbled, with a small smile playing on his lips. 

You looked so bothered as if you were chased by Ghostface and not Jaemin, even though you probably wouldn’t run away from the prior. It was comical regardless, the long breath you exhaled once you were comfortable on his premium quality car seat, head leaned back fully. 

You opened your eyes after a few seconds only to find Jeno’s eyes on you, face curved into an amused look. You stared at one another for a second, two seconds, three seconds—and he burst out laughing. 

It was probably the first time you saw him laugh like that—so freely, without any care in this world. It was loud but breathless, making his eyes crinkle with small crescents forming, his perfectly aligned pearly teeth showing as he went on, laughing at your disheveled state and crazy response to everything that happened the past twenty minutes. 

You were calm and composed for the most part, it was rare for you to look this frustrated over anything, which came as a surprise to Jeno, the whole situation seemingly pure comedy to him. 

You observed him so carefully, your own lips twitching into a smile and before you knew it, you were laughing alongside him so normally as if two friends were laughing over a joke. 

A weird sort of warmth spread over your body, it made no sense honestly, you were pinned to the wall just a few minutes back and Jeno looked as if he’d burst into flames with his anger, and now he’s laughing at your disheveled, non-composed state. 

Once Jeno caught you staring back at him with glittering eyes, and a little smile, he froze. It was easy for him to come back to his senses (read: put his walls back up) which only made your smile drop too. It was awkward, both of you looking elsewhere while clearing your throats, definitely not something you expected. 

“Uh—sorry about that, yeah,” you mumbled, playing with the loose threat of your sweater sleeve. 

“Yeah, no problem,” he retorted, turning the car engine on to start driving. 

Why was it awkward? Because you laughed together like two absolutely normal individuals? Because you had Jeno pinning you to the wall to avoid your ex? 

Or because you almost kissed. Almost. 

 The ride back to your apartment was silent, no songs playing in the car, just the small buzz of engine, and the nail tapping on the screen of your phone—to avoid any kind of conversation happening, also clearly missing out on how Jeno glanced at you every few seconds, the speed of his thoughts running faster than his own car. 

“I’ll—see you tomorrow then?” Your voice cracked as you said so, wincing slightly at your own tone. 

Jeno was about to chuckle again, yet he covered it with a low cough as he mumbled a yes, as you opened the door once he stopped in front of your apartment. 

That’s it, you were leaving, and his eyes didn’t leave you till you disappeared into the apartment. 

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, groaning as he banged his head into it, a low horn sound only frustrating him further. It was hard for him to drive after, the scene of you being so vulnerable yet glaring at him like a scared little vixen trying to look brave, replayed in his mind. 

No, he couldn’t drive, couldn’t focus on the road anymore, stopping the car at a random parking lot of a fast food chain, grabbing his phone to pull up Instagram, specifically Jaemin’s account. 

He didn’t have to scroll much to find the picture he was looking for—his teammate, Jaemin, standing right next to you with his arm resting on your waist. Jeno didn’t know why that picture left a bitter taste in his mouth all of a sudden, knowing well how badly Jaemin fucked up when he cheated on you. 

And now the asshole is running after you again. 

You didn’t deserve that, you deserve someone better—someone perfect like you. 

He went back, not having it in him to look at the picture again, instead, going to your account now. It looked professional, all your posts being highly calculative to make your feed look pleasing. Your highlights, however, had this one particular picture—a picture of you smiling without a care in the world, so raw, so genuine, so beautiful. 

Beautiful. 

Jeno thought you looked beautiful, and it made him angry. 

He was angry—because deep down, he desired to be the reason for your smile. 

Chapter 5: Pretty in pink, but my head’s in the dark. 

Jeno made you smile. 

You did know that laugh was contagious, however, you didn’t think you’d actually give in to Jeno’s sweet chuckles. 

Sleep didn’t come to you easy when the constant reminder of the study session poked the back of your mind, not to mention what happened in the library earlier, where you and Jeno almost kissed—

No. 

You shook your head. Such niche experiences never falter you, so why was this such a big deal? 

Another groan left your mouth, but alas, your body was relaxed enough to sleep so you woke up energetic the next day. It felt oddly friendly when you saw Jeno at the University, and he threw a two finger salute your way, you waved back before going your way. 

“You’re zoned out, again.” Karina, one of your classmates, pointed out and you sighed as she rambled about how you needed to let some guy in, quite literally, to blow off some steam, which you clearly weren’t doing, hence the stuck up energy. 

Being descriptive about it didn’t help either—yet another reminder of how Jeno’s body was pressed against yours this hour, yesterday. 

Heat crept up your neck, urging you to pack up and leave the room. It was hot, stuffy almost for you to do anything, which is why you found yourself studying at the empty seat of the University park. 

You had to face him again, of course, there was no escape to that, and as if the universe was testing you, the time passed by way too quickly for your liking and soon, you found yourself standing in front of the main door of Jeno’s place. 

Before you could even ring the bell, the door opened to a huffing Jeno, almost as if he ran downstairs, but how did he know—

“Hey,” he whispered, looking around. 

He didn’t wait for your reply, simply grabbing your wrist and dragging you inside, your skin burning at the unexpected touch, but you didn’t shake him off of you, only asking in a low tone, “what are you doing?” 

“Shh,” Jeno mumbled, as though he was trying to avoid someone, or rather, trying to hide you from someone. His efforts were futile, however, once he heard that stern voice of his mother booming through the walls of his mansion. 

Now you get why Jeno was in a hurry, the look on her face had a chill going down your spine. 

You felt Jeno stiffen alongside you, his hold on your wrist now tighter, uncontrollably so. 

“You must be the new tutor for Jeno,” she said, scrutinizing every bit of your existence, Jeno’s jaw clenched at her unwavering gaze. 

“Yes ma’am, It’s a pleasure meeting you,” you tried to say, only for her to cut you off. 

“Trust me, darling. There must be no pleasure in helping Jeno, but I do hope he learns a thing or two from you—you look like a smart young lady, hopefully, a positive influence on him.” 

You looked at her with your mouth open slightly, not believing the sight in front of you. No mother should look down on their children like that, ever. 

“Mrs. Jung, I hope we’re talking about the same Jeno because he is amazing at studies, he grasps concepts faster than I do, and then I believe I’m the one who’s learning from him right now!” You smiled, full of enthusiasm, feeling Jeno’s hand dropping down from your wrist. 

“In fact, I’ve never seen anyone play football so perfectly while also being so brilliantly academically smart, I firmly believe his grades will shock you this time. Now, if you’ll excuse us, it’s time for our tutoring session.”

You passed her a small smile, the shock clear on her face, before grabbing Jeno’s hand and taking him along with you—to his room. You didn’t look back, simply closing the door as you breathed out with a pissed expression. 

Jeno’s heart was beating fast, he wasn’t sure if he had words to speak at this moment, so staring at you was all he could do. 

You spoke for him. 

You defended him. 

No one’s ever done that, no one cared enough to understand, moreover, it didn’t help how you looked angrier than him at the situation. 

“W—Why?” Jeno couldn’t keep his voice in check, “you didn’t have to—say all that.”

That’s when you turned around, facing him. All your anger disappeared once you focused on his face, so vulnerable, so confused, so desperate to know your answer. 

“Jeno,” the gentleness in your voice only made him gulp and look down at the floor, “I hope you don’t believe a word she says, because that’s not true,” you spoke, inching closer. 

You were not one who was good at making people feel better, Jeno of all people at that, however, this gave you an insight of why Jeno is the way he is—closed off, hence the lack of words from your side, but you knew you had to say it. 

That’s the thing, we judge people too quickly, you always had snarky remarks for him, not knowing how deep they cut him. He looked shaken right now, traumatized, especially because you experienced a part of his life which he never wanted to share with anybody. 

“Jeno, you’re doing so well, you know that right?” You whispered, as genuine as possible, your fingers grabbing his own, which made him look up at you finally. 

He was shaken, not from his mother’s words—he was used to them—but from yours. 

“No one’s ever said that,” he spoke so silently, you almost missed it. You held his hand tight—being almost angrier than him while answering his mom back—he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be over that. 

Jeno didn’t realize his eyes were glistening. 

“What?” You breathed out. 

He gulped yet again, jaw clenched now as he struggled to get his words out, the floor being the most interesting thing to him, “defended me. No one’s done that.”

“I—is that why you hate Jaehyun? Because people only see him?” You asked, wincing at the question when you saw him stiffen again, a sharp pang in your chest once he brushed your hand off of his. 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking go there.”

“I didn’t mean—” 

“Oh I fucking know what you mean. Everyone sees him fuck—you see him, because he’s perfect, right? That’s what he is, perfect,” he seethed out, “you don’t know what it’s like—to live in someone’s shadow,” there was a flash of pain in his eyes. 

You stayed mum, letting him speak. 

“Every place, every room, every fucking person just sees him,” he muttered, “I need to better, but it’s never enough, because he already did it—Jaehyun did it better. You look at him the same way as others do, and me? The afterthought—the failure.”

Your heart broke a little, guilt settling in because unknowingly, you fueled the same anger and trauma for him. 

“Jeno,” you mumbled, “you’re not a failure.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m starting to,” you spoke, and he looked up, “and thank god you’re not Jaehyun,” you chuckled, fingers ghosting near his jaw, your touch featherlight, making him suck in a deep breath. 

“Why?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper, eyes hopeful, which scared him. 

“Because you’re real, you don’t fake your emotions. You don’t smile at somebody who you don’t care about, you get angry, messy, you let yourself be shown how you are,” you lip twitched slightly as you said so, your own heartbeat rose at the sentences you so easily uttered, “that’s what makes you a human, Jeno, a human who’s trying his best, which is what matters.”

He blinked. 

He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t, simply leaning into your touch with his eyes closed. 

“You’re you, the stupid jock who’s not scared of anything, yeah?” You tried to make him smile, which helped as you saw his lips curving up. 

Midway through your sentences, you genuinely questioned yourself about why you even like Jaehyun, it was honestly just your mind playing games with you. 

“You scare me,” he muttered. 

“Why?”

“Because you say things so convincingly, it makes me wanna believe you.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Just—don’t say it when you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” you said in a breath, his eyes on yours now, more intense than ever, “I mean every word.”

He stared a little longer, staring at you unamused as if you’d laugh in his face right this second. You didn’t. 

“You’re serious,” he said, voice hoarse. 

You nodded softly. 

Jeno took a single step forward, the air around you so tight, it felt like a rubber band stretched to its max, on the verge of snapping back. 

You inhaled sharply once Jeno’s cold hand brushed the hair on your shoulder, grazing against your bare skin, moving up your nape. 

“Do you have any idea what you just said to me?” He murmured, eyes locked on yours, turning you around easily to pin you against the wall—something he liked to do, apparently. 

“Tell me,” you mumbled. 

If someone told you two days back that you’d be in Jeno’s room, calming him down before getting into a compromising position with him, you would have laughed in their faces. It was reality for you now, something that made you feel so unconventionally flustered. 

The way he brushed his thumb along your jaw, slow and deliberate, made you shiver, “you’re making me forget that i’m supposed to hate this—feeling anything.” 

You were hanging on the last bit of your sanity, drowning in Jeno’s scent, his nose brushing against your cheek, hand gripping your waist, heat radiating off of your body. 

“Jeno—”

“Say it again,” he whispered. 

“Say what?” You breathed. 

“That you’re glad I’m not him.”

You chuckled under his hold, your voice still shaking, “I’m so glad—so fucking glad you’re not him.” 

His breath sounded like a curse, lips hovering a breath above yours, you could feel his hesitation against your skin. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch someone as perfect as you, yet you didn’t stop him, the space in between you was so tight, it might as well elicit electricity. 

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, only leaning into his touch, resting your hand over the top of his on your jaw. The touch was faint, yet you could feel it everywhere. 

You held your breath as he leaned in—

Knock. 

Jeno swore under his breath as you flinched, it physically hurt him to step back. 

“Jeno?” Of course, it was Jaehyun who had to interrupt you two. 

Your hands trembled as Jeno moved to the door, and you quickly turned towards the desk, rushing to sit down, pretending that nothing had happened—that you didn’t almost kiss Jeno a few seconds back. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes furious with a hint of daze in them. “Yeah?” His voice came out strained as he asked Jaehyun through the door. 

“Mom wants to talk to you,” He said.

“Be right down,” he answered, shaking his head, staring at your way one last time, holding eye contact for a second, letting you see just how much he hated this situation, veins popping in his neck.

Then he opened the door, closing it behind him and disappearing from your eyesight. 

You stayed there, overwhelmed, lips tingling, pulse racing. 

A truth burned your skin in an excruciating pain. 

If he had kissed you, you wouldn’t have stopped him. 

Chapter 6: I can go from A to Z, but U is what I want. 

Jeno hadn’t texted you all night. 

Not that you waited, except, you did. 

He never came back to the room after Jaehyun called him out, you waited, till you couldn’t anymore and had to rush out before your mind drove you to the edge of insanity. 

So you grabbed your bag, rushing to the first place you thought of—the courtyard behind the Science block. It was calm, no student in sight, thankfully. 

Your five minutes of calm ended a second too quickly, a voice calling out your name in its full glory. You cursed the universe for treating you like this and you didn’t have to turn around to figure out who it was.

Jaemin. 

“I gotta admit, I didn’t peg you to fall for the broken type.” He stepped out smiling as insane as a villain who hasn’t moved on does. 

“Still stalking me?” You rolled your eyes, “get a fucking job.”

“I call it being invested,” he smirked, shoving hands in his pockets, “it’s honestly a downgrade, going from me to Jeno.”

“Not again,” you muttered, grabbing your book which you had just taken out. 

“I mean, trading me for Jeno?” Voice full of pity. 

“As if you were an option, Jaemin,” you turned sharply. 

That shut him up for half a second.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, voice colder now. “He’s always angry, I was angry, I made you feel something, can he say the same?”

Your head was hurting by now, as you mumbled yet another shut up, only to be stopped by Jaemin as he grabbed your arm. 

“What? He’s the angry, tortured type. You’re into hopeless projects now?”

“I’m into honesty,” you snapped, “something you don’t offer.”

“What does he have that I don’t?”

“Self awareness maybe,” a voice came from behind you, low, cold, almost lethal. 

Jeno was here. 

“Let go of her,” he said, dead-eyed, he was ready to snap. 

And Jaemin did, a scoff leaving his mouth before he smirked, “great, speak of the devil.”

Jeno raised his brow, “you done?”

Jaemin chuckled, “not even close.”

You sighed, “of course not,” this day couldn’t get worse. 

“You really think this is love or whatever?” He said, looking at Jeno but his words were directed to you instead, “he’s gonna burn you someday, and you’re gonna let him.” 

Oh god, you were not having any of this, why was this conversation even happening? It made absolutely no sense. 

Jeno moved faster this time, but you blocked his chest with your arms, “enough,” you said sharply. 

“Ask him to leave.” Jeno said, voice low. 

“Jaemin, just leave,” you said, turning to him. 

But he didn’t, and so Jeno did, shoving past you as you rolled your eyes, Jaemin’s sinister smile only widening, getting so close to him, he had to lean back slightly. 

“Don’t test me, and don’t come near her again, or else I won’t be this patient.” Jeno spoke. 

“Aw? You’re gonna hit me in front of her, Jeno?”

“I don’t need to, she already cut you deeper than I ever could.” 

Jaemin blinked, clenching his jaw, before turning to you, maintaining eye contact, “she’s not your girl, Jeno.”

“You don’t know that,” he gritted his teeth. 

“You’ll come back,” Jaemin’s jaw ticked as he said so. 

“Hold your breath until I do,” you replied.

That was it, he left. It wasn’t silent, nor dramatic, but with enough tension to let you know that he will be coming back. 

Once he was gone, you shoved Jeno, hard. 

“The fuck was that?”

“What? I came here trying to find you, only to witness you talking to him.”

“I didn’t want it to happen either, but the world hates me,” you mumbled, grabbing your bag and walking away with Jeno following you behind. 

“I fucking hate that he still gets to talk to you, why does he have access to you?” His voice rose and you prayed no one would hear him, thankfully this area was empty. 

“He doesn’t, and why do you even care?” You asked, with distress clear on your face, “pretending like I mean something to you in front of Jaemin is just as worse, Jeno.” 

“I—”

“No, you won’t even talk about last night, as if it didn’t happen,” you snapped and he froze, “you didn’t even come back to your room.”

His silence was your answer, and you knew this conversation wasn’t gonna go any further, Jeno couldn’t do that—he was scared of opening up, and he was scared of answering those questions, so even though you were hurting on the inside, you let him be. 

“Tomorrow, library, at five. Be on time.” You mumbled, leaving him behind you. 

“Fuck—fuck!” Jeno punched the wall next to him. He didn’t want you to go—the first person who ever tried to understand him, took his side, defended him. He was beyond scared of letting his guard down, so he groaned, sliding down the wall. 

“How do I even tell you I want you?”

Chapter 7: I stayed, even when it was easier to run.

The library was too quiet for how loud your mind was. The sound of your pen dragging across the paper felt almost intrusive as you tried to finish your assignment. 

It had been three nights since the library fiasco. 

Two nights since the almost kiss. 

One night since the blow up with Jaemin.

You almost didn’t wish to come here, yet here you were, with the sample test papers ready, clad in your little black skirt, a cardigan too loose for you, waiting for Jeno to show up—hoping he would. 

