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jiminrings · 2 months

Text

fail-safe (3)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 14k

glimpse: you hear everything you've ever wanted, but you don't know if it's too late.

alternatively, yoongi is consumingly yours all the time.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ still angst (but u can breathe now bc it’s the finale), brother’s best friend AND single dad au, jealousy, yearning from all angles, did i say angst alr (mom-wise and brother-wise), fluff, redemption ]

notes: this is it for the chronological series of fail-safe :-) from the bottom of my heart thank you so sooooo much for reading n loving!!! sharing fs with the lot of u is an experience (and era) i'll never forget!!!

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Your trip back home isn’t as rough as you expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between coming home alone and coming home with Jungkook. There’s an irreplaceable weight in your chest that still flares even at the mention of Yoongi, the anger you have towards him mixing with the trepidation of holding everything in you, not just him, for another three days. There’s an angry rash around your fingertips just waiting for you to pick on your nails until they’re raw because atleast in that way, you get to forget the way Yoongi’s hand picked up yours in the dark.

There’s an ache in you that not even Yoongi and Hyewon could undo by never having met in the first place. It’s long been there, perhaps even older than Haneul. The ache of unfulfillment in you is bred by everything significant in your life — all from your first argument with your mom because of your lack of direction in life, to your latest heartbreak that keeps manifesting into your first ever.

You're no longer angry recounting the fact that you weren't destined for greatness. Namjoon turned out beyond great, world-renowned even, despite living in the same home that you did. Maybe it's not your environment or your lack of a passion that hindered you — maybe, it's just you alone.

Maybe, some part of you had ached too much from reaching (read: loving) too far up, you're doomed to live the rest of your life unfulfilled. Yoongi's never been yours, but the way your heart withdraws from him is as if he's always been.

You've done your share. You've completed your fill. You've worked yourself to the bone to make anything (not something, and certainly not everything) out of yourself that even if you're not decorated in sports like Namjoon nor celebrated in music like Yoongi, you have a fail-safe to fall back on.

You're earning more than the white collars you could recognize from your old yearbook and even if it's to look after someone, to look after Jungkook and his craft, and neither use your actual degree nor make a name out of yourself — a part of you feels fulfilled.

If being fulfilled meant being in the shadows as a manager; if it meant caring for someone in a professional context yet in a way you've always known with practice, with love, through the years– you'll take it.

You'll take the peace of being fulfilled without a trophy than to be listless trying to compete for first place.

You're fulfilled now to be sitting at the passenger seat of your own car because despite having never been to your place anymore, Jungkook fought with you in order to get his hands on the wheel.

You're fulfilled now, even if you only took Jungkook's silly suggestion (read: insistence) of fake-dating him just so you wouldn't have to face your family and Yoongi alone. You're fulfilled despite having no real place in neither men's lives.

Oddly enough, Jungkook wants to be both. He wants to be fulfilled and compete for first place in a position in your life that he can't even say to your face.

Jungkook holds you right in the middle of the living room, his eyes wide and grin sparkling as if the director had already said action! and the task for him was to act out what being in love looked like, right in front of his female lead's family in her childhood home. (Read: he isn't acting at all.)

“And he’s…?” your mom lets the question hang in the air, eyes trailing from Jungkook’s face, to his bicep, to how his forearm fits snugly against your back and his hand curls around your waist. Your mom visibly looks surprised, although you don’t know if it’s about the fact that you actually came back despite everything, or if it’s because her favorite actor is in her kitchen while she’s sweaty in an apron, or if it’s because said favorite actor leaves no space between the two of you.

“Jeon Jungkook, ma’am. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he greets politely, a little jittery now that he’s face-to-face with her. He’s only heard of the woman she is from you and as much as he tried to picture her from memory, your stories don’t do her much justice. Jungkook’s always loved your kind eyes and your sweet smile, but he knows now where you’ve got it from; in fact, if he turns around right now right after shaking her hand and bowing profusely, you’re showing exactly those to him — that, along with a pair of gazes he can’t place.

Those gazes aren’t kind at all. One is confused and dumbfounded, and the other harbors nothing but hostility and anger.

“Sweetheart, I know you. Who doesn’t?” your mom’s at a loss for breath, mouth still agape as she keeps flickering her eyes between the two of you. She knows that you’re his manager, but what she doesn’t know is why the Jeon Jungkook is in her humble kitchen of all places. He has the most expressive and sincere eyes ever — he can’t possibly mistake your childhood home as a filming set and your waist as a hand rest.

You finally placate her thoughts when you speak, the loaded silence between the three of you (it’s buzzing with tension if you account for the other two) breaking. You actually giggle, your laughter taking the load off her shoulders because you’re happy; you don’t feel an ounce of guilt even if you’re lying to her face.

“We’re dating, mom,” you grin. “Jungkook’s my boyfriend.”

Jungkook smiles automatically, feeling your hand snake towards his own. His palm’s much bigger than yours yet it’s warmer than you’ve ever imagined, the envelope both of your hands make putting you at ease.

Your mom’s gasp bounces across the walls. Namjoon’s head that’s only been lowered the entire time you’ve been back suddenly whips to look at you and Jungkook. The fridge even lowers its hum to make way for the theatrics aimed at you, yet your eyes are fixed on your mom’s and Jungkook’s alone.

You came home for her and with him. You’re not here for anyone nor anything else because it’s merely a play for your survival, only this time, Jungkook’s hellbent on increasing your odds.

Yoongi freezes evidently, hand tightening around Haneul’s bottle as if it would do anything to release the red from his vision. He staggers silently, breathing suddenly ragged as he stares down at the offending steel cylinder. It’s small. Compact. If anything, he figures it would hurt if he were to throw it at anything. Anyone. Someone, even.

“Wow, that’s.. that’s amazing!” she embraces the both of you, making you and Jungkook share a gaze you only laugh through because he actually looks honored.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to let you know personally,” he apologizes meekly for a mistake that isn’t even one in the first place, the humility in his tone making your ears perk. It’s Jungkook onceagain with the apologies towards you that he shouldn’t be making at all, and yet, even in front of your family, he persists.

Jungkook apologizes even for the things he hasn’t done, not because he plans on doing them, but because a large part of him wants to be in the actual situation wherein those mistakes were merely possibilities.

“It’s no problem at all. You’re busy getting all these awards, I know how that’s like,” she jokes, unable to stop smiling. “I’m just glad someone’s taking care of my baby.”

“And I don’t plan on missing a single day, ma’am.”

“Stop that,” she chides, shaking her head eagerly. “You can call me mom.”

Yoongi lets the bottle clatter to the sink.

( ♡ )

Yoongi hadn’t been able to sleep last night.

He’d woken up in a cold sweat hours before his alarm was supposed to go off to cook dinner for everyone, even if it was only yourfavorite. The anxiousness that bubbled in his veins when he was asleep was going to burst and while Yoongi thought nothing of it initially, he realizes in panic that it was actually pointing to something.

He woke up next to Haneul and he was placated momentarily, but the knot tied around his heart tightens twofold when he sees Hyewon on the same bed.

On your bed.

The guilt that filled Yoongi then was enough for the bile to creep up into his throat, making him stagger outside to find Namjoon pacing right outside of his own bedroom. His personal phone’s tucked in between his ear and his shoulder, his hands preoccupied scrolling through whatever it is on his work phone. Yoongi momentarily stops his panic to inquire why the hell Namjoon’s panicking and why did he just see a glimpse of your social media accounts pulled up to the screen, your following list staring your brother in the eyes.

“What? What happened? Is it Y/N?”

Namjoon only looked at him with nothing but pity and guilt, the resentment he had for himself bleeding through the way he shifted his gaze to him.

“She saw you and Hyewon.”

Yoongi hadn’t been able to sleep since.

He didn’t even blink when Hyewon thanked him and said her goodbyes. He wasn’t even fazed when his ex-wife kissed Haneul goodbye and his son only resumed playing with his blocks. Yoongi hadn’t even tended to himself throughout the entire night, surrendering himself to be awake in your couch in the far event that you’d come home.

Yoongi wanted to follow you home, except almost exactly similar to the past, he had chased you out of what’s supposed to be your own home in the first place. The difference now was that he didn’t mean for Hyewon to be on your bed at all, let alone your room, but in the back of Yoongi’s thick skull — he figures that it won’t be enough for you.

Yoongi waits for you all night throughout the morning like a loyal dog waiting for its master, his chest rising up and down in hope yet his chin down in despondence. You do end up coming back home though, but your presence is neither unaccompanied nor for him.

With you is Jeon Jungkook, your boyfriend.

If only Haneul hadn’t asked for his bottle to be brought upstairs because he’s watching cartoons on Yoongi’s laptop, he would’ve collapsed on the floor then and there, uncaring of the way everyone else would be looking down on him.

If only Namjoon’s gaze wasn’t flitting to him to gauge his reaction because it’s the first time he’s, or by everyone else rather, hearing that you have a boyfriend, Yoongi would put his hands on his head and curse until his piercing migraine suddenly disappears.

If only your mother wasn’t here, frozen in the kitchen mostly because of what you just revealed and who you came home with, and partly because she’s waiting for him to finish washing Haneul’s bottle, he would’ve thrown up right in the sink.

Yoongi gathers all his pain and keeps it shut within himself until he gets you alone, catching you by the staircase when everyone else has dispersed.

“I’m sorry. Namjoon told me what you saw and-…” he stops himself when you look up at him with an innocent yet empty gaze, the weight of it (or lack thereof) startling him. “Let me explain why Hyewon was there in your bed.”

“I don’t want to listen,” you enunciate clearly, keeping your voice down because both Jungkook and Haneul are a few steps away. You do it for their sake and not for Yoongi’s, the bitterness in your chest physically restricting you to think about his state.

Yoongi pushes on, breath already catching in his throat when you’re still stiff as a stone. You haven’t even made a break for it yet; he only unconsciously held onto you out of fear that you’ll be out of his sight. “She was in the area because her parents are old and they don’t know much about selling their house here a-and well, she knows that I did the same for my parents when they sold ours. Nothing happened. I just helped her with the sale! S-she was playing with Haneul in the living room while I napped a-and, I just… when I woke up, they were right next to me. Y/N, I swear, nothing-…”

You shake your head fervently, the innocence of his reason doing little to break the seal in your stomach. You feel it dropping once again and even if Yoongi’s right, even if he’s saying the truth, the sight alone of him appearing to be a part of a happy family jogs up all the pain.

“I don’t want to listen and you don’t have to explain either.”

“But I hurt you. That’s why I want to explain,” he stutters. Yoongi’s eyes are so glassy, you could see your reflection in them.

“Oh. So you know,” you whisper, teeth harshly digging into your bottom lip. “I hate Hyewon for a lot of things but not for being the mother of your child. That’s out of my reach. I get it. She’s his mom and that’s that,” you admit, the vacancy in your chest and on your ring finger reminding you what Yoongi had never given you the chance for. “What I hate is that you let her sleep in my room. Seeing Haneul in there is good. You and him? That’s okay because I let you sleep in there,” you heave, voice close to breaking because of how you force it to be tamped down. “I hate how you let her sleep in my room, Yoongi. I-I, I fucking hate it because it’s just like that time I caught you practically fucking her in my room.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-…” Yoongi sniffles, tears already pouring. The staircase in your house is far too narrow to hold the both of you, let alone your history. “I didn’t think. I didn’t notice, a-and, I didn’t think. I didn’t think at all, Y/N. I thought it was okay for a split second because we looked like-…”

“A family,” you finish for him. “I get it. I do,” you nod your head fervently, your own hand snaking to your lips to stop the sharp inhale that pains you from the inside. “Almost everyone loses their sense of reason when it comes to family.”

“I didn’t notice she already entered the room. But I-I woke up,” Yoongi still swears up and down, adamant on his truth that you aren’t open to entertaining because he’s hurt you far too many times before. “Hyewon and I… we’re not. We’re co-parenting.”

“Still a family.”

“But-…”

“What the hell do you want to hear from me, Yoongi?” you snap, voice finally toning down when you notice faint footsteps coming from the second floor. “Do you— do you want me to agree with you and say that the three of you aren’t a family? And for what, s-so that could somehow excuse you for everything you’ve done? I don’t even know what family’s supposed to mean at this point!”

From upstairs, Namjoon suppresses a sob.

“My mom doesn’t know a single thing about all of this. I-I can’t even cry to her because I’m thinking of you. I’m thinking of protecting you, your son that she looks to as a grandson, a-and even your mom who’s her best friend,” you break into tears, ignoring the baby towel that Yoongi keeps on his person all the time that he offers to you. You sound far too defeated, and maybe you actually are, that Yoongi lets you push past him. “Meanwhile, my own brother probably knows everything but his first instinct is to protect you. Not me, his actual sibling. You.”

Namjoon had been waiting for you upstairs. He’s been barricading the door to the bathroom because he knows you can’t go to bed without your nightly shower, and because he knows that out of every space in the house, it must be the only one left wherein you can be truly alone with no hint of Yoongi.

“We have to talk,” he gets out as soon as you make eye contact with him, the towel that’s slung on your shoulder almost falling at the urgency to which he pulls you aside.

“It can wait.”

“I need to apologize,” he pleads once again, gripping your wrist gently like he had always done when you were kids to get you to listen to him.

“And I said it can wait. I can’t stand you right now,” you grit, the tears on your cheeks barely being dried up when Namjoon, unsurprisingly, decides to apologize to you within the same timeframe as Yoongi. They hadn’t planned it at all — the guilt and remorse weighed far too heavy for them to actually communicate.

“Where will you sleep?” he asks instead, exhaling heavily because you’re insistent on not crying again in barely your first night back, again. “Where will Jungkook sleep?”

“We’ll sleep together in a hotel.”

“Hotel?” Namjoon asks loudly, eyes bulging in shock. His voice is far too loud that everyone in the house (and maybe even your neighbors) must have heard him. “That’s nonsense. This is home, Y/N. You don’t have to book a hotel.”

“It is?” you seethe, your closed fists tightening on themselves painfully. “Did you also say the same thing to Hyewon? To Yoongi in the first place?”

“It’s my fault for-…”

You’re unaware that you and Namjoon are neck to neck until your mom chimes in out of nowhere, her gentle eyes asking more questions than she’s actually uttering. “What’s going on?” she switches her gaze between you and him. “Are the two of you fighting?”

“No,” you answer in unison, unable to fit a relieved sigh in between the terse silence.

“It’s nothing, mom,” Namjoon puts a hand on your shoulder, his smile tight and tense. “I was just telling Y/N that she doesn’t have to book a hotel.”

“Why would you book a hotel?” she gasps incredulously, her tone being the exact copy of Namjoon’s just a second ago.

“It’s just crowded in here, mom. That’s all,” you muster a sheepish smile, your posture slouching the more you realize that there’s no way out.

“I can ask Yoongi and Haneul to transfer to Namjoon’s so you can-..”

“No-!” you interrupt her in a hurry, breath hitching at the mention of him. “No, no. That’s unnecessary. I don’t want to sleep in my room.”

There’s a loaded pause between all of you, even between the door that Yoongi has his back on as he listens in.

“You and Jungkook can take my room instead,” Namjoon insists, his offer only barely scratching the surface of the apology that you truly deserve.

“Great. Thanks,” you conclude, already halfway into the bathroom when the sudden thought strikes you, your curiosity (and limit, by extension) getting the best of you to ask Namjoon while your mom’s still here. “How… how much longer are they gonna stay here?”

“I… haven’t asked yet,” Namjoon admits, the animosity you have towards Yoongi not going unnoticed by your mother.

“You need to ask then,” you quip. “This house is too small to have everyone and anyone.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook woke up in peace from sleeping in a bed that isn’t his.

Even before you actually got to shower (and not just sit on the toilet seat whilst trying to compose yourself) since you forgot to retrieve your clothes from your suitcase, Jungkook was already starfished in the middle of Namjoon’s bed. It’s a touching sight atop your own blanket and bug spray that your brother put in for you.

The two of you are far from okay. As a matter of fact, the only people you’re truly okay with in the house is your mom and Haneul; despite knowing that fully, Jungkook still dived in head-first in the middle of your situation. You’ve tried to dissuade him all throughout the five-hour long car ride, and not once did he even budge.

He’s here for you and no one else. He’s snoring in the middle of your sibling’s bed whom you aren’t in good terms with. He’s at ease with you in a province that he’s never stepped foot in, all because he felt compelled to protect you somehow and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Jungkook cares for you, enough to write a note and place it beside him just before he went to sleep, telling you that he’s a messy sleeper and to either jolt him awake to move or just manhandle him to the side so you could also sleep on the bed.

You go for the latter, trying to pry him as gently as you could (but even if you just hauled him like a sack of potatoes, he still wouldn’t wake up because he’s at ease too much; it’s you, of course) before finally calling it a night.

You may have lied awake mulling over the perpetual ache in your chest, but you didn’t cry at all.

Eventually, you fall asleep to the sound of Jungkook snoring.

Jungkook may have slept earlier than you, but he makes sure that you stay in late. (read: he physically tucked you into bed so snugly, you probably can’t even shift your shoulders by a centimeter). He wants to pull his weight around a house he hasn’t even been in, even if you hadn’t asked him to — you’d never do, because even as a manager and not as a fake-girlfriend, you don’t let him lift a single finger. Simply put, Jungkook feels this massive pull, not to perform for you, but serve you.

He finds himself quietly going down the stairs, still in his socks because you had stolen his house slippers just last night and he doesn’t have the heart to ask you to give them back. He’s quickly figured out the kitchen, getting a soup started before he allows himself to sit on the dining table by himself.

It turns out that Jungkook’s not alone at all.

“Hi.”

His ears perk at the soft voice that comes from the side of him, eyes immediately setting on the toddler who’s still dressed in his pajamas and has a similar case of bedhead to him.

“Hey buddy. Nice bangs,” Jungkook chuckles invitingly, pulling out a chair for Haneul to which he gets up on easily by himself.

“My appa cut them for me,” he answers with a smile, shyly pointing to Jungkook’s forehead with an eager finger. “You have bangs too. Who cut yours?”

“My girlfriend. I think she can be a hairstylist one day,” he hums, not feeling guilty over lying to him when it’s only a half, easily-corrected lie. You may not be Jungkook’s actual, real girlfriend, but you did cut his bangs when he asked you to. He couldn’t be bothered going to the salon and you didn’t have the energy to argue with him otherwise, so that’s how he ended up with choppy, viral (it only became viral because he has them) bangs that gained him a few dozen articles or so.

Jungkook doesn’t have kids of his own, but what he does have are several nephews and nieces. He’s the youngest of four children, and that’s perhaps the reason why he could empathize with you. He’s never been through what you have, and although you would never wish for him to do so, a part of him wants to know what it’s like — not because he seeks the pain, but because he wants to know how he could empathize with you better

With Jungkook being Jungkook, it’s perhaps the reason why he’s one of the gifted few people who could strike up a sensible conversation with a toddler and make them laugh without doing anything at all.

Something about Jungkook makes Haneul laugh so loudly, he wakes up almost everyone in the house in peace. Even Jungkook’s attempt at lame jokes tickle Haneul more than the way Namjoon’s ever tried in earnest to make him laugh.

You’ve already slinked past the two of them on the dining table, tending to the soup and the few hundred side dishes Jungkook started on but paused just to talk to Haneul.

“Haneul, don’t believe your uncle-…” you chime over a playful dig that Jungkook makes in your expense, the giggles that had only been filling your ears just seconds ago instantly ceasing when you notice Yoongi standing near you.

“Uncle?” he raises his brow at you, turning his attention to his son. “Haneul, what did I say about talking to strangers?”

“But he’s not a stranger. I saw him in that movie!” he frowns, the immediate awe that slips out of Jungkook’s lips not helping his case in the slightest.

“Still a stranger,” Yoongi smiles tightly, his exhale dragging out as he mulls over the eerily domestic sight of the three of you.

“But he’s Uncle Kook,” Haneul reasons with him, pointing his finger at you. “He’s auntie’s boyfriend.”

Yoongi’s softened a little bit since breakfast.

He was never mad at Haneul in the first place (more like halfhearted because he still stands by his lesson of not teaching him to talk to strangers, even if they’re a worldwide-famous actor, but those are not his words at all) but what he is annoyed about is the scene that he walked into.

It looked far too natural for you to look like Haneul’s mom and for Jungkook to look like him, maybe even better as a dad despite not having children at all, that he thought he was seeing red.

Haneul’s lying on his shoulder as they rewatch Bluey for the second time in the living room, the shadow of your alleged boyfriend walking past him until he registers the accent, later doing a quick turnaround that makes Yoongi ultimately irritated and Haneul more than happy.

“Oh cool. I love Bluey!” Jungkook says sincerely, inviting himself to sit on the lone sofa chair to watch the episode.

“Wow, you’re just so… quirky,” Yoongi mutters under his breath with a roll of his eyes, his snarky remark making Jungkook’s ears tingle. The latter scoffs slyly, making him finally acknowledge Jungkook, albeit sarcastically. “So what do you do, Jungkook?”

Even before he could answer though, Haneul does it for him with an excitement that only comes out whenever he’s talking about his favorites.

“We watched his movies in the cinema, appa! Remember?”

“Did we?” Yoongi narrows his eyes, playing his huff into a cough. He repurposes the tinge of embarrassment that he feels into snark, running a hand through his hair cockily. “I’d for sure remember an actor if they were good.”

( ♡ )

“Where’s your brother? I need him to do the heavy lifting.”

Your mom asks you with an urgency that parents only past the age of forty could possess, her lips already parted awaiting your response towards a question she asked just two seconds ago.

Even if you weren’t engrossed on an episode of Bluey (Jungkook and Haneul put you into it and you get their laser focus now) just now, you still wouldn’t know about your brother’s whereabouts. Yoongi saves you this time, his response piquing both yours and Jungkook’s interest.

“He’s in practice. Joon took Haneul with him so he could learn too.”

Jungkook looks up from his phone sharply, eyes wide in eagerness. He and Yoongi haven’t even looked at each other since yesterday yet their coordination (read: competitiveness) syncs with the other at the exact second, their insistence on tagging along a menial task making you jolt.

“I’ll come with, mom!”

“I’ll come with, auntie.”

It’s not a competition, yet Jungkook jumps up to stand so quickly, his head almost brushed the ceiling. “Let’s go, babe,” he holds out a hand for you, making you clear your throat as you’re still trying to gauge the situation.

“But what about Yoongi? Poor thing, he’ll be left alone,” your mom awes, her pout only deepening when Yoongi pretends to look crestfallen at being overlooked. He doesn’t have to pretend that much because despite not being the biggest fan of grocery-shopping, especially in your area because it always smelled of eggs despite barely carrying any eggs, he’ll jump at any task to impress your mom, and you by extension.

“I don’t think you should worry-…” you start, already being interrupted in an instant.

“Oh come on, Y/N. Two pairs of hands are better than one! They really have to do some heavy lifting because I forget to tell you about that one time your aunts hounded me for-…” she trails off while telling you a story about your supposedly huge extended family, blissfully unaware that there’s two men fighting to open the door for the both of you.

Yoongi’s driving his car as the most spacious option, making Jungkook snicker under his breath as he blames himself for not bringing his SUV which is clearly more expensive than whatever Yoongi’s driving, even if you elbow him lightly by the ribs because you didn’t ask him to do that.

“Mom, what are you doing here? Go sit in the front,” you nudge her, unwilling to sit next to Yoongi in an enclosed space.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I was just used to you always taking shotgun whenever Yoongi’s driving,” she squeals, fondly clapping to herself as she revisits the memory. “Do you remember that, sweetheart? You’d always fight with Namjoon because Yoongi got his license first.”

It may only be your mom who’s leaning against the center console to look at you in the back, but it doesn’t mean that Yoongi’s ever taken off his attention from you.

“I remember,” Yoongi smiles, looking at you from the rearview mirror. “I never forget.”

The grocery store hasn’t changed one bit.

It still smelled of eggs, the lights still aren’t as bright as they should be, and there’s still trinkets that you’ve always been swayed by being displayed near the register.

You’re taking it all in after not having been back for five years, whereas Yoongi strolls right in, but never ahead of you, as if he’s visited multiple times already since he left your town.

Your mom and Jungkook are side by side as he asks her a question you can’t even discern, only getting to know his actual agenda when you hear his sneakers skidding against the floor as he runs towards the pushcarts.

Yoongi, without even knowing the full context, runs after him because he didn’t want to come in second place for whatever it is that Jungkook’s challenging him to.

“I’ll steer the cart,” Jungkook presents definitively, his hand raised mid-air as if he’s being graded for eagerness alone. He looks like he wants to prove himself even if it’s only you and your mom present; no director, no producer in sight who sizes him up.

“No. I’ll do it,” Yoongi argues out of nowhere, his bruised hands reclaiming the cart under Jungkook’s grasp. He’s not even looking at your mom because his gaze is only fixed on Jungkook who’s just two tugs away from actually spitting at him.

“I said it first,” your pretend-boyfriend forcefully pulls the hunk of metal away from Yoongi, the latter coming along with it for the briefest of seconds before he does the same, this time with Jungkook gasping.

“What, are you method-acting for your next role as a cart-steerer?”

Your mom’s a little perplexed at the scene before her, lips parting in both concern and amusement because for a pair of people who haven’t met each other before, Yoongi and Jungkook are oddly competitive. They want to provesomething, anything, and maybe everything so bad, they neglect the fact that they look ridiculous fighting over a pushcart.

“We actually need two,“ she says to no one in particular, thinking out loud as she goes through her grocery list. “I think maybe even three because-…”

“I’ll get it,” Jungkook rushes out in panic, almost bumping into you in the process. You were only gone for a minute to retrieve your phone from the car and yet he already looks breathless, the knot between his eyebrows untangling when he realizes that it’s you. “Oh. Sorry, babe.”

“I’ll get it, Koo,” you murmur, catching the tail end of what your mom said about the pushcarts. Jungkook’s cheeks are tainted pink in frustration and you can’t help but to be concerned, the back of your hand already flitting against his forehead before you know it. “Are you okay? Sorry, the AC in here is not like the AC in the city.”

“Huh, what? Oh no, it’s okay. I just got into this heated cart argument,” he waves you off, eyes rapidly moving between you, your mom, and Yoongi who’s mirroring his exact actions, except for the glaring hint of annoyance with the way he’s standing so close to you.

“Cart argument? What’s-…”

“We need meat.”

You barely even have a chance to digest what Jungkook’s saying to you before you see him glitch right in front of you in a hurry, the only words to register clearly in your mind being your mom’s. She’s absent-mindedly talking herself through her grocery list (as she always does) and yet the two men right next to her hang onto her every word, the speed they take off on giving you no clue to why they’re acting as such.

“I’ll get it, auntie!” Yoongi gets out even before the wheels of his cart could cooperate, momentarily tripping over himself. Jungkook sputters at that, the laughter that builds in his throat being interrupted because he realizes that the other guy is ahead of him and he simply cannot bear that.

“Beef. We need beef, right, mom? How many kilos. Like… ten? Okay. I’ll get it!” Jungkook dashes even if he’s never been in this grocery store before; even if your mom hasn’t said a single word to either of them.

You’re left dumbfounded in the middle of the store, your gaze unable to locate the distinct sounds of both of their sneakers skidding against the floor.

“I didn’t even say anything,” your mom mutters in confusion, eyes flitting to you with a wonder you can’t place because even if the both of you are lost, she seems to have a better idea than you do. “Are they… competing over you, sweetie?”

“Competing? Me? Why would you even say that, mom?” you huff, leaning against the cart as you snatch her list to get the things she’s actually looking for.

“I don’t know,” she lulls, shrugging carelessly before nudging you. “Jungkook’s your boyfriend and well, I assume Yoongi’s always wanted to be in his position.”

“How did you even come to that conclusion?”

“Small town. Few people. Cute girl, cute guy,” she places, the end of her hypothesis being accompanied by a chuckle. When she says it like that, it sounds far too easy — it sounds far too seamless, you almost wish it was exactly that. “I didn’t even take the news that Yoongi was going abroad seriously because I thought it was a joke. I thought he could never move on from here or Namjoon,” your mom pouts, tilting her head when you freeze. “Much more, he could never move on from you.”

“He did,” you answer through gritted teeth, the grip you have on her list making the paper crumple underneath your hold.

Your mom doesn’t know everything. In fact, you don’t even know if she knows anything at all. You don’t despise her for her lack of involvement because you want to keep her from the chaos of your burdens, and you’ve always wanted to keep it that way.

But the way she speaks now, so full of conviction and faith, you find yourself despising it. She speaks as surely as the way Yoongi speeds past the both of you, weaving through aisles to get items she didn’t ask for, competing for and against a higher power (read: you) that Jungkook himself seeks.

She says it so surely, it’s as if she knows about every waking thought that Yoongi’s ever had in your absence.

“It doesn’t look like he did.”

You ponder over your mom’s adoration for Yoongi, most of which you can’t decipher if it’s misplaced or not. You know he’ll always have a special place in her heart and in her home because she’s known him even before he was born because she’s best friends with Mrs. Min.

Yoongi has a place in your life, no matter if it’s in your own or in the lives of the people you love. He probably has a modern penthouse in Namjoon’s life, the decoration in it improving over time. On the other hand, Yoongi probably occupies an ancestral cabin in your mom’s life that’s been well-maintained for longer than he’s ever been alive, the decor in it being handmade and resilient through the years.

In your life, however, you can’t tell how and if Yoongi occupies it in the first place. For the longest time, his place in your life had come in the form of a mansion that not even a single architect nor engineer could ever think of. For a moment too, Yoongi’s place in your heart came in the form of a little house on a vast farm overlooking the mountains and the sea. Throughout all the houses that Yoongi’s shape-shifted to in your life, you doubt now if he could ever turn into them again.

When you think of Yoongi, all you see is your room.

When you see Yoongi, all you could remember is your childhood house and its shortcomings in your life, especially when you needed to come home to it— to him, the most.

“I’ll pay, mom,” Jungkook snaps you out of your reverie, his whine making your ears ring.

“What? No, Jungkook. This is all too much,” you refuse vehemently, trying to fight him from extending his black card any further.

“It’s not. This is for your family anyway. I, I might have even grabbed extra portions for myself because mom said she’ll repeat tomorrow what she did for lunch today,” he grins, momentarily losing himself to the sight of you that he doesn’t even notice he’s in the process of being one-upped by Yoongi.

“Jungkook, baby, I’ll feel-…”

“I paid for it, auntie,” Yoongi announces, making your lips part and Jungkook’s jaw drop.

“You shouldn’t have, Yoongi,” you scold him softly, a whine already building at the back of your throat but he waves you off easily. Your mom’s thanking him profusely in the background, and while Yoongi’s pleased with the attention, his gaze remains on you.

“But I wanted to,” he insists, pursing his lips. “I should.”

“You’re not family,” is what you want to say.

“But I want to be,” is what he wants to scream.

Wordlessly, Yoongi puts a plastic toy ring he bought from the register into your bag. It’s pink and it’s star-shaped, its mold still the same from all those years ago.

You barrel into your mom’s room just to see Namjoon.

You bit at the chance of giving him the stuff he’s asked for from the grocery as per your mom, taking advantage of her focus on organizing the groceries downstairs to have a one-on-one with your brother.

“You have to make Yoongi drive into the city tonight. Either that or he flies to the US. The reunion is already tomorrow,” you seethe, crossing your arms as he sighs in defeat.

“It’s already late. Yoongi’s driving with Haneul, a kid, alone,” he emphasizes, running a hand through his hair as he himself is troubled by you being in a bind over everything. “And he can’t book a flight back on such short notice.”

“Short notice? What, did he just happen to book a one-way flight and not a round trip one?” you snort in amusement, shaking your head in disbelief. The thought actually cracks you up because out of the three of you, Yoongi happened to be the one more adept to websites despite your limited materials back then. Namjoon remains silent, and with how serious he looks, your face falls.

You can’t believe Yoongi at all.

“He did? You’ve gotta be kidding me, Joon,” you groan, throwing your head back. “What, does that mean Yoongi gets to stay in our home while we’re in this godforsaken family reunion?”

Namjoon delivers yet another blow, his revelation making you more enraged than the last.

“Mom invited them.”

“What? Why?!” you exclaim, chest rising in frustration. “Yoongi’s not family, Namjoon. Atleast not for me.”

He doesn’t miss your added remark at the end of your sentence, the underhandedness of it making him look down on the floor.

Namjoon feels guilty, he really does, but he can’t seem to make it right. He couldn’t even fight you in insisting to apologize that night.

For each day that you try to delay the inevitable of confronting him and letting him taking the fall, of letting him apologize, Namjoon feels more like a big failure for an older brother than he already is.

“But he used to be,” he says under his breath, looking up at you with a stubbornness you can’t place. “Your lifetime versus those five years — which one amounts to more?”

( ♡ )

Everyone gushes over Jungkook.

In an altitude higher than the mountainside that you’re in now, the aunts, uncles, and cousins you didn’t even know you have squeal over your fake boyfriend. By the fifth relative, you’ve already got your routine down of letting them hug you and kiss your cheek before holding Jungkook’s bicep, acting as his bodyguard to make sure they don’t squeeze him too hard or not at all.

“Oh my god, Y/N. Jeon Jungkook is your boyfriend?!”

“I knew it, I knew you were gonna have a partner who’s famous! I dreamed about it when you were-…”

“If that’s your boyfriend, then who’s he?” your cousin (?) whispers to you, cutting himself off as he turns his gaze to Yoongi and Haneul. They’re most certainly not your family, meaning that they’re unrelated to everyone present, so what your relatives (some more nosy than others) can’t wrap their heads around is the fact that there are strangers in your family reunion.

It takes one, two times for your mom and Namjoon to explain who they are and what they’re doing here in the first place, the chorus of nods eventually signaling that they’ve moved on. Some of them could even recall Mr. and Mrs. Min from the neighborhood, and Yoongi could only nod.

It’s not that he doesn’t belong right now — he actually feels the opposite. Yoongi feels that he has a place amongst a barrage of relatives he’s not affiliated to by neither blood nor paper, and it pains him; not because he’s scared of belonging, but because you probably don’t think the same way.

Haneul runs to him underneath the umbrella he’s isolated himself at, his son grasping an assortment of cash, food, and juiceboxes Yoongi most certainly did not pack in Haneul’s backpack from the night before.

“Auntie’s family is really nice, appa. Look what they gave me,” he shows everything that his hands could carry, breathing heavily in excitement as he explains that your relatives told him to come back once his hands are empty.

“Oh dear. They really think you’re adorable,” he laughs, pocketing Haneul’s cash (he swears he’ll give it back) and hiding some of the snacks he’s been given so he wouldn’t give himself heartburn eating too many at once.

Yoongi’s smiling from ear to ear, sitting Haneul in his lap as he overlooks the view of your town from above. Everything looks so small and delicate, you’d almost think none of what laid downhill ever even mattered. He didn’t get views like these in New York.

Yoongi didn’t get people like you in New York.

“Mama’s family isn’t this nice,” Haneul speaks out of nowhere, his thoughts uttered out loud directed more-on to himself than it is for his dad. Yoongi stops in his tracks in trepidation, shoulders tensing over what his son just said. “They never play with me like this. Not like auntie.”

He knows Hyewon’s relatives, albeit not that well. Her family members in the US were not this kind, not this warm, even to a child who’s actually related to them.

Yoongi’s stuck in his thoughts the whole time Haneul sips on his juice, finally being snapped into his reality nowwhen you approach their direction. His son waves at you excitedly even if you’ve just crossed paths minutes ago.

“Here, Haneul,” you hold out a container to him, the gentle smile on your face limited to only him yet Yoongi, for a lack of grace, pretends it’s also for him. “I tried my best to make it look like Bluey,” you chuckle, pointing to the mini sculpture made out of the marshmallows and blueberries that your relatives set aside for him.

Haneul beams at you, thanking you profusely. If only he wasn’t sat on Yoongi’s lap and therefore grounded, he would’ve launched himself at you to hug your legs.

Yoongi takes the hat right off his head, putting it on you while you’re crouched next to his son.

“It’s hot,” he explains, his heart continuously speaking beats the longer that you linger beside Haneul and the longer that he giggles in excitement. “I know you get headaches easily.”

( ♡ )

Despite being reachable, Yoongi still yearns for you.

He yearns for you even if you’re only within arm’s reach, sitting near you but never close enough at the long table because with you, he feels safe. He laughs in the background like it’s a sitcom to every joke and every episode of banter thrown around him. He doesn’t feel out of place with your family — he feels out of place with you.

He’s never been a wickedly jealous type. Even when he and Hyewon were still together and she cheated on him, Yoongi felt more resentful than he was jealous. He didn’t feel this type of way; he didn’t feel inferior. He didn’t feel like he was nursing a loss in his life because he has no choice but to. Yoongi had managed to divorce Hyewon because it didn’t work out between them, and that was that.

Yoongi can neither divorce you nor pull away from you because you’ve never been with each other. He harbors no resentment for you and that scares him, not because he wants to hate you so badly, but because he feels as if everything you’ll do to him, he’ll take it.

Yoongi will take it even if you set a plate for Jungkook despite unconsciously forgetting what he’s always disliked eating when you were still kids. He’ll take the serving tray from your hands still, uncaring if eating the tiniest bite of the food you’ve passed gives him an allergic reaction because you were the one who offered.

He’ll take it even if you hold Jungkook’s bicep in a hurry when there’s a bug that’s getting awfully close to your drink. Yoongi would walk to where you sit and dispose of it wordlessly because even Jungkook himself is scared of bugs. He doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him, because atleast now when he looks at you from a distance, you’re sitting in relaxation and you no longer have to hold your boyfriend.

He’ll endure the jealousy that burns through his throat more than the poorly-made, highly-alcoholic vodka your uncle made himself. He’ll hold onto the poison that is yearning and how he’ll feel like his throat would close up because if you were still young, in this setting of free rein, except you were still in love him like you used to be and he’s in love with you like he is now, neither you and Yoongi would be hurting.

Yoongi will take it. He’ll take the nothing that you give him and give you the everything that you don’t ask for anymore.

Five years versus the rest of your lifetime that you spent being in love with him is only miniscule. The suffering that he’s going through now is only a speck of the years you’ve spent in an unrequited love.

Unlike you, Yoongi’s weak. If he were to say it outloud to you, you’ll never agree because you’ve never regarded yourself otherwise. You’ll go on this tangent that you’ve always been weak, influenced by the times that Yoongi had chastised you for your lack of a passion.

To you, Yoongi had been right in a way.

To Yoongi, he’s always been in the wrong.

He’s crying to you now that the both of you are alone, overlooking the small town he used to be keen on getting out of. Now, more than ever, Yoongi wants to stay in it. He wants to stay with you.

“Why is everything with you so hard?” Yoongi whispers, his tears stinging badly from the corner of his eyes to the point that he can only make out shapes. He’s unkempt and frantic as if his life flashed before his eyes and there’s nothing he could do about it, voice strained like much of the times he’s drank himself to sleep.

He resembles Haneul at the moment. He’s always had because there’s not one bit of Hyewon in his son’s features or personality, but he looks especially like him now that he’s crying. The back of his hands harshly dig into his face, sobs bursting right from his throat. “Why do I make everything so hard for us? Why can’t I— w-why can’t I make it right for once?”

There’s a tremble to your chest that you ignore earnestly, the presence of it enough to scare you because it’s familiar; too familiar. Seeing your past play out in front of you in the form of a seemingly content family sleeping on your bed is one thing, but it’s another to see its patriarch crumble in front of you. It’s different to see your past pleading in front of you for just the slightest bit of your attention.

As a matter of fact, it’s different now because you resemble Yoongi the most.

“You never tried,” you seethe, jumping the gun before you even try to decipher what’s in the barrel. It’s a bullet you fire haphazardly that comes from your pocket that you’ve always held onto. It’s a misplaced, misshapen, old bullet that you force into a gun that Yoongi passed onto you.

Right now, Yoongi doesn’t resemble Haneul, and neither does he resemble his ex-wife.

He resembles you with the way his eyes are clearly swimming in hurt while you avoid looking at his, just to relieve the painstaking feeling of guilt and longing compacted into a sob.

“I never tried?” Yoongi exhales shakily, his quivering hands running through his hair to tug on them.“I never tried?”

You hear yourself clearly even if it’s his voice. The tremble and the anger, even all the way to the blind hope.

“I kept trying to reach out to you every single time. Every single birthday, every single Christmas, every insignificant holiday I could search up!” Yoongi cries — he actually thrashes with the way he sobs, shoulders shaking violently. “I didn’t try? If I didn’t try, try looking at every page of my passport to see all the stamps there are whenever fucking Jungkook was reported to be in another country,” he spits his name like poison, the vitriol behind it, however, never catching up to what he feels about himself.

You resemble Yoongi the most because you stand untethered, eyes blurring and lips quivering, yet you only watch him lose himself before thinking of uttering a single word.

“I’m selfish, I’m an asshole, and I’m fucking insufferable. I can’t even apologize to you correctly,” Yoongi lists, chest rising up and down too heavily, he feels like it’ll give out. “But I love you, Y/N. I-I might be every bad thing in your life right now and I own up to that. I’m still trying to be the best for you.”

Not only does Yoongi resemble you — he’s actually become you.

“You can call me the vilest names ever but you can’t say that,” he grits, teeth chattering not from the cold he’s put himself in, but because he can’t stop mentioning your name in between. “You can’t say I never tried because I always have. I’ll never stop becausethat’s what it takes,” Yoongi mutters; because, he says, not if.

“I love you,” he says it far too clearly for someone who’s drunk; far too sincerely for someone who had spent the better part of his life putting it through your head that he can’t return your affection. “I’ve always loved you.”

( ♡ )

You don’t feel good.

There’s a fever that’s starting to bloom from the base of your skull all the way to your toes, the abnormal warmth you feel in your chest making you unable to interact with everyone else outside of your room. Jungkook had left with your uncles before dawn to go fishing in the nearby lake and never would you think to inconvenience him; to tend to someone like you for something as minor as a fever, or for anything at all.

You already have a system down for taking care of yourself when you’re ill. It started when neither your mom nor your brother were home with you, and it was finally perfected when you had to live completely alone in the big city. All you had to do was gather all the energy you have, spend it at the start to get everything you could possibly need and put them all at the side of your bed, and rest until everything no longer hurts.

The major flaw with your system now is that you don’t have the energy at all. You can’t build up the strength to get up, walk across the hall and interact with your relatives, and rummage through groceries to get what you need without being questioned; you can’t build up the sense of importance you have for yourself to ask for help.

Namjoon comes into your room before you could dance around the idea of asking him to get you water, all because he has this innate sense of guilt in him and you could utilize it to your advantage. Your brother gets ahead of you before you could even register that he’s here with you, his eyes sullen and pleading.

“Can we talk?”

“I can’t exactly storm off right now,” you rasp, your voice fading out into a low chuckle.

“Do you want to talk when you’re able to storm off?” he asks sincerely with a small smile, his hand fixing your hair as gently as he could without making your migraine ring further. “If you do though, then you probably might never hear me out again.”

You stay silent because he is right, but Namjoon feels otherwise. He feels as if he hasn’t been doing anything right at all and you existing separate from him is a constant reminder. His career is at its peak but he thinks he could go higher; his relationship with you is deteriorating and he doesn’t think it could possibly be worse.

“I’m sorry for being a shitty brother,” he apologizes, the first thing out of his mouth being the last thing that floods his mind before he goes to sleep at night. “I should’ve never defended Yoongi, even Hyewon by extension.”

The heat behind your eyes isn’t all from your fever. The tears that prick your eyes aren’t because of the pressure in your head, but because of the fact that you haven’t heard Namjoon apologize to you in a long time; you haven’t talked this sincerely for even longer

“I should’ve put you first,” he sniffles, muttering apologies in between his pauses for finding the right words that would make it okay; that would somehow undo all that he’s been an accomplice to. “I should’ve been this reliable, sturdy man of the house. I-I should’ve been more of a father figure to you-…”

“Don’t,” you interject sternly. “You never filled in his shoes and you should never will. You’re only mom’s son and my brother, Namjoon. It’s never been your job to raise me.”

Even after everything, there’s a gentleness to you that Namjoon’s always loved but hate the most now. He hates that even if he’s the one who’s apologizing, you’re the one who’s saying sorry for the things you didn’t even inflict on him. Neither of you wanted to be raised by only a single parent, yet you absolve him of the guilt he’s always felt.

“But I could’ve been better. I wish I was already better from the start.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think how hard life was for you growing up. I-I would’ve given up football if only-…” he trembles, unable to get the last of his sentence out because you shake your head in earnest.

“Stop.”

“But I mean it. If only I-I didn’t get into football, I could’ve been there for you and mom much often. I could’ve been better and-...”