The clock ticked. He was a solid nineteen minutes late now, another minute and you’ll get up to leave. That’s when you heard the lazy footsteps approaching your side, the farthest corner of the library. You expected him to sit in front of you, yet he opted to sit right next to you, so close you could feel the fabric of his jeans brushing against your thigh. He took a seat without permission, like he had the right to be, like nothing had happened. 

He came in like guilt personified, shoulders hunched, hoodie loose, hair an unbrushed mess of indecision. And when he saw you?

He hesitated.

You didn’t look up, simply sliding him the sheet of questions to solve, the air around you turned weighted. His pen scratched, your leg bounced, you sipped water and he watched the corner of your mouth, practically burning holes into you. 

It was unbearable. 

This tension—it’s not a war but there’s rarely ever any peace. Catherine and Heathcliff reincarnated, except you weren’t on a moor, you were in a library, trying not to fall apart across the wooden study table. 

Just yesterday, he burned through Jaemin like jealousy was oxygen. 

He couldn’t stop staring, yet he solved the questions for forty minutes, sliding the sheet back to you for checking, expecting some sort of conversation now, anything, even a little hum of acknowledgement from your side, but none of it happened. 

He watched you scribble your pen over the margin, circling a few things, ticking the others, lip bitten in concentration. He observed you so intensely, how your eyes flicked across his answer sheet, but you didn’t look his way, not even once. 

“You won’t even talk to me now?” He asked, keeping his voice in check. 

“Four answers wrong, you did pretty well, can do better still,” you mumbled, passing him the paper. 

“Y/N,” he sighed, tired, he was afraid of this happening—letting you down, and that’s exactly what he did. Running away from his problems was what Jeno always did, he wasn’t perfect, he knows it, but he wants to try and be better, better for you. 

“You came late,” you said, still not looking up. 

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he exhaled, jaw clenched. 

“Not my problem,” you retorted. 

“I was thinking.”

“You should study instead.”

“You hate me now, huh?” Jeno leaned forward, voice flat. 

You blinked. The question hit out of nowhere.

“I don’t hate you,” you replied carefully. “But I don’t know how to deal with you either.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, Jeno. It’s the truth. And that’s more than you’ve been giving me.”

He looked at you then, really looked—eyes narrowed, jaw tight, like he was keeping a war behind his teeth. His eyes were empty, yet so full of you. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, quietly. “I don’t know how to be—good at this, with you.”

“And yet you’re good at disappearing. You’re good at leaving me hanging like none of it mattered.”

You weren’t yelling. You didn’t need to. Your disappointment was louder than any raised voice.

Jeno sat back in his chair, breathing shallow. “You kissed me back.”

Your throat tightened, “you didn’t kiss me at all.”

“Exactly,” he muttered. “Because I would’ve ruined it. Ruined you.”

You shook your head slowly. “No, Jeno. You didn’t kiss me because you’re scared of how much you want to.”

His hands balled into fists. “And you’re not?”

“We’re not talking about me.” You looked away. 

He scoffed, turning to look at you fully, leaning in with his hand now resting on your thigh, burning the skin with his touch. 

“You want honesty, huh? So here it is—I’ve been thinking about you, about everything that’s happened in the past few days, no one’s ever messed with my mind so much and it fucking scares me. You’re messing me up—”

You couldn’t hear more, not when he was so close, not when he poured his heart out to you. Nothing about you two was normal, even your heartbeat was synced with how abnormally high they were. 

“Shh,” you mumbled, covering his mouth with your palm, and even the rude gesture calmed him down—your touch calmed him down. 

“You have an exam tomorrow.” You said and he stared, “study, pass the exam, and we’ll talk, yeah?”

He blinked, almost as if you showed him mercy, and gave him a chance to do something, to prove that he’s worthy of being near you. His scholarship, football, future—everything was at stake, but did he care? No. He cared about not letting you down. He wanted to prove himself to you. 

“You—you promise?” He asked, gripping the extra sheets and notes you passed his way.

You nodded, eyes softer now. You didn’t wanna hurt Jeno, you could see just how hard he tried to fight with his demons, but this time, you wanted him to win.

“I’ll be waiting.” 

You turned to leave then, leaving Jeno with his thoughts as he watched you leave, eyes on your legs. He gulped, looking back to the paper to find a line scribbled in your handwriting. 

You already know the answer, you’re just afraid of getting it wrong. 

It wasn’t about the question, it was about him. 

He just wanted to be worthy enough to stand in front of you and say I didn’t fuck this up this time. So he started, he worked all night, solved as many sample problems as he could, everything felt like a punch in the gut but he couldn’t give up, not this time. 

Jeno couldn’t sleep at night, 

I’ll be waiting. 

That’s what you told him, and he was looking forward to it, because for the very first time in his life, someone wasn’t waiting for him to fail. 

He woke up before his alarm had the chance to ring, didn’t care about his mother’s remark on how he woke up on time for once, or how Jaehyun gave him a long, unreadable look. Jeno didn’t react, he had bigger problems to tackle today. 

You were just as restless as him if not more, checking your phone every few minutes as if you’d get any text from Jeno. He must be busy studying, you hope that was the case. 

He walked into the exam hall calm, focused, terrified. He didn’t skip questions. He didn’t zone out.

He solved the final problem two minutes before time and rechecked every line like his life was hidden in the margins.

When he walked out of that room, his shirt clinging to the back of his neck from sweat, his palms aching from gripping the pen too hard—he knew. He’d done it. Or at least, he hoped he did. 

Yet, he didn’t text you, he wouldn’t until he got the results. 

Chapter 8: Jealousy is but a red thread around my throat. 

You waited, not loud, but silently. 

Two whole days, you held your breath, even planned on visiting the football practice to just get a glimpse of Jeno, yet you couldn’t muster enough courage to do so. God, you were so affected by everything he did, and this felt so very suffocating, waiting on someone. You knew what you felt, there was no point in denying it, however, you couldn’t figure out how it happened, so quickly at that. 

Heck, even Jaemin was more present in your chat inbox, even though you never replied to him, it just made you wonder if your time with Jeno was just a hoax. 

Did you imagine it all? 

On the other hand, on the other side of the city, sitting in a dim room with sunlight pouring in, Jeno was drowning in darkness. 

The exam portal was open in front of him, he refreshed the page every two seconds, not being able to sit still. His hands were shaking, not from fear but from want.  From the feeling of your voice telling him that you’ll talk to him once he proves himself. 

He gave up the wait, the result wasn’t out the whole day. It was three in the morning when the notification woke him up like a jolt. 

Results were out. 

He rushed to check it, the numbers stunning him as his jaw hung open. 

83%

Not perfect. But more than enough.

Enough to pass. Enough to stay on the team.

Enough to say, Look. I did it. I’m not a fuck-up. The first thing he thought of was you. So he typed—just two words.

Jeno: I passed.

Because he didn’t know how to say what he really wanted to—I passed, and all I could think about was your voice. I passed, and I still don’t feel whole unless you tell me you’re proud. I passed, and it’s not enough if I can’t show you.

Your reply came back six minutes later.

You: I knew you would. 

It was soft, gentle. But was it enough for Jeno? No. It should’ve been enough, but it wasn’t. 

He didn’t reply, he didn’t text you again. He opted to skip the lectures for the day and stay in his room, blinds closed, only darkness consuming him. 

You knew it was hard for Jeno, you knew you shouldn’t wait for his reply or him approaching you—he was too scared to do that, which is exactly why you grabbed your bag and went to his place the first thing in the morning. Maybe Jeno needed time, but you had to check. 

You rang the bell, your heart pounding as you did so, expecting Jeno to open up and see you. Once the door opened, your pulse stuttered. 

Jaehyun. 

Of course, it had to be him. 

“Y/N,” he said your name smoothly, “didn’t know you were coming by.”

You hesitated with a small chuckle, exhaling the breath you were holding, “is Jeno home?” 

He nodded, stepping aside to let you in, “yeah, he’s in his room, didn’t come out this morning at all.”

“Oh,” you said softly, wondering if he was alright. 

There was a pause, an awkward silence after that, you felt heavy, wanting to go upstairs but you weren’t sure if you were allowed to. 

Jaehyun closed the door behind you. “He’s been off since the results,” he said, voice low. “I thought passing would help, but I don’t know. He kind of shut down again after telling us he passed.”

You gulped, chest tightened at the revelation. 

“I came to check up on him, I’m not sure if he wants to meet though.”

“He’d want to see you.” Jaehyun said, smiling sincerely, “you’re good for him.”

Your eyes widened at that, “I’m not sure he thinks that.” You tried to smile, “can I go to his room?”

“He locked the door, I think he’s sleeping,” Jaehyun said apologetically. 

“I don’t wanna bother him.” You smiled sadly, “those are good pictures,” you mumbled, looking at the wall full of frames, particularly the ones with Jeno in them.

“Yeah, I took most of those,” Jaehyun replied with another smile, he knew you wanted to talk to Jeno so he suggested something, “Maybe if you take him something to eat? I can give the breakfast he skipped—”

“Oh no, I can run to the bakery and get something—”

Then you noticed a movement in your peripheral vision, you turned around to find Jeno. He was standing down the hall, his fluffy hair a mess, eyes wide as if he didn’t expect you to be here—especially with Jaehyun. 

“Hey,” you breathed out. 

No reply. 

“Y—you didn’t reply, I came to see you,” you tried speaking again. 

However, his expression didn’t change and suddenly, you felt like you shouldn’t have come here at all. He was frozen even when you said you wanted to make sure he was okay. Then he came back to his senses, clearing his throat. 

Jaehyun left the room, letting you two be alone. 

“Why didn’t you ask for me?” He whispered, just sadness in his voice. 

“I did, that’s what I came for,” you tried to explain.

Jeno stared at you, he was so broken inside he couldn’t let himself believe it. You dressed up, all pretty, your eyes so soft, your lips turning into a pout of disappointment. You looked perfect, and you came here for Jeno? He just could not believe it. 

“You were talking to him,” Jeno said, referring to Jaehyun, his voice broken. 

“He opened the door, what can I do?” You shook your head, trying to explain, “you didn’t even text back, Jeno.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he replied, “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had someone wait for me and mean it.”

Your lips parted to reply but he wasn’t done. 

“You said you’d talk to me after the exam,” he went on, voice sharper now, “but when you showed up, you let him open the door. You let him tell you how I was.”

“I didn’t—” your voice faltered, “I didn’t come for him.”

“Didn’t look that way.”

That hurt. You flinched. “Jeno, why are you doing this?” 

“Because I waited for you,” he snapped. “I sat in that room like a fucking idiot thinking you’d come to see me. Not make small talk with my brother or compliment his photography.”

“You heard that?” You froze, it wasn’t your intention to do any of that. 

“I heard everything, every second you spent without taking my name,” he said. 

Just like that—he hurt you. Every conversation was about Jeno, every single one. He just couldn’t see it. 

“I thought I was getting better,” he admitted, quieter now. “I thought passing the exam would mean something. That it would be enough.”

“It was,” you whispered. “Jeno, it is. I am proud of you.”

“Then why didn’t it feel like it?” His voice broke on that line. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step away, then back, like his own body was a prison.

You stood frozen. Every word hit somewhere different.

“I wanted you to come,” he said, softer now. “Not to check in. Not to ask if I’d eaten. I wanted you to come for me. Just for me. You don’t get it, Y/N.”

“No,” you stepped forward. “You don’t get it. You think everything is about being chosen or abandoned. But not everyone’s trying to leave you, Jeno. Sometimes people show up. But you keep slamming the door in their face.”

He turned away. “Then go.”

“I came for you.” You said one last time, your eyes watering, not being able to contain the hurt you held in them. 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have.”

That one landed like a punch.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You nodded. Just once.

“Fine.”

You turned.

And you left.

And this time, he didn’t stop you.

Chapter 9: I know that I’m hard to read, but you got me here to stay 

You spent most of your morning crying alone in your student council room, but it just wasn’t enough, not when you were being wronged every second of the day, not when the person you wanted kept running away from you no matter how hard you tried. At least you did. 

You couldn’t run away though, you had an important meeting with your council at six in the evening, by that time, you had done everything to make yourself look normal again, but your mind was entirely elsewhere, in another realm, a realm where things were different. 

Jeno, on the other hand, left his room as soon as he realized how wrong everything had gone. All afternoon his own words replayed in his mind, how he asked you to leave and how you left a single tear drop on the floor before you turned around and left. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have.

It felt like biting into something rotten, saying that out loud to you. Like watching the one and the only thing he wanted turn and walk away. You didn’t yell back, you didn’t beg, you went still, and left. He saw you leave—he made you leave. 

And he let you go anyway. Because that’s what he did. Because pushing people away was easier than asking them to stay.

Until now.

Now he was pacing in his room like a caged animal, hoodie still damp, heart in his throat. He kept hearing your voice in the hallway. Kept seeing your face. Kept remembering the way you reached for him and he didn’t reach back.

His chest felt tight, his limbs tense. He couldn’t stay here, not in this house, not knowing you might never come back.

He had to find you.

So he ran. He ran to the courtyard, not caring about the rain pour, soaking him up from head to toe. You weren’t in the library, not in the council room, the classrooms were empty. He was panicking. 

That’s when he heard a voice, turning around the corner of the athletic department, he walked straight into one of his football teammates he couldn’t stand at all—Minjae, a loud-mouthed asshole, smiling like a madman. 

“Fucking hell, Lee Jeno, you look like shit.” He grinned. 

Jeno didn’t answer, he was in a hurry, he had to find you, to make things right with you, he was about to push past Minjae when—

“Oh, by the way,” he smirked, “Jaemin told us a lot about how you finally landed his ex, the pretty goody two shoes, Y/N.”

Jeno froze, jaw clenched at the mention of you and Jaemin in the same sentence, coming from an asshole at that. 

“Didn’t think you’d have a go at someone like her. She seems to like guys who have more brains than biceps.” He laughed at his own joke. 

“The fuck did you just say?” 

Minjae laughed. “Chill, man. I’m just saying—props to you, seriously. Girl like that? All polished and pretty and loyal? I mean, not that it’ll last. Girls like that don’t stay with guys like us. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

Jeno’s vision turned black.

“Say that again,” he said, voice like static.

Minjae raised his hands. “Relax. You don’t need to get all—”

The punch landed before he could finish.

Minjae hit the ground hard, water splashing up from the impact, the rain pouring down heavier now. He tried to shove Jeno back, but to no avail as he bent down, his fist colliding with Minjae’s jaw again.  

Jeno wasn’t fighting Minjae per se, he was fighting every single voice that told him he wasn’t enough, that he could never live up to his brother, that he could never be with someone as perfect as you. That’s what he believed too, till you actually became real for him. 

His mind was elsewhere when he took a blow to his jaw, lip bleeding now, Jeno stumbled but scoffed before punching him again, and again, till his knuckles were shredded, a throbbing in his jaw which almost felt like fire. 

It was only when someone pulled him off of Minjae, Jeno stopped, spitting out blood in the rain slick grass. Everything hurt, but not as much as his burning chest. 

“Are you insane?” Someone yelled his way, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jeno didn’t bother answering, pulling out his phone and rushing away, typing out texts to you. 

Jeno: where are you? please say something i’m so fucking sorry Y/N i didn’t mean it  i didn’t mean any of it i swear Y/N please 

No response. His messages were just there, unread, and unanswered. He simply didn’t know why. 

He didn’t know how you had been in the private meeting room for the past hour, student council prep being a whole scheduling disaster, handling arguments about clubs and their out-of-the-worldly budget demands. 

You were half awake at best, distracted by the storm that brewed outside. Your phone vibrates once, then again, and when you finally pull it out to check the numerous missed calls—your screen goes dark. Perfect, just on the day you didn’t bring your charger or powerbank. 

The feeling in your gut—it wasn’t good, which is why you excused yourself mid meeting, something you never do, to rush back home. You were soaked as you ran to your apartment, close to the University, thankfully. You plugged your phone in to charge as you rushed to take a shower, hoping the hot water would soothe your nerves. It didn’t. 

You kept thinking about Jeno, about the fight at his place earlier, how he asked you to leave with the saddest look in his eyes, and how badly it hurt you. You were out of the shower in fifteen minutes, toweling your hair with one hand and rushing to check your phone with the other, not expecting a myriad of notifications. 

17 Missed calls. 

6 Voicemails. 

26 Unread texts. 

The last of which made your blood run cold. 

Jeno: Y/N please  i’m outside 

You rushed to the front door, and he was there—leaning against the wall beside your entrance, hoodie clinging to him, hair wet and plastered to his forehead, eyes closed and him wincing like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Like it hurts too much to exist. Hands bruised, lip split, and he opened his eyes—bloodshot, glassy. 

“Jeno,” you gasped out loud, “w—what happened?” You said, going close to him. 

“I tried to find you,” he said, voice wrecked, “I tried but I couldn’t, I thought that maybe you blocked me.”

“No—I was in a meeting and my phone died, god I’m so sorry—fuck, come inside.” You shook your head in distress.

“Y/N,” he groaned, and you gently helped him when he didn’t move, like he wasn’t allowed to, “I fucked up.”

“Shh, come inside, it’s cold,” you whispered and he nodded after a moment of hesitation. You tried to be calm, you tried to take control of the situation for once and he listened, this time he did when you took him to your room. 

You didn’t ask how this happened to him, only guiding him to the bathroom, “you’re soaked and bleeding, take a shower, i’ll put your clothes in the wash and dryer.”

He opened his mouth to say otherwise, but you didn’t let him, grabbing a fresh towel and handing it to him. 

“Are you sure you want me here?” He asked, vulnerable. 

“I wouldn’t have opened the door otherwise, Jeno, I do.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he disappeared into the bathroom without another word and you worked your washing machine and dryer, sitting down right after, exhaling and letting your guard down, hands shaking with worry. 