“But I grew up to be okay, didn’t I? You’re the best at what you do. We’ve managed to retire mom early because we put in the work,” you whisper, the shrug of your shoulders feeling more heavy that it should feel because the words don’t come out easily from you.

“But okay shouldn’t have been enough for you,” Namjoon tears up, bottom lip trembling as you try to take in his words that you’ve always wanted to hear at the back of your mind; you hear them now when you’ve already grown up. You hear them now after you’ve already endured the grief. “I— we should’ve given you the fighting chance to grow up more than okay.”

It’s not Jungkook who comes to visit you while you’re nursing a fever, because you’ve temporarily banned him from the bedroom. He only pouted in complaint when you called him, but he didn’t fight you that much either because you’ve called him out for the excitement in his voice to go hiking for the first time.

It’s not Yoongi who comes to visit you while you’re nursing a fever, because Haneul asked him to teach him Go (he’s not even that good at it and being the ever unable to show incompetence and have pride especially when Jungkook’s watching father, he discreetly asked lessons from your mom) so he’ll be able to play with your cousins.

Instead, it’s your mom who visits you. Even if Namjoon hadn’t tipped her off that you were feeling under the weather, she’s already had a feeling this morning.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks, her hands full of everything you could possibly need and more before plopping them at your side. She makes you sit up even before you could complain, handing you a drink with some medicine you didn’t even know she carried

“Just a little fever,” you answer, getting back into your cocoon.

You don’t even attempt to make conversation because you fear that you don’t have it in you to have a heart-to-heart talk with your mom just minutes after you’ve had one with Namjoon.

You don’t even say anything to her except your thanks. Namjoon didn’t even tell her about your conversation, even if he approached her with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes while saying that it was just allergies.

Your mom feels the guilt spring to her chest even if you don’t utter a single word. She feels the remorse in her eyes when you don’t ask her for anything more. She feels the guilt the most in her hands when you don’t ask her to stay.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like there wasn’t enough space for your burdens growing up.”

“What?”you scramble to get up in a seated position, eyes hazy from how quick you do it. “Mom, you scared me. Where’s this coming from?”

She shakes her head at your cluelessness, eyes stinging when you genuinely look at her innocently. You don’t know what she’s talking about, even if the thought has plagued her for so long.

“You’re not really okay, are you?”

“It’s… just a fever,” you mumble, your breathing already trembling at the way she looks at you.

She’s looking at you like you’re still a kid; ever so fragile and innocent, it’s as if she wouldn’t let a single thing in this world harm you. She doesn’t know a single thing about your feud with Namjoon and your long drawn-out conflict with Yoongi. What your mom does know is that she doesn’t know a single thing about the heartbreak you suppress, and that thought alone makes her hiccup in tears.

“You’re right, you know? Our house is small,” she says, distinctly recalling the tensioned conversation you had with Namjoon back at home. “It’s tiny but it was far too big for you growing up alone,” she inhales sharply, trying not to sob in front of you. “He wasn’t in the picture. I was working a hundred jobs left and right. Namjoon was trying to make a name for himself,” she shakes her head, so much so that the necklace she’s had since you were children, the same one with yours and Namjoon’s birthstones on it, rattles. “I’m sorry for making you feel that you can’t come to me.”

In just a full day, you’ve heard everything that you’ve ever wanted. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted during the school plays where you had no one from your family, except Yoongi, to watch you become an extra up on stage. He’d always deny that he did show up for you and just say that it’s because he was genuinely interested in a play about a poet he didn’t care about in reality, but you take it nonetheless.

It’s everything you’ve ever prayed for watching Yoongi live a life far too advanced for you as he held Hyewon’s hand after school. It’s what you wanted to hear when you begged him not to leave you behind.

“I-I’m okay. I’m really-…” you stutter, looking away before your tears fall in the fear that they’ll never stop.

Your mom only hugs you tighter.

“I’m here if you want someone else to carry your burdens,” she whispers. “I’m here now.”

( ♡ )

It’s the last day of the reunion when you fully recover, and it’s hours ahead of everyone when Jungkook has to leave by himself.

Without even asking for it, Jungkook grants you another week’s worth of break. You didn’t even plan on asking, yet Jungkook’s willing to give you a month if only you do.

You’ve already arranged for his personal driver to pick him up and take him back to the city. You’ve already packed his bags, along with the multiple containers of food that your relatives (and especially your mom) insisted for him to take. You’ve arranged for your substitute to take care of him for his schedules throughout the week, along with the insistent reminder to call you whenever Jungkook needs you. (Read: he does, with or without a schedule.)

Everything is set for Jungkook to leave except for his driver who’d been roped by your mom to be filled with breakfast first, yet with the remaining minutes left, Jungkook’s still with you on your bed.

He lies on your lap even if there’s plenty of space for him to lie parallel to you on a pillow — and you let him.

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?” he asks in the middle of you texting your substitute, the randomness of his thought already being familiar to you. This time, unlike the few thousand times he’s ever asked you something straight off his mind without refining them, is different.

It’s different now because your pretend-boyfriend asks you if you’ve ever thought about kissing him, while looking like he really wants to kiss you.

“Where’d that come from?” you giggle, looking down on him on your lap.

Not once does Jungkook ever look away from you.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, pointing up at you. “Your lips are close to bleeding and it’s bothering me.”

“Sorry for turning you off,” you snort in laughter, wiping at the tiny specks of blood. Jungkook tuts when you rub at them, feeling for his lip balm out of his pocket.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he stresses, going a little cross-eyes when he applies them for you. His eyes keep goading you, the smile he has on his face widening the more that you look at him incredulously. “Sooo… have you?”

You don’t want to lie to him at all.

“If I answer yes, Jungkook,” you toy around with his hair, setting your phone face-down because you can’t focus on anything else now. “We can never come back from that.”

Jungkook laughs in glee so loudly, Yoongi (who was only passing by; he really, really swears he didn’t just happen to eavesdrop in your room because Jungkook’s driver is all done eating and wants to beat traffic) actually flinches.

Jungkook strains to be closer to you, unconsciously training you to lean down. His lips are far too soft — far too close to you, you could see every line and every nuance in them. He whispers, eyes practically crossing at your proximity.

“And is that such a bad thing?”

( ♡ )

You’re back at home when Jungkook texts you that he’s made it back safe, and that he wants to kiss you again.

You’re back at home when Yoongi asks you if he could use the bathroom first because Haneul spilled milk on him during the drive. You’re in your childhood bedroom when you let him clean up first, and you’re sitting on your childhood bed when you volunteer to put Haneul down because he’s cranky and for some reason, wants to be held by you.

You’re back at home too when Yoongi and Haneul are knocked out for the night, and your mom calls you and Namjoon down for all three of you to talk at the dining table.

You’re back at the home you were raised in, sitting on the dining table that’s creaky when more than two people lean their weight into it, in the space you’ve roamed around alone waiting for them to come home, when your mom talks about wanting to sell it.

“You want to sell?” Namjoon’s eyes widen, exchanging a glance with you who’s as equally surprised as he is.

“Yes. It’s under my name, y’know? Not that… man’s,” she snorts, the off-hand mention of your father making you and Namjoon laugh unexpectedly. Your mom looks at ease as she talks about selling your house, the smile she has one her face being shaped with experience and grace. “I doubt the both of you would want to keep this, and besides, the offers I’ve kept for years now are high. You already know that big-shot companies have been buying out houses here for years now because of the growth potential and whatnot. Who knows, maybe our block will be turned into a mall!” she shrugs, the happiness in her tone infectious.

For someone who’s decided on letting go the house she’s both struggled and strived in, your mom’s beyond excited.

For two adults, who were once kids, who’ve seen the amount of sacrifices your mother’s put into the place by herself, you and Namjoon don’t have any objections.

“Also, consider this as me asking for permission to go on a vacation, even if I’m grown, because some people get so paranoid when I don’t answer calls,” she digs at you and your brother, immediately inciting coughs because you two, in fact, are guilty of worrying over your mom too much. “I’m going on this worldwide trip with Yoongi’s mom,” she grins, pulling out one last surprise. “We’ve talked about it since we were young. She’s earned her stripes working abroad, I managed to raise two amazing children as a single mom. We’ve earned it, I think.”

You and Namjoon share a glance once again, this time more definite than the last. You’ve made up already as far as your mom could tell, and that confirmation is what she needs before finally selling the house you all grew up in.

“You’ve earned it more than anyone.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s packing up for their flight tonight when you go into your room to pack up the life you’ve lived there.

“You’re coming with me and Haneul?” Yoongi jokes when he sees you pulling out your own luggage, the tone of his voice highly suggesting for you to become serious. He gets you to smile and that’s big enough of a win as is, the remainder of it more than substantial to hold onto when he’s away from you. Again.

“No, unfortunately. I’m packing up the room and eventually… the whole house,” you answer with a chuckle, voice trailing off when you see the crestfallen look on Yoongi’s face. He looks like someone who’s just absorbed the largest pain to man as he’s trying not to make it obvious. “We’re posting it for sale two weeks from now.”

Yoongi nods tightly, inhaling sharply as he tries to maintain his steady tone. “Then why are you packing up already?”

You could do this tomorrow. As a matter of fact, you could do it tonight because you don’t have to drive them to the airport. You have all the time in the world within two weeks to do this, yet you go into your room now when Yoongi’s still in it.

When Yoongi still hasn’t left, and neither of you know when you’re gonna see each other next.

“I have to get a move on. If I don’t move now,” you trail, voice close to trembling as you open cabinets you’ve never even given the time of day before. “I’m scared that I’ll keep holding onto this house.

Yoongi nods, even if he fully understands — even if he doesn’t want to swallow what you’re saying.

“You want out?”

“We want out — me, mom, Namjoon,” you explain, looking at him properly for the first time since he told you that he loved you. “For the longest time, we’ve held onto this place because we became this house at one point. Namjoon’s this world star, my mom’s traveling the world with your mom-…”

“Oh, they’re finally doing it?” Yoongi interrupts, a smile finally coming to his face at the news. He hasn’t talked to his mom in a month from how busy he’s been, and although he’s always missed her (even if they’re on much better terms than he and his dad could be), he’s happy knowing that your moms have each other atleast. “How about you? What will you be doing?”

“I’ll just be… living day-to-day. I’m not doing anything extremely special, but I’m happy and busy doing it,” you laugh, looking around your room that hasn’t appeared this clean, this warm, since you last stayed in it. “No one’s going to be around here anymore.”

As if on cue, Haneul runs to Yoongi’s arms to be picked up. He knows what the luggages mean and because he’s largely in denial that they have to leave later (as referenced by him crying to your mom and Namjoon), Haneul keeps pretending to sleep so that their trip gets delayed.

Yoongi’s about to put him on your bed even if he knows his son’s antics already, but in the fear that he’ll actually get to sleep and they don’t get to leave (which he isn’t opposed to at all), he keeps him in his arms.

You, on the other hand, take Haneul from him when his arms outstretch for you.

There’s the sentiment of you not having to do it that’s resting at the tip of Yoongi’s tongue but he holds himself back, the image of you and Haneul completely fitting one another, he wants to burn a copy of it to his retinas and designate it to be the last thing he’ll see if he ever goes blind.

Without putting Haneul to sleep on your bed, he goes to sleep in peace in your arms.

“Do you regret it?” Yoongi asks throughout the silence between you, sitting next to you at the edge of your bed. “Do you regret ever liking me?”

“I do,” you answer truthfully, rubbing circles at the Haneul’s back. “I regret knowing you.”

Yoongi takes the responsibility fully, even fuller than the way both your hurt and happiness could make or break him.

“I can’t take back all the hurt I’ve caused you,” he admits just as honestly, turning to look at you. He becomes surprised to learn that you’ve been looking at him the whole time. “But what I can promise you is that I’ll never do anything to hurt you again.”

“I have my share of faults too.”

“Eh. Mostly mine.”

“Mostly yours, yeah,” you laugh easily, nodding to yourself as you continue. “But I held onto you as much as you didn’t hold onto me. That’s my mistake.”

Yoongi stays silent at that, not because he agrees, but because the bias that you’ll never be wrong in his eyes overtakes your humbleness.

“Do you think he’ll remember the entirety of the trip?” you ask, gesturing to Haneul who’s already sleeping like a hibernating bear in your hold. “Or will Haneul just remember that time the power went out because he cried a lot?”

“Oh, he’ll remember everything alright. He’s good with retention and people in general,” Yoongi waves you off. “Even if he didn’t come along the trip— even if we didn’t crash the whole thing, Haneul would remember you.”

“Who am I to him?” you ask in curiosity, lips turning into a straight line before they curve in the slightest. “Appa’s friend, I bet.”

“Not really. You’re a lot of things to me,” Yoongi chuckles, looking at the way Haneul grips you as if you’ll float away if he lets go; he’d do the same too. “More like my first love.”

Yoongi loves you quietly.

He loves you quietly with the way he draws the curtains downstairs when you sleep on the couch, tired and stressed over a solution you couldn’t understand. He loves you with the way he’ll scoop the warmest, freshest, least-burnt portion of rice to your bowl without you even asking for it. He loves you with the way he’s willing to let you walk all over him.

He loves you quietly in the way that not even distance nor time could disrupt him.

Yoongi loves you quietly, it might have been too much.

“Is that a lottery ticket?” he asks suddenly as he spots the familiar face of it inside your luggage, tucked into the discreet pocket where your mother’s letters of encouragement when you went to the big city were also kept

“Oh, it’s still there,” you answer, in surprise yourself because even if this is the same luggage you use whenever you go out of the country with Jungkook, you’ve never noticed that it was still there. “I bought it when you left for the US.”

Yoongi stops in his tracks in retrieving the scratch ticket from the pocket, looking up at you in curiosity. “Why did you buy one that day?”

Haneul stirs in his sleep in your arms, waking up right at the middle of you and Yoongi being lost in each other. He mistakes the silence as a signal that they’ll be leaving already, making a mess of himself as he quickly goes down the stairs to look for your family there and cling to them instead.

You and Yoongi are alone again.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, grasping the scratch ticket you used to spend hours looking. “I guess I just needed some proof that fate was against me that day.”

“But how would you even know that?” Yoongi asks, pointing to the card that’s still covered. “You didn’t even scratch it.”

You answer honestly, the reason burnt to the back of his mind.

“Because I knew I would lose my mind if I actually lost.”

“Try,” Yoongi swallows, nudging the ticket closer to you with a gaze that mirrored yours when he left. “Try again. Please.”

You have nothing else to lose.

Yoongi isn’t yours to lose.

You retrieve the same old coin Yoongi gave to you on the same day that he bought you your first scratch ticket, the appearance of it from your luggage making his heart skip a beat.

He doesn’t speak and neither do you, gaze only fixed on the way you scratch the card almost hesitantly, as if you’re still scared of the results of something that you should’ve known five years ago. (Read: you still are.)

When you get to the last digit, you freeze. You comb through the pattern over and over again, yet you still can’t believe it.

You’ve won the highest possible prize.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” you parrot Yoongi, looking up at him as he can’t believe it either.

“You won.”

“I won,” you repeat, running a hand through your hair. You actually laugh, the lump in your throat subsiding. It’s a welcome, albeit loaded, feeling of happiness that comes in between the two of you. “I thought I would lose,” you mutter bitterly, shaking your head.

You didn’t lose. Fate wasn’t against you that day, and yet you still lost yourself thinking subconsciously what the proof of it would’ve been.

“Who would’ve thought, right?” you sigh, eyes drifting to Yoongi. “If only I took that chance years ago, I would’ve won.”

Yoongi smiles tightly, breath faltering in recollection.

“I’m familiar with the feeling,”

Yoongi doesn’t get to finish packing for him and Haneul and neither do you with your whole room, the shift in the atmosphere suddenly making him stand.

He’s breathless and he doesn’t know what for, the rapid beating of his chest making his voice louder than necessary. “Hey, what do you say you take a break? I’ll pack up your room. I have to stay alert anyway for Haneul."

You thank him before leaving him alone in your room.

Yoongi can’t find the strength in him to pack. The only power he has left in him is for him to think of taking everything out from his luggages, the thought of leaving again, this time worlds different than the last when you were begging him not to — he feels like throwing up.

Yoongi’s merely an amalgamation of you. He’s only a compilation of your every word, every feeling you’ve implanted in his heart. He’s filled with nothing but your every triumph and shortcoming; every late night hanging out with you as you attempt to study while he keeps you company, every minute he spent going out of his mind trying to look for you when you ran away from home.

Yoongi loves you silently to the point that he gets out of your room without accomplishing a single thing he said he’ll do just awhile ago.

In the grand scheme of things, Yoongi realizes that he was wrong. He was as wrong as you were right that the moment he leaves home, he’ll spend the rest of his life looking for it.

Even if you left your home like he did, even if neither of you could come home anymore the moment your childhood house gets sold, Yoongi would still search for it. He’ll still search for you. You’re no longer where you were, but you are everywhere that Yoongi is.

He looks for you in Namjoon’s room, to the dining table, and all the way outside, just to ask if he and Haneul could stay for dinner.

Yoongi finds you and Haneul eating sundaes on the pavement outside, with you on the ground and a scrap cardboard underneath Haneul so it wouldn’t be hot for him.

Fate hadn’t been against you five years ago. And even if he’s much too late, Yoongi could only pray that fate isn’t against him now.

He walks over to where you and Haneul are, grabbing another scrap of cardboard to put underneath you.

Yoongi is consumingly yours all the time.

#WHEWWWWWW HOW R WE FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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unearthly-doting · 2 months

Text

finding their soulmate: genshin edition.

a/n: i haven't made a post here in a hot second and i honestly apologize about that lol. the motivation to write just hasn't been there but!! here's a small lil genshin post for now. i just spun a wheel to pick who i write but if u want me to write for some of the others then just lmk!!

includes: xiao, kaeya, kujou sara, albedo, tartaglia, and ayato.

warnings: mdni, yandere content, not edited, gn reader, kidnapping, forced relationships, arranged marriage, manipulation, reader injury in both kujou sara's, albedo's and tartaglia's parts, childe stabs you :peace sign:, canon is a very vague concept in my writing more often than not btw, this is kinda cringey </3, the yandere content in albedo's part is actually very mild bc i was restraining myself bc there was a lot i wanted to do w it.

XIAO — never really cared much about finding his soulmate. His entire existence was dedicated to protecting Liyue, even if the nation no longer needed his protection. Besides, with how long he's been around, he just assumed his soulmate was long dead and that he'd never meet them. Though, a small part of him wondered... what was his soulmate like?

And, almost as if the universe had been listening, he ends up meeting you. His soulmate. It wasn't a classic, romantic meeting. He didn't save your life or anything like that. You were just a traveler who decided to stay at the inn.

He didn't think much of you until his eyes met yours and suddenly color was flooding into his world. It made him dizzy, and it stunned him into absolute silence because all he could so was stare at you with wide eyes.

You were clearly going through it as well, because obviously. You just met your fucking soulmate on a damn business trip. What the hell were you supposed to do now? It would be awkward to just... ignore what had happened, right? I mean, he's staring right at you and this was all just very overwhelming.

It was an awkward first meeting, that's for sure.

But during your time at the inn, whenever you were free from work, you spent it with Xiao. He was closed off, clearly keeping his guard up and not letting you get too close. You didn't know the reasons, but you didn't expect him to tell you his entire life story just because you two were apparently bound by the universe.

Honestly, you just assumed he didn't want to be with his soulmate. This didn't upset you. It wouldn't work out, anyway. You're only staying for a few weeks before heading home.

But archons, did Xiao want you. Behind his typical, distant behavior, Xiao was taking note of everything about you. Your interests, your habits, your sleep schedule, your favorite foods and desserts... everything you told him or subconsciously revealed, Xiao was tucking it away in his mind.

He wanted you. He wanted you to stay here, in Liyue, with him. Where you belong. But he didn't know how to express that. He's never been in love before, and it's not like he'll just suddenly become an expert at romance after meeting you.

When it was time for you to leave, he was crushed. He needed you to stay. He needed you by his side. Letters wouldn't be enough to fill the emptiness in your wake if you left. You had to stay.

You will stay.

And when you wake up to find yourself no longer in the inn, and instead in some small home deep within the mountains of Liyue, you're distraught.

Xiao looks genuinely guilty, robbing you of your freedom but... you understand, don't you? You have to understand. He just couldn't let you go. You're his soulmate, you were destined to be with him! You'll love it here, he'll make sure of it.

Just stay.

KAEYA — had always wondered what his soulmate was like ever since he was a child. He would spend hours just staring at the small crescent moon forever stained on his wrist, wondering if and when he'll meet the person with a matching mark.

Of course, as he got older he spent less time thinking about such things, though he did always hold out hope that he might be able to one day meet his soulmate. Little did he know, he's met his soulmate already. Multiple times.

You took over Sara's shifts at the Good Hunter whenever she had other things she needed to focus on, so Kaeya has spoken with you on numerous occasions, he's just never realized you were his soulmate because you keep your wrists covered. He's not one to judge, his wrists aren't visible either.

Him finding out was an accident. You had been handing him his order when your sleeves rolled up a bit, and his gaze just so happened to look at your wrists and he saw the very same crescent moon that was on his.

And for a moment, he froze. He just stared. Long enough that you were starting to feel a little uncomfortable. But before you could awkwardly send him on his way, he was showing you the crescent moon on his wrist as well and thus began your love story.

Or... well... it's what Kaeya had hoped for, but you didn't seem interested in soulmates at all. You didn't want the universe to decide who you were meant to be with, you wanted to make that decision yourself, so you had, to put it simply, bluntly rejected him.

And he gets it! It hurts, sure. He spent his entire life dreaming of this day, and it's not turning out the way he had hoped, but... you guys can be friends, at least, right? No strings attached?

For a while, Kaeya was fine with that. You and he had a really strong friendship. He cared about you, and you cared about him. Though your feelings were platonic, he was holding on to the hope that maybe one day, you'll realize you two were meant to be together.

But it was starting to seem as though that day might never come, because almost a year into your friendship with him, you had told Kaeya that you were thinking about entering the dating scene. He was... not too pleased about that, honestly. It was pretty obvious too, the way his entire mood soured the moment you brought the topic up.

He didn't stand by idly while this happened. Any person he saw you chatting up with romantic intentions would suddenly avoid you like the plague the next time you saw them. Any blind dates would end with you being ghosted. Hell, even some of your friends, the ones who were helping you get dates, were starting to avoid you too. It was so confusing.

But not Kaeya. No, Kaeya was always by your side.

Whenever you needed him, he was there. He always seemed to be able to make time for you. He listened to you vent your frustrations out, never once judging you or telling you that you were being dramatic. He was the only constant in your life these days.

Of course, you were completely oblivious to the fact that he was the cause of all of this. It's not that hard to blackmail people, he's learned. But they didn't deserve you anyway, seeing how easily they gave up on you the moment he approached them.

Maybe... maybe dating Kaeya wouldn't be so bad... I mean, you're the one deciding this, right? The universe isn't having any play in it. This is your decision. Isn't it?

KUJOU SARA — never cared about her soulmate. She knew she had one, you were in every dream she had. She found it to be more of a nuisance than anything else.

Her entire life was dedicated to her training, and to the Raiden Shogun. She neither had the time, nor the interest in searching for her soulmate. Besides, it didn't seem as if you resided in Inazuma. Your clothing was similar what people in Fontaine wear, and Fontaine was far away from Inazuma.

She was confident that she wouldn't be meeting you any time soon, so she never gave you any thought when she was awake. She never made any plans on what she would do if she did, by any chance, meet you. It didn't matter.

And she can't help but regret that, now that you're standing in front of her. If she had known that meeting her soulmate would make her feel like this, as if everything in the world suddenly made sense, then... well... she doesn't know what she would've done, to be honest.

No matter, Sara had no time to entertain you. Your stay in Inazuma was only temporary, so she saw no point in trying to form a bond with you. You, however, seemed to have different plans. She was used to seeing you in her dreams every night, but she was not used to seeing you in her waking moments.

Whenever she wasn't preoccupied with something, you were there to offer her company. It was annoying, and she's sent you away more than once, but that didn't seem to deter you. If anything, you seemed to become more determined each time she brushed you off.

At some point, she had given up on avoiding you. It was easier to just let you stick around. And, the more time she spent with you, the more attached she was becoming. It wasn't smart, she knew that, but could you blame her? You're so... irrevocably you.

Her fondness for you didn't go unnoticed.

Many people in Inazuma treated you with the same respect they treated Sara. You were her soulmate, after all. Should someone insult you, they would in turn be insulting her. Nobody wanted to get on her bad side.

There were, however, a few bad apples.

It should come as no surprise that a target was placed on your back the moment people took notice of Sara's attachment to you. She didn't think she'd have to worry much, because no one would be idiotic enough to actually try and harm you under her watch, but she should've known better.

It happened a few days before you were set to leave Inazuma to return home. A disturbance was going on within the city so Sara wasn't with you when you went on your daily walk just outside of it. It was supposed to be safe, but it wasn't.

Some vagrants had got the jump on you, and you nearly lost your life. You were lucky enough to have been found by some bystanders, but Sara was less than pleased when she heard about this. She had never taken pleasure in killing anyone before, but there was a deep-rooted sense of satisfaction deep within her chest when she watched the lives of those who hurt you fade away.

And as she sat by your side, waiting for you to wake up, she came to a decision. You can't be alone. If you are, you'll get hurt, and she won't be able to protect you. She can't let you leave Inazuma. She knows you'll more than likely hate her for making this decision for you, but if it means she can keep you safe, keep you alive and by her side, then... that hatred is something she'll be willing to bear.

ALBEDO — doesn't have a soulmate. At least, he's not supposed to. He's an artificial being, so it wouldn't make sense for him to have a soulmate. Of course, he does find the concept of soulmates to be intriguing. Who, or what, decides who people are destined to be with? It's a question he hopes to find an answer to.

So he wasn't surprised when he found you passed out in the snow, deep within Dragonspine. He's seen this countless times before, travelers who don't take precautions before trying to brave the deadly cold that comes with being here. He assumed he would just nurse you back to health and you would go on your merry way.

That changed, however, when he was cleaning your wounds and he saw his name inked on your skin, right on your collarbone. In his handwriting, at that. It confused him, because... that would mean that he's your soulmate. But he can't be. And yet, it didn't come off when he tried wiping it off. It was a part of your skin.

This left him with many questions, though none of them got answered when you woke up. You couldn't remember much about yourself, other than your name and a few other details. You didn't even know why you were in Dragonspine, or where you were from. You did hit your head pretty badly, judging from the headwound, so that would explain the amnesia, though he's not sure if it was going to be something temporary or not.

You both decided it would be best to just have you stay here until you were able to recover some of your memories and although Albedo wasn't eager to make friends with you, he was grateful for the company. He was incredibly patient with you too, answering any questions you may have had ranging from a multitude of different topics.

And in return, you helped out as much as you could without overexerting yourself and making your injuries worse. You'd make sure to keep his little lab tidy when he was away. You'd help out with some of his experiments too, if he knew you wouldn't get hurt doing so.

All while trying to figure out how he could possibly be your soulmate. He checked over himself. Four times. Your name was nowhere on his body. So why? Why was his name on yours? As much as he hates to admit it, he thinks he may never get an answer to this mystery.

Though... that's not such a bad thing, he thinks. He finds himself enjoying your company more and more with each passing day, the whole soulmate thing rarely even crossed his mind. At least, until you had asked him why his name was permanently etched into your skin. It was fairly easy to explain everything to you, though he was unable to answer a few of your questions, sadly. Soulmates were still a mystery, after all.

And when you asked if you could write your name on him so you two could match, he found himself unable to say no. He found himself unable to speak at all, actually, as you wrote your name on his shoulder. You even added a little heart next to it.

But no, Albedo was too busy coming to terms with the feelings he has for you. They weren't new. He's been aware of them for a week or so now, he just never gave it much thought until now. Now, with you so close to him, it was simply impossible to ignore.

And once you pull away, you smile at him and say, "There! Now I'm your soulmate too, right?" And oh.

Oh.

There was no way Albedo was going to let you leave Dragonspine now.

TARTAGLIA — feels a little bad for his soulmate, whoever they are. They can feel his pain, and he can feel theirs. So... they probably hate his guts, considering he's not the most careful person in the world. He pushes himself to his limits and beyond, and his soulmate has no doubt felt every single second of it.

Don't get him wrong, he would love to meet his soulmate. It's been a dream of his since he was a child, always eager to hear the story of how his mom and dad found out they were soulmates. Even as he grew older, the desire never went away. It was just... buried.

And his soulmate just so happened to be you, the significant other of a man who owed the Northland Bank a lot of money. He doesn't normally partake in debt collections, but he didn't have anything better to do so he decided to take this one on. He was going to use you as an example to your husband, though the moment his blade stabbed you, he froze.

He felt the pain. He stabbed you, and he could feel it. Oh fuck, he just stabbed his soulmate. That's definitely not the picturesque first meeting he was hoping for. Probably wouldn't be a good idea to tell his family this either...

Stabbing aside, he was utterly delighted. You, on the other hand, were terrified. Not only did this man just fucking stab you, his expression went from bored to something akin to crazed glee. He stared at you with a hunger that made you want to shy away from his gaze.

He doesn't care that you're already in a relationship with someone else. Not anymore, you're not. You're his, destined by the stars or however the story goes. And if your lover tries to get you back, he'll just kill them. Easy as that. Absolutely nothing will get in the way of him having you.

And he likes that you fight back against him. He especially loves it when you manage to escape. Hell, sometimes he'll even let you go just so he can chase you down again. It sends a thrill through him like no other when he catches you, and you stare at him teary-eyed and out of breath.

You're always so scared that he'll hurt you, but he would never do such a thing. He treats you like you're royalty, spoiling you with a seemingly endless amount of gifts. You're not quite sure how he knows what you like, and you're too hesitant to ask.

Honestly... he'd probably let you stab him. Y'know, he stabbed you, so it's only fair that you get to stab him in turn, right?

You think not. You're very hesitant, staring at him as though he were insane for even proposing such an idea. A part of him was disappointed. He wanted one of the many scars on his body to be from you. But a much larger part can't help but go soft at the sight of you shaking your head, sternly refusing to hurt him.

If he wasn't obsessed with you before, he certainly was now. You're too good. Too kind. He's holding you captive (lovingly, of course) and you refuse to hurt him? You don't even want to pinch him? How adorable.

Why, if he didn't know any better, he'd think that you might care about him.

He was nothing if not stubborn, of course. You might not care about him now, but you will in the future. He'll make sure of it.

After all, he's spent his whole life waiting for you.

AYATO — never had the time to think of his soulmate. He was blessed (or cursed, depending on who you ask) with the ability to see the red strings that tied people together. When he was younger, before having to take on the duties of the Kamisato name, he would always stare at the one tied to his pinkie.

He even has the habit of twirling the red string around his finger whenever he gets stressed. Only behind closed doors, of course. It would probably appear strange to others if they saw.

Meeting his soulmate was something he had always planned out in his head as a child, and when he finally did meet you, it was so... simple. There was nothing magical about it, you had just bumped into him one day when he was out in the city and that's what started all of this.

For you, it was a forgettable encounter, one that would never cross your mind again. For him, it was everything he had been waiting for. Thoma thought it was a bit strange, but he dutifully gathered information about you when Ayato asked it of him. He needed to know everything there was to know about you.

He already knew what he was going to do when he met his soulmate, the only thing left was to actually do it. And you were definitely shocked when Kamisato Ayato himself showed up at your home and asked you to marry him.

You said no, obviously, because why the hell would you agree to marry someone you didn't know? Ayato had planned for this, of course. That's why he had Thoma learn everything about you, so the moment you declined his offer, he just smiled and made a comment about your family. It was very obvious what he was implying.

And even if you aren't close with your family, you can't live with blood on your hands. You were pretty much forced into accepting Ayato's marriage proposal. He was pleased with this outcome, promising to take care of everything himself.

Marrying him meant that you would, unfortunately, have to leave your home and instead live at the Kamisato Estate. Everyone was under the impression that this marriage was one of love and not coercion. You highly doubt that anyone would believe you if you told them the truth, and you were too concerned about what the consequences would be if you did.

Everyone at the estate was nice to you, at least, though the only people allowed to actually get close to you were Ayaka and Thoma.

And when the wedding was over, it was time for your honeymoon. You were not excited about that, but it seemed Celestia itself was on your side during that time because he was too busy to spend time with you.

If he wasn't threatening the lives of your family, you would have made numerous escape attempts by now. Still, you've made it very clear that you hate his guts.

Your hatred is something he detests, though he can't fault you for it. He understands that what he's forced you into is wrong, but in his mind, it was something that had to be done. He's sure that given enough time and space, you'll grow to understand why he did what he did.

And even though you scorn his existence, Ayato looks at you as if you've placed the stars in the sky.

Your strings are forever tied together, so there's no getting out of this. He doesn't plan on ever letting you go. He'd be a terrible husband if he didn't keep you close, wouldn't he?

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wonustars · 9 months

Text

𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘉𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘈𝘸𝘢𝘺

I recommend listening to Still by Jeff Bernat while reading the first part!

Summary: It’s been a year since you and your ex-boyfriend, Wonwoo, had broken up. You have been having a hard time getting over him, no thanks to the fact you share mutual friends. Friends who liked to constantly update you on how he’s doing. After having no contact for the past 12 months, you two end up at the same party.

Tags: angst, fluff, hurt and comfort, smut (mdni) j.ww x reader, nonidol! au, nonidol!wonwoo, exbf!wonwoo, jealous!wonwoo, mentions of most svt members (S.Coups, Jeonghan, Hoshi, Minghao, Mingyu Seungkwan.), exes to lovers, y/n has way too much pride, pining over eachother during the whole party omf, they both assume too much, a little mingyu x reader if you squint, low tolerance hoshi as always, mingyu is bullied but thats normal atp.

Smut Tags/Warnings: smut mdni! dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, afab!reader, bathroom sex, p in v sex, semi-public sex, fingering, literally one spank (f. receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, tiniest bit of degradation, praise, lots of petnames (baby, princess, love,). if i've missed anything lmk! :}

Word count: 4556 words.

Note: HELLO OOMFG, my first ever seventeen fic has now graced this website. literally no one asked for this… i just love wonwoo. I can't believe i even finished this with how hectic school is wtf. any ways this is my first Wonwoo fic and i'm very excited and NERVOUS to share it with you all...... anyways i hope u like it haha. lmk what you guys think of it PLEASE i want feedback, i crave feedback. love u all enjoy hfiasuheiuhafsi.

SMUT UNDERNEATH THIS CUT. MDNI! 18+.

After a year of not seeing one another, the pang in your heart never subsided. The thought of even breathing the same air as him was already causing you to feel the uneasiness boiling in your stomach. You heard from everyone how well he’s doing without you, you didn’t want to have to see it with your own eyes too.

Unassumingly, you walked into Soonyoung’s apartment expecting to be greeted by the host himself. Instead, you donned upon a familiar set of eyes. Soft brown eyes, the same ones that you looked into every morning for three years.

You tried your best to act ok, but the familiar ache in your chest was creeping in once again. The same ache that hasn’t left for the past 12 months. The same ache that hasn’t left since you watched him walk out your front door.

The two of you are still standing there. Awkwardness started to settle in. You clear your throat and attempt to give your best poker face.

“Hi, uhm is Soonyoung in there?” You Inquire. Cursing yourself mentally due to the audible shake in your voice.

“Hey Y/n long time no see, and yeah he’s already become good friends with his toilet. You know how he gets with alcohol.” He chuckled.

Now you’re mentally cursing him. He looks so composed compared to you. He’s even joking around with you. You have half the mind to back out and just drive home. But you can't. You can't because it’ll make you look like he still has an effect on you. Even though you’re not over him you still have some pride left in you.

“Oh haha that doesn’t sound too good. Anyways, it’s nice seeing you again but I’m gonna go and greet everyone now.” You declare, eyes not even meeting him. If they did you wouldn’t be able to stay calm any longer.

His hair got longer, you thought to yourself. He looked so good even after all this time. The thick rimmed glasses he wore complimented his features well. Alongside the creme knit sweater, the sleeves sitting above his elbows. It gives you a good view of his strong forearms. The same ones that held you while you fell asleep every night.

“It’s nice seeing you too Y/n.” His voice is almost a whisper. Eyes scanning your face for any type of reaction.

To Wonwoo’s dismay you only nod your head half-heartedly and trudge past him. He can feel his heart skip a beat, with both joy and sadness. Being able to see you is so bittersweet, and you still look as good as you did when he last saw you a year ago.

He watches you make your way through the room. Your eyes particularly light up as you spot Mingyu. Curious eyes peer over to your frame and see how Mingyu engulfs you into a tight hug. Wonwoo's fists ball up tightly and he shuts the door with more force than normal.

If things were different, it would be him that has his arms around you. Not his best friend.

You laugh at Mingyu's joke, but you’re still conscious of the pair of eyes that are burning into your back. You didn’t have to turn around to know who was staring at you. A part of you is happy, why is Wonwoo keeping his eyes on you? The other part of you is anxious. Why is Wonwoo keeping his eyes on you?

“We’ve really missed you around here y/n.” Mingyu's soft voice brings you back to reality.

“I’ve missed you guys too, Gyu.” You professed. Your hand moves to give his bicep a reassuring pat. To the two of you it’s nothing but a friendly gesture. To Wonwoo, it appears to be more than that.

His jealousy is brewing in the pit of his stomach.

You, on the other hand, are very aware of the way Wonwoo is eyeing you and Mingyu. If you didn’t know any better, you would assume that Wonwoo is jealous of Mingyu. As much as you want that to be the actual reason, you suppress your inner thoughts. Instead, you let Mingyu continue to talk your ear off about why he thinks Lane's character deserved a better ending in Gilmore Girls.

…

Hours passed and the party has dyed down considerably. The only

people left at Sooyoung's apartment are now sitting around chatting in the living room. Everyone but Soonyoung (who Jeonghan and Minghao eventually put to rest in his room) have been engaging in the group’s conversation.

“Haha, Hey Mingyu! Remember that time you tried to do a flip in the pool just to impress Y/n?” Jeonghan decided to make up a game called Mingyu's embarrassing moments. Group bonding he likes to call it. You can't help but laugh at the way the boys like to tease Mingyu.

Though you found it surprising that Mingyu's failed flip was because he was trying to gain your attention.

“I’m sick of you guys bringing that up! My back hurt for a whole week..” Mingyu huffs, he looks at you with a pout. Allyou can do is giggle.

“It’s ok Gyu, you can show me your flip the next time we go to the pool!” You try not to burst into laughter as you reassuringly pat his shoulder. In the middle of all of this you felt a pair of eyes on you the whole time. Without even turning to look you knew who it was.

Excusing yourself to go to the washroom, you let the group continue to share their favourite moments of Mingyu embarrassing himself.

While you stood there, eyes closed, a sigh left your lips. All your energy had been drained from the party. Especially because 90% of your brain power had been used on looking at Wonwoo without making it obvious. You couldn’t help but steal glances, especially because he looked so good sitting there laughing with the guys.

The tap was still running when you heard the door open and shut firmly behind you. You look up at the mirror to see a pair of cat-like eyes staring back at you. The squeeze in your chest intensifies. Out of all the people who could be in this small space with you right now, it’s him.

“Are you and Mingyu a thing?” He cuts to the chase. Wonwoo was never the type to beat around the bush. Whenever he was curious about something he would ask. He finds it exhausting to play coy. It doesn’t make sense to him.

You cough due to the awkward atmosphere. “W-what? Of course not! Me and Mingyu are just friends. He’s your best friend Wonwoo. I would never do that to you.”

“I’m sorry I just don’t like the way you two seem so close.” He deflates. His eyes are still piercing into your soul.

“Why? He’s both our friend Won.” You retort. His nickname leaves your lips so easily. The blush spreads across your cheeks in a matter of seconds. It’s been awhile since you’ve been this close to him. Since you’ve last called him by his nickname.

“It’s the way he’s always trying to get your attention. I think he likes you Y/n.” Wonwoo sighs, he hates that you're so oblivious to Mingyu’s advances. Everyone but you seems to see the double meaning to his actions.

“Even if Mingyu does like me, I would kindly reject him.” You assure him. You’re not sure why though, you two aren’t even together anymore. Following that thought, your heart aches once again.

We’re not together anymore, you repeat in your head.

You turn around to face him. With your backside pressed up against the bathroom counter, your breath gets caught in your throat.

“My love, why did we even break up?” Wonwoo questioned you with a sad expression. You frowned. You recall the last few weeks before you broke up with him.

He was so respectful of your decision it almost seemed like he wanted it to happen too.

“Because I could tell that the last thing you needed was a relationship. Work was hectic for you, I was barely around because of my last year at school. It just felt like we were always at two different places. I loved you but I don’t think it would’ve been long before we called it quits. I just decided-.” He cuts you off.

“Yes. You decided without me. We could’ve made it work. But you decided to break it off when it could’ve been fixed easily. I didn’t put up a fight when it happened because you seemed so sure that you didn’t love me anymore.” The tears in your eyes were threatening to spill. His face is so close to yours. The proximity of both your bodies. It was so much of him after not having him at all for so long.

“I’m sorry, I just thought about what’s best for you.” You countered. A pout settling on your face. His arms are placed on the counter, gripping the marble on each side of you, locking you in.

“There you go again, making decisions for the both of us.” His voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo's eyes are still trained on yours, and you can’t seem to look away. The sparkle isn’t there anymore. It hasn’t been there since the day you left him.

“Baby tell me you don’t love me anymore. Tell me that so I can move on. Because everyday that I’m not waking up beside you is another day my heart breaks a little more. I can’t even breathe properly without you. So please, just tell me you don’t love me.” The crack in his voice causes a tear in your heart. He’s begging you, the desperation in his words are clear.

You look down. Wonwoo's knuckles are turning white because of how hard he’s gripping the countertop. The both of you are breathing heavily, and you fear that he can hear how hard your heart is pounding.

“I’m sorry Won, but I can’t do that.” You murmured. “As much as I want you to be happy, I can’t tell you that I don’t love you. I don’t think I can ever stop.”

“If you love me then come back to me. Please Y/n whatever it was that caused us to break up, we can fix it.” Pleading you, he grabs your face with his large hands. The motion makes you look back up into his eyes. He’s crying.

The tears in his eyes slip gracefully down his face. Even in this sad moment he still looked so beautiful. A blush prominent on his cheeks and the tip of his nose. His long lashes wet with tears. Sorrow somehow makes him look so pretty in the dull lighting of the bathroom.

Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest and your tongue dry. What are you even meant to say? Is it worth it to come back to a relationship you thought you couldn’t salvage? As much as you love Wonwoo, you two had so much ahead of you. His career was clearly taking off before you broke up with him and you just didn’t want to hold him back. You needed love, you needed attention but he just became too busy, rightfully so. You would never blame him for prioritizing his work, even if it meant straining your relationship.

On the other hand you were in the final stages of completing your thesis. The two of you were always missing each other. He was always coming home in the later hours of the night while you were still asleep, and by the time it was morning the bed was neatly made beside him.

“Won, I love you, I do. But I can tell you’re better off without me. From what Cheol and the boys are saying, you’re happy. I even heard you're dating again.” you chuckle bitterly, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying.

“No Y/n, I’m fucking miserable without you. I don’t care what the boys are saying. I only went on a date because Soonyoung said it would be good to try again, but I can’t do it. I can’t because it's not you. And I can’t stand the thought of you ending up with someone else. I want to be your last. I miss waking up to you every morning, and I miss the way the house smelt when you were still around. I even miss the way you would snore in your sleep. I need you in my life, but if you don’t feel the same way anymore then I won’t bother you anymore. You won’t have to worry about me.” Wonwoo’s voice cracks, the desperation clear in his voice.

His hands are still caging you in, the proximity becoming overwhelming. Your faces are inches apart, and all you can smell is his peach scented cologne. His scent only ever reminded you of home. God why was he so good with his words, you thought. The tears in your eyes start to fall. Fuck. This is not how you thought this night was going to go.

“I love you Wonwoo.” is all you can say in response. It comes out as a whisper as the gap between you two starts to fade.

Your lips move against his with fluidity. He feels the same way he did a year ago, you thought. The sound of the running tap and the sounds of kissing fill the small bathroom. Wonwoo’s hands move from the countertop to your waist, gripping you tight. As if you were about to disappear into thin air if he let you go.

All you could think about at that moment was that he felt so good on top of you. Your bodies pressed up against each other once again. You haven’t been with anyone since the two of you broke up, you just couldn’t do it. No one could get you as turned on as Wonwoo does. It doesn’t feel right unless it's him, it doesn’t feel right to have anyone inside you except him.