You were glad Jeno was taking his sweet time inside, because you had no clue how to go on with this situation. Jeno stalling coming out simply because he was ashamed, also consumed in how good your shampoo smells. He was at your place, in your bathroom, all bloodied up, why? Because he couldn’t be normal for once and let you in. 

His walls came crashing down each time you came closer to him, but this time, he didn’t want them to go back up the second he touched you, this time, he wanted you inside with him. 

His clothes were dry very soon and you kept them in your room, waiting outside by the sofa, letting him come out all dressed up. The water stopped soon, the door creaking as he came out, and you were sitting on the sofa, hair still wet. 

Then Jeno opened the door, you stood up at the noise, and he looked your way in a silent plea to ask you if he could sit next to you, and you nodded. He held up the bloodied towel, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and you smiled softly, taking it away from him. 

The silence was too loud after as you both sat next to each other, you waited for him to say something, waited for the reality of tonight to settle in—to make sense, to stop trembling beneath your skin. And then he spoke as you took out your medicine kit, gently grabbing his hand to take a look at his bruised knuckles. 

“Y/N,” he took your name as if it was the only thing he knew. 

He watched you kneel in front of him, your eyes not angry, just steady, quiet, and unbearably kind. His fingers trembled in yours, you gently pulled the sleeve back, pressing a warm damp cloth to the wounds, making him wince slightly at the contact. 

“Sorry,” you breathed out. 

“I deserve worse,” he breathed back. 

“No, you don’t,” you said, looking up at him. 

He laughed under his breath, “why are you so kind to me? I don’t deserve it, Y/N.”

“You don’t get to decide what I give you, Jeno,” you replied, “you’re bleeding, again.”

“Not my first time.”

You gripped him tighter, “and that’s supposed to make it better?”

“No,” he said, voice low, “just means I’m good at it by now.”

You didn’t answer. Just ripped the antiseptic packet open a little more forcefully than necessary and pressed it to the bruised line of his knuckles. He flinched.

“Good,” you muttered. “Means you still feel something.”

“God, Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped, trying your best to act normal but you both were far from that, “not yet.”

You cleaned the split in his skin with the kind of precision that only comes from anger—controlled, careful, but deeply furious.

“You don’t get to act like none of this mattered,” you said, eyes locked on his wounds. “You don’t get to disappear into your guilt and then show up bleeding and say I didn’t know where else to go. That’s not enough.”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t come for a reward.”

“Good,” you said coldly. “Because you’re not getting one.” You wrapped gauze around his hand slowly, tight enough that it would sting.

He didn’t pull away.

“I came because I thought I’d lose you,” he said through his teeth, “I came because I’m fucking terrified that I already did.”

“Who’s fault is that?” You said, standing up, “you keep doing this thing, you pull me in, let me see you and then the very second it gets real, you shut the door in my face.”

“I know,” he said. Loud. Frustrated. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see the way you look at me when I say the wrong thing? Like you’re trying so fucking hard not to walk away?”

“You told me to go!”

“I didn’t mean it!”

“Then don’t say it!” You shouted, “don’t look at me like I’m everything one second and then act like I mean nothing the next!”

“I didn’t think you’d stay.”

“I stayed!”

You were both breathing hard now. Staring at each other like you didn’t know whether to cry or kiss or throw something, You still stood in between Jeno’s legs, him looking up at you.  Jeno ran a hand through his damp hair, pacing a few feet before turning back to you, eyes wide and glassy.

“I ruin things,” he said, “I always have. I don’t know how to love something without fucking it up. But I wanted you anyway—I still do.”

Your throat tightened. “And I’m supposed to what? Carry all of that? Be your exception?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I just need you to see that I’m trying. Even if it’s ugly. Even if I’m bleeding and loud and afraid. I need you to see me, and stay anyway.”

You stared at him.

He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Someone who’d gone through hell and walked straight into another fire because you were at the center of it.

Your voice cracked, “you don’t make it easy.”

“I know.”

You looked down at your hands—his blood still faintly on your fingertips. He reached out slowly. You didn’t move. Not when his fingers curled around your wrist. Not when he pulled you in his lap, not when his forehead leaned into yours like he was holding on for dear life.

“I hate that I hurt you,” he whispered. “But I’d rather burn with you than freeze without you.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave, Jeno.”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m sick,” he said suddenly. “Sick of being the one who’s always too much. Too angry. Too wrong. I get one thing right—one fucking exam—and even then I screw it up by throwing a punch at someone who talks shit about you and then picking a fight with the only person who’s ever actually looked at me like I could be more.”

Your breath hitched. You grabbed the gauze, wrapped it around his hand. Tighter than needed.

“Then be more, Jeno.”

He stared at you.

“Be more,” you repeated, “because I’m tired of being in love with someone who’s so determined to hate himself.”

That silenced him. Fully. Until he spoke again.

“You’re in love with me?”

The words dropped like a bomb between you.

You froze. Swallowed. Refused to take it back, chuckling to yourself at how easily you let go and told him that, “yeah—god help me, I am.”

Then you tried to move back, only his arms wrapped around your waist tighter, holding you in place, “you don’t get to say that and walk away.” He growled. 

“Who said I’m walking away?” You mumbled, holding onto his shoulder for support. 

It was unreal, how close you guys were but still not close enough, it was never enough. 

“You’re mad at me,” Jeno stated. 

“I should be mad.” 

“I’m mad too,” he added. 

“Good,” you rolled your eyes, trying to move again.

But he didn’t let you, not this time, his thumb brushing your cheek. 

That was it. That was when Jeno finally let go. He couldn’t delay this anymore, not again, not when you were right in front of him, not when your soft lips brushed so tenderly against his bruised ones, not when you told him you were in love with him—not when he knew he had to have you. 

He surged up and into you—hands gripping your face, mouth pressing against yours like it was the only way to breathe. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t neat, it was everything you’d been holding back.

Lips slotted together, you could taste blood on your tongue from where he was hurt before, which only made you groan into the kiss, he was frustrated, so frustrated, not having it in him to let go for even a second. 

You gasped, arms flying up to clutch at his shoulders, pressed chest-to-chest, his body was warm—too warm—and you could feel his tension in every line.

You broke the kiss first, panting, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t—” you tried to say, especially when his body was hurting. 

“I have to,” he breathed, leaning in again. “Let me, just once. Please.”

You didn’t stop him, grabbing his nape and pulling him into you once again, because when Jeno kissed you again, it felt like pain, penance, and pleasure all in one. It was as if he was trying to earn your forgiveness with his mouth, trying to pour out everything he couldn’t say to you, groaning into your mouth when your hips shifted over his lap. 

“I fucking—” He said midway the kiss, “god I—”

You shushed him gently, “you don’t have to say it.”

“I love you,” he breathed out, forehead pressed against yours, eyes earnest and full of life for the first time since you saw him, “I don’t care if it’s too early, I can’t fucking not say it, I love you, I—”

Before he could ruin the moment with the spiral in his throat, before he could pull back in fear, you pressed your lips against his like it was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

He responded like he’d been starving. Mouth hot, desperate, hands gripping your waist like the world was falling apart and he only had seconds left to memorize you. The kiss was brutal in the way it made you feel, there was no choreography to it, no elegance—just lips, teeth, breath, and aching hunger.

His mouth was swollen. Your lips, bruised from how much he kissed you like he didn’t know how to stop.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.

You stared at him. “I don’t want you to.”

Then you grabbed his jaw once you heard him wince, “does it hurt?” You asked, pecking his jaw, trailing kisses all over. 

“It’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, letting your lips take over, tracing every bit of his face and neck, his eyes closing with the fire that you ignited within him. 

“This feels like a dream,” he whispered.

“It’s not.”

“But it could be,” he added, almost to himself. “You—like this, in my lap, in your apartment, touching me like I’m not a monster.”

You cupped his face again, guiding his eyes to yours, “you’re not a monster, Jeno.”

“You don’t know the things I’ve thought.”

“Then tell me.”

His voice cracked, “I thought I’d die if I didn’t see you again. I thought that maybe I’m already ruined and maybe I don’t deserve you but I can’t stop loving you anyway. I thought—”

You kissed him again. Slow this time. Deep and aching, “then stop thinking,” you whispered, “just be here—with me.”

His fingers trembled as they curled into the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?”

You nodded.

He pulled the fabric up carefully, reverently, and you helped him, raising your arms until it was off. His breath hitched. Not because of how you looked—but because he was looking at you like that.

Like something sacred.

You grabbed the back of his hoodie, tugging. He hesitated for a split second before pulling it over his head. The sight made your breath catch.

His torso was littered with bruises, some dark purple, some fading yellow. His ribcage dipped where the muscle was taut with tension. You reached out, fingertips grazing over a particularly harsh mark near his side.

He flinched. “That one’s from earlier.”

Your jaw clenched, “you shouldn’t fight because of me.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, “I was fighting every voice in my head that said I wasn’t worth your love.”

You kissed the bruise.

He gasped.

“I hate that they ever made you feel like that.”

His hands slid back up to your sides, lips brushing your jaw. “You make it go quiet.”

“I want to,” you whispered.

Your kisses grew slow again, heavier with emotion than desire. You could feel his heartbeat where your chest pressed into his, your hands in his hair, his head tilted just enough to deepen the kiss. You rolled your hips slightly in his lap, and he groaned again, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuck, Y/N—”

“Jeno,” you murmured, your nails dragging softly along his back, “look at me.”

He lifted his head. His eyes—wild, glassy, full of everything he couldn’t say.

“I love you,” you said again. “I’m not afraid of it. So don’t be either.”

He leaned forward, pressing your foreheads together. 

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You’re so fucking pretty, did I ever tell you that?” He mumbled against the skin of your neck, brushing his lips all over before placing open mouthed kisses over the expanse of your clavicle, “so fucking pretty.”

Jeno wasn’t gentle anymore, not when he’d been craving your presence, craving you. He couldn’t help but treat you like a reward, like he finally had won the only thing in life that actually mattered to him. 

He was quick to grab your waist and flip you over, getting on top of you on the couch that was too small for things he had planned in his mind. It was almost like a dam breaking the way his mouth was on your neck, biting, sucking, claiming you. 

“Jeno—” you mumbled, your back arching as you felt his body pressing into you, fingers wrapped around his wet locks as he marked your skin with every ounce of desperation he had, his fingers mapping out every inch of your body as if he’s afraid he’d forget it—as if he could ever forget anything about you. 

The warmth of his hands brushed over your bra clad nipples, a whimper leaving your mouth. Jeno wasn’t undressed yet you could feel him getting hard, and god you wondered just how big he was, grinding into you as if he was already inside your cunt. 

“I hurt you so fucking much,” Jeno mumbled, lips ghosting over your tit, “now I’ll hurt you in the way you want me to,” he said with dark eyes, yanking your bra down enough for your nipples to show, latching his mouth to you all in light speed. 

All his life Jeno couldn’t take control of anything, but seeing you shiver under him just made sense to Jeno, he had to take control—he had to make you feel so good, you wouldn’t ever look at anyone else. 

“You’re fucking crazy,” you whispered, already disheveled with how needy you were, wetness pooling in your panties, soiling the new pair you had put on not too long ago. 

“Yeah? You drive me crazy, baby,” he chuckled, and that sound went straight to your pussy. Jeno was hot, so fucking hot, but him using nicknames on you with his deep tone—only god knows how you would survive this. 

You bit your lip to conceal your moans, which only infuriated Jeno, biting your nipple harshly to make sure you scream, “don’t fucking hide your pretty voice,” he said. 

His hands went to your other breast and he gave it a tight squeeze, your eyes were on him as you watched his lips parting, letting his tongue make contact with the tip of your very hardened nub. He bites down on your nipple, making you cry out, but quickly soothes it with his tongue before switching to the other side, he wants to drive you wild with pleasure, to possess every inch of your body.

Lost in the haze of pleasure, you surrender yourself completely to Jeno’s possessive touches, letting him have his way with you. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and his desperate sucking, a symphony of carnal desire. In this moment, there is nothing but you and Jeno, and the burning hunger that consumes you both. 

Jeno’s hands roam across your body, his touch electric against your skin. He grabs your hips, pulling you flush against him as he claims your lips in yet another searing kiss, tongue delving into your mouth, hot and hungry, making you more hungry for his touch—for him. 

“I—can’t,” you whimpered, wanting more of him. 

Jeno chuckled, “can’t even speak now, hm? What happened to the feisty lil’ girl who couldn’t shut up?” 

“Fuck, shut up,” you mumbled, tugging on his hair harder, which only made him groan and squeeze your tits harder, coming up to brush his lips against yours, hot breaths intertwining as he smirks, hand travelling down your body, very close to the hem of your shorts. 

“Want me to shut up?” He asked, squeezing your neck with slight pressure, your mouth opening in a gasp—he took the opportunity to spit in your mouth, watching your eyes widen as watches you gulp it down, “good fucking girl,” he mumbles. 

You were too gone to function anymore and you had just started, but you knew one thing—whatever Jeno wanted, you’d let him do it to you. 

That man was no less than a Greek god with how sharp his features looked, especially in the dim light of the room, muscles flexing, abs on full display as he held himself up on top of you to press kisses all over. 

In a swift second, he pulled you up to unclasp your bra, throwing it away somewhere to continue pressing hot mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, and down your tummy, caressing it with the pad of his thumb, spending a good few seconds covering the expanse of your skin. 

You breathed harder once he reached the waistband of your shorts, his hooded eyes, almost drunk, looking up at you before he swiftly pulled them down, throwing them on the floor somewhere.

He couldn’t be gentle even if he tried, not when he was this thirsty, holding your legs open as he settled in the limited space that the couch held for him. Madman—that’s what he was and you couldn’t help but moan when he got closer to your panty clad cunt, burying his nose in the wet fabric, sniffing the scent of your arousal, groaning as he locked your thighs under his arms, which flexed harder now. 

You moaned his name as if a broken record repeating the same thing over and over again and he only mumbled things you couldn’t hear in your cunt, licking the already wet cloth, biting his lip at the first taste of you, “fuck—you’re so fucking perfect,” he says licking you harder, kissing your inner thighs alongside, leaving bites all over—he was feral. 

He slid your panties to the side, and the sight he had in front of him drove him to the edge. Jeno was an impatient man, yes, he was messy, he was not the softest, but seeing you like this just made him realize how much crazier he could be. 

That first taste emboldens him and he dives in like a man starved, lapping at your folds like he’s trying to consume you entirely. 

His desperate tongue delves deep inside, fucking you with rapid strokes and curling to hit your sweet spot. You cry out sharply at the intense sensation, fingers tangling in his tousled raven hair to hold him in place. He grips your thighs tightly, holding you down and open for his onslaught as he devours you. 

Jeno zeroes in on your clit, flicking and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves rapidly. Your back arches off the couch as he suckles hard on the throbbing bud, two fingers pumping inside your clenching hole.

“Fuck—Jeno, I’m gonna cum!” You wail, thighs trembling violently around his head as your climax approaches rapidly. He doubles his efforts, fucking you harder with his fingers and lashing your clit mercilessly with his tongue.

He curls his fingers to stroke your G-spot with every thrust, drawing out more of your copious arousal to lap up greedily. Your walls start to flutter and clench around him as the pressure builds unbearably.

 Jeno chuckled, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. “You like that, baby?” He practically purred, before sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. 

“Fuck—yes,” you gasped, your head falling back against the couch. Jeno was relentless, his tongue exploring every inch of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, your thighs trembling as you stared at the ceiling with your mouth open, desperate for air. 

Jeno pulled back for a moment, looking up at you with a wicked grin, “you want more, kitten?” He teased, running a finger along your slit, “go on then, beg for it.”

You groaned in frustration, but you were too far gone to care, “please, Jeno,” you begged, fueling his ego. 

“Shhh, be a good lil’ kitten for me, yeah?” He mumbled into your core mindlessly, sending shivers up your spine as your thighs shake. He didn’t stop, but just when your ecstasy was about to crash—

He stopped. 

You let out a frustrated groan and Jeno only got up with the essence of you sprawled over his chin, his hard on begging to be freed. 

“Fuck?” You asked, trying to get up on your elbows, looking at him incredulously. 

He only gave you a once over, tongue poking his cheek from inside before he came closer, swooping you up in his arms easily as you yelped, eyes wide as he carried you to the bedroom, “no patience, huh?” He asked. 

He was proud of himself for making you this weak, for cracking your high wall down so he could see you, so he could ruin you. Jeno was possessive, especially after knowing what you and Jaemin went through, he wanted you to have the best, and he was willing to be the best for you. 

“I—I was gonna cum!” You said, holding on to him for support.

“Did I say you could?” He replied smoothly. 

“What—Jeno what the fuck?” You whined and he only chuckled.

“Be patient, love, or else you won’t be coming all fucking night, yeah?” He said as he let you get down on the bed. 

You looked so innocent, eyes watery, hair messy, looking up at him like an angry little kitten trying to look tough. He climbed the bed and you moved back, till your back hit the headboard and he hovered above you, caressing your cheek as he cupped your jaw, tilting your head up to look him in his eye. Your heartbeat speeding up yet again, and good lord you loved being manhandled by Jeno. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked, thumb pushing on your lower lip. 

“Nothing.” You mumbled. 

He leaned in closer, “not thinking of my cock inside your pretty little cunt, hm?” He asks, watching you shiver at the thought, “by the time I'm done with you, you’ll be begging me to let you cum.”

Your jaw clenched as you slide your hand up Jeno’s torso, tracing all the way from his abs to his neck, his own body reacting to your touch, cock twitching inside his pants by the time your hand rested on his nape, pulling him even closer so your noses were touching. 

“You know, Jeno, you talk big game. Don’t make promises you can’t back up,” you mumbled to rile him up. 

Jeno’s eyes flashed with a mixture of lust and irritation at your challenge, “oh, you’re going to regret those words,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips possessively. “I’m going to make you beg for my cock, baby.”

He punctuated his statement with a sharp thrust of his fingers, two of them plunging deep into your sopping wet pussy. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he worked them in and out, stroking along your sensitive walls.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he panted, his thumb rubbing firm circles on your clit. “I can’t wait to feel this perfect little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

You moaned, your hips rolling to meet his hand as he fucked you with his fingers. “Then stop talking and do something about it,” you shot back, your voice breathy with desire.

Jeno chuckled darkly, withdrawing his fingers only to bring them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours as he savored your taste. “Mmh—delicious,” he purred, “but I’m not done playing with you yet.”

Before you could protest, he was pushing your thighs apart and settling between them. His tongue delved into your folds, lapping at your arousal like a man starved. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured your pussy with single-minded intensity.

He worked you over mercilessly, his tongue and lips and teeth finding all the right spots to drive you wild. You bucked against his face, your thighs trembling as the pleasure built inside you. Just when you thought you might burst, Jeno would back off, leaving you desperate and aching for release.

“Jeno, please,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair in a futile attempt to guide him back to where you needed him most, “I need to cum. Please let me cum.”

He lifted his head, his chin glistening as he looked up at you. “Not yet,” he shook his head, his fingers continuing their maddeningly slow circles on your clit, “I want to hear you scream first.”

“I fucking can’t!” You breathed out, trying to control your moans again, “someone’s gonna hear and—ah—complain about it,” you said, which only made him scoff. 

“Is that it, hm? Have it your way then, princess,” he mumbled, yanking your soiled panties down all the way, balling it up in his first to make a gag out of it and shoving it down your mouth, “now you can scream all your want, Y/N.” He said, taking your name in his deep voice. 

And if you weren’t crazy before, now you had reached your limit of madness, even a poke from his side was like a pleasant burning wound to your skin, his actions also made you realize just how hungry Jeno was for being the one in control. 

You squirmed beneath Jeno, feeling utterly at his mercy as he continued his torturous teasing. The gag in your mouth muffled your moans but couldn’t silence them completely, much to Jeno’s enjoyment. Your body arched, yearning for more, desperate for release.

“Such a needy lil’ thing, aren’t you?” Jeno growled, his fingers still circling your sensitive bud, “I can feel how wet you are, taste how wet you are, dripping for me, hm?”

His words made you clench, fresh arousal coating his fingers. He gathered some of your slickness and slowly dragged it up to your throbbing clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. Your hips bucked up in hopes of seeking more contact.

“Hm—so responsive,” Jeno purred, looking pleased with himself, “I could do this all night—keep you on the edge, begging so desperately for me.”

“Please—” you tried to say around the gag, your eyes pleading, you were so close, teetering on the brink of an explosive climax. Just a little more.

But Jeno seemed determined to deny you that satisfaction, easing off right as you were about to fall over into your state of euphoria, frustration bubbled up inside you, mingling with the overwhelming lust coursing through your veins.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, baby,” Jeno taunted, nipping at your inner thigh, “I want to hear you scream my name—let everyone know who you belong to.”

His fingers circled, feather-light touches that drove you wild with need. You thrashed beneath him, incoherent noises of desperation spilling from your lips. Jeno just chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying your plight, removing your gag to hear you gasp loudly, his name on the tip of your tongue. 

Jeno was cruel, so cruel the way he denied your orgasm yet again with a smirk playing on his face, a whole one eighty from how he was an hour back and you were crying by now, something he seemed to enjoy too as he licked your face, tasting the salty teardrop you let out, “this makes me wanna ruin you more, y’know?” 

“Fuck—Jeno, let me cum please,” you sobbed as he took you in his arms. 

“You wanna cum, hm?” He asked as you settled on his lap, his hard on pressing against your thigh as you nodded, “fuck, you look so pretty crying like that for me, like a doll, a doll for me to use, hm?”

You couldn’t take it anymore, getting off and undoing his pant buttons as he watched you with amusement how you struggled to take off his pants and boxers, only to find his cock waiting for you, hard and proud. 

Jeno’s cock was throbbing, hard and ready to burst, as you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip in a teasing manner. You could taste the salty beads of precum leaking from his slit, the flavor sending a jolt of desire straight to your core.

“Fuck—baby,” Jeno groaned, his fingers threading through your hair as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper into your throat. “Your mouth feels so good. Keep going just like that, good girl.”

You moaned around his length, the vibrations making him shudder. Your own arousal was dripping down your thighs, coating them with your slick essence. The wet sounds of your slurping filled the room, mingling with Jeno’s heavy breaths and grunts of pleasure.

“Shit—fuck, take it easy, I won’t be able to hold back," he panted, his grip on your hair tightening, “I’m gonna fucking come down your throat if you keep sucking me like that.”

You redoubled your efforts, eager to taste his release. Your tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft as you sucked harder, determined to milk him of every last drop. Just as you felt him start to swell, signaling his impending orgasm, you pulled away with a pop.

Jeno’s eyes jolted open, a mix of confusion and frustration flashing across his face. “What the fuck, baby? Why the fuck did you stop?”

You just smiled coyly up at him, licking your lips. “Because I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you fill me up with your hot cum, or are you too much of a coward to fuck me?” You teased, your grin making him scoff. 

God he loved you. 

Jeno growled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. In a flash, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your side, your back pressed firmly against his torso. 

Before you could even process the sudden change in position, he was lined up at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your slick folds.

“Teasing me will only get you punished,” he warned, his voice low and husky with desire. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

With that promise, he slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching as he filled you completely. Jeno set a brutal pace, pounding into you with wild abandon.

You let out a sharp cry as Jeno’s thick cock stretched you open, filling you so deeply that you could feel him bulging through your lower abdomen. The feeling of his hard length pulsing inside you sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and press your ass against him.

“Lord—ah yes,” you gasped, grinding against him, “you’re—so fucking big.”

Jeno grunted in response, his fingers digging into your hips as he continued to pound into you at a furious pace. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and your needy moans filled the room, mixing with the creaking of the bed frame beneath you.

“Shit, your cunt is so tight,” Jeno mumbled, his breath hot against your neck. “Squeezing my cock like a desperate doll—you were made for me, baby. Made to take my dick and milk me dry.”

His filthy words only heightened your arousal, making you clench even tighter around him. You could feel your orgasm building again, the tension coiling in your core as he hit that special spot deep inside you with each thrust.

“Please don’t stop, not this time,” you pleaded, your nails digging into his thighs. “Fuck me harder, Jeno. I’m so fucking close.”

He was quick to flip you over again so you were resting on your back, his hips settling in between you as he held your thighs up, your legs resting on both his shoulders with ease as he snapped into you harder, plunging his cock with more need, as if he was a monster hungry for lust and only lust.

Jeno snarled, his hips snapping forward with a newfound vigor. One hand moved around to rub firm circles around your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body began to tremble, your breath coming out in short gasps as you found yourself on the brink of ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” Jeno demanded, pinching your clit hard, “I want to feel you cum all over my dick, baby.”

With a scream of his name, you practically exploded, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice as your orgasm crashed over you. Your body convulsed, your back bowing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through you, which shocked Jeno because you weren’t just having an orgasm. 

You were squirting all over his cock. 

Jeno followed shortly after, his cock pulsing as he spilled his release deep inside you, as he breathed hard, watching you with surprised eyes.

“Fuck,” he groaned, grinding against you to prolong your shared climax, “you’re so fucking hot, so fucking mine.”

You whimpered at the feeling of his hot cum painting your walls, the sensation making your pussy flutter around his shaft. Jeno held you close as you both rode out the aftershocks, his softening cock still buried inside you.

“You’re mine,” he mumbled, “say it.”

“Yours—I’m yours,” you breathed as best as you could. 

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Jeno.”

“Fuck—again.”

“So so fucking yours, I’m all yours Jeno.”

“Mine,” he whispered, so possessive. 

After a few moments, Jeno carefully pulled out and rolled you onto your back. He pressed gentle kisses along your jawline and down your neck, his touch soothing and tender in contrast to the rough passion from moments before.

“That was intense,” he murmured, nuzzling against your collarbone, “I don’t think i’ll ever get enough of you, baby. You’re fucking addictive.”

You smiled up at him, reaching up to cup his face. "I could say the same about you. The way you fuck me, it’s like you’re a fucking beast.”

“Was I too harsh?” He asked, placing soft kisses all over, “I’m sorry I just lost control—you have no idea how badly I need you, I don’t think I can stop,” he confessed. 

You kissed him again, “then don’t stop, just don’t.”

That’s all he needed to hear for the night, that you were finally his, and he was yours. He smirked, the night was just getting started. 

Chapter 10: Hate me less? You love me more. 

You don’t remember how the night ended, not when Jeno kept his promise of how you wouldn’t be able to walk anymore once he was done with you, and he was precise about it. He was far from done when he made you fall apart on his cock so many times, you lost count. 

It was a crazy switch up once you both were done, he took care of you, almost like he was made for it, helping you clean up in little bathtub which was definitely too small to fit the both of you, yet he helped you bath, a faint blush on his face as you laughed once he tried to act sly, touching you again when you were so sensitive and overstimulated. 

Turns out, Jeno can be super clingy when he has to be, also not letting you go once you get out of the tub, helping you dry your hair, helping you moisturize your body, helping you smile by kissing you every few seconds. 

He held you to sleep, not before hearing you say you actually want him and it’s not a dream. Jeno doesn’t remember if he ever felt this way before, this warmth called happiness that you provided him so easily. 

“I love you,” he mumbled to your sleeping figure, he was whipped, already thinking of your future together. Yeah, maybe it all happened too quickly, he still wouldn’t have it any other way. He wouldn’t mind getting through all the hurt again if it meant that he’d wake up to you sleeping next to him—to you loving him. 

It was perhaps the best day of Jeno’s life. 

The air felt different today.

Not because of the weather, which was finally warm and breezy after days of storm and stress, but because Jeno was walking beside you—not behind, not ahead—beside you. His fingers were laced with yours, his thumb brushing over your skin every few steps like he was still checking if this was real, he still couldn’t believe it. 

It was.

You passed the main quad slowly, in no rush. The two of you didn’t need to say much. Conversations dimmed as you walked through. You could feel the glances, the whispers.

Someone definitely said your name. Then his.

And then, clear as day, they whispered. 

“Wait—are they actually holding hands?”

Jeno didn’t flinch.

Not like he would’ve, weeks ago. Not like the boy who couldn’t stand being seen, being known. Instead, he just grabbed your hand a little tighter—casual, sure, and completely unbothered. His expression said it all—Yeah, and?

You chuckled. “Think they’re combusting?”

“Oh, definitely,” he said, tugging you closer with a smugness he barely bothered to hide anymore. “Especially that one girl who’s walking with me, who swore she’d never even look at me.”

“She wasn’t entirely wrong,” you teased. “You were kind of a menace.”

He groaned, tossing his head back, “were?”

You laughed, and it made him smile, soft and full, the kind of smile he used to hide and now gave you freely.

“You’re doing that look again,” he said, side-eyeing you. “Like you’re psychoanalyzing me.”

“Maybe I am. Can’t help it. You’re a walking dissertation, y’know?”

“Yeah? What’s the title?”

You looked up at him with a shrug. “How to fall for someone you’re supposed to hate.”

That made him stop walking.

You blinked, startled, but he was already turning to face you, his hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the fading bruises on his knuckles—old reminders of the version of him you never gave up on.

“I’m glad you did,” he said. “Fall for me. Even when I made it so damn hard.”

You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that made his breath catch. “You still do.”

“Yeah, well,” he squeezed your hand, “at least I’m hot.”

You were too busy rolling your eyes to realize you’d just walked past Jaemin and his friends until the entire bench went awkwardly quiet. Jaemin looked up, eyes flicking from your joined hands to your face, and then to Jeno—who didn’t even spare him a glance.

He was too focused on you. Too content stealing a bite of your ice cream like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Let’s go,” you muttered, trying not to laugh as you nudged him forward.

Jeno followed. No hesitation.

Because this, the hand holding, the quiet teasing, the stares that didn’t matter anymore, this was normal.

And for the first time in his life, Jeno finally understood: Normal didn’t mean boring.

It meant chosen. It meant enough.

It meant being yours.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[whimsyfinny]

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

*

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

*

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat. 

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away. 

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine. 

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker. 

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour. 

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor. 

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy  began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him. 

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria. 

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

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

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[satellite-evans]

in his eyes

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: it doesn't matter what people say on the internet, because Lando loves you.

Word count: 3.3k+

Warnings: giving birth, angst, fluff, insecurity, nasty people on the internet

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The room was still and peaceful. After hours of pain and screaming, it was finally quiet. You could hear the faint beeping of the heart monitor in the background, but it was as if everything else had faded away. In that sacred silence, your heart felt fuller than it ever had before.

Lando’s voice broke through the quiet again, but this time, it was a little more hesitant, as if he were trying to put words to the flood of emotions swirling in his chest. “I always dreamed of this moment... but seeing her here, in my arms... it’s so much more than I imagined.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You had always known how much he longed for this day—how much he dreamed of becoming a father. But to witness it, to see him holding their daughter with such reverence, was beyond anything you could have ever expected.

“She’s so tiny,” you whispered, leaning in a little closer to get a better look at the little girl in Lando’s arms. "It’s hard to believe she’s ours."

Lando nodded, his thumb gently stroking the baby’s tiny hand, his gaze never leaving her face. “I just want to protect her. I want to give her everything. She’s going to have the best life.”

You smiled, feeling tears well up in your eyes again. You had always known Lando was capable of deep love, but seeing him like this, seeing him so vulnerable, made you fall even deeper in love with him.

“I have no doubt, Lando,” you said softly. “She’s going to have everything she needs... and more.”

Lando turned his head toward you for the first time since he’d been holding their daughter, his eyes glistening with emotion. He smiled, a soft, loving smile that melted your heart. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner. I can't believe she's mine as much as I can't believe I'm yours. We’re in this together.”

You reached out to gently stroke the side of his face, your thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. His words meant everything to you. There was no one else you’d rather share this moment, this journey, with. "I feel the same. You're going to be the best dad, Lando."

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ll try my best. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she’s happy.”

The quiet room filled with the sound of a small yawn from your daughter, followed by the soft rustling of blankets. Lando chuckled softly, clearly enchanted by the tiny noise. “She’s already got her own little personality, huh?”

You both laughed quietly, and the sound felt like music, the kind of sound that made everything else in the world feel right. “I think she’s definitely going to keep us on our toes.”

Lando nodded, but his eyes were still soft and full of awe. "I'm ready for that. As long as we’re together... we can handle anything."

Your heart fluttered as you looked at him, this man who had been your partner, your best friend, and now, the father of your child. There were no words to fully capture the depth of what you felt in that moment. All that mattered was that you were here, together, in this perfect little bubble of love with your daughter.

“She’s going to love you so much, Lando,” you whispered, your voice full of certainty.

He smiled at you, a rare vulnerability in his eyes as he gazed at their daughter again. “I already love her more than I ever thought possible.”

As the moments passed, the three of you simply existed in this space, letting the world outside the hospital room fade away. There was no rush, no need for anything other than this precious time you had together, letting the quiet joy of the moment fill every corner of your hearts.

Lando's voice was low and full of affection as he spoke again, almost as if to himself. “This... this is everything I’ve ever wanted. You, her... us.”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "And we're just getting started."

The first few weeks after giving birth were a whirlwind of emotions, adjustments, and challenges. Your body was healing, and there were days when you felt overwhelmed by the exhaustion. Physical recovery was tough, and mentally, you wondered if you were doing enough. The sleepless nights, the constant feeding, the emotional rollercoaster—it was all a lot to process. But through it all, Lando was there.

You often found him hovering around you like a quiet guardian, making sure you were comfortable and had everything you needed. The first night you came home from the hospital, Lando insisted on taking the baby for a few hours to give you some rest. You were still recovering from the birth, and the thought of trying to breastfeed, soothe the baby, and manage the pain seemed overwhelming. But Lando stepped in without hesitation.

"I’ve got her, Y/N. You rest," he said, his voice soothing and steady as he gently took their daughter into his arms. You had to fight the urge to stay up, but you trusted him. You allowed yourself to close your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you slept soundly for a few hours, knowing your baby was safe and loved.

When you woke up, the sight that greeted you made your heart swell. Lando was sitting on the couch, holding the baby against his bare chest. His face, usually so focused and intense, was softened in a way you had never seen before. He gazed at her with such love and tenderness, whispering sweet words to her as she napped peacefully in his arms.

" I know I said it like a hundred times already but, she’s perfect, Y/N. Absolutely perfect," Lando had said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to disturb the serenity of the moment.

He made sure you didn’t feel the weight of the housework either. Whenever the dishes piled up, Lando was the one to wash them, even when he had been working on the simulator for hours or when the demands of his racing career were overwhelming. "I’ve got it. You just relax. You’ve done enough," he’d tell you. He even took on the responsibility of cooking, though you could tell his meals weren’t quite as delicious as when you were in charge. But it didn’t matter—what mattered was the effort, the care, the thoughtfulness he put into everything.