Wonwoo still has his iron grip on you, but now his hands are creeping under your shirt to feel your bare waist. You don’t stop him, if anything you want him to keep going. Fuck everyone who can hear you outside. Right now, at this moment, it's just you and him.

Both of your breathing becomes laboured as you deepen the kiss, opening your mouth to let his tongue explore the inside of your mouth. His mouth finally leaves yours; looking at you again with those piercing eyes. Staring back with the same intensity you just smile and place a hand on his cheek. He breaks the contact only to dive into your neck, kissing and licking every square inch he has access to. You can only whimper as you feel him marking you up. Even though it's a bad idea for him to leave hickies, he can’t help it. Wonwoo wants to show you how badly he’s missed you.

You two are close enough in distance that you can feel his hard on pressing against your thigh. He’s rubbing himself against you as he licks up your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin.

“Hmm feels good baby,” you whisper, as you move your head to give him more surface area. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, your hand gripping his bicep to keep you grounded throughout all the pleasure. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched like this, you can’t help but feel sensitive to every miniscule touch that you’re receiving.

“I need you so bad Won,” you whimper to him. His hold on you tightens at your words. All of this feels like a dream that you don’t want to wake up from. Wonwoo’s lips feathering soft kisses against your skin as he holds you; it just feels too good to be true.

“Shh I know baby, I’ll give you what you want, just let me savour you for a bit.” He whispers back in your ear, one hand slowly moving towards your chest. His hand was fully under your shirt by this point. You force him to reconnect his lips with yours again, kissing him harder. You pull away again just to take off your shirt, your bra following without a second to spare. Not wasting any time your pants come off next, leaving you fully naked against the sink.

Before you can take off any of Wonwoo’s clothes he stops you, his eyes dark with want. Moving you to sit on top of the counter, he spreads your legs. You sit there with anticipation as he massages your thighs, admiring your glistening pussy. He hasn’t done much but he still looked so attractive under the fluorescent light. Your walls lining with slick the more you looked at him. Fingers creeping close to where you need him most, he plays with your wetness. You sigh, the relief washing over you as he rubs slow, lazy circles on your clit.

“Need more, please baby.” you whine, grabbing his wrist to bring him closer to your entrance. He pulls back with a tsk.

“No love, let me play with you for a bit.” He’s not asking, and you know how he gets when you two are like this. You’ve always been a brat with him, and he was never one to give in. Always playing the long game, edging you until you beg him to let you cum. Today was not the day to play games with you though.

“No. Wanna feel you inside me now.” you demand, leading his hands towards your soaking cunt.

He can only sigh, giving into you for the first time.

“This is the only time I’m letting you get what you want. Next time you better be begging for me.” He looked serious, and you know not to play brat any more than you have now.

Without warning he shoves two fingers inside of you. Letting out a moan, you throw your head back. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as you spread your legs further. Wonwoo curls his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you, feeling how wet you are for him. He can’t help but grin to himself. He knows he’s the only one who can get you this needy, and he's enjoying every single second of it.

Your moans get louder and he slaps his other hand over your mouth.

“If you wanna be a good little whore for me, you better keep quiet. Can’t have the others hearing you now, isn’t that right baby?” he spits. You can only nod, your brows furrowing with pleasure.

“You're so wet already, this is just for me isn't it?” he hums, picking up the speed as he finger fucks you. You moan against his hand, not being able to give a proper response due to all the pleasure. You forgot how good his fingers feel compared to your own. They fill you up so well, not even your vibrator can make you feel this good.

He continues with his ministrations, the sounds of your wet folds squelching echoes inside the bathroom. Your mind wanders to whether or not the guys can hear you, but they quickly dissipate as his thumb finds your clit once again. Rubbing it in perfect rhythm with his fingers. The familiar feeling of your orgasm approaching creeps up on you.

“G-gonna cum Won.” you breathe out. His hand leaves your mouth, replacing it with his lips. The speed of his fingers increases, the other hand fondling your tits to get you closer to the edge. You moan into the kiss as relief washes over you, your cunt dripping with cum. It covers his hands and your inner thighs. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo shoves his fingers in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself.

“Good job baby, you’re doing so well for me aren’t you?” He chuckles as you obediently lick up your cum from his fingers. The praise and your recent orgasm makes your head dizzy.

Opening your mouth you remove his fingers. You pout and pull him closer to you, and he goes back to placing his hands at each of your sides on the counter, leaning in to give you a peck on your lips.

“Want your cock, please baby.” you whine, grabbing the ends of his sweater to attempt to lift it off of him. He can only laugh at how needy you are for him. “Wanna feel you cum inside me please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

He removes his clothes quickly, both your bodies buzzing with anticipation. His pants pooling at his ankles, and his member stands hard and leaking with pre cum. Your mouth can’t help but water. As much as you want to suck him off right now, you don’t. Mentally leaving a note to yourself to ask him about it next time. Next time, you thought. It still sounded funny considering you haven’t been with him like this in a long time.

Parting your legs apart further, Wonwoo moves in between them, his hands guiding his dick towards your entrance. Teasingly he rubs himself against your cunt, collecting your juices for an easier entrance. You look down between the two of you and your pussy clenches at how big he is.

“Stop teasing please, I want you inside me now.” you beg, pushing your hips to meet his. He just chuckles, shaking his head before he forces his cock past your folds.

Gasping at the sudden intrusion, he doesn’t give you time to adjust; grabbing your thighs to hook them between his arms, spreading you further. It gives him a new angle to fuck into you deeper, his thrusts fast and hard just how you’ve always liked it. The pleasure becomes more overwhelming with every move he makes. The feeling of his hard member rubbing against your gummy walls sends you into overdrive. He continues to hit that spot in you that you know no one else can reach. The vigour in every movement causes slapping sounds to fill the room alongside the wet sounds of his cock entering in and out of you. If anything it just turns you one even more.

“Feels so good baby, keep going.” You moan as he places his mouth around your nipple sucking on it as he continues to fuck you. He moves your legs once again to place them around his hips, allowing his free hand to rub your clit once more. The feeling of it all is hitting you hard, especially with how sensitive you are from the previous orgasm.

“So fucking tight for me princess.” Wonwoo grunts, his words causing you to clench around him even harder. He’s groaning above you, trying hard to not cum for as long as possible. You’re already drunk off his cock but he wants to savour every moment of this. The uncertainty of it all is keeping him from cumming too quickly.

The moans coming from your mouth only get louder the more he plays with your clit, and before you know it you’re coming undone for the second time tonight. But Wonwoo perseveres, his thrusts never falter. Not until you feel his member twitch inside you.

“Cum inside me Won, wanna be filled up please.” you’re blubbering at this point, overstimulated and overwhelmed. You just want to feel his cum spurt into your hole. He groans at how the filthy words spewing from your lips, causing him to release inside you. You whimper against his shoulder, feeling the hot white liquid spilling into your pussy. As you clench around him once more you bring his face to yours, giving a deep and meaningful kiss.

“Come home with me. I’m not done with you.” He demands. His dick still inside of you, he refuses to pull out, finding comfort in your warmth.

“I’ll do whatever you want Jeon Wonwoo, as long as I get to ride you later.” you laugh, removing yourself from his grip. He smiles, the pink tinge apparent on his cheeks.

You hop off the counter to put on your clothes, and as you bend down to grab your things you feel a sharp slap hit your ass. Yelping, you turn to give him a dirty look. He can only smile mischievously, the sight of his cum leaking from your pussy lips onto your thighs is turning him on again. As he gets dressed his head fills with intrusive thoughts, ultimately, he decides to save it for later.

The two of you end up leaving the bathroom just to see everyone still drinking and talking in a circle. All the attention turns towards the two of you. Out of all the people you can’t help but notice the way Mingyu isn’t his usual cheerful self, the difference earlier on in the party is a stark contrast from his current mood. Your thoughts are cut off by Seungkwan’s voice.

“Finally! My god, we didn’t know when you two were gonna make up, its been to fucking long.” he exasperates, both you and Wonwoo giggle bashfully.

“For real, the tension between the both of you was too thick. All you needed was a good fuck.” Jeonghan chimes in, giving you two a suggestive wink.

You feel the heat rise creep up your neck to cheeks. In the heat of the moment the bathroom fuck was good, but you know the boys aren’t going to let you two live it down. They never do, Mingyu being a prime example.

“Ok ok, I hope you all got your jokes in. Me and Y/n are going home.” Wonwoo announces, leading you to the doorway with his hand on the small of your back.

“Good night guys!” You bid them farewell and you make your way out of Soonyoung’s apartment. They all say their goodnights to you two, along with some cheers at the news that you and Wonwoo are back to normal.

The two of you walk towards Wonwoo’s car, his hand entangled with yours; holding you tight to ensure you don’t leave him again. The fall breeze sends chills down your spine, the leaves dancing in circles along the pavement. Wonwoo pulls you in closer, trying to preserve your warmth. You can’t help but smile at the fact that he just knew, even when you didn’t say anything.

As you reach the destination of his car, he opens the door for you. Letting you get comfortable before climbing in himself and turning it on to start. The radio immediately connects to his phone, the song humming quietly in the background. Wonwoo’s hand finds yours again, looking at you with warm eyes. He places a quick peck on your lips before pulling away. There’s only one destination for him in mind.

“Home?” he asks.

“Home.” you respond.

a/n: there you have it kind reader! you've reached the end. i hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it :D leave a like, comment or even a reblog!!! i wanna hear your thoughts. mwah mwah, anna <3.

plz note: 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 𝙞’𝙫𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙬𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 !

#jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic #wonwoo fic #wonwoo fanfic #wonustars ✧ ﾟ. {fic: since you've been away}#wonustars ✧ ﾟ. {works}

971 notes · View notes

jojissalsa · 7 months

Text

Perfect body, Pretty face

Warnings: dom!Leon x fem/sub!reader, power dynamics (boss/assistant), daddy kink, mentions of nudes/sex work, taking pictures during sex, facial, condescension, slight praise, mentions of age gap (reader is in mid 20s), clothes ripping (tights), reader is bratty at some point.

hello again :3 i wanna post what i can while i have the time, so i can kinda build this page up. hope u guys enjoy this one even if i feel like i made a few mistakes and lmk where i can improve! constructive criticism, reposts and requests are always welcome :D (minors don’t interact, touch grass.)

WC: 3.3k (proofread)

When Leon first came to the D.S.O, he expected bigger missions and harder work. Not boring ass reports and paperwork. The missions were definitely longer, which meant piles atop piles of paperwork that would take longer than it should. When the D.S.O realized Leon needed more time on his reports compared to the rookies or standard agents, they gave him a hand. You, his new assistant. And god, were you helpful. You were more than a sight for sore eyes, you were distracting at first, but even more so as he got to know you. You even remembered his favorite coffee order, and what he liked most for lunch. To him, you were just doing a good job. But in reality, you just wanted to get in his pants more than anything.

Your last boss was such a douchebag, the typical mansplaining and ungratefulness. But Leon? He was such a sweetheart, and so understanding. He didn’t get annoyed when you made a tiny mistake, a couple minutes late or working slower at the end of your shift. You knew damn well your attraction to him was bad for you and this job, but Eve still ate that apple didn’t she? You were the same, always attracted to forbidden fruit. But when it was Leon, who cares about forbidden? It just adds to the flavor. Obviously being an assistant didn’t make the most money, but at least you got a pretty face to work with. And there’s no shame in a side hustle, right? That’s what you thought when you made a Twitter account when you first became an assistant, well, intern at first. The job was so damn stressful and your shitty boss didn’t help. It was harmless fun at first, posting a few lewd pictures of your cleavage or in cute two-piece bathing suits you got. And then it got even lewder, posting pictures of your bare tits, dim lighting from your computer, things like that until you said fuck it and showed all the goods. Complaining about your shitty boss became part of your brand, as well as the faceless part of your nudes. You never showed your face, only your hair if it was a full body picture, not because you were ashamed of what you were doing. Not in the slightest, actually. You were just worried about word spreading around the office, especially since you were getting fairly popular. No face, no case, right? Plus, it’s not like anyone had x-ray vision to see if you had the same tits. It’s not like it hurt business either, you had a perfect body. You weren’t the skinniest person in the world, average like most people’s bodies. But to you, it was perfect. It suited you and flaunting it made you happy.

Your brand definitely shifted when you changed bosses, less complaining about how much your job sucked to more complaining about how badly you needed your boss to look at you differently. Pictures of you up-skirt under your desk whenever he wasn't looking or left to grab you both coffee or lunch, captions that always mentioned him.

"is it bad that my boss gets me this wet?"

"wish my boss would crawl under my desk and take care of this ;p"

And they would only get more and more risky. Posts of your increasingly skimpy outfits and a courtesy picture of you out of them captioned "you guys think my boss will like? lol". A video of you cumming in the bathroom at work, another where you cheekily slipped your fingers in your cunt, rubbing your slick over your clit before giggling as you turn the recording off.

Leon really didn’t mean to find something of yours this personal, he was just a guy looking for porn where he knew he could find it. He may be old but the man still needs to get off. And he was a man of taste, he liked the amateur stuff, and he knew Twitter had it. When he stumbled across your account, he thought it was perfect. At first he didn't know it was you, but by your most recent posts, it was obvious. You never name dropped him, or even said what he looked like, only saying he was fine and looked like a dilf, which was definitely an ego boost when he figured out it was you. It was easy, really. He was bored at night, couldn’t sleep like usual, and hoped that jacking off would clear his head a bit. It didn’t clear his head in the slightest when he saw your most recent video. It was of you working overtime, fingering yourself on his desk. Biting your lip to stay quiet but failing miserably as your fingers keep rubbing against that spongy spot in your walls, palm slapping against your clit. The best part? You said his name while you came. Maybe not his full name, but the way you let it out subconsciously, saying "Mr. Kennedy" in the most pornographic way possible, realizing you did and then giggling when you felt no remorse. Only an "oh shit" and a cutesy laugh as you abruptly ended the video. He was gonna say something tomorrow. He had to.

The second you walk in the door with that polite smile you always have, cute pink blouse and short pencil skirt, he waves you over to his desk. "Y/n, come here for a sec." His stern tone makes you blush and immediately walk over after setting down your bag. "Yes, sir? Is there something you need from me?" You expect him to say he needs a file or some kind of paper, but he shocks you when he turns his monitor around to show your twitter page. "You know anything about this?" You don't show it on your face, but the way you clench your jaw makes it obvious. You've got a good poker face, he'll give you that. "No sir, am I supposed to?" You get a bit of an attitude, mainly because he just totally called you out. "I don't know, you tell me." He scrolled very little down to your last post, the video. You gulp, knowing damn well you said his name. "Is that you saying my name?" His tone is still stern, but it feels more teasing now, considering his cocky smirk. He has you in a corner. "Don't you think it's a little sleazy to be prying into my personal hobbies?" Your attitude gets more prominent, crossing your arms and giving him a sharp glare. You were more prideful than anything, his smugness starting to piss you off because of how turned on you were getting. "Don't you think it's a bit slutty to finger fuck yourself on my desk?" When he shot back at you with that you froze, face going completely red. Not only was he right, you had no room to talk about his habits, but the way he said it was so fucking hot it lit a fire in you, shockwaves shooting straight to your clit.

You felt uncomfortable under his gaze, your lips parted as you felt your pulse throbbing between your thighs, knowing your panties were soaked. "You gonna say something or just come over here already? Stop wasting my time, I have work to do." It was instant when he said that, hips swaying as you walked to him, holding your hands in front of you as you looked down at the ground. "What's got you all shy? You certainly weren't shy last night." His teasing was really getting to you, making your lips squeeze as you shift your thighs again, your chest feeling so heavy with every breath you took. "Didn't I tell you not to waste my time? Sit on my desk and spread your legs." Your breath hitches at his demanding words, hopping up on his desk and spreading your legs. You thank god that it was a little chilly today, making you wear sheer black tights. Not that you'd be wearing them long, you just hope the wet spot on your panties wasn’t noticeable. "Jesus, soaked through your fucking tights? You're that excited?" His teasing made you go wide eyed, whimpering at his smug gaze piercing through you. "Yes sir.." You finally manage to speak, even if it sounds breathless and needy. Your eyes stay steady on him, taking in every feature you can. You lick your lips from the sight of his hard cock pressed against his tight slacks, not daring to close your legs in the slightest even if you were desperate for friction. "See something you like?" You watch him palm over his hard on, just watching something that sinful makes you moan softly. "I thought you said not to waste your time? What are you waiting for?" You throw any bit of shyness out the window, brattiness taking its place instead. After all, he meddled into something private, why make it easy for him? That’s no fun~

His brows furrowed as he gives you an annoyed look, groaning in frustration as he shoots up from his office chair and grabs your waist, pulling you from his desk and flipping you to bend over. He certainly doesn't waste any time now, pulling your skirt up and ripping a massive hole in your tights, making you gasp and squirm, turning your head to try and see the damage. "Don't complain, no point in denying you like it. Why else are your panties fucking drenched?" You throw him a frustrated glare before grumbling something about those being expensive under your breath. "Sorry, what was that?" You gasp as his hand slams down harshly on your ass cheek, whining at his gentle kneading on the now stinging red spot. "You're trying so hard to be bratty, when you're usually such a sweet girl. Always coming here early, bringing me coffee, remembering my favorite lunch. You don't do that because you like this job, hell, a slut like you doesn’t care about working hard. You do it because you want my attention." His hand keeps kneading the fat of your ass, making you back up into his palm for more. That doesn't stop your attitude though. "Oh boo hoo, as if you didn't love every second of it. How'd you even find my page? The nursing home gives you internet after 10?" Your bitchy tone doesn't go unnoticed by him, and neither does your smug smirk that is clearly challenging him, if anything it lights the same fire inside him, dick twitching under his slacks. He shoots you a glare that says "you really wanna do this?", as if you care about that silly warning. What's the worst he could do? "Y'know they shouldn't give a pervy old man like you access to stuff like that, it rots your brain~" You get cut off by another slap on your ass, harder than the last one, he doesn't even bother to soothe the sting with his hand. "Pervy old man? Then what are you? Some slut thinking of her boss's cock all day. How high and mighty." Another slap, and you're already unraveling by the second, the tingling sensation from his spanks sending shock after shock to your clit.

"You go on and on about me on that damn site for thousands to see, so why not take what you want? You're getting nowhere by being an ungrateful brat." He's really starting to make sense with how desperate you are to be touched, for that release you so desperately need. And with how hard his spanking is getting, it's making your head dizzy. He presses his hard-on against your ass, making you whine and grind against him. That's not enough for him though, he needs you to say it, the same way you said his name last night. "C'mon pretty girl, get what you want and ask for it, I know you can." He grinds against your ass, finally snapping through the sane part of your brain. "Fuck! Fine, please, please give it to me, I can't wait anymore, please Mr. Kennedy.." You beg in a gravelly voice, nails digging into his desk as the neediness in you builds. "Need what? You can say it." He slaps your ass again, a little gentler now that you're finally getting there, sliding his hand down to press his thumb on the gusset on your panties, hissing at how wet it felt. "Your cock, Leon, please, I need your cock so bad.." You whimper in broken fragments from your voice breaking, sighing in relief as he finally pulls down your panties, feeling your slick connect to them in strings and the cool air contrasting how hot you feel. As you heard the sound of metal clinking and a zipper pulled down you wished he flipped you over, because you really wanted to see his cock, turning your head in a desperate attempt to steal a quick glance. "Don't worry baby, you'll get a good look later." You don't care enough to question him, you care more about his tip pressed against your folds, threatening to stretch you open.

The coil of anticipation that's released when he finally slides inside you is the most euphoric feeling, growling as he fills you completely, balls nestled right against your clit. "Fuck, barely had to do anything and it slipped in so easy. Like you were made to take this cock, huh, sweetheart?" He goes slow at first, letting you adjust to his thick size, agonizing in how slow he drags his cock along your walls. All you can mutter is 'yes' like a mantra to keep you in reality, but every stroke is sending you further into that cloudy part of your brain where all you can think about is how you can feel everything. His hands on your hips to keep you in place, the way his cock kisses right against your cervix then pulls all the way out just to make you drunk off the feeling, his low and heavy grunts dangerously close to your ear, and it's all getting you even more impatient and needy. "Leon, please, go faster, need it faster." You speak through broken sobs and high pitched whines, looking back at him with a pleading pout. You can't say no to this cute face, can you? His nails dig into your hips, finally fucking you faster, and so much harder, you can feel the air in your lungs get choked out with every harsh thrust. "Just can't help yourself, can you? So fucking impatient." He can hear you getting louder, and between you and the sound of skin slapping against wet skin, he can at least silence one. "So loud, the whole fucking office can probably hear you." He puts his hand over your mouth and pulls your head up, body arching backwards as your head meets his shoulder. You can barely make out his smug grin as he looks down at you, glossy eyes with blown out pupils, your cheeks flushed a deep red.

"You look so pretty like this, looking up at me without a thought in that pretty little head. Just needed Daddy to fuck you stupid, huh?" He gets a wicked chuckle at your wide eyes, the way you clench tighter and move your hips to meet his rhythm. You curse yourself mentally for tweeting about that godforsaken daddy kink you have, or any of your kinks because now he knows every little thing that makes you tick. How frustrating. "Ohhh, didn't think I would look that far? You have no idea, spent hours looking at your stuff, even during missions I couldn't help but think about this sweet pussy wrapped around my cock." Your expression goes blank at his words, completely cockdrunk. You know you shouldn't do any of this, you can only imagine how much trouble you’d be in if someone walked in right now. But who could blame you? You couldn't name a single person who would throw away an opportunity like this. Who needs responsibility when you could have the simple yet intense pleasure that Leon Kennedy brings?

"Almost went crazy when I heard my name in that dirty fucking mouth, never been that hard in my life. Gonna make sure that mouth is full of my name every chance I get." You scream and whimper, the sound rumbling against his hand as you get closer and closer, toes curling into your heels. The sight is so damn beautiful to him, and he just has to see what you look like when you cum in person. When you cum on his cock, not some silly toy that could never satisfy you the way he can. His free hand takes its time sliding up your blouse to palm your tits over your bra, his fingers raking over the soft skin of your stomach before stilling at your bunched up skirt around your waist, right above your clit. "You wanna cum, don't you, baby? You're gonna be good and ask nicely, yeah? Go ahead, tell Daddy you wanna cum." He moves his hand away from your mouth but keeps your head up, gripping your face instead, watching as you greedily suck in air between mindless moans. "Please Daddy, please, please, please let me cum, need to cum so fucking bad-" Your pathetic babbling cuts off when his fingers put pressure on your clit, rubbing fast circles that make your brows frown as your walls clench, the knot in your stomach slowly coming undone. "There you go, such a good girl, asking me so nicely. Cum for me, sweet girl, cum on my cock for me." And you do, harder than you have in a while, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you see white spots, those sweet, broken sobs leaving your lips involuntarily, moaning his name as he slows down.