Lando was constantly reassuring you when you doubted yourself. He saw the way your shoulders would slump after a long day of caring for the baby, how the sleepless nights began to take their toll, and he’d be there to remind you that you were doing an amazing job. When you expressed how hard it was to adjust to motherhood and how difficult it felt to bounce back physically, Lando was quick to reassure you.

“You’re incredible. You brought life into the world, Y/N. That’s something amazing. You are enough,” he said with conviction, never once faltering in his support.

There were nights when the baby would cry, and Lando would take the lead, waking up to comfort her before you had even opened your eyes. He’d hold her, rock her gently, and whisper soft lullabies to her, making sure she felt safe and loved while you caught a few more hours of sleep. His patience was endless.

Sometimes, when you’d express that you didn’t feel like yourself, that you didn’t look like yourself, Lando would gently take your face in his hands, his eyes filled with love. “You’re the same Y/N I fell in love with. You’ll always be her. Nothing about you has changed, except maybe... you’re even more beautiful now,” he’d say with a warm, playful smile, easing the weight of your worries with his words.

Lando’s support wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, too. He never let you feel alone in this new chapter of your life. When you cried from the frustration of sleepless nights or the pressure of balancing it all, Lando would simply pull you into his arms. “I’m here, Y/N. We’re in this together,” he’d say, as you let the tears fall.

Even when you doubted whether you could be the kind of mother you imagined yourself to be, Lando believed in you completely. "I’ve never seen anyone do what you do with as much strength and love as you have. We’re a team," he’d remind you over and over again.

And he was right. He never let you feel like you were doing it alone. When you struggled, he didn’t hesitate to pick up the slack. Whether it was handling late-night feedings or changing diapers, he did it all with a quiet grace that made you admire him more than ever.

In those early weeks, as you both navigated the unfamiliar waters of parenthood, it became clear to you just how deeply Lando cared—not just for you, but for your little family. He did everything with the thought of making your life a little easier, even when he was running on empty himself.

"You’ve given me the greatest gift, Y/N," he told you one evening, after putting the baby to sleep. “And I’m so thankful for both of you.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

Lando smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’ll never have to,” he promised. "I’m always going to be here."

And in that moment, you knew—you were never alone.

One sunny afternoon, you felt like you had enough energy to step outside. The last few weeks had been a blur of late nights, feedings, and tender moments with Lando and your baby. You loved every second of it, but you also needed a break, a small taste of normalcy. You had always enjoyed little walks and small outings with Lando, and today, you wanted to do something nice for him. He’d been so incredible, taking on the lion’s share of the care and support, and you wanted to return the favor.

So, you decided to walk to your favorite bakery. The idea was simple: get a couple of your favorite pastries as a treat for both of you. It would give you some fresh air and a little exercise, and you couldn’t wait to surprise Lando with something sweet. You’d always shared a love for pastries, and there was something comforting about going there alone, just to clear your mind for a while.

As you strolled down the street, the air felt crisp and refreshing. Your body was still adjusting, but with each step, you felt a bit more like yourself. It was the first time in a while that you didn’t feel overwhelmed, and you even caught yourself smiling at the thought of Lando, who was back at home taking care of the baby.

When you arrived at the bakery, you paused for a moment to take in the familiar, cozy atmosphere. The warm, inviting smell of freshly baked goods hit you, and you felt comforted by the thought of how much Lando would appreciate this little gesture. As you stood in line, your fingers fiddled with your phone, glancing at the screen before it was your turn to order.

“Hi, I’ll have two of the almond croissants and one of the chocolate eclairs, please,” you said, giving the cashier a friendly smile.

But then, as you stood there waiting for your order, you heard the sound of giggles behind you. You barely registered it at first, but then it came again—a group of girls, no older than your mid-twenties, talking and laughing loudly.

“You know, I saw Y/N out in public the other day…” one of them said, her voice dripping with that judgmental tone. “She’s huge now. Like, I know she had a baby, but how can she just let herself go like that?”

The other girls snickered in agreement. “Lando deserves someone better than her,” one of them added. “I mean, he could have anyone, right? Why stay with someone who just let themselves go like that?”

The words felt like a sharp slap to the chest, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to blur. You didn’t know whether to cry, shout, or just run out of the bakery. They weren’t whispering or trying to hide it—they were speaking loudly, thinking you wouldn’t hear. But you did. Every word stung.

You wanted to turn around and say something, to defend yourself, but instead, you kept your eyes on the counter, trying to hold it together as the cashier bagged your pastries. You could feel the heat rise to your face, the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. It had been so long since you’d felt self-conscious, and yet, their words dug up insecurities you had worked so hard to bury.

You paid for the pastries with a forced smile, muttering a polite “Thank you,” before quickly exiting the bakery. You had to get home. You needed to get away from the cruel laughter that still echoed in your ears.

Once you were back home, the door clicked shut behind you, and you stood there for a moment, taking in the quiet of the house. You set the pastries down on the kitchen counter, the warm scent of fresh-baked goods filling the air, but it did little to lift the weight that had settled in your chest. You could still hear the words from the bakery echoing in your mind, the sting of the comments, and the cruel judgments of people who didn’t know you or what you’d been through.

With a sigh, you rubbed your eyes, exhausted both physically and emotionally. Your heart was heavy, and it felt like everything was crashing down around you. Lando had been so caring, so supportive, and you didn’t want to burden him with this—it wasn’t fair to him. He had done so much to make you feel loved and beautiful, and here you were, doubting it all because of a few words from strangers.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake it off. You didn’t want to ruin this moment—this quiet, peaceful time at home with your family. So instead of seeking out Lando, you slipped quietly into the living room, phone in hand, and tried to lose yourself in something else.

You knew scrolling through social media wasn’t healthy—especially right now—but it felt like a distraction, something to fill the empty space in your mind. But the moment you unlocked your phone, it all came crashing in. The familiar blue light illuminated the room, but instead of calming you, it brought a flood of negativity.

The comments began to pour in, one after another, and with each notification, your chest tightened. The words were sharp, cruel.

"She’s disgusting." "Lando should dump her and find someone who takes care of themselves."

The comments continued to pile on, each one worse than the last. "Fat," "ugly," "why does she think she’s still worthy of him?" They cut through you like daggers, tearing into every insecurity, every vulnerability you’d tried so hard to hide. The words hit you harder than you could have imagined, and it felt like the air was being sucked out of your lungs. Your heart ached as your eyes filled with tears.

Before you knew it, the tears were flowing, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. The hurtful words from the bakery combined with the hateful comments made everything feel too overwhelming. You wiped your face quickly, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

It wasn’t long before you heard footsteps upstairs. Lando had gone up to check on the baby, and now, his soft footsteps echoed down the stairs as he walked back into the living room. When his eyes found you, his expression immediately shifted from calm to concern. His gaze locked onto your red, tear-streaked face, and he froze, clearly taken aback by the sight.

"Y/N…" he said softly, his voice full of worry as he rushed over to where you sat. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitated for a moment, trying to hide the phone in your lap, but he could see the pain in your eyes. He knelt down in front of you, gently taking the phone from your hand. You didn’t have the strength to say anything, so you simply let him read what was on the screen.

His face darkened immediately as he scanned the words. The anger was evident in the tightening of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils. “What the hell is this?” he asked, his voice sharp and protective. His fingers clenched the phone as his eyes lifted to meet yours, filled with disbelief and fury.

“These people… they don’t know anything about you. About us,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. The softness in his expression faltered as he took in the full weight of your hurt. He sat down beside you, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you gently into his chest.

“Y/N…” he whispered again, his voice soft but full of conviction. “Listen to me. You are amazing. You gave me our beautiful daughter, and your body—your beautiful, strong body—did something incredible. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Inside and out.”

The words melted your heart, but it was still hard to fight the weight of the hurt. You sniffled, resting your face against his chest, your voice breaking. “But the comments… they’re right. I don’t look like I used to. I don’t—”

Lando pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve never looked more beautiful to me. Not once, not ever. You’re the woman I love. These people? They can say whatever they want, but they don’t get to decide how I see you.”

His words washed over you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the tight knot in your chest began to loosen. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his eyes full of love as he whispered, “If all the women in the world gathered together and shouted it, they couldn’t ever suppress your whisper. You’re perfect, Y/N.”

A fresh wave of tears stung your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness this time—they were from the overwhelming love you felt in this moment. Lando leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual.

“I’ll always see you for who you truly are,” he murmured, his voice full of warmth and tenderness. “And if they don’t see it… that’s their problem. But as for me? I’m right here, loving you more every day.”

You laughed softly through your tears, feeling the tension in your chest dissolve. Lando’s playful tone lifted your spirits even more. "And let’s be honest," he added with a cheeky grin, "even if all of them did shout, I’d still be right here. Loving you. And no one can change that."

The gentle teasing helped lighten your heart, and for the first time in hours, you felt a small flicker of hope. Lando was right. His love for you wasn’t based on anything as fleeting as looks. It was about who you were, what you’d been through together, and the life you’d created. No one could take that away.

Lando pulled you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips—gentle and reassuring, as if to seal the promise of his words. And for the first time since you left the bakery, you allowed yourself to believe it. You were enough. You were perfect, just as you were.

And you were loved, more than you could ever imagine.

[kooklovee]

Married for 7 days - JJK

Matching rings and a joke—your boyfriend says you're married. What he didn’t expect is for you to play along the whole trip... And the more you pretend...the less it feels like a game.

Pairing - bf!Jungkook x gf!Reader

Genre - mostly fluff, established relationship au, smut (18+) MDNI

Oneshot - 7.8k words

Warnings - fluffff, sunshine energy gf, Jungkook being effortlessly bf/husband material🤭💘, Explicit smut - unprotected sex, nipple play, fingering, little handjob, creampie, marking

a/n - a quick backstory for this plot inspiration - my friend's friend went on a trip with her bf where they got matching rings n had a joke that they were married. AND EXCUSE ME?? this made such a good plot that I just couldn't resist not writing😭😭 n yeah wrote about Greece solely coz of the aesthetics (never been there tho) also also I wrote around 90% of this only listening to Blue by Yung Kai n it perfectly matches the vibe!!😭💗 ps- I feel angst writing is more of my thing bt I've tried writing fluff (a lot) for this sooo lmk if it's acceptable?🫠 n yup early update coz I cancelled out 2,3 more scenes I had in mind 🤷‍♀️ ok byeeee examss upcominggg

Masterlist kofi☕

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Your fingers grip Jungkook’s sleeve, barely able to contain your excitement as you glance out the plane window. Blue. Endless blue. The vast stretch of the sea sparkles below, tiny white houses dotting the cliffs in the distance.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, voice full of wonder. “Look at that.”

He chuckles, his gaze soft and amused, “Baby, we’re still on the plane.”

“I know,” you sigh dramatically, turning back to him. “But still. Greece! Our first trip together! Just you and me for seven whole days.”

Jungkook smirks, teasing, “What if I'm gonna get sick of you?”

You scoff, nudging his shoulder. “You’re stuck with me now, Jeon.”

He exhales, grinning like he wouldn’t have it any other way. The past four years had been beautiful, but between work schedules, deadlines, and life, you barely got time to just be together.

But this time? it’s just you and him. Jungkook hums, fingers lazily tracing circles over your thigh. “I think I could get used to this.”

------------------ Day 1

The moment you step inside, your eyes take in the breathtaking suite. White-washed walls, soft linen curtains swaying from the sea breeze, a private infinity pool overlooking the ocean. Jungkook watches you, arms crossed, fondness written all over his face.

“This is so nice,” you gush, spinning to face him. “I don’t think I’ll ever wanna leave.”

Jungkook sets the luggage down, smirking. “Well, we have a week.”

Your smile grows. Something in your chest feels so warm. You turn to him, eyes gleaming. “What should we do first?”

Jungkook steps closer, voice low and playful. “Hmm. I can think of a few things.”

You shove his chest, laughing, “Yah Jeon, behave.” He chuckles, arms wrapping lazily around your waist, pulling you in. “No promises, baby.”

----

You practically bounce on your feet as you slip on your sandals, the soft sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains of your hotel room. “Okay, okay, I’m ready!” you chirp, spinning to face Jungkook, who is still leaning against the doorframe, watching you with pure amusement.

His arms are crossed, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Are you sure? Because you’ve been ‘ready’ for the last fifteen minutes.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag. “I am! Let’s goo”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Instead, he reaches out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into him, his nose brushing against yours.

His voice drops, teasing. “You’re really just trusting me with everything, huh?”

You nod immediately. “Of course. You’re the planner, I’m just here to have fun.” Jungkook exhales a quiet laugh, his fingers trailing lazily up your arm.

He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss against your lips. It’s warm. Sweet. Dangerously distracting.

You blink up at him, refusing to fall for it. “Jeon Jungkook, if you don’t take me outside in the next ten seconds, I’m leaving you here.”

He laughs before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him.

“Alright, alright,” dropping a quick kiss to your temple. “Let’s go.”

And with his fingers laced through yours, he leads you out, the two of you finally stepping into your first day in Greece.

The scent of fresh-baked bread, sweet honey pastries filling the air as you and Jungkook wander through the bustling market. Your fingers brush against the beautifully painted souvenirs, woven baskets, your eyes wide with excitement.

“Jungkook, look at these!” you gasp, holding up a tiny, hand-carved olive wood frog.

He chuckles, watching you with pure amusement. “You don’t even like frogs.”

You scowl. “Yeah, but look at his little face.”

Jungkook shakes his head, ruffling your hair before grabbing the frog figurine and paying for it without a second thought.

You blink. “I wasn’t actually gonna—”

“Too late,” he smirks, handing it to you. “Now it’s yours.”

Before you can respond, the scent of something sweet and buttery hits your nose, making you immediately turn toward a food stall.

You grin. “We have to try those.”

The vendor hands over a small plate, and before you can even grab a piece, Jungkook picks one up and holds it to your lips.

Your eyes narrow. “You’re feeding me now?”

“Open.”

You roll your eyes but let him feed you, the sweet layers melting on your tongue. A small hum of satisfaction escapes you before you glance at Jungkook.

“Good, huh?” he smirks.

Instead of answering, you take another piece, holding it up like you’re about to feed him.

Jungkook smirks, leaning in. “See? You like it when I—”

But before he can finish, you smirk and pop the piece into your own mouth instead. You burst out laughing, wiping a crumb from your lip. “Tastes good.”

Jungkook gapes at you, half-glaring, half-amused. “You little—”

Before he can finish, you grab his wrist and drag him toward the next stall, giggling.

“We have so much more to eat,” you sing-song.

Jungkook lets you pull him away, shaking his head with amusement.

The market fades behind you as you and Jungkook wander through the winding streets, hand in hand.

The air is warm, salt-kissed from the ocean breeze, and the soft sound of distant waves crashes below the cliffs. White-washed buildings, blue domes line the path, vibrant bougainvillea flowers spilling over terraces.

Jungkook squeezes your hand lightly. “Still trusting my planning skills?”

You grin. “So far, you’re doing great, boyfriend.”

He chuckles, his dimple peeking out, and just when you turn to admire the view—Click.

You blink. “Did you just take my picture?”

Jungkook doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s holding up his phone, looking way too pleased with himself.

“Yup.”

You narrow your eyes, stepping closer. “Lemme see.”

“Nope.” He smirks, slipping the phone into his pocket.

You gasp. “Jungkook!”

He laughs, stepping back just as you lunge for his phone.

“Oh, baby, don’t even try,” he teases, holding it high above his head, his other hand wrapping around your waist.

You huff, glaring up at him. “What if I looked bad?”

Jungkook stands confident. So annoyingly sure of himself.

“You looked perfect.”He says it so easily, like a fact, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. For a second, you forget what you were even mad about.

Jungkook grins, clearly noticing your reaction. “What? No comeback?”

You snap out of it and quickly grab your phone, flipping the camera. “Okay, if you’re gonna take pictures of me, I’m getting yours too.”

Jungkook doesn’t protest as you start clicking away, a mix of stolen shots and silly ones.

“Okay, now pose,” you instruct, biting your lip to stop your smile.

Jungkook scoffs but obeys, shoving his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly, looking effortlessly model-like.

You pause. “That’s unfair.”

“What?”

“You just naturally look good in every picture.”

He laughs, stepping closer. “Says you?”

Before you can argue, he pulls you in, flipping the camera to selfie mode. “Let’s take some together,” he murmurs.

And just like that, you spend the next ten minutes giggling, making faces, taking videos. Jungkook kisses your cheek in one, in another, he makes you laugh so hard your eyes disappear.

The pictures—some blurry, some too close, some candid. but when you look at them later, you realize they’re perfect in every way that matters.

----

The sun is lower in the sky now, everything's in warm shades of gold as you and Jungkook walk along the soft, white sand. Your sandals dangle from your fingers, the ocean breeze cooling your skin.

Jungkook is beside you, his hand lazily intertwined with yours, his other tucked into his pocket as he watches the tide roll in.

“Okay,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence. “This might be the prettiest place I’ve ever seen.”

Jungkook hums, glancing at you instead of the view. “Yeah. It really is.”

You turn to look at him—only to find him already looking at you.

Before you can overthink it, something catches your eye—a small wooden stall set up just a little ahead, tucked beneath the shade of a few palm trees.

“What’s that?” You tug on Jungkook’s hand, pulling him toward it.

The stall is lined with handmade jewelry, delicate silver and gold pieces glinting in the fading sunlight. Small sea-glass pendants, braided anklets, thin rings on display.

“Ohh, these are cute,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bands.

Jungkook watches as you casually slip one onto your finger, admiring how it looks before turning to him with a grin.

“Should we get matching ones?” you joke, wiggling your fingers.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Matching rings?”

“Yeah, why not?” you tease. “It’ll be like a little vacation memory.”

Jungkook hums, studying the rings for a moment before wordlessly picking one up. Without hesitation, he takes your hand, slipping it onto your finger himself.

Your breath catches. You glance at him, expecting a smirk, some teasing remark, but he’s quiet. Focused.

The ring fits perfectly.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up to meet yours, and for a second, neither of you say anything.

“Guess we’re married now,” he quips, breaking the silence with a cheeky grin.

You snort, shoving his shoulder. “You’re so dumb.”

But just as you’re about to make another joke, you pause. because Jungkook is still looking at the rings.

And before you can ask, he casually grabs another one—the exact same design and slips it onto his own finger.

He lifts his hand beside yours, comparing them. “Now we match,” he hums, completely unbothered, making your heart stumble.

----

You collapse onto the bed, sighing dramatically.

Jungkook chuckles, setting his phone down before joining you, his body warm and solid beside yours.

Jungkook lifts his hand, wiggling his fingers, the ring glinting under the dim lights.

“So,” he muses, voice low and playful. “How does it feel to be my wife for seven days?"

You snort, rolling over to face him. “Delusional.”

Jungkook laughs, eyes crinkling, before pulling you into his chest. “You love it.”

You hum, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “Maybe.”

His hand finds yours, fingers absentmindedly tracing over the band on your finger.

Neither of you take the rings off.

Neither of you even think about it.

------------------- Day 2

The warm afternoon sun bathes the streets as you and Jungkook browse a small outdoor market. Small shops, displays filled with handcrafted goods and souvenirs.

You stop at a small stall, admiring intricately painted ceramic plates. An older woman, the vendor, smiles at you.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she says, her accent thick with warmth.

You nod enthusiastically. “Yes! My husband and I are visiting for the first time.”

Jungkook chokes on his water.

You hear him cough violently beside you, his hand gripping the bottle like it betrayed him.

The vendor laughs. “Ah, newlyweds?”

“Oh, yes,” you continue smoothly, holding Jungkook’s arm. “We’re having the best time. He planned everything so perfectly.”

You feel him staring at you—his entire existence malfunctioning in real-time.

The woman smiles warmly at Jungkook. “A good husband always takes care of his wife.”

Jungkook clears his throat.

“Oh—uh, yeah,” he mutters. “That’s… me.”

You beam, squeezing his arm. “He’s really amazing. Very thoughtful.”

Jungkook’s ears turn pink.

Once the woman turns away to wrap up your purchase, he leans down, voice low.

“Do you hear yourself?” he mutters.

You grin, still holding onto his arm “What? I’m just staying in character. You said we're married soo...we'll be a happy married couple throughout this trip.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, shaking his head but smiling.

“Oh my god.”

----

Jungkook immediately drops onto the bed, groaning as he stretches his arms above his head.

You plop down beside him, nudging his side. “Tired, husband?”

He groans louder, covering his face with his hands. “If you call me that one more time…”

You grin, rolling onto your stomach to face him. “What? That’s what you are.”

Jungkook peeks at you through his fingers, eyes narrowing. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

You hum, twisting your ring on your finger absentmindedly. “You should too. I mean, you’re already wearing the ring. You might as well act the part.”

Jungkook lifts his hand, inspecting the matching band on his finger. He’s silent for a moment, before—

“I should start calling you ‘wifey’ then, huh?”

Your eyes snap to his face, and—yup. He’s smirking.

“Don't you dare,” you mutter, sitting up immediately.

Jungkook grins wider, propping himself up on his elbows. “Wifey, can you get me some water?”

“I will pour it on your face.”

He laughs, absolutely loving this. “Wifey, should we get couple bathrobes too?”

You grab a pillow and smack him with it.

Jungkook wheezes, rolling away from your attack before bolting up from the bed.

“Okay, okay! I’m going for a swim,” he calls out, grabbing a towel.

You glare at him, crossing your arms. “You’re banned from speaking for the next hour.”

Jungkook grins. “That’s okay.”

With zero shame, he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, revealing every defined muscle and tattoo.

Jungkook walks out to the pool. Leaving you sitting there, absolutely speechless.

----

The water is cool against your skin, the evening air warm, as you float lazily in the pool. The view of the twinkling lights stretches out beyond the infinity edge.

Jungkook is across from you, leaning against the pool’s edge, his arms resting on the surface, watching you with that look.

The same one from earlier. like he’s amused. Maybe a little dangerous.

You try to ignore it, focusing on the soft ripples in the water.

A small wave splashes against your stomach. Your eyes snap up. Jungkook is still there, expression unreadable. But his fingers, barely submerged, are moving.

You narrow your eyes splashing a wave back without hesitation.

Jungkook gasps, dramatically wiping his face. “Oh, you wanna play?”

Before you can react, he swiftly moves, strong, closing the space between you in seconds.

Your breath catches as his hands find your waist, pulling you against him in the water.

“You’re really pushing your luck, wifey,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.

Your hands find his shoulders, fingers pressing into firm, wet skin. “And what are you gonna do about it, husband?”

Jungkook grins, kissing you.

The water ripples around you as he pulls you even closer, one hand firm on your hip, the other tracing up your spine. His lips move slow, consuming, his breath mixing with yours.

You let out a small gasp, fingers curling in his hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing against yours, making you feel lightheaded.

He lifts you. Just enough for your legs to wrap around his waist, water dripping between you as his lips trail down your throat.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, heat pooling low, desire crashing into you like the waves beyond.

“Jungkook—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, voice rough, pressed against your skin. “Let me take care of my wife.”

-------------------- Day 3

The morning light filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You stir slightly, but before you can move, a strong arm tightens around your waist.

A deep grumble vibrates against your back. “Where are you going?”

You smile sleepily. “Nowhere.”

Jungkook nuzzles into your neck, his voice raspy with sleep. “Good. Stay.”

His fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare skin, warm, possessive. You hum, relaxing into his touch, “Why are you so tired?

Jungkook grunts. “Because my wife wore me out last night.”

Your face heats instantly. “Oh my god—”

He chuckles, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder. “Mmm. You liked it.”

You turn to glare at him, but he’s already smirking.

“You’re annoying.”

“And you love it,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, his lips brushing your temple.

You pretend to protest, but honestly?

You could stay like this forever.

-------

The climb isn’t too long, but the slight incline has you huffing just a little.

“Jungkook, are we almost there?” you ask, pushing back a strand of hair as the warm breeze kisses your skin.

Jungkook, walking ahead effortlessly, doesn’t even look winded. He glances back at you with a smirk. “Tired already, wife?”

You narrow your eyes. “You dragged me up here. I should’ve just—”

You stop mid-sentence, sighing dramatically. Jungkook chuckles. Without another word, he crouches down in front of you, patting his back.

You blink. “What are you doing?”

He tilts his head. “What does it look like? Get on.”

Your lips twitch. “Are you sure? I’m not exactly—”

Jungkook turns slightly, raising a brow. “Did I stutter?”

You giggle, placing your hands on his shoulders before hopping onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Jungkook adjusts his grip on your thighs, lifting you with ease.

And just like that he carries you up the trail like you weigh nothing.

You press your cheek against his, grinning. “You’re really strong, huh?”

Jungkook hums. “You’re really lucky, huh?”

Laughing, you pepper soft kisses along his jaw, his cheek, his temple.

Jungkook exhales sharply. “Y/n.”

You blink innocently. “What?”

He grins, shaking his head. “You’re distracting me.”

You laugh against his skin. “What, can’t handle a few kisses?”

Jungkook’s grip on you tightens slightly, his voice dropping just a little lower.

“Keep testing me, wifey.”

You don’t get a chance to respond because before you know it, you’ve reached the top.

And when Jungkook finally sets you down, he doesn’t let go immediately.

Instead, he lifts his phone, angling the camera before pulling you close against his side.

“Say wifeyyy.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

You still say it. and when you peek at the screen—the view behind you is breathtaking. But the way Jungkook is looking at you in the frame?

His gaze holding something deep. Like he’s seeing something even more beautiful than the world around him.

---------------------- Day 4

Jungkook walks beside you, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on, looking effortlessly cool until you drag him straight into a clothing store.

“You’re making me shop?” he groans.

You grin, already browsing. “Of course.”

Jungkook exhales, resigned. “Fine. But if I’m suffering, I get to rate your choices.”

And just like that, he ends up sitting on one of those plush chairs outside the fitting room, watching you like this is some kind of mission. You try on a few outfits, twirling in front of him.

Jungkook’s commentary is pure chaos.

“Too frilly.” “Too serious.”

“That one makes you look like a cute little menace—get it.”

You laugh, shaking your head. Eventually, you pick out two dresses, and a jacket for your boyfriend.

No.

Husband.

At the counter, you pull out your card, ready to pay—only for Jungkook to casually slide his in before you can react.

“Jungkook—”

“Got it.” He says it so effortlessly, like it’s nothing.

You stare at him. “I was paying.”

Jungkook shrugs, grabbing the bags. “Not when I’m here.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before you can—

The cashier smiles warmly. “You have a very thoughtful boyfriend.”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.”

The cashier’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh, I’m so sorry—”

You smile sweetly. “He’s my husband.”

The cashier relaxes, “Ohh! You two make a lovely couple.”

You squeeze Jungkook’s arm, pressing close. “Thank you! He’s the sweetest hubby, really.”

Jungkook just stands there. Blinking.

The cashier laughs. “You’re a lucky woman.”

You beam, looking up at Jungkook. “I know.”

The moment you step outside, he leans down, murmuring lowly.

“You did that on purpose.”

You grin. “And?”

Jungkook shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

Your arms are full of shopping bags, and Jungkook is carrying even more.

“You have a problem,” he groans, adjusting the bags on his arms.

You grin, unfazed. “Correction: we have a problem.”

Jungkook exhales dramatically. “I need a refund on this marriage.”

You gasp, clutching your chest. “How dare you? After all we’ve been through?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch. “Come on, let’s find food before you convince me to adopt a souvenir shop.”

----

The night market buzzes with life. Fairy lights and lanterns glow overhead, casting a golden hue as soft music drifts through the lively streets.

You and Jungkook wander through the crowd, sharing bites of food, laughing as he tries to steal yours.

You pause by a musician playing a soft acoustic song, his voice melting into the warm night.

You turn to Jungkook immediately.

His eyes narrow. “No.”

You bat your lashes, pouting. “Please?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Jungkook,” you whine, nudging him relentlessly.

“No.”

Puppy eyes.

Jungkook groans, running a hand down his face. “Oh my god, stop looking at me like that.”

He swears under his breath before finally stepping forward. “You owe me,” he mutters.

The musician grins, strumming the guitar as Jungkook casually leans in and starts singing.

His voice melts into the night, smooth and effortless, blending perfectly with the melody. Conversations quiet, heads turn, people pause to listen.

You watch in awe, your heart tripping over itself.

Jungkook, who claimed he didn’t want to sing, looks completely in his element.

By the time the song ends, the small crowd cheers and claps. Jungkook glances at you, shaking his head with a knowing smirk.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, but he’s smiling.

You beam, grabbing his hand. “And you’re amazing.”

Jungkook lets you pull him away, fingers intertwined, the warmth of the night wrapping around you both.

------------------- Day 5

The small cooking studio is bright and welcoming, filled with the scent of fresh, warm bread.

Jungkook snickers as you struggle with your apron. “Are you already losing?”

You glare. “Shut up.”

He grins, effortlessly tying his own. “You sure you don’t want to just let me cook?”

“Nope,” you're determined.

Jungkook just laughs, clearly amused.

The class begins, and predictably—you’re a disaster.

Your dough refuses to knead properly, your vegetables are questionably chopped.

Jungkook, of course, is thriving.

“I can’t believe I’m married to this,” he sighs dramatically, shaking his head.

You elbow him. “EXCUSE ME?”

He smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t worry, wifey. I’ll make sure we don’t starve.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips a little at the way he says it.

Midway through the class, Jungkook’s phone vibrates.

“Work,” he mutters, frowning. “I’ll be quick. Don’t burn the place down.”

You wave him off. “Go, go.”

With Jungkook distracted, Jay—the instructor, steps over your station to help.

“How’s it going over here?”

You laugh sheepishly, “Terrible. I think I’ve offended the cooking gods.”

Jay laughs. “You’re not that bad.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, yeah, this is pretty bad,” he grins.

“Try using less force,” he suggests, guiding your hands gently.

You try again, still failing miserably.

“Okay, maybe a little more force than that.”

You groan in frustration, but it only makes him grin.

“At least you’re enjoying yourself,” he says.

You laugh, shaking your head.

Jungkook returns just in time to see you laughing easily, comfortably with the instructor.

He steps back beside you, sliding an arm around your waist effortlessly.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asks.

You blink up at him. Sweetheart?

Jay nods. “We were just fixing the dough.”

Jungkook hums, but his hand stays on you.

For the rest of the lesson, he’s suddenly way too attentive. Helping you, adjusting your apron, calling you ‘wife’ three times in five minutes.

Oh, you know exactly what’s happening.

And honestly? You love it.

----

The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. The evening air carrying the salty scent of the ocean. Jungkook walks ahead, leading you toward a parked motorbike.

“Wait. You—”

Jungkook swings his leg over the seat effortlessly, grinning as he pats the space behind him. “Get on.”

Your eyes widen. “Jungkook. Where did you even get this?”

He smirks. “Rented it.”

You stare. “When?”

He shrugs, slipping his sunglasses on. “Had some free time.”

You cross your arms. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Jungkook chuckles, reaching for your wrist and pulling you closer. “It’s a surprise, baby. Now, come on.”

Jungkook pats the seat again, smirking. “Scared?”

You narrow your eyes. “Not even a little.”

Swinging your leg over, you settle behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Jungkook hums in approval, his hands resting on yours.

“Hold on tight.”

The bike roars to life, wheels kicking up dust as he speeds down the open road.

Wind rushes through your hair, the world blurring around you in a mixture of colors and motion.

You gasp, laughing as you tighten your hold on him. “Jungkook—!”

He laughs too, a sound so free, so full of joy, that it makes your chest tighten.

“Like it?” he shouts over the wind.

You press your cheek against his back, grinning against the fabric of his shirt. “I love it!”

Jungkook grins too. And then—he speeds up.

You squeal, tightening your grip. “Jungkook, slow down!”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I thought you weren’t scared?”

You huff, smacking his stomach lightly.

Jungkook laughs, slowing just a little.

He rides for a while, taking you through winding coastal roads, past cliffs overlooking the sea, the salty air mixing with the scent of his cologne.

He leads you both to a secluded viewpoint overlooking the ocean.

The view is breathtaking. Endless ocean stretching toward the horizon, the sun dipping lower, turning the water into molten gold.

You don’t even realize you’re still holding onto him.

Jungkook turns slightly, his voice lower now. “You can let go, you know.”

You nuzzle against his shoulder. “Don’t want to.”

His fingers gently brush against yours.

Then, a whisper, almost lost in the sound of the waves.

“Then don’t.”

------------------- Day 6

You wake up expecting another fun day of exploring, but something feels different. Jungkook is way too calm. No teasing smirks. No cryptic questions.

Just casual, relaxed Jungkook, who kisses your forehead and says, “Let’s just take it easy today.”

Huh?

You squint at him. This man has been planning every second of this trip and now he suddenly wants to ‘take it easy’?

But okay, fine.

You two spend the day strolling around, checking out small shops. and every time you try to read his expression, he just smiles.

Like he knows something you don’t.

By late afternoon, you can’t take it anymore. You stop in your tracks and grab his arm. “Jungkook, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, pretending to be clueless.

“You’re… too normal?”

He snorts. “And that’s suspicious?”

“VERY.”

Jungkook just laughs and pulls you into a hug. “Baby, relax. Just enjoy the day, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious as ever, but decide to let it go.

As you head back to the hotel, Jungkook casually says, “Oh, by the way, be ready by 7.”

Oh. Okay??

So here you are standing in front of the mirror, holding up two dresses.

Jungkook’s lack of details has you overthinking. What exactly are you dressing for? Something fancy? Something casual?

With a sigh, you call out, “Jungkook, help me pick.”

He walks over, eyes flicking between the two options. “Try them on.”

You huff. “Can’t you just choose?”

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “Nope. I wanna see.”

Rolling your eyes, you slip into the first dress—a soft, elegant choice. Pretty, but… safe.

You step out, twirling slightly. “This?”

Jungkook hums, tilting his head. “It’s nice.”

Nice?

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He bites back a grin. “Try the other one.”

You sigh but change into the second dress—a sleeveless, ankle-length beauty. fitted at the top, flowing softly down your waist, hugging you in all the right places.

You step out, smoothing the fabric "This one?”

His eyes drag over you, slower this time. His lips part slightly, but no words come out.

You raise an eyebrow. “Well?”

Jungkook swallows, his voice lower. “Yeah. That one.”

You smirk, turning back to the mirror. “Thought so.”

----

Jungkook leads you outside, where a sleek, black car is already waiting.

You blink, surprised. “Wait… you booked a private car?”

Jungkook grins, opening the door for you. “Of course. Only the best for my wife.”

You roll your eyes, getting in, biting back a small smile.

As the car glides through the city, Jungkook’s hand finds yours, thumb tracing small circles.

You glance at him. “Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”

You huff dramatically. “I hate you.”

Jungkook just smirks, leaning closer. “No, you don’t.”

It doesn't take long when the car pulls up to the venue. He opens the door for you.