Before you know it, you're on your knees in front of him, finally getting a full, up close and personal view of his fat cock. He's thick, pre-cum pearling at his tip as he uses your slick to finish himself off, fisting his cock feverishly. "Told you you'd get a better look, now open up sweetheart. Gonna cover that pretty face in my cum, maybe even take a picture for those depraved little boys that get off on you." He’s one to talk.. His grunts and soft whimpers between his words make you bite back an eager grin, lolling your tongue out and getting blessed with the salty taste on his tip. You keep your lips pursed on his cock, looking up at him with doe eyes that make his cock kick in his hand, your own hands resting on his thighs. He pulls some hair away from your face with his free hand and keeps it there as he finally coats your cheeks and tongue with pools of cum, chuckling through breathless moans as he slaps his cock on your tongue. He grabs his phone as his free hand leaves your hair to press his thumb on your tongue, keeping your mouth open. He groans with a smug smirk as you look up into the camera, a clear, empty head as drool dribbles down your chin and onto his fingers holding your chin. "You'll get this picture tonight when I drive you home, 'kay?" He helps you back to your feet, cleaning off your face with his handkerchief and pulling your skirt down, fixing your wrinkled blouse. “Now go finish those reports for me, try not to work too slow, don’t wanna work overtime, do you?” He softly strokes your back, coaxing you closer to your desk. "Yes, Mr. Kennedy.." You breathe out, still wobbly on your feet as you walk to your desk, feeling the sting on your ass as you sit down, shivering at the tingle. Worth it.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy smut #leon resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy infinite darkness #resident evil smut #smut

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reinerszn · 1 year

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good boy ! — e. landry & mean!reader

content warnings: nsfw/smut, sub!ethan, afab!reader, unprotected sex, p in v!, e is super needy, mentions of bodily fluids (cum), e has a breeding kink, praise, established relationship, e calls reader momma, last of it is sorta rushed sry:(, if there’s anything else lmk! ♥︎

xylea’s note: literally over 2.5k words :O proofread once, sry for any mistakes. longer part for this! also, for all my works i envision it with chubby!reader :p but feel free to use your imagination baby!

ethan’s attention was not at all focused on the movie anymore. he couldn’t help but feel bothered and frustrated that you were denying his needs. he needed you so desperately, why couldn’t you see that? “be a good boy and you’ll get rewarded as soon as they go home, okay?” your voice was so sweet and promising, it got ethan’s hopes up. he nodded furiously.

some time had passed and it was already 11:24 pm. ethan was more than desperate now given it felt like it had been forever and time was going so agonizingly slow. “momma please.. just need your touch,” ethan gave you a pout, eyes filled with distress. “movie’s almost done e, just wait.” you continued to shut him down every chance you got. the pout was still visible on his pretty face. “stop poutin’ baby,” you whispered softly to the curly-haired boy beside you, hand caressing his inner thigh. ethan’s breathing hitched a bit from the sudden touch. so cute.

20 or 30 minutes had now passed and the movie was now done. you sighed softly in relief. “go switch on the lights, e.” he whipped his head at you, embarrassment visible in his eyes. he was still painfully hard and he knew it’d be visible to the others. ethan shook his head from side to side. you rolled your eyes and got up to do it yourself. “ugh, that movie was shit, tara,” mindy got up from the floor, reaching out her hands for anika. “you wouldn’t understand mindy!” tara snapped back. i chuckled softly at the two who were bickering their mouths off. “alright! why don’t we go home now, huh?” chad chimed in, attempting to stop their stupid argument. “ethan, you gonna stay?” chad looked over at ethan who was desperately trying to cover himself up with the blanket without looking suspicious. “u-uh yeah.. you go ahead and leave, i’ll stay.” chad nodded as he made his way over to the front door with tara, mindy and anika following out as well. both you and ethan waved a goodbye to the four as they left. you locked the door and looked back at ethan.

“you should’ve just listened baby..” you slowly made your way to the back of the couch, sitting your plump ass on the edge of it. “i- they would’ve saw!” he began to ramble on about how worried he was if his friends saw how hard he was for you. “that’s your fault for being so desperate. i mean, why were you even so needy in the first place baby? what made you so worked up, huh?” you looked at him so sweetly, even giving him a small pout as you hopped off the back of the couch to make your way towards the curly-haired boy. “i- i don’t know. you just make me get all worked up and excited i can’t help but crave you momma..” ethan admitted, looking down at the couch to avoid eye contact with you.

you took hold of his jaw firmly and made him look at you. “look at me.” ethan’s eyes widened, surprised from the sudden action. would it surprise you if you knew that his dick just twitched at the very act you just did? “s-sorry momma.”

“mm.. do you still want your reward? do you think you deserve it?” your eyes were locked with his and you could’ve swore you saw hearts in his eyes once you had mentioned his reward. ethan nodded his head furiously, curls softly bouncing from the motion. “p-please momma. i’ll be good, promise. i won’t even cum til’ you tell me, please?” all he could do was babble out promises that you knew were going to be broken by the time you touched his painfully hard cock that throbbed for your touch. “oh really?” your voice was lower than usual, a bit huskier as well. your eyes were filled with burning desire and you couldn’t help but think of ethan’s pretty cock spurting out his cum all over your hands. he bit his lip, nodding once more. “if you say so baby.. better stay true to your words.”

you straddled yourself onto his lap, hips sitting on his. your hands were wrapped around his neck as your lips were on his, kiss filled with such desire and passion yet with a sense of love and warmth. he melted into your touch and his brain had gone all mushy, no longer being able to think about anything else but you. ethan’s breathing began to get a bit erratic and would falter as he felt one of your hands travel down his chest and to his achy cock that was restrained in his grey sweats. he pulled away softly, desperately needing air. “momma please,” he whined out. ethan’s whines and whimpers were nothing but music to your ears. they sounded so heavenly and beautiful as they fell off his puffy lips that you would gently bite on whenever you’d feel like it. “please what, e? use your words.” obviously you knew exactly what he wanted but it was just so much better to see ethan beg and plead for it. “please touch me momma, ‘m so hard it hurts and it’s so achy,” his lips jutted out, giving you another small pout as his big eyes gave you that adoring puppy-like look. seeing him fall apart like this always made your heart swell and arousal form between your thighs. a cunning smirk was plastered on your face.

one of your hands slipped under the waistband of his sweats, squeezing his cock that was being held back from his boxers. you earned a groan from ethan as he threw his head back. “fuckkk.. momma.”

“what baby? that feel good?” you squeezed his cock once more, hand softly palming him afterwards. ethan nodded his head frantically as more whines and moans escaped his lips. “can’t hear you,” you said in a sing-song tone, teasing the writhing boy. “feels too good!” he managed to choke out between breathy whimpers. your palming became much more powerful, pressing against his achy cock. his body jolted as he slapped his palm against his lips, attempting to muffle his pretty sounds. “no no.. let momma hear you,” you stopped your motions and swatted away his hand from his mouth. needing his lips on yours once again, you kissed him, feeling ethan groan into your mouth. your hips were rubbing against his, cunt grinding down on him. you would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t just as desperate as your boyfriend who laid beneath you. ethan’s hips began to buck into yours, gravely needy for your cunt or at the very least, your hands wrapped around him. “please.. please please pleaseee,” he continued to babble out, desperate for you.

feeling just as eager as ethan, you got up to slide your pyjama shorts down, leaving yourself in your pink and lacy panties that ethan adored. you then went to slide ethan’s sweats and boxers down, just enough to see his cock. his tip was red and leaked with pre-cum, slapping and twitching against his stomach. you cooed at the sight, feeling so lucky to have ethan at your mercy like this. “so pretty baby… you want momma to help you?” you cocked an eyebrow at him. “yes— please i need it so bad.. just need your touch,” he whined out, adams apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly.

being such a generous girlfriend who always nurtured her sweet boyfriend, you couldn’t help but give in a bit. your hands were wrapped around the shaft of his cock, stroking it gently just to tease. ethan threw his head back once more, mouth agape as his pretty sounds fled his mouth. his physical reactions that his body always made, due to just your touch, never failed to get you all thrilled. “sucha good boy, making those sounds for momma..” your hands picked up their pace, going a bit faster than ethan had anticipated. he gasped loudly, eyes closed shut. “momma.. need your cunt,” he’d slur on his words, saliva forming on the corners of his mouth. his mind was blank and he couldn’t think straight at all. all he knew was that he felt good and needed your cunt squeezing all the cum out of him that he had for you. “soon baby.. keep being a good boy f’ me.”

ethan’s breathing hitched, abdomen clenching tight which indicated that he was indeed close to gushing out all of his cum on your hands. your pace had gotten slower by the second and came to a full stop.

ethan absolutely hated when you would do this and be so mean to deny or ruin his orgasm. “why’d you stop?” he whined out softly as he opened his eyes to look at you, “was so close momma.” you couldn’t help but smirk at the curly-haired boy who had a slick of sweat covering his forehead. his curls started to stick onto his forehead, covering his brows. “because baby, i don’t want you to cum yet. want you to fill me up,” your hand slid your lacy panties to the side as you were too eager to fully take them off. his eyes lit up with joy and his heart swelled at your words. he loved painting your gummy walls with his cum, filling you up to the brink with everything he had.

still straddling his lap, you lifted yourself off a bit, grabbing hold of his cock to align it to your slit. your cunt was practically drooling for ethan’s cock. a small hiss left your mouth as you sunk down, trying to adjust to how stretched out you felt.

ethan was big in length, a bit smaller in girth, but to you he was perfect either way. the way he fit into you, filled you up to the brim, moaned and whimpered out your name with such delicacy, would kiss your sopping cunt with his cock like he’ll never ever get anything like this ever again.. it was all so perfect and made you so cock drunk for him.

“fuck baby.. makin’ momma feel so good,” you felt ethan’s hands squeeze around your waist, slamming you down all the way to the base of his cock. you winced, feeling him brush against your cervix. you kissed ethan to muffle your noises and melted into his lips. his heartbeat grew faster as he placed one of his hands gently on the back of your head, kissing you more frantically as he leaned into the kiss. he needed you.. craved you.

“hnngg.. momma, ‘s so tight,” he said in between kisses. his hands lifted you up with ease and slammed you back down. “ah, ah- no touching.” ethan pulled away from the kiss to give you one of his pretty pouts like before. you smiled softly at him before bouncing all over his cock, making his face immediately contort in pleasure. a series of small whimpers, gasps, and ‘fuck’s left his puffy lips. his hands softly grabbed onto your hips, squeezing the warm and soft flesh, not being able to take his hands off you. as much as you wanted to swat away his hands, you couldn’t and you could no longer deny his sweet desire for you. he was being a good boy after all and just for you.

ethan’s stomach began to get tight once again, abs contracting. “w-wait.. wait momma i.. i wanna fuck into you, please?” he felt you stop bouncing, sitting down all the way to the point where your cunt took him at the base. “of course baby.. did you need me to lay back?” you questioned the curly-haired boy, eyes fixated on him. he nodded his head quickly as he pulled out, waiting for you to scoot over that way he can get you into the position he was dying to fuck you in. you couldn’t help but find it so adorable how excited he was. you sat on the side of the couch, eyes attentively watching your boyfriend move around.

he got off the couch and stood in front of you, taking hold of your pretty, plump legs. ethan’s hands pushed your legs against your chest, practically folding you like you were nothing but his little toy that he desperately wanted to please and be a good boy for. your tummy was so cute as it formed into two rolls; ethan absolutely adored it and probably would’ve came at the sight beneath him.

he slid in your tight cunt with ease, your slick covering him once more. a groan left both yours and ethan’s lips as he stuffed his cock into you, bottoming out. he took a quick moment to regain himself and by the time you knew it, he was fucking into you at such an animalistic pace. his thrusts were so deep, brushing against your cervix. all that you could say were a bunch of ‘fuck’s as your mind went hazy, no coherent thought in there! your hands clawed against e’s back, leaving pretty red marks that complimented his skin. “fuckkk ethan!” you felt ethan’s head nuzzle into your neck, peppering small kisses all over as his hips still drilled into you. that familiar knot began to wind in your lower stomach, threatening to break any second now. “‘m gonna cum babyboy.. momma feels so good,” you cooed out as your eyes were screwed shut, manicured nails still scratching at his back. “please, please cum,” he whispered into your ear, kissing it afterwards. his hips continued to drill into you, a bunch of stamina still running through his body. the knot came undone, snapping and you couldn’t help but clench around ethan’s cock. tears escaped your eyes, rolling down your rosy cheeks as your jaw fell slack, mouth agape.

“am i making you feel good momma?” he softly asked, tone sweet and innocent. the recognizable knot that once formed in his stomach before began to appear again, fast. he knew that with just a few more thrusts in and out of your sobbing cunt, he’d be spilling his cum all inside of your pretty womb. you nodded your head eagerly, “yes baby.. making momma feel so full,” you purred out, giving him reassuring caresses on his back with your thumb. “you gonna cum baby?” you could tell from his staggering hips and his unsteady breaths that he was so close to spurting out everything he had for you. ethan bobbed his head eagerly, whimpering out a small ‘mhm’. “good boy baby.. fill me up,” you cooed out once more. with just a few more thrusts of going in and out, like he had anticipated, repeatedly abusing your cunt to his full power, he collapsed; weight all against you, gushing out his cum inside your gummy walls. you could feel the thick, warm ropes of cum paint your insides and you purposely fluttered your cunt around him, just to milk out everything he had for you. gasps and stutters fell off of ethan’s puffy lips, hot breath against your ear.

as tired as you both seemed, ethan wanted to fill you up to the point where you could no longer take it. he planned on doing it. of course, he knew you would no longer deny him of his desperate wishes and needs and you would let him do whatever, given you were close to being too fucked out to notice his antics.

“we’re not done yet momma.”

#🍍 ˖˚˳⊹ ❝ xylea’s work .ᐟ #ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ ethan landry ❞#scream smut #scream #ethan landry scream #scream vi #scream vi smut #sub! ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader

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lushaletta · 2 months

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love and its lethal consequences / tom riddle

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

content: muggleborn!reader, dark!tom, mild swearing, violence

summary: tom grapples between his dark desires and his unlikely affection for you. it’s deadly.

a/n: part 3 to this lil series :> pls lmk if u guys r enjoying so far!! idk how long i want this to be but we shall see where it goes

read the previous parts: one two

⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Tom has decided. And once Tom decides something, nothing will get in his way.

You are to be his.

The murder would be the easiest part of all. Twice, now, he’s done it. First with that disgusting, grumbling Myrtle and second with his nasty father he can’t even be bothered to think about.

Third time is always the charm. He has it all figured out.

“Tommy!” you beam, following the daily routine. You slide over a treacle tart. “You liked these ones last time.”

He accepts the dessert wordlessly. He’s too deep in thought. You grin.

A few more moments of silence pass and you begin to be irritated by the lack of noise. You have to fill the air up somehow. “Have I told you about Murph yet?”

He’s almost sickened by the name itself. So much so that he can’t stomach the lovely tart your mother has made for him. You’re on a nickname basis now? “You have not.”

You haven’t told him anything about this boy, but he already knows everything. He won’t have to worry about this foul beast for much longer, so he’ll tolerate the giddiness in your eyes for now.

“We’ve just gone on a date. I think it went well, you know? He’s sweet. Opens the door for me, matches pace. That type of thing.”

Tom could do that too if that’s what you really wanted. “How wonderful,” he deadpans.

You’d be a fool not to notice the way his eye twitched when you said the word “date” or the poorly hidden sarcasm he laced in his speech.

“I think our next one is this Wednesday,” you continue.

He’s absolutely fucking repulsed. If he didn’t know any better, he’d march on over to that moron’s room and take care of it himself. But there’s a plan, procedure to be followed. And Tom is nothing if not methodical.

“I can’t believe it! The both of us have dates this week. What even are our lives now?” Camilla cheers, leaning back in her seat.

“I don’t think Tom is very happy about mine.”

She raises a brow. “That’s because Murphy isn’t pure. I’m telling you, Riddle’s lot is psychotic.”

“Okay, I’m not a fan of them either, but Tom knows I’m not pure. He’s been perfectly pleasant.”

“He hardly speaks!” she retorts.

You roll your eyes and urge her to continue reading her book. She complies. Camilla’s never been very argumentative.

As she settles in the pages, all entranced by the words, you lean back in your chair. It is a strange twist of fate that you’re now friends with Tom, but despite Camilla’s warnings, you can’t get yourself to leave. It’s a comfortable trap.

“Hello,” Tom says from behind you as you swing your feet on the railings.

You don’t skip a beat. “Hi!”

Tom knows by now that he can’t surprise you.

The echoing chambers of Hogwarts are bathed in soft moonlight, and no one else is around. Tom is usually by himself at this time. You only steal each other’s afternoons.

“You know,” you muse, breaking the comfortable quiet that settled between you. “You’re very important to me.”

Tom clears his throat. He’s never really been important to anyone. He swallows. “Likewise.”

He’s avoiding your gaze. You think it’s cute. His lips quirk into a faint smile, a rare glint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes.

Suddenly, you study his face, trying to unravel the mysteries hidden within. He’s more withdrawn recently. Even quieter, if that’s possible. You suppose it has something to do with Murph but you never can be too sure when it comes to him.

“You’re staring,” he says.

“I like the view.” He sighs.

Tom is not a good person. Far from it. Your friend realises it but you don’t. You’re a glimmer of hope in the darkness that threatens to consume him, that’s already consumed him. You’re both refuge from his despair and a constant reminder. He finds solace in your company and he hates it but now he has no choice. He can’t bring himself to kill you. He knows he never will and so it has to be this way.

It will hurt you, undoubtedly. It will make him more terrible than he already is.

Time is creeping up on him. You’re growing closer with that wretched Ravenclaw and the longer he waits, the more you will be affected.

“Murphy Atthill.”

He turns around at the call of his name and can’t help but feel uneasy. Tom’s presence tends to do that. “Riddle? What can I do for you?” he asks politely. He isn’t very good at masking his anxiety.

Tom casts the Killing Curse and he feels the unmistakable split of his soul as he recites haunting Latin incantations. He knows there’s no going back.

A chilling sense of finality looms over him and yet it weighs light on his conscience. All for the better, this is. In fact, it’s a twisted sense of satisfaction that he feels knowing that the deed is done. He knows he’s crossed a line with you from which there is no return,

But Murphy’s eyes lifeless are much prettier that way.

taglist for this series!! @mariamyousef702 @enidths @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @girlogies @unwrittenletter @helalokithor

#🎞 by.ivy #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #harry potter oneshot #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x reader fluff #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle blurb #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle drabble #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle angst #tom riddle x you #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #dark!tom riddle #tom riddle x reader angst

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trumanbluee · 3 months

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if its not with you - matty healy

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!

content: matty's away on tour, and you miss each other dearly

word count: 1724

warnings: phone sex! established relationship, afab oc, lmk if i missed anything! xx

a/n: hi!!!! im so sorry i havent been active at all recently i've been super busy with schoolwork, here's part one of a two part thing i wrote a little while ago !!! love u <3333

She stirred as she felt her phone vibrate on the bed beside her. Eyes still shut, sleep glueing them together, she blindly felt around the bed for it, gripping it with her freshly manicured hand once she’d found it.

Opening her eyes, she screwed her eyebrows together at the brightness of the screen, before the furrow quickly dissipated when she saw who’d disturbed her nap. Matty ❤️ was sprawled out on the top of her screen in bright white, and behind it a picture of her kissing him on the cheek, taken on their first date. Sitting up in the bed, she didn’t hesitate to accept the call.

Instantly, she heard a tired, “Hey baby,” ring out from the other side of the phone. She smiled as she pictured him in bed, rubbing his eye sleepily as he held his phone to his ear.

“Hi Matty,” she whispered through the phone, positioning her pillows at the head of her bed so she could sit back. “Did you just get back to your hotel?”

“Yeah,” she heard a soft exhale followed by a sharp intake of breath. “Long day.”

Her heart sank at the exhaustion that was so evident in his voice, and she just wished she was there with him.

He’d been touring for 6 months now, and had been away for far too long. She missed him dearly, and these phone calls, that lasted no longer than 10-15 minutes at best, simply weren’t enough.

She huffed, repositioning herself against her pillows before placing her phone back to her ear, “I’m sorry baby, I know you said you’d call but we don’t have to if you’re too tired. Just want you to take care of yourself, Matty.”

She heard him shuffling against his sheets, and hoped he was getting comfortable in order to fall asleep. She loved the calls where he’d fall asleep on facetime whilst she worked, her camera roll full of screenshots he didn’t know she had, of his soft, relaxed face.

He tutted, “Never, baby. Always wanna hear your voice after a long day. Just wish you were here instead of me havin’ to call ‘ya.”

She sighed, “I know babe, I miss you so much. When are you coming home again?” she asked, sure of the answer but wanting to hear the excitement in his tone as he said it.

“Three weeks, honey. Three weeks and then I’m never leavin’ you again.”

She laughed softly, “Yeah, I’m sure Jamie, the fans and the lads’d be happy to hear that. I can see the headlines now, ‘The 1975 breaks up because Matty refuses to ever leave his girlfriend again.’

She hears him chuckle down the phone, low and gruff, obviously strained and exhausted from the long day of rehearsals and performing.

“I just hope that picture I sent you’s enough to tide you over for another three weeks, hon.” She said cheekily, tracing a finger up the exposed skin of her thigh, where her shorts had ridden up.

She heard his breathe hitch slightly, and she imagined all the nights when he’d really missed her, where he’d pulled that picture up, probably saved in his ‘Baby ❤️’ album knowing him, and, laying amongst the soft white of the hotel bedding, shoved his hand into his boxers and tugged at his throbbing cock needily, until he came all over his hand. The thought made her ache, and she felt heat pooling between her thighs.

He laughed softly, “Yeah baby, it’s been getting me through the nights. You look so sexy honey, all dressed up in pretty lingerie for me.”

She whined softly, “Fuck, miss you, Matty. S’not the same without you here.”

“S’not the same? How’s it not the same, baby?” He asked cockily, knowing in which direction she was trying to steer the conversation.

She huffed, “Y’know what I mean.”

He laughed softly, repositioning himself to lie further down the bed. “Humour me babe, tell me what’s not the same.”

Having discarded her pyjama shorts, she lay with her head on the pillows, tracing lazy patterns along the soft skin of her thighs and stomach. “Fingers can’t reach all the spots you do, Matty. Need you here to help.”

He tutted in faux sadness, “Oh my poor baby, let me see if I can help you now, huh? Why don’t you lie down on the bed and spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

She obeyed, hurriedly pulling her favourite pair of underwear, light blue, adorned with yellow daisies, down her thighs, using her right foot to fling them somewhere in the room.

“You good, honey? Lyin’ down f’me?” he asked, making sure she’d done what he had told her to.

She hummed a yes, waiting to be given her next instructions.

“Want you to start by playing with your clit a little bit, okay baby?

She quickly put her phone on speaker, laying it on the pillow beside where her head was propped up, before she snaked a hand down her body, moaning softly as her index finger began rubbing soft circles on her throbbing clit.

“Good girl.” He spoke, slightly breathless. She could just make out the sound of him unbuckling his belt, making her thighs clench at the thought of him stroking his thick length.

“Actually, baby, can you prop your phone up somewhere I’ll be able to see you? Can you do that, honey?

She nodded, though she knew he couldn’t see her, and opted to prop her laptop up against the end of her bed, receiving a facetime request from Matty mere seconds later. Pressing ‘accept’ in record time, she scrambled to resume her previous position, being sure to spread her legs as wide as she could, just to make sure Matty could see as much of her as possible.

Drawing lazy circles on her clit, the facetime finally connected, and she was met with Matty’s tired face, though she couldn’t tell if his eyes were hooded from sheer sleepiness, or horniness. Every thought wiped from her brain when he registered what was on the screen in front of him, flashing her a wide grin at the sight of her spread-legged for him.

“Oh honey, such a good girl for me, doing what I tell you when I can’t even see it.”

She nodded, feeling her cunt get stickier as he watched her actions, speeding up slightly.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me sweetheart… Pussy’s so fucking pretty. Think you can fuck yourself with your fingers f’me now baby? Yeah?” He asked, though the questions were rhetorical. They were both well aware she would do just about anything and everything that he asked her to.

However, she nodded nonetheless, looking at his pretty face on the screen in front of her as she brought the hand that wasn’t occupied with her clit down to tease her hole, swirling her index finger around the entrance teasingly.

“Fuck, baby. S’that feel good? Huh?” He asked, though he received only soft moans and needy whines of his name in response, as she finally pushed a singular digit into her now soaking cunt.

He threw his head back, eyebrows screwing together as he swiped a thumb across the head of his cock, smearing the pre-cum down the vein that ran along his length. Giving it three quick pumps, he began to slowly slide his fist up and down at the same time she pressed her fingers, having added a second not long after the first, into her tight pussy, a squelching sound reverberating from his laptop and around his hotel room.

“Fuck,” He said breathlessly, “Such a good girl, baby. Takin’ those fingers so well f’me. Miss you so much, wish I was there with you right now honey.” He rambled, fist pumping his cock quicker now, as she slammed her fingers into her hole, right hand rapidly swiping across her clit as you brought yourself closer and closer to her orgasm, with Matty coaching her through it.

“M-matty, feels so good!” She stuttered out, head thrown back against her pillows as her orgasm got closer and closer.

He groaned as he watched her, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut in pleasure as he fisted his slick length.

“C’mon baby, you - fuck, you’ve got it baby. Can you cum f’me? “He spoke, though he had to try his hardest to speak in a way that was understandable, eyebrows furrowing as his orgasm approached alongside hers.

“F-fuck!” She moaned, legs clenching together around her hands as she came, body jolting. Almost as though the two are connected, Matty’s body tightens, and thick ropes of cum decorate his lower stomach as he groans loudly, head thrown back against his pillows.

Silence filled both rooms, with nothing but heavy breathes from both sides of the room to fill it. Her chest rises rapidly, hair sticking to her forehead. She reaches down, still silent, and fishes her laptop from the bottom of the bed, placing it on the side of the bed that Matty would usually occupy. Turning on her side to face the computer, she sees that he’s had the same idea, and is now lying beneath the duvet, curls messy and out of place, hooded eyes staring back at her through the screen.

She smiles sleepily, though it’s midday for her and night-time for him; her sleep schedule had been messed up by consequence of her trying to catch his shows via livestream. He smiles back, eyes lidded and eyebrows relaxed.

“I love you, baby.” He says, eyebrows lifted, softening his fatigued features, before he smiles cheekily. “See, all you needed was a bit of help, huh honey?”

This causes her to laugh softly, head turning into her pillow to muffle the sound. She shrugs the best she can in her position, “I love you too Matty. Would’ve been better with the real thing here though.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly at this, as if reminded of the fact that he’s looking at her through a screen, and she isn’t actually in his bed right now.

“I know sweetheart, just three more weeks, yeah? We can do it, honey. We’ve gone this long.” Just then, he checks the time, mumbling a low “Shit”. “Sorry honey, I gotta go to sleep now. I love you, I’ll see you in three weeks.”

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thebestandrealestever · 10 months

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NOT YOU TOO PART 2!!

1610 miles morales x black fem reader(?) hobie brown x black fem reader!

part 1: https://rb.gy/bfwe9

warnings : cussin, use of n word, rebound(?)

sum:hobie kinda 🤭, miles tried to apologize. a/n: HEY BOOKIES LMK IF YAAL LIKE IT, PSA : READER CHOOSES HOBIE/HERSELF!!! SOSORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT, I HAVENT BEEN FEELIN THE BEST!!

the next morning u woke up alone, to a note on your nightstand that contained : “i had a late night mission wish i could’ve stayed longer. i seen your ig story, tryna pop out with me already pretty?” you pick up the note and smile as you read it then dropped your face in your hands you remembered the events of last night. sighing as you open your phone to 1 new text message from “hobie 🎸” 10 new text messages from “my boy 👦🏽.” 20 new instagram dms from “miles morales”. 3 new text messages from “gwen” 35 new instagram dms from “margo kess.” 20 new story reactions from instagram. you audibly groan at all the replies but what did u really expect, one day u were in the happiest rls and the next you flicking up w a new nigga. before reading all the messages you went to the bathroom, looking in the mirror at how tired you looked. your eyes rimmed with red from all the tears when hobie was asleep. even though he hurt u, your feelings didn’t just go away in a night. you took a long shower to digress, once u got out u finally checked your phone. through the sea of apologies, “can we talk”, and margo bein confused asfc the only message that matter to you right now was “pav’s throwin a party @ 9, wanna go?” kicking your feet when u flopped onto the bed you replied “yea, pick me up .” it was only 1pm, so u had the whole day. you called margo to come over and when she did you asked her about the party. “hobie invited me a to a party tonight” you said like it was nothing as u we’re getting in the car on your way to the mall. “WHATTT?? wait is it pav’s party?? cause if it is yk miles AND gwen gon be dere.” you rolled your eyes at their names “they can be there idgaf, i’m going to dance on my man and have a good time. i don’t know nun bout that.” margo wheezed and got out, as you both were shopping for outfits amongst other things you needed. when you got from the mall it was 6:30 giving u 2 hrs nd 30 minutes to get ready. margo decided to get ready at your place so you told hobie that she would take u and u guys would just meet there. after you got ready u n margo took a pic, posting it on ur ig story “pregaming w my fav 👯‍♀️” was the caption and miles slid up almost instantly “what party? pavitrs?” you laughed at how desperate he sounded leaving him on read. when you got there margo ditched u for her man, leaving you to roam the halls under blasting music and harsh color changing lights. you and margo had smoked a blunt before you came so you were a lil buzzed. as you scoured the house for a familiar face you were met the one you wanted to see the most, you strolled up the hobie looking up at him. “hey, why u wallsittin?” you quipped at him before joining him on the wall, he sipped whatever concoction was in his red cup and laughed, lowly and raspy. “was waiting for u” he glanced over his shoulder down at you and your stomach did flips u couldn’t even do. you pull out your phone and take a picture of y’all two captioning it “🫶🏽🫂.” and again miles slid up on sum more bs.

“wtf (name)?” you showed hobie the text and he huffed. after you put your phone back into your pocket you grabbed hobies hand “dance with me baeee” he didn’t say anything back but just followed you to wherever everyone else was dancing. miles irking ass mustve been looking for u cause you saw him out the corner of eye so you just turned the other direction and continued swaying w the fine nigga behind u.

MILES POV!!

“(name) won’t fucking respond, gwen doesn’t mean anything to me. she was upset ab-about her dad! and i was tryna be there for her. i don’t love her i love (name) with everything in me. i would never hurt her. and hobie really? his big lanky ass is built like a deep breath. he stay plotting on my relationship.” miles said out loud to his empty car trying to convince no one but himself. he scrambled his mind for an excuse but it always came to one thing. “shit, how i do that to her. why would i do that to her.” he opened his phone to 5 new messages from gwen. he didn’t read any of them just replied “it’s over, i don’t love u. and i don’t wanna see u again.” he went on instagram to pass time, clicking on your store first he saw hobie, ‘this nigga again ima beat the fuck out of his wide neck ass.’ he thought while getting out of the car and walking into the party. he talked with ganke and 42 miles before seeing u, and him. y’all made eye contact before he saw you turn around. ‘this nigga MUSTTTT wanna get fucked up, why he all up on my girl??’ he said under his breath as he walked up to the pair, “i need to talk to u.” you and hobie stopped dancing and faced miles, hobie looked him up and down and put his arm around your shoulder while miles acted like hobie wasn’t even there. “we have nothing to talk about.” the bluntness in your voice made miles eyes lower. “please baby l-“ “don’t call me that.” “please. let me explain” miles put his hand on your arm with pleading eyes, the same eyes he gave you when you first met, when you first kissed. he saw your face soften and he let go of your arm. hobie saw your face change too, as he turned around and you were about to follow him hobie grabbed your hand with a ‘are u sure?’ look, you smiled at him and he let go allowing u to catch up with miles.

he lead you to a secluded room and closed the door. when you turned on the lights the look on his face made you sympathize with him, his eyes big and lips pressed into a thin line. you decided to speak up first, “you really hurt me. ian done nothing but be good to u. why would u do that?” you say trying not to let your voice betray you. he snaps his head up at you hanging on to every word moving closer to you to make damn sure he didn’t miss a single syllable. “i love- i loved you miles. why didn’t u just be straight up and say u didn’t wanna be with me anymore.” you say refusing to look at him, especially in the eye. knowing if you did your mind would betray you. “i don’t know. i love you not her. i promise. remember our first anniversary? i told you i would never hurt you. but i did, i fucked up a good thing and im so sorry. you gave me a piece of your heart and i wasn’t careful with it like i should’ve been. like i will be. i need you princess, my pretty pretty princess. please.” he said grabbing your chin so you could look at him, he almost sounded sympathetic..?

YOUR POV!!

could he mean it? could he be sorry? your eyes softened as you looked into his own. you didn’t want to fall into his trap that was his gaze again, but you couldn’t help it. you never could, “i can’t trust you miles. i didn’t give you a piece of my heart, i gave you the whole thing. and i guess she did too, but you can’t hold two hearts in one hand.” u say breaking your face away from his hand, you were not going to let miles see you vulnerable again, he doesn’t say anything. “i think i need to distance myself. you don’t love me, and i refuse to put myself in the position to get humiliated again.” you say pushing past him to open the door as he stood there humiliated. his eyes filled with tears and he left the party, not wanting to see anyone. you walked back to the main room your throat burning as you held your tears in. you spotted hobie and said to him quietly “can we go?” he only took your hand and led you outside through all of the people. as you got in hobies car you texted margo, “hobies taking me home, text me later.” she didn’t reply probably because she was dancing or doing whatever w her bf “what happened?” he glanced at you over his shoulder as he drove to your house. “miles tried to apologize or whateva.” you said softly trying not to cry. hobie’s heart skipped a beat, he had feelings for you and if you went back to the same boy who messed up such a perfect thing, he was gon blow the top off this bitch. “yea? whatchu say back?” he say rubbing your thigh trying to play it off but it was really eating him up inside. “i told him i couldn’t be with someone i didn’t trust.” you say to him looking at him as his face relaxes and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “that’s good, you deserve so much better. you deserve everything.” he whispered the last bit but you heard it all too clear. you widen your eyes before turning your head out the window. “are you hungry? we could go get something to eat whatever u want.” “i think i just want you to go home with me.” you said turning your head to look back at him, u could hear the grin in his voice,

“okay pretty. let’s go home”

#black reader #miles morales #across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #hobart brown #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #black fem reader #margo kess #gwen stacy #pavitr prabhakar

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desiderio-dixon · 2 months

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Darkest Before the Dawn

Chapter 7 : I'd Rather Go Blind

Pairing : Daryl Dixon x f!reader (endgame), (unrequited) Glenn Rhee x f!reader

Series summary : When Glenn Rhee comes into your life, you become convinced he's a guardian angel sent by your late best friend. You think he's your soulmate. But then he falls for the farmer's daughter, and you find that your own angel may be a little more blatant than expected; wings and all.

Chapter summary : Leaving the CDC in the rearview mirror, the group faces further obstacles: A misunderstanding arises between the reader and Daryl, Sophia goes missing, tensions build between reader and Shane, Carl gets shot, and Glenn begins the heartbreak saga.

Chapter warnings : uhhh jealousy, heartbreak, misunderstandings, illusions to sex, shane being a creep, sophia goes missing, grief, lmk if I missed anything! <33

Word count : 2.8k

A/N : OKAY SO THIS ONE TOOK FOREVERRR I'm so sorry!! To be fair though, something super serious happened to a family member of mine so my life has just been absolute chaos the last couple weeks. BUT TRUST ME THAT I DIDNT ABANDON THIS FIC!!! Love u guys! (also there may or may not be a Dean spicy fic on the way to all those who voted yes to that poll I made hehe)

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

The next morning, you woke to a knock on your door. Groggy and hungover, you wrapped your naked body in blankets and stumbled to the door. You opened it to find Glenn, his head hung low and eyes sunken. He was equally, perhaps more, hungover. He made no effort to greet you, just groaned at you and pushed past into your room. He flopped himself down on your bed, face in the pillows. You sighed, leaving the door open and moving to sit on the bed, still only in a puddle of blankets.

"My head is gonna explode." Glenn cries out. You hum tiredly. Outside of the room you can hear everyone waking, wandering out of their rooms. Part of you wants to kick Glenn out and fall back into sleep. But you don't. You two sit quietly for a few minutes, you're certain Glenn has fallen asleep.

And then, there's a crinkle in your doorway. You look over, surprised to see Daryl. He stands, fully dressed and ready for the day, with a waterbottle clutched in his hand. He'd brought it for you, you knew that somehow. But you watched his gaze rake over your bare shoulders, and the onto the figure laid in your bed. He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. For some reason you feel like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't. He crouches down, setting the waterbottle in your doorway. And then he's turning, leaving.

The CDC is a blur after that. A blur of confusion, panic, anger. Screams and explosions. And an overwhelming loss. Jacqui died, Jenner and the sanctuary you thought you'd found went with her.

You'd never seen something explode like that. What was once there, simply wasn't anymore. No longer an impressive and futuristic building, but a mess of fire and ash. It shook everything. The ground, the air, even your insides felt like they were vibrating within you.

You weren't even sure whose car you'd piled into, simply just eager for cover, but you'd realized too late that it was Daryl's truck, and this was going to be an awkward ride. Though, neither of you said a word. Not about the drunken conversation you'd shared, or him seemingly finding you and Glenn in bed together. There's an air of shock that only silence seems appropriate for. Still, when the caravan stops due to the RV hose again, you break it. Digging into your back pocket, you produce the crumpled pack of cigarettes. "Here, I, uh, found them. Figured you'd like them." Daryl grunts, slapping his hand over yours to grab the pack. Nothing else is said, so you both climb out.

The traffic build up seems to go on forever, cars for as long as you can see. Everyone drifts off into groups to scavenge through the cars. You end up by yourself, sorting through a mini van. The sight of the empty toddler car seat brings a sense of dread washing over your body. You try to shake it off. Surely there's a chance the baby lived, just moved on to another place.

You find a box on the floor, overflowing with clothes. Winter will come quicker than you think, so you begin to rifle through, looking for anything thick and comfortable. Instead, you find a pretty dress. A sundress, with wildflowers printed all over and a dipped neckline. You're not sure that it's something you'd have worn before, but something calls you to it. It's exactly your size. Something tells you to take it, even if it's not exactly practical. So you shove it into your bag.

Then you hear Glenn's laugh, an excited and relieved laugh. You decide you need a little joy in your life, so you seek him out. There, you find him and Shane, drenching themselves with water off a truck. "You guys not gonna share?" You tease. Glenn ushers you forward to stand under a spout, then he releases the cap. You squeal at the sensation, water soaking through your clothes. Your eyes are closed, enjoying the cooling sensation when a hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you to the floor.

You smell them first, the horde of dead stumbling through the traffic jam. You roll under the truck with Glenn and Shane, making panicked eye contact with each of them back and forth. Then you hear them, groaning and shuffling. And finally, you see their feet as they move past. Most of their shoes are muddied and falling apart, ankle skin falling off the bone like good barbecue. When it's finally passed, your heart shatters.

Where you expected silence, you found the cries of a distressed mother. Carol, screaming after Sophia. You crawl out just in time to watch Rick run after her, Lori holding a sobbing Carol.

You want to pull her into a hug, hold her sorrow in your hands to take it off her shoulders. But you're soaking wet, and you're sure she doesn't need a cold on top of everything. You settle instead for a hand on her shoulder, telling her a gentle, "Rick will bring her back." You're not sure you believe it. You have faith in Rick, though you're not sure about Sophia. She's a smart girl, sweet like sugar, and you adore her. It's just that a scared adult is unpredictable, let alone a scared child. Still, you want to hope.

It's only a few minutes, maybe ten. Rick emerges from the forest and you wait with bated breath for Sophia to trail after him--but she doesn't. Carol's sob sends a lightning bolt right through your heart.

Rick gathers a few people up to go look for her: Glenn, Shane and Daryl. While they gather up their things, you stand with Glenn. You feel eyes on you, heavy in their gaze. Turning, you find who'd been staring at you. Shane. He meets your eyes, and something about it turns your stomach. His eyes are dark, and he doesn't look away. You break the eye contact yourself, looking to your shoes.

"You okay?" Glenn asks. You hum, nodding your head. But truthfully, you can't shake the feeling of unease that has washed over you.

Then, just as everyone is geared up to leave, Daryl trots up to you. He tosses something at you. You catch it, unfolding it to reveal a flannel shirt. "Cover up a bit, huh?" He says, looking at you before his eyes flick to Shane. For a moment, you're confused. Then, you look down to your shirt--your soaked, white shirt that has now turned see-through. Your ears burn with a sudden rush of blood, and you hurry to throw on the flannel he gave you. It has the sleeves cut off, because of course it does. It looks ridiculous on you, you're sure, but it works well enough.

You stand, dumbfounded for a bit while the group pushes forward. Another one of Carol's sobs throws you out of your daze.

She stands, hands covering her mouth as sobs pour openly out of it, leaning against Lori. Lori has tears of her own streaming her cheeks, but she stares coldly ahead at the treeline her husband disappeared into. Although the sight of them squeezes your chest, it's the sight behind them that hammers the final nail into your heart.

Carl, a few feet behind his mother, looking sorrowful with tears of his own silently falling, but a determination in his eyes unlike any you'd seen. You walk to him, grazing your hand over Carol's arm gently as you pass. When you reach Carl, you pull him into a hug. His arms wrap weakly around you as you crouch, and he lets out a sob into your chest. "They'll find her. And if they don't--me and you will." You whisper to him, squeezing him tight.

It's not long before Shane and Glenn return. Glenn looks solemn, which quickly gives away that their leads aren't solid. Shane barks orders immediately upon return to search and move cars. You rifle through more cars, coming up mostly empty time after time. After an hour, you produced three items. A leather jacket, thick; good for winter and to stop bites. A box of granola bars, unfortunately your least favorite flavor. And an unopened limited edition Barbie.

The Barbie came from a car with no sign of children, and given how old it is, you assume it's someone's antique. You feel better taking it, given you don't think you're stealing from a dead child. It'll be nice for Sophia, you think. It's the exact thing you'd have loved as a girl. Big, poofy white dress with black polka dots and heaps of frill. A classic red lip and a pair of cute little heels. She's absolutely fabulous. You tuck her carefully into your bag, making sure to not dent the box.

As you weave through the cars to find your next hidden treasure, you spy Lori and Shane. The tension is thick in the air as they whisper-yell back and forth to each other. It's not hard to piece together the contents, despite you not being able to hear them. Surely it's about what once was between them, and what never can be now with Rick's return. Still, the sight sends bolts of unease through your spine. Especially with the way Shane slams his fist against a cars hood, fire burning behind his dark eyes.

You enter some beat down sedan, crawling into the drivers seat and letting your head drop down to the steering wheel. 'Please let Rick and Daryl come back safe with Sophia.' You think to yourself. You're beyond anxious, chest feeling as though a pile of rocks sit in your lungs. Moving on from this stupid highway with your group intact would be the greatest gift.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

It's almost dark now, though the humidity still weighs down the air, thick and heavy. A thin sheen of sweat collects over your skin as you sit and wait. "Oh, God. They're back." Glenn says. Your heart leaps to your throat. Rick comes first, then Daryl, then... Nothing. No Sophia. Just as quick as your heart rose, it sank to your feet like an anvil.

"You didn't find her?" Carol squeaks, sounding small like a scared child.

Rick shakes his head, guilt written in the way his lips draw tight and his eyes drop to the floor. "Her trail went cold. We'll pick it up again at first light." You knew they didn't find her, but even so, the confirmation feels like a hammer bashing into your heart.

"You can't leave my daughter out there on her own to spend the night alone in the woods." Carol cries desperately.

Daryl glances to you, then the floor. Shaking his head, he responds. "Out in the dark's no good. We'd just be trippin' over ourselves. More people get lost." You know he's right. He's smart with these things, a natural. But you also know hearing this hurts Carol. Truthfully, it hurts you too. A part of you wants to stray from the group right now, tear the forrest apart until your hands are bloodied to find Sophia and bring her home to her mother.

But Daryl's right--so you stay.