“We’re here,” he murmurs, squeezing your fingers.

You step out, and your breath catches instantly. The place is breathtaking. Not extravagant, not overwhelming. Just perfect.

The entrance is lined with soft, golden lights. Delicate floral arrangements fill the space, their scent carried by the evening breeze. The tables are set with warm candlelight, elegant yet cozy decor, the entire atmosphere radiating love.

It’s exactly what you’d love.

You turn to him, eyes wide with awe. “Jungkook…”

He watches you, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

“You like it?” he asks softly.

Your chest tightens. “Like it? It’s.. beautiful.”

Jungkook grins, leading you inside.

But as you take it all in, you speak softly, “You shouldn’t have spent so much..”

Jungkook stops, turning to you. His brows furrow slightly, as if he doesn’t understand. With a small chuckle, he leans in, his voice gentle.

“Baby,” he murmurs. “Do you really think I wouldn’t give you the world if I could?”

Your heart stumbles. A small smile making to your face.

Jungkook pulls out your chair, helping you settle before taking his seat across from you. The soft candlelight flickers between you, casting a golden glow over his features.

And the way he’s looking at you? Like you’re the most beautiful thing in the room.

You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “You’re staring.”

Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “Yeah.”

Your heart stumbles.

The conversation flows easily—laughter, teasing, deep moments that make your chest tighten. And just when you think the night couldn’t get any more romantic, Jungkook stands, offering his hand.

“Dance with me?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Here?”

He nods toward the open space, where soft music plays in the background. “Why not?”

You hesitate for half a second before slipping your hand into his. Jungkook guides you effortlessly, his touch firm yet gentle. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, swaying to the soft melody.

Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, your cheek pressing against his chest.

“I love you,” Jungkook murmurs.

Your heart melts.

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze. “I love you, too.”

Jungkook’s smile softens before he leans in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips.

Everything else fades.

It’s just you, him, and the feeling of being completely and utterly loved.

----

The ride back to the hotel is comfortable, with Jungkook’s fingers lazily tracing patterns on your palm as he holds your hand.

Once inside the room, you kick off your heels, sighing dramatically.

Jungkook chuckles. “Tired?”

You turn to him, smirking. “Emotionally, yes. My husband was incredibly romantic tonight. It was overwhelming.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears turn pink. “Shut up.”

You gasp. “Oh my god, are you blushing?”

He groans, grabbing your waist and pulling you into bed with him.

You yelp, laughing as you land against his chest.

His arms lock around you, holding you close. “Stop talking.”

You grin against his skin. “Never.”

Jungkook sighs dramatically, but his grip tightens.

You shift slightly, tilting your head up to look at him softly, “Seriously, though… tonight was perfect. Thank you.”

His gaze softens. “Anything for you, baby.”

Your heart melts as you snuggle deeper into his warmth.

Jungkook presses a lazy kiss to your forehead.

------------------- Day 7

From the moment you wake up, there’s a heaviness in your chest.

It’s the last day of your trip.

Tomorrow morning, you’ll be on a flight back home, and this dream-like escape with Jungkook will be just… a memory.

You sigh, leaning into his warmth. “I don’t want this to end.”

Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We still have the whole day, baby.”

You both decide to just walk..with no specific destination in mind, hand in hand, strolling through the streets, weaving through flower stalls, sharing street food, laughing at nothing. The weather is perfect—bright, breezy, the sky painted in soft blues and wisps of white clouds.

Everywhere you turn, there are vibrant flowers in bloom, colors bursting against the golden buildings.

Jungkook squeezes your hand. “Happy?”

You look up at him, feeling the sun, the wind, the warmth of his palm against yours.

“Very.”

You don’t know how long you walk. Until, you turn a corner—

An open, breathtaking garden.

Sprawling fields of flowers in every shade imaginable. The gentle breeze carries their scent, petals dancing in the wind.

And the sunset—oh, the sunset. Burning gold, soft pinks, and deep purples, stretching endlessly into the horizon.

“...Wow.”

You step forward instinctively, tugging Jungkook’s hand, drawn to the beauty before you.

Your fingers graze the petals of a flower, eyes wide with childlike wonder.

“It’s so beautiful,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.

Jungkook doesn’t respond.

Because he’s not looking at the flowers. He’s looking at you. The way your hair moves with the wind, strands catching the golden light. The way your lips part slightly in awe, the way your eyes shine with pure happiness.

His chest tightens, something deep and unshakable settling in his heart.

He clicks his camera. Capturing you. this moment, this feeling. The shutter sound makes you turn around, still grinning.

“Kook, this place is amazing, isn’t it?”

Jungkook steps forward, silently plucking a small flower from a nearby bush and gently tucking it behind your ear.

You laugh lightly at the gesture until you notice his expression.

He’s just… watching you.

So much love in his eyes, so much depth, like he’s seeing something more than just this moment. The laughter fades. He leans in without a word.

A soft kiss. Slow. So full of emotion that your heart aches. When he pulls away, you whisper against his lips, breathless. "What was that for?”

Jungkook’s gaze holds yours. He smiles, voice barely above a whisper.

“Just like that.”

----

As the sun lowers into the horizon you're back to the beach, golden hues, the waves lapping gently at the shore.

You and Jungkook sit side by side on the sand, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns in it.

His arm rests behind you, his presence warm and comforting. Neither of you speak much, there’s no need to. The silence is peaceful, filled only by the sound of the waves and the distant laughter of kids playing nearby.

Jungkook glances at you, softly smiling. “Feeling better?”

You hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Today was perfect.”

He presses a kiss to your hair. “Good.”

You both sit there, soaking in the moment, something you never want to forget.

Your attention shifts to the group of kids laughing a little ways down the beach.

Something about their pure, carefree joy makes you smile.

You’re standing up, dusting the sand off your dress.

“I’ll be back.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Where are you—”

But you’re already walking toward the kids.

Jungkook stays seated, watching as you crouch down to talk to them, as they giggle, as you laugh with them.

Watching as your eyes shine with excitement, your hair catching the evening light, your smile so full of warmth it makes something deep inside him ache.

His chest feels… tight, full. Happy in a way that words can’t describe.

You fully immerse yourself in the game they’re playing, running around, helping them build something in the sand, laughing like a child yourself.

Jungkook can’t take his eyes off you.

After a while, you lean down, whispering something to one of the kids.

The said kid rushes toward him, stopping right in front of him with big, excited eyes.

“Your wife wants to know if you want to play with us!”

Jungkook blinks. And then chuckles, shaking his head, completely endeared.

“Wife, huh?” he muses, standing up and dusting off his pants.

The boy nods eagerly. “She said you have to say yes.”

Jungkook sighs dramatically. “Of course she did.”

But he’s already walking toward you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Didn’t even spare the kids, huh?” he teases, wrapping an arm around your waist playfully.

You grin up at him. “Nope.”

Jungkook shakes his head, but he’s smiling—smiling so, so much.

For the next hour, the two of you run through the sand, playing, laughing, losing yourselves in the moment.

Jungkook picks up a kid, spins them around, their giggles echoing through the air. You chase another, only to get caught yourself, falling onto the sand in a fit of laughter. And through it all, Jungkook watches you. His heart aching with love, with something deeper, something infinite.

Because this?

This is what happiness feels like.

The walk back to the hotel is quiet, peaceful, your hearts still full from the evening.

As soon as you step inside, you both head to the bathroom, washing off the sand. Jungkook runs a towel through his damp hair, watching as you step out first.

You make your way to the mirror, fingers reaching up to remove your earrings. Jungkook wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Your eyes fall to his hand- the matching ring on his finger. Then to yours. You chuckle softly, turning in his embrace.

"Our fake marriage ends tonight,” you tease, holding up your hand.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker, something unreadable passing through them.

He exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, lifting your hand to his lips. “We still have a few hours left.”

His voice is low, filled with something that makes your breath catch.

He kisses you, like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you feel, the way this moment exists.

Jungkook’s hands trail down your back, feather-light, deliberate.

You feel the slow unzip of your dress. You shudder, anticipation curling in your stomach, making your breath hitch.

His lips stay on yours, teasing, soft, even as his fingers push the fabric off your shoulders. The silk slides down your arms, skimming your skin before pooling at your feet.

Jungkook leans back slightly, his darkened gaze sweeping over you. His tongue flicks over his lips, jaw tightening.

You feel warmth creep up your neck. “Jungkook…”

A small smirk tugs at his lips. “You’re shy?”

“Shut up,” you breathe.

He chuckles, shaking his head, but his hands are already lifting you effortlessly. You gasp softly as he carries you to the bed, his grip firm, steady.

Jungkook lays you down gently, hovering above you, his fingers gliding over your skin. His lips follow, trailing soft kisses from your collarbone, across your chest, moving lower. Jungkook takes his time. His mouth brushes against your skin, reverent.

His hands map every curve, every dip, every part of you that he wants to claim. You writhe beneath him, warmth spreading through your body, your fingers threading through his hair.

He looks up, his gaze locking with yours, something intense flickering in his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice husky, thick with emotion.

Heat coils in your stomach, your heart hammering.

Jungkook smirks softly. “Still shy?”

You bite your lip, refusing to answer, but he just chuckles. Jungkook’s fingers trail down your spine, teasing.

His lips find the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking lightly as his hands slide to your back, unhooking your bra with practiced ease.

The fabric falls away, and his hot mouth lashes onto your breast, tongue swirling, sucking, teasing.

A gasp escapes you, your back arching into him. His hand already trailing lower, over your stomach, between your thighs. His fingers press over your soaked panties, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

Your hips lift slightly, desperate for more. Jungkook smirks against your skin, pushing your panties aside before slipping his fingers through your folds.

His touch is gentle but firm, working you open, drawing soft, breathless moans from your lips.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging. “-kook…” His name falls from your lips, breathy, desperate.

That seems to snap something in him. He pulls his fingers out slowly, making you whimper at the loss. You reach for his t-shirt, tugging at it impatiently.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He pulls it over his head, revealing golden skin, hard muscles, the sculpted lines of his chest.

Your hands immediately roam over his torso, feeling every ridge, every flex beneath your touch.

He kisses you again, claiming. As his lips move against yours, you lower your hand, palming him through his pants. Jungkook groans against your mouth, his hips twitching at your touch. Tugging at his waistband, you push his pants down, and he helps, kicking them off.

Your fingers wrap around his thick, heavy length, stroking slowly. Jungkook shudders, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. His hand moves between your legs again, teasing your entrance, feeling just how ready you are.

You grab him, lining him up at your entrance. Jungkook’s gaze meets yours, dark, burning. Your body stretches, molding to fit him perfectly as he pushes in.

A moan rips from your throat, but Jungkook swallows it, his lips pressing against yours. He moves slow, savoring every second, letting you feel everything.

One hand strokes your cheek, his thumb caressing your lower lip. You part your lips, taking his thumb into your mouth, sucking softly.

Jungkook’s eyes darken instantly, his jaw tightening. His pace quickens, thrusts deep and deliberate, every movement pushing you closer to the edge.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving marks that he welcomes.

“I—I'm close,” you whimper, body trembling beneath him.

Jungkook’s breath is ragged, his forehead pressed to yours. “Hold it,” he rasps, his voice raw.

Your body trembles beneath him, every nerve overwhelmed as Jungkook keeps his slow, deep thrusts steady. His breath is hot against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

Your fingers clutch his back, nails dragging over his skin, and he groans, hips stuttering for a moment. “Jungkook-,” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist.

You whimper, toes curling, mind blurring.

Jungkook leans down, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss, swallowing your moans. His thumb trails between your bodies, finding that sensitive spot, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

You arch into him, body tightening.

“Now,” he breathes, voice low, commanding. “Come with me, baby.”

He thrusts deep, hitting exactly where you need him. Your body shatters, waves of pleasure crashing over you, moans spilling from your lips as you fall apart beneath him.

Jungkook groans deeply, burying his face in your neck as his release follows, hips jerking, his body shaking with the force of it.

He holds you so tight, as if trying to keep this moment frozen in time. Both of you pant heavily, bodies tangled together, skin sticky with sweat.

Jungkook stays inside you, his weight warm, loving.

His arms wrap snugly around your waist, pressing slow, lazy kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, anywhere he can reach.

Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, trailing softly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

Your heart is still racing. After a moment, he lifts his head, his dark eyes finding yours, heavy with something deep, something endless.

You smile, tired but content. “What?”

Jungkook just stares, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers trace soft, absentminded patterns over your skin, the other still intertwined with yours.

He speaks, softer than a whisper, almost like an afterthought, “Do you want to marry me again after this trip?”

A soft, breathless laugh escapes you. “What?”

Jungkook doesn’t waver. His hold tightens slightly, thumb brushing against your knuckles. A little more hesitant, but still so full of love,

“Do you want to marry me, Y/N?”

The weight of his words settles over you overwhelming and all-consuming.

Your lips part slightly, heart stuttering.

But then you realize something.

You stare at him for a moment, and then, to his surprise, a soft chuckle slips past your lips.

Jungkook’s brows furrow slightly, confused.

“Jungkook…” you murmur, biting your lip, eyes twinkling. “Did you really just propose to me in this situation?”

His ears turn red instantly. A soft groan escapes him as he buries his face in your shoulder.

“Just answer,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin.

Your chest tightens filled with warmth, so full of love you can barely contain it.

Cupping his face, you bite back a bigger smile, your voice soft-

“Don’t you already know the answer?”

Jungkook’s breath catches. He murmurs, softer this time.

“I want to hear it.”

You pull him down, your lips brushing against his as you whisper,

“Yes. I’ll marry you again, husband.”

His breath shudders—something raw, something so full of love it nearly breaks you.

He's kissing you.

Slow. Endless.

Like a promise, like a vow, like something unbreakable. His hands tighten around yours, fingers lacing together.

Your matching rings glinting under the dim light.

Blending together.

Like fate. Like love.

Like something that was meant to be all along.

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

[helaintoloki]

Hello and good evening,

I saw you opened requests so I'm dropping by!

What about an infinity stone mishap that has multiple Bucky variants be at the compound at the same time. (Let's just have Winter Soldier be not entirely murderous for the sake of Tony's heart) and literally no one can seem to keep some apart except Steve and reader, who goes off on a rant about all the teeny tiny, to her very obvious details that differ between the Bucky's and accidentally in doing so admits she has a huge crush on him/them??

I hope that made sense omg

And as always, only if it speaks to you and you're up for it! ♡♡

a/n: hi hon, ty for sending this in! i’ll admit this was a bit challenging to tackle but still fun! hope you don’t mind that i changed a few details in the process <3

warnings: light angst, lots of pining, fluff

summary: a multiversal mishap leaves the compound teeming with Bucky variants, and Steve entrusts you with helping him figure out which one is the real deal

“I think I had a nightmare like this once,” Sam shudders as the two of you survey the plethora of Bucky’s taking up space in the compound. A multiversal mishap had led to an overflow of variants into the compound, and now your team found themselves working vigorously to determine which Bucky was your own and which ones needed to be sent back to their proper dimension.

Getting rid of the Winter Soldiers had been the easiest, the red stars on their arms giving away their identities and also giving Tony a heart attack in the process. You could tell apart the Bucky’s with hair that was too long or too short, the one’s that had brown or green eyes instead of blue, and the ones that went by Jane instead of James. The real work, however, came when there was only a handful of variants left that looked identical to your own Bucky.

“We can’t take any chances,” Steve says after having approached you and Sam. “All of these men are going to insist they’re our version of Bucky, and we can’t risk sending back the wrong one. I’m really going to need your help on this, y/n.”

“Why me?” You retort with furrowed brows, nervously peeking your head out of the office to observe the variants that sit restless in the common room.

“Out of everyone here, you and I know Bucky best,” the blond states truthfully. “I think if we work together we have a better shot at cleaning up this whole mess. The sooner the better.”

“You got that right,” Sam scoffs, prompting you to roll your eyes in response.

You couldn’t exactly deny the truth in Steve’s words. Other than Captain America himself, Bucky considered you to be one of his closest friends. Your kindhearted nature made it easy for him to gravitate towards you when first joining the team, and after saving each other’s asses on multiple occasions, he knew you were someone he could entrust with his life. You tore down his walls with ease, you brought out the best in him, and he’d forever be indebted to you for your friendship.

You decide with Steve that the best course of action is to spend one-on-one time with each Bucky you cross paths with to detect any abnormalities in their behavior. The Captain makes it abundantly clear that you cannot let them cloud your judgement with pleasantries, and it’s pertinent you trust your gut with each decision you make. The pressure is on, and you feel the nerves settling in your gut as you approach the Bucky that has made himself at home in the communal kitchen.

“Hey, stranger,” you call gently, a pleasant smile on your face as you seat yourself at the island counter. You note with interest how the man visibly relaxes at your presence and sets aside the pot of tea he’d just finished brewing. His eyes are bright like your Bucky’s, full of adoration and relief when he sets them upon your face.

“Y/n,” he breathes out gently before coming to meet you at the counter, “you have no idea how glad I am to see you, doll.”

“Rough day?” You prompt understandingly.

“Where do I even begin? Being around so many versions of myself is more unsettling than I ever could have imagined.”

“Well, Steve and I are doing our best to fix that,” you assure him. You watch as the man turns back to his pot of tea and begins to pour you both a cup. There’s nothing unusual about this considering your Bucky also enjoys drinking tea; it helps him keep calm and relaxed before retiring for the night.

“How many are left?” He asks before handing you your mug.

“Around ten. Steve and I are making our rounds to figure out which Bucky is ours.”

“Am I your Bucky?” The man prompts with a raised brow while taking a careful drink from his cup.

“You tell me,” you reply with a faint smile, ignoring the way your heart begins to flutter when he refers to himself as ‘your Bucky.’

“I know you have a scar on your stomach from being stabbed by another Widow in the Red Room, and the reason I know that is because I accidentally walked in on you changing in the shower room once,” Bucky admits with a sheepish laugh, prompting your face to heat with embarrassment.

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan while hiding your face in your hands. It’s not exactly comforting to know that Bucky has accidentally seen you naked in at least two different universes, but it also doesn’t make it easier to determine if this man is an imposter.

“I know you like your tea with a tablespoon of honey,” he continues before gesturing to your cup. You hum thoughtfully and set the mug down before meeting his gaze.

“I do, and I know you only like chamomile tea,” you reply, prompting Bucky to stiffen in front of you as you look down at the mug in front of you. “But this is green tea.”

Sighing, the doppelgänger sets his cup down with a defeated frown before meeting your gaze with pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go back.”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be done. We can’t risk the effects that come with having two Bucky’s in one place.”

“Then can I ask you a favor?” The man says solemnly.

“Of course.”

“Before you send me back, can I… is it okay if I hug you?” He asks, catching you by surprise. Noting the confusion on your face, Bucky gives you a dejected smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before explaining, “We don’t talk anymore in my universe. I was an idiot, and you rightfully cut me out of your life. This is the first time in years you’ve looked at me with love and not utter disgust, and I just want to enjoy it a little longer before I have to leave.”

Your heart aches for this poor Bucky who very clearly misses you, or at least his version of you, so you can’t find it in yourself to deny his request. You wordlessly rise from your seat and allow him to wrap his arms around your frame. His hold is tight, his nose brushing against your neck as he savors the feel of your touch, and you feel terrible for the fact that there isn’t anything you can do to help him.

“I’m not sure what happened between the two of you,” you utter quietly while rubbing comforting circles into his back, “but if she’s anything like me, I know she probably misses you but is too stubborn to admit it. Don’t give up on her.”

You release him with a smile and find his eyes shining with tears as he lets your words settle. You bid him a final goodbye before escorting him to Tony and Bruce so that he can be properly transferred back to his own time. That’s only one Bucky down with several more to go, and you know now that you really have your work cut out for you. This is going to be much more difficult than you anticipated.

You stumble upon the next Bucky quietly ruminating in your room, and it takes him a moment to detect your presence as you lean against the doorway and simply observe his mannerisms. You can already tell this isn’t your Bucky by the way he anxiously taps his fingers against his knees; your Bucky’s tell is the anxious bouncing of his leg. This Bucky also wears his hair pulled back into a ponytail, whereas your Bucky prefers to tie his hair back into in a half-up style.

His eyes widen in shock when he finally notices you standing there, and you’re taken aback by the way he nearly flings himself at you. His strong arms wrap around your midsection and lift you off the ground, holding you impossibly tight against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“жена,” he whispers in a trembling voice while combing a hand through your hair.

“I don’t speak Russian…” you voice with an uncomfortable laugh, struggling to take a breath due to how tightly you’re pressed against him. “Buck, you’re kind of suffocating me here.”

The man finally releases you after your admission, but his hands immediately find their way to your cheeks as he cups your face and rests his forehead against your own. You’re startled by the closeness, but there’s no denying the rapid beating of your heart when you stare into his troubled eyes. You’ve had daydreams like this before, but it’s jarring to experience it in person.

“When I arrived here and came across your room I thought it was too good to be true,” he utters shakily, “but you’re here. You’re alive.”

“Bucky, I-“

“You’ve come back to me, жена.”

“жена?” You repeat unsurely. His panicked features melt into a fond smile at the sound of your botched Russian, and he carefully pushes back your hair before gifting you a nod of confirmation.

“Wife.”

Your eyes widen at his proclamation, your heart dropping to your chest while you process the weight of his words and struggle with the turmoil inside of you. You thought dealing with the Bucky from the kitchen was difficult, but this is way out of your playing field.

“Oh god,” you breathe out before carefully removing his hands from your face. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know this is all really confusing, but I’m not…” you start to say, grappling with your guilt at having to crush the man’s hopes of being reunited with his version of you, “I’m not your wife.”

The man’s features become sullen at your confession, brows furrowing in disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean? You aren’t y/n?”

“I am, but I’m just not the same y/n you know. This is a different dimension, and you were sent here by accident.”

“So you’re not… she’s not really alive, then,” he murmurs dejectedly, eyes casting towards the floor in despair.

“No, and I’m so sorry I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you console, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of your touch, something he’d been lacking since your death. You aren’t his wife, but in spite of that, he is grateful to be able to speak to you and see your face once more. “Can I ask what happened to her?”

“Hydra wanted revenge for my desertion and for aiding Captain America in their destruction,” Bucky utters lowly, eyes hardening at the memory. “An eye for an eye. She paid the price for my mistakes, and I’ve spent every waking moment avenging her death.”

A chill runs through your spine as you hear the recounting of your counterpart’s death, but you do your best to remain composed while in the presence of this alternate version Bucky. Your heart aches for the man, and you once again find yourself completely useless at trying to help him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you express solemnly. Despite this, Bucky looks to you with a tender smile before carefully taking your hand in his own.

“Don’t be. I know you’re not her, but seeing you again, hearing your voice- It’s the most precious gift I could ask for. Thank you for giving me some semblance of peace.”

You’re a wreck when this Bucky is returned to his own timeline, and after multiple instances of running into Bucky’s who believe you’re their y/n Steve assures you that he’ll take over moving forward. It seems that each Bucky you speak to cares so fondly for you, they adore you even, and yet in this universe you’ve been designated as a close friend and nothing more. It’s killing you to see all the ‘what if’s,’ because deep inside you know that you’ll never be with your Bucky the way you want to.

You’re not sure when your crush on the super soldier had first developed, but you know that you’ve harbored these romantic feelings for him for quite a while now. You’ve never told anyone, though you can guess Steve was smart enough to figure it out on his own, and you have no urge to act on such feelings in fear of how complicated things will become if he doesn’t reciprocate your emotions.

Your rumination leaves you in deep thought as you sit out on the balcony and enjoy some quiet after all the chaos you’ve endured. You hear the sliding door open and shut behind you, but you make no attempt to see who it is until they seat themselves beside you. You peek at Bucky from the corner of your eyes before returning your gaze to the New York skyline, simply enjoying his presence without making an effort to speak.

“You doing okay?” He asks, effectively breaking the silence between you.

“I didn’t think being around multiple versions of you would be so exhausting,” you confess with a humorless laugh, but it prompts his lips to quirk up slightly into a smile.

“You’re starting to sound like Sam,” he teases with a careful nudge to your side. While you’d normally laugh at his jokes, Bucky doesn’t even get a smile out of you. You feel him shift closer to you and hope he can’t detect the way your heart picks up a beat in response. He nudges you again softer this time and asks, “Talk to me. What’s eating you?”

“Every Bucky variant I met today looked at me like I moved heaven and earth together, like I was their reason for getting up in the morning, and I guess it just reminded me of the fact that my own Bucky doesn’t really look at me that way.”

You pull your knees up to your chest and let your chin fall on top of them with a melancholic sigh. A part of you feels embarrassed to be voicing your disappointment aloud, but you figure there’s no harm in telling a variant since you’ll never have to see them again after today.

“Do you want him to look at you that way?”

“Of course I do,” you avow incredulously like the answer isn’t already obvious. “I love him so much that Steve trusted my judgement enough to have me help him sniff out the doppelgängers. I know how he likes his tea, how he does his hair, what his favorite movie is- the list could go on forever. But of course, I live in the one universe where Bucky and I don’t end up together.”

You feel his hand come to rest on the small of your back and shudder at the feel of his cool metal hand seeping through your sweater. You can’t help but to lean against him so that your head is rested on his shoulder, and you’re able to find some comfort in his presence. You hear him let out a thoughtful hum beside you.

“You want to know something?” Bucky pronounces. He feels your head nod against him and smiles. “I know the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

The confession has you lifting your head to peer up at him questioningly. “You do?”

“Of course I do. We were on a mission, and you picked up Steve’s shield to stop a bullet from hitting me straight on before using it to knock out three bad guys in a row. You looked so strong, so beautiful. My heart was yours from then on.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you confess quietly, stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” he asserts with a fond smile. “Any Bucky would be lucky to have you, and I’m sorry yours has been too chicken to make a move.”

“I guess it’s not totally his fault,” you relent with a meager shrug. “I’m chicken, too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Bucky suggests, tone light and inviting. “I know I’m not the most obvious about it, but I love you too.”

You open your mouth to answer only to be interrupted by the sound of the sliding door again. You turn to see Steve standing there, surprise on his features when he sees you two sitting on the balcony together.

“Y/n, I’ve been looking for you,” he says suddenly. “I wanted to talk to you about the variants-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt him with a passive wave of your hand before gesturing towards Bucky with your head. “I found another one for you. This Bucky just told me he loves me which means he’s definitely not ours.”

“Actually,” Steve says with an amused grin, “I was just coming to tell you we sent the last of them back to their own dimensions.”

“What?” You gape in shock, heart immediately dropping to your stomach as you slowly shift your gaze towards the Bucky sitting next to you. He flashes you a bashful smile and a small wave that fills you with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the blond says with a knowing smile before making his exit, leaving you alone once more with the man you’d just poured your entire heart out to.

“I thought you knew,” Bucky offers apologetically. You take a nervous swallow before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

“So you’re saying that you do love me?” You ask hesitantly, almost afraid that this is all some sort of joke.

“I may not be as romantic or straightforward as the other Bucky’s you met, but I love you just as much as they do if not more,” he professes earnestly, gently resting a hand on your cheek to pull you closer. “I think we make a great team, but we’d make an even better couple.”

“I think so too,” you utter with a giddy smile, waiting with bated breath as Bucky slowly begins to lean in. The anticipation is killing you, but you’re finally rewarded for your patience when his lips meet your own in a tender kiss. Your lashes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, reveling in the moment you’ve dreamed of since discovering your feelings for Bucky.

No matter the timeline and no matter the universe, Bucky is destined to fall in love with his y/n. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[blueivyy99]

Calm and Serenity (Part 3)

Sylus x Non!MC

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

tags: angst, romance, hurt and comfort, confused sylus, non-mc reader (this is it for now)

taglist: @fcknblsht @aboobie @nin10doo @ixloom819 @damatically @sylusgirlie7 @stellisangelicus-world @kira-loves0905 @wanderlustingcastaway @browneyedgirl22 @lumieresdreams

notes: thank you for the love in the last chapter 😭😭😭 I WAS SO OVERWHELMED OMG though I can't reply one by one, i read them all and thoroughly enjoyed and basked in them ❤️ hope you enjoy this.

Series Masterlist

Sweet Evil Trap

Pepper walnut tart, rosemary gelato, pomegranate jelly, red wine marshmallow, and 10.5 grams of soul.

Description:

I'm waiting for you

You're pathetic.

That's what you tell yourself as your hands tremble at Elysium's menu. The one that is always unavailable whenever you go there and rumors say that it was never available at all.

Now you understand why.

After reading everything in Sylus's journal, you started investigating the things that don't make sense to you. You already know that they spent past lives together and their souls are tied with each other. Everything makes sense except this one.

There was no context about Sweet Evil Trap in his notebook but your memory took you back to countless night outs here in Elysium to recall the name of this dessert.

10.5 grams of soul.

You chuckled bitterly. Half of his soul is hers. Always for her. In every goddamn lifetime.

Where were you in this narrative? What piece of him do you have? Certainly not his heart if there are still traces of Miss Hunter in every corner of N109 Zone.

I'm waiting for you.

Yeah right. He's been waiting for years, lifetime even. So what were you doing here? What's your role in this?

A past time?

Someone to warm his bed?

Did he truly love you in the span of your relationship? You tried to keep your tears at bay, but they fell one after the other.

You and Miss Hunter are entirely different. She's fun, bright, and full of sunshine. She can even hold herself in a fight.

You?

You're just you. A jack of all trades. Can do everything but not the best at anything. You can fight, but surely after two or three wanderers you're gone. You're funny at best, but even that you're not that sure because she can make Sylus laugh more than you did.

In short, she's everything you're not. She's everything Sylus wanted and it really really pisses you off because you fucking loved him and yet …

yet …

Even if you gave it your all, he doesn't really see you. He's with you but he's yearning for someone else. And you're so so stupid because you're still staying. You're still hoping that even if she has returned, Sylus will see your worth. That he will change his mind.

That maybe he will choose you.

Maybe he realized you're the one he loved, not her. That maybe, he's willing to defy fate just to be with you.

It was a small hope. But it's there. Because you wanted to hold on for as long as you can. You wanted to love him until it hurts. You want to stay for as long as he doesn't let you go.

And even if you will scold yourself in the future when you remember what you're doing now, you will still try.

You can feel that he sensed that something is off with you; he is perceptive after all. Because after that night, no matter how much you try to hold yourself together, the cracks in your soul still manifest.

If it were before, you're sure that as soon as he woke up you will be all over him taking care of him and making sure that he is well-fed. But after that incident, you just can't seem to stay close to him. Not for now, at least because you're sure that you will just cry and break.

“What's wrong Little fox?" He asked you one night. You tried to avoid him and planned to hide in the guest room and sleep there, but he looked for you and now he's right there looking at your soul.

“Nothing." You avoided eye contact. You can't. It physically hurts whenever you and he meet gazes. It's as if your mind kept replaying all the things you read in his journal.

He reached out for your hand but you flinched and avoided his touch. His hand paused midair because of it. You don't know what he's thinking now. You don't want to know. You're afraid that what you'll see is insincerity.

“Tell me, sweetie. What's wrong? What happened? You're worrying me," he persisted.

"It's nothing, Sylus. I'm gonna head to bed later. You go ahead first and rest." you turned your back at him and pretended to do something.

You wanted to ask him. You wanted to know.

But you're afraid.

Because what if he tells you the truth and leaves you? Can you bear that?

No. Not yet. Never.

So you kept silent. You won't ask questions that you're not ready to face the answers of.

“My sweet little fox, tell me anything and I will listen. I will do anything for you. Just ask." He kissed your temple before leaving.

His words are so sweet but is there really anything behind it? Is there love? Is there anything real with what you two have?

You kept avoiding and hiding from him. He got enough after two weeks. He backed you in a corner, his large frame making it hard for you to escape.

“Something is definitely wrong and I don't know what it is. It's killing me to see you like this, darling. If you're not gonna talk, then let me take your mind off of things. Go out to dinner with me." He held your chin to make you look at him.

You're trying to avoid his gaze. The fear is consuming you at every second that he is staring you down. Your insecurity and jealousy is winning and your mind can't process that this is real and that this is for you.

“Sy—"

“Shhh," he gave you a quick peck to shut you up. “It's not a request. That's an order. Dinner later. I miss my little fox,"

And thus, here you are at Elysium waiting for him with tears in your eyes. You decided to go ahead. You're sure you can't bear the car ride alone with him and even if he won't press you to open up, you can sense that he wants you to.

Your phone blows up. It's surely him inquiring why you went without him. You can't find it in yourself to even read his messages. It's all too much. Everything is too much.

10.5 grams of soul.

Those words kept ringing in your head. Half of his soul. Half that is not yours. You wiped your tears. You need to calm down. He might be here in a few minutes. You need to at least look presentable.

“Sweetie, why did you leave me?" You heard his voice from your back before his lips were on your cheeks already. “I want to spend some time with you during dinner, yes, but also before and after it."

“Sorry," that's all you can say afraid that he might hear the hoarseness of your voice.

He sighed, “Fine, but you're going home with me."

You didn't reply and he took that as a cue to get your orders ready. The food is good but every bite you chew, you can sense his eyes on you.

“I will melt if you keep staring at me,” you commented. He just smirked.

"Let me enjoy the view.”

You just shook your head. You can't form a reply because the fear and insecurity is kicking in again.

The two of you are silent for a while until Sylus's phone rang. You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time tonight.

There's that glint in his eyes again so you immediately knew who it was.

Miss Hunter.

Your suspicions are proven right when he answered the call. “Hello, Miss Hunter, what can I do for you?"

You bit your lip. You were expecting it but damn it hurts. Not even an apology towards you for interrupting your dinner by answering that call.

"What!? Where are you!?”

Your heart breaks every second. There he is again. Choosing her. That's for sure. You know what will happen next. He will leave, say sorry, and run to her side.

"I'm coming, wait for me! Don't you dare move a muscle.” he ended the call in a haste he was getting ready to leave if he didn't see you across the table.

“Darling, I-I need to leave, she needs me. She's in danger. I will make it up to you, I promise. I'm so sorry,”

But no amount of “sorry" can make up for everything that you're feeling now. Of course, he will go to her. He will always run to her.

His 10.5 grams of soul.

You sighed. You have made up your mind. You will free both of you from the burden of this relationship.

You stood, pulled him for a hug. You hugged him as tightly as you can. “Go, Sylus. I'll be fine."

He hugged you back, and oh god how you will miss that warmth. You can feel your breath getting caught in your lungs, but you have to hold back. Until he turns around at least.

“I'll make it up to you, darling. Wait for me okay? I love you. Luke and Kieran will be here in fifteen minutes. Wait for them. Don't go home alone." That's the last thing you heard from him before he stormed out.

You finally let your tears fall.

It's enough. You had enough.

You will leave his life calmly, quietly. You moved and walked away fast hoping Luke and Kieran won't see you on the streets of N109 Zone.

Part 4

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