The next morning is early, sun barely up. Dew slides over the morning grass, tickling your ankles as you all trudge through the forest. The air is damp and crickets chirp around you. It reminds you of early wakings during your school days as a child. Up before the sun so you could drown your stomach with sugary cereal before the bus called your name. It's nostalgic in such a bitter way. Sophia will never get that again, whether you find her or not.

The only two that hadn't come on the search were Dale and T-dog. Dale, to fix up the RV, and T-dog to rest. He'd landed himself a nasty gash on his arm during the herds passing. You're thankful Daryl was there.

Everyone else in the group, even including little Carl were gathered around you. Daryl, Shane, and Rick mainly led the charge-- but everyone was equal in effort of looking for signs. You'd lost count already how many times you'd crouched to inspect the dirt, trying your hardest to search for small shoeprints.

The search had been null, up until you found a campsite. Carol had called out, and you all held your breath in anticipation. When nothing came, Daryl investigated. Nothing but a man who'd been dead for a long while.

Now, you stare at Daryl. He's disappointed, maybe even frustrated. You guess he must feel pressure, feel that it's on him to do the tracking and finding. Your feet seem to move on their own, stalking towards him on shaky feet. He doesn't notice you coming, doesn't look up from his boots. But still, you reach a hand out, just mere moments away from touching his bare bicep--until the bells ring.

You freeze, catching Daryl's eyes immediately as he shoots up. And then, as if reality had snapped back into motion, you all run.

The church is a grim scene, the pews loaded with rotting corpses, staring lifelessly at the cross. When you swing the doors, they groan, turning and shuffling loudly across the wooden floors. The smell is overpowering. The air is thick with rot, moist and sickening.

It's fitting. Fitting to the soulless feeling of tearing through walker after walker, only to at the end be met with nothing but a pile of corpses; no Sophia in sight. Carol prays in front of the statue of Jesus, and you can't judge her for turning to faith in a time like this, but something about it turns your stomach.

How could a God allow a mother to be without her child? Suddenly, the air in the church feels like it's no longer air at all. You feel suffocated. You rush out, hand covering your mouth as a nauseous feeling rises. Falling to your knees in the grass, you huff breath after breath of fresh air. When will the constant loss end?

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

It's only a couple hours later when you're trudging through the forest, chatting with Glenn absentmindedly as Daryl leads your group back to the highway. And then, like a flash of lightning, a woman appears. The heavy thudding of her horse's hooves matches the rapid beating of your heart, and then she's yelling. Yelling that Carl has been shot. Then, you feel as if your heart stops at the same time the horse skids to a halt. He's stable, she says, but it's still a weight you're not sure you can handle.

You want to cry, to collapse, to give up. You want to curl into someone and share in your sorrow. When you turn to Glenn, your stomach swirls in sickness at his expression. Well, perhaps not the expression alone, but that the expression isn't being sent to you.

There, frozen in place, he stands. Awestruck eyes gazing up at the woman on the horse, jaw open. Your eyes fly between the two of them, time moving in slow motion. You can't even blame him. She's beautiful. Big, green eyes wide in urgency, tan skin slick with sweat, shining in the sunlight.

You can't blame him--but it hurts so bad.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

⤿Taglist (Open)

@celtic-crossbow @scudslut @itwasntaphasema @ryoujoking @i-wear-wet-socks313 @daryldixmedown @duffmckagansbandana @secretsicanthideanymore

#daryl dixon #daryl dixion imagine #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #the walking dead daryl #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd imagine

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iiseult · 8 months

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RED-HANDED: Gyutaro x reader - College!AU (part 1)

CWs -> surprise! It’s pervy!Gyutaro, femdom reader, masturbation, degradation, spit play, public sex, slapping (only once and he likes it), calling Gyu a good boy, he’s pathetic and I love him

Note: Does this count as Kinktober? I really wanted to participate this month but I’m an engineering student in college, so enough said. I’ll make part two likeeeee whenever I feel like it. Pls lmk what u think!!!! <3

word count: 3k

It was Gyutaro’s turn to host the study session. All day he had been running around, cleaning his dorm room to eliminate anything potentially embarrassing. He’d never had a girl over before, let alone a girl like you, and he might have been overthinking it a little. Would you be turned off by the socks his roommate had left lying around? What about the smell? Should he hide the protein powder? He had such a big, fat crush on you, and every time he thought about the two of you spending time alone together, the intrusive thoughts would beat out the rational thoughts. In no time at all, he’d be succumbing to his sexual fantasies, fisting his cock desperately to images of you and trying to rid his mind of them to no avail. How was he going to survive a night of your undivided attention?

Originally, it wasn’t supposed to be a one-on-one thing. Every Tuesday, a different friend from the group hosted a late-night study session at their dorm, and everyone except Gyutaro had already volunteered. He couldn't avoid it any longer; he was doomed. It was supposed to be you, your best friend, his roommate, Gyutaro, and Gyutaro’s roommate, but everyone got frat flu the previous weekend and had to take a rain check. Even Gyutaro’s own roommate couldn’t make it, deciding to go home for the rest of the week and recover. So, everyone had canceled. That is, everyone except you and Gyutaro. He was thinking of just calling the whole thing off after that, secretly relieved to avoid having people over his place for a little longer, but you wouldn’t hear of it. Your midterm was on Thursday, and you couldn’t lose a valuable study session.

It was already 7:50 pm– 10 minutes before you were scheduled to arrive– and he was taking care of some last-minute, anxiety-fueled cleaning. The bed was already made, the garbage had been taken out, all his laundry was clean and neatly folded away, and his desk was set up for a long night of studying. He had even sprayed a few bursts of his roommate’s air freshener, making the whole place stink of “fresh morning dew,” whatever that was. In those last 10 minutes before your arrival, Gyutaro even found himself practicing basic hygiene– something a bit out of the ordinary for him. He brushed his teeth and tongue vigorously until his gums bled, washed his face, applied an extra layer of deodorant, and re-did the bun his hair had been rotting in all day. Now, he was ready.

At precisely 8:01 pm, he heard a knock at the door, and sprang to his feet as if the chair he had been sitting on was on fire. He had been staring off into space and nervously tapping his foot in anticipation, wringing his hands and chewing at his lip and fighting back dirty thoughts about what you might be wearing, and before he knew it, the time had come. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Evening, Gyutaro,” you said, half-smiling and leaning to the left under the weight of the heavy bag that was slung over your shoulder. As usual, you were well-dressed, sporting a white button-down, brown blazer, and a pair of blue jeans that fit you perfectly. He tried not to stare, but the top two buttons of your shirt had come undone, and he couldn’t help but notice how exposed your cleavage was. He gulped. This was going to be a long, long night.

“C-come in, make yourself comfortable. You can sit wherever you want,” he said, grinning nervously, stepping to the side and holding the door open to allow you entry. You nodded and brushed past him, your clothed shoulder grazing him gently. He shivered, hoping you wouldn’t notice. As soon as you entered the room, you made a b-line for Gyutaro’s bed, thrusting your bag onto it and plopping down unceremoniously on your back. You let out a sigh. The day had been stressful, and you wanted so badly to relax and release some tension, but there was work to be done.

After lying down for a few seconds to decompress, you noticed that it was oddly silent and sat up, half expecting Gyutaro to have joined you on the bed by now. But Gyutaro hadn’t moved from the doorway. He was still standing there, slack-jawed and staring. He couldn’t believe a girl was in his bed– you were in his bed– and she was there of her own free will. You had wanted to come, asking him not to cancel, and you had chosen his bed as the place to spend the evening. Not the desk and chair, not the floor, not the couch, but his bed. He gulped. He had imagined this many times before, and seeing you like that caused a specific few images to flash across his mind. His cock twitched. You were staring back at him.

“Gyu? Are you coming?” You asked, raising an eyebrow and readjusting yourself so there was room for him to sit next to you. He quickly shook himself out of his stupor and closed the door, walking awkwardly over to join you, hoping that if he put his hands in the pockets of his shorts you wouldn’t notice the growing bulge underneath them. When he reached the bed, he leaned his hips against the edge of it and crossed his arms, attempting to conceal his embarrassment. If you had noticed, you showed no signs of it, just crossing your legs and getting a little bit more comfortable.

“So, um… What subject did you want to study? Maybe we could work through some textbook problems together, or…” he trailed off, his eyes darting around and landing anywhere but you.

“Sure, sounds good. Hey, it’s hot in here, do you have a fan or something?” you asked, looking around and fanning yourself with your hand. Gyutaro frowned deeply and shook his head, suddenly feeling like a complete failure for not being able to provide you comfort.

“I’m sorry, I don’t. Maybe I could open a window?” he offered, gesturing to the pathetically small window on the other side of the room.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’ll improvise,” you replied. He was about to ask what you meant, but stopped short when your hands flew to your button-down shirt, undoing two more buttons from the top like it was nothing.

“Wh-what are you d-doing?!” He stuttered, looking away from you and at the wall instead to try and distract his racing thoughts. Even though he tore his gaze away as soon as he realized what you were doing, he still couldn’t help but see the very top rim of your nude-colored bra poking out from your shirt teasingly. Not to mention the swell of your plump breasts. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to calm himself down and stop his now fully erect cock from getting any bigger.

“Gyutaro? What’s wrong, are you okay?” You purred, leaning down so you were face-to-face. He opened his eyes. That was a mistake. From the way you were sitting, he had a perfectly unobstructed view of your cleavage, which was spilling out of your bra and unbuttoned shirt. He guessed that your nipples were just below where the fabric began. His eyes widened, and a jolt of electricity was sent straight to his cock, which was straining desperately against the side of the bed. He let out a tiny, almost inaudible whimper, but due to your proximity, it was not lost on you. You gently placed a hand on his shoulder, asking again if everything was ok, but there was a teasing undertone to your voice and a glint in your eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. Were you really…doing this on purpose?

“Uhm, don’t you think you sh-should, you know, b-button your shirt back up a…a little more?” he stammered, face flushed so red that he looked almost feverish. His eyes were still wide, and absolutely glued to your tits, like he was in a trance.

“Why? You don’t think I look pretty like this?” you teased, leaning forward even more and trailing your hand from his bony shoulder down to his bicep, which was, admittedly, larger than you’d anticipated. You wondered if anything else about him was larger than you’d anticipated…

“N-no! I mean, no, it’s not that! You…hah…look…” he rasped, not even able to form a complete sentence. He was no idiot. He knew what you were doing, playing with him like that. He knew you didn’t have any real interest in him, that you just wanted some easy attention from a pathetic virgin who would drool over anything with a cup size. It hurt, knowing that, and he didn’t want it to be that way. But just as much as that was true, he also wanted to know what it would feel like. Would it be as good as he imagined, cupping your heavy tits in his ugly, rough hands and running his thumbs over your sensitive nipples? Would you arch into his touch, begging for more?

Before you could even react, he was out the door, disappearing down the hallway towards the men’s room. You could only guess what he intended to do there. Probably cry, you assumed, having seen the expression on his face before he left. Instead of following him, you decided to give him a minute, hoping he’d come back before too long.

Meanwhile, Gyutaro knew what he had to do. He had to get rid of these feelings, get it out of his system once and for all. Thankfully, the bathroom was deserted and he had the luxury of solitude. He hoped he could get it done quickly before someone interrupted.

Gyutaro locked himself in a stall and pulled his pants down feverishly, finally freeing his throbbing cock and taking it expertly into his big hand. He wasted no time, pumping his fist up and down to the image of your tits in his face, imagining what it would be like to touch them, to take them in his mouth and suck them until they were black and blue. Before long, his head was thrown back and he was letting out soft, desperate pants. In fact, he was so enraptured in his fantasy that he didn’t notice when someone else entered the bathroom.

You had decidedly waited for him long enough, and went to go check to make sure he really was ok, but this was not what you were expecting to find. When you quietly opened the door, you were about to whisper his name when you noticed the wet slapping sound and choked-back moans coming from the first stall. You peered under the door and sure enough, your eyes were met with the sight of Gyutaro’s bottom half, shorts pooled around his ankles and legs shaking. You grinned. This was even better than you had hoped. Did that little trick you pulled really affect him this much?

“Gyuuu~ it’s just me! Open the door,” you said gently, hoping your sweet tone would lull him into a false sense of security. Suddenly, he went silent, freezing with his fist squeezing his cock. Panic seized him, and he was silent for a moment.

“Uh! Uhhh, h-how did you g-get in here?” he choked out, not knowing what else to say.

“Walked. C’mon, open up. Wanna see you,” you replied, now standing directly in front of his stall’s door. He hesitated for a moment, but soon made up his mind; he didn’t care anymore, he couldn’t stand it any longer and he wanted you to use him. He scrambled to quickly pull up his shorts and underwear, not even bothering to retie the drawstring, and opened the door hastily. His face was burning with shame, his eyes downcast, and his hair disheveled. To you, he had never looked more delicious.

“What are you doing?” you asked, taking a step towards him, forcing him to take a step back.

“Using the bathroom…” he lied, stuffing his hands back in his pockets again to try and hide his erection. Unfortunately for him, all it did was draw your attention downwards.

“You don’t have to hide it, Gyu. I already know. Why do you think I came tonight in the first place?” you asked, not even trying to hide the fact that you were eyeing his bulge hungrily.

“But-”

“Now keep going,” you ordered, and Gyutaro’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He didn’t move.

“I said,” you began, grabbing his chin between your thumb and index finger, “Keep. Going.”

He whimpered, biting his lip, but obediently dropped his pants and underwear back down to his ankles and released his dick, the tip of which was bright red and slathered with precum. You moved your hand from his chin to his shoulder and pressed down, forcing him to sit back on the toilet. Now, you were standing above him, looking down with a perfect view. You looked at him expectantly, and slowly, he brought a shaking hand down to his shaft, gingerly engulfing it in his hand and giving it a few weak pumps. You shook your head disapprovingly, frowning at him. His eyes widened.

“This won’t do. You need…extra encouragement. Open your mouth,” you instructed.

“Why?” he asked demurely, but did as you asked. You didn’t answer verbally, instead choosing to show him why.

You pressed your thumb past his lips and onto the middle of his tongue, and his reaction was almost immediate. He stuck his tongue out more to accommodate your finger, eyes half-lidded and gazing up at you with…love? Lust? It was impossible to distinguish between the two when it came to him. Without a second thought, he resumed stroking his dick at the same pace as before, his body seemingly acting with a mind of its own. You smiled, pressing down harder on his tongue. His brows furrowed and a string of saliva dripped out of the corner of his mouth, falling past his chin and onto the floor. He let out a pathetic, strangled sort of sound, breathy and high-pitched, and you giggled. He was even better than you had imagined.

“Wowww, what a good boy!” you praised.

“Do you think you can take another one of my fingers?”

“Uh-huh! Eea, I eeea!” he tried to say, coming across as incoherent, but you got the message loud and clear. You smiled down at him lovingly and swapped your thumb for your index and middle fingers, which were obviously longer and grazed the back of his throat. Immediately, he gagged, his eyes involuntarily screwing shut, tears pricking their corners, but you didn’t relent. He would adjust.

“Come on, you can take it,” you crooned, thrusting your digits even further back into his soft, wet throat. He gagged again and bit down, catching your knuckles between his jagged teeth. He hadn’t bitten you very hard, but still, the sting of your skin breaking slightly was enough.

Without warning, you slapped him across the face with the palm of your other hand, making him yelp and accidentally squeeze his cock a little tighter. The sound echoed throughout the bathroom, ringing in the silence. He was shocked, even a little scared, but for some reason, it was affecting him heavily. After hesitating only for a brief second, he started pumping himself desperately, even faster than before, feeling like all the blood in his entire body had rushed to his cock at once the second your palm made contact with his cheek. You grinned. You knew it, you just knew it. You had a feeling he would like that. It was a risky move, but one you were glad you made. He let out another moan, the first real unrestrained one you had heard from him. The vibrations made your fingers tingle.

“Mmm, good boy, you’re being such a good boy for me, Gyu. Bet you’re getting close now, aren’t you?” you asked, removing your fingers from his mouth and allowing him to answer properly.

“Y-yes!” he breathed, “‘m getting so close, ‘m gonna cum soon! Please, c’n I cum?” he begged, tear-filled eyes gazing up at you in absolute desperation. And how could you say no to that?

“In a second. Stick out your tongue.”

He did, closing his eyes, eagerly ready to accept whatever you would give him, but nothing could have prepared him.

You leaned down close and spit in his mouth.

Immediately, he came.

“Ngh- Ahh! Huh- ah- ah- mmh!” he whined, voice breaking as the thick, white liquid shot violently out of his aching dick, covering his hand, your shirt, and part of his own shirt in globs of it. He worked himself through it, a few more spurts bubbling out from his tip and leaking down the shaft. There was so much of it, you knew he was holding it in for so long because of you. His thighs shook from the aftershock, and his chest heaved, he was so fucked out. You wanted so badly to just take off your panties and sink down onto his glistening length, sheathing him inside your already soaking, tight pussy to hear him whine that it was too much, but that would have to wait for another time. Maybe a time when you weren’t in a public restroom.

“Clean yourself up and meet me back in your room. There’s something else I want to try.”

With that, you left him sitting there, cock in hand, covered in his own hot cum and wondering if it had all just been a dream.

(pt. 2)

———-

tag list: @sanemisstalker @vampcubus @flametrashira

ermmmmm idk how tagging ppl works but if I tagged u it’s cause I want u to read this shit but no pressure :-)

#idk what this is #there will be a part two #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro smut #demon slayer smut #demon slayer x reader #kinktober 2023 #dom!reader

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juyeonszn · 4 months

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PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER (PT. 2)

PAIRING kevin moon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 5.60k

GENRES angst ﹒little bit of fluff ﹒little bit of smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, reader is better than me cause i would not let kevin do all the shit he’s done 😭, ANYWAY i digress, this part is very reader-centric — whereas part one is very kevin-centric, inner turmoil goes absolutely crazy, most of this fic is reader putting kevin in his place and him realizing how big of an asshole he truly is, mentions of injury (past tense), mentions of insecurity, lots of arguing, reader cries at one point or another, the smut places a very minimal role in this, but unprotected sex, public sex (the auditorium dressing room), no foreplay but wtv we fall like soldiers in battle, pussy job lowkey (high key…), creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

SUMMARY it wasn’t like you and kevin hated each other. in fact, you quite admired him despite his somewhat indifferent attitude toward you. well, now that you’re paired up for the last dance of the year, you guess it’s the perfect time to find out why.

MORE oh my god. it’s finally fucking here. A MONTH, 2 SICKNESSES AND MANY MANY STRESSFUL NIGHTS LATER— part two of princess and the pauper is here!!! i’m so sorry to those of u who have been itching and waiting on me to get ‘er done,,, it’s been an ordeal to say the least, and while it’s nearing the two month mark since the black out or back out collab was announced, SHE FINALLY FINISHED!!! for once i saw something through omg i can sleep peacefully and work on my other wips without guilt now… 😭 ALSO THANK U SO MUCH MAYA @/kimsohn FOR PUSHING ME THROUGH THIS and for making me thug it out bc without u it definitely would’ve taken much longer to finish 💔 please dont forget to read part one and the other fics in the series if u haven’t!! both are linked below! and as always, pls reblog if u enjoyed <3

PART ONE | SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel @ericlvr @sunwooverse @kimsohn

TAGLIST @millksea @deobibbang @deobi0412

Never in your life have you felt so… Confused.

It wasn’t just confusion that settled deep in the pit of your stomach. There was a sharp pain there too, like someone stabbed you and twisted the knife. That was probably the best way to describe what you were feeling. You were bleeding out, and no one was coming to save you.

Kevin wasn’t answering your calls. He wasn’t answering your texts. He ran out of the lecture hall as soon as class was over, never giving you a moment to speak to him. It was making you nervous.

You still had half of a dance to choreograph and a fuck ton of pressure riding on your back. After the last performance you and him did together, you’d have a lot of eyes on you. It most definitely wasn’t your fault that he dropped you. How many people willingly want to acquire a broken ankle? The crutches were a bitch to maneuver around with. But like every single thing that’s happened in the three years you’ve known Kevin Moon, he’s managed to place the blame on you like it was.

It was crucial that you make amends with him even if it was momentarily. Your final grades were dependent on your performance. If he couldn’t get his shit together for at least that, he was a lost cause in your mind. Not even your professor would be able to refute that fact. Actually, nobody would be able to refute that fact.

Your lips form an O as you blow the steam away from your coffee, pulling out your phone to try Kevin’s phone once again. The line rings a few times before going straight to voicemail like it has the past couple weeks. You kiss your teeth, tying your sweater around your waist as you slump in your chair. The baristas at the campus cafe were probably sick of seeing you sitting in the same high-top counter spot since the incident with Kevin in the studio.

“Y/N?”

Ji Changmin appears beside you and you click your phone off, so he wouldn’t see his friend’s contact on the screen. You give the Early Childhood Dev major a weak smile.

“Changmin! What’s up? How are you and your girlfriend?” You hope he can’t recognize the distress written all over your features. You highly doubt it, though. You can feel the wrinkles pulling at your skin.

“We’re good! How’s the showcase performance going with Kev?” He asks like he knows something you don’t. When your lips fall to a thin line, an all too familiar grimace, he sighs a knowing sigh. “Do I have to smack some sense into him?”

“Not gonna lie, yeah, you do. He’s being really fucking difficult and like half of our dance is unfinished. I can’t even get a hold of him, so I’m starting to lose my patience.” You express your annoyance. The border between complacency and free-will was a lot slimmer than one might think. For example; your feelings when it comes to Kevin Moon.

You don’t expect to get a returning call later that night when you’re washing dishes after dinner.

In fact, you don’t even hear it at first, too absorbed in scrubbing the staining out of your bowl. It’s when your roommate yells out to you, that you snap out of your reverie, albeit dazedly. You dry your hands on a nearby tea towel, hitting the green answer button without a second glance at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Your heart catches in your throat. You recognize the owner of the voice practically by the first breath into the receiver alone. It’s actually kind of unhealthy how quickly it took to realize who was on the other end. You swallow heavily, praying he doesn’t hear the gulp.

“In the latter part of the afternoon, I believe. Why?” You try not to sound hopeful. That’s one thing you’ve learned being in the same vicinity as Kevin Moon. You could never be too expecting, because it would only lead to disappointment. And you’d dealt with enough of that the past few years.

“We need to finish this fuck ass choreography,” he grunts, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue. “I’ll meet you in the same studio at 4.”

He doesn’t let you get anything else in, hanging up swiftly. You deflate as you set your phone back on the counter. All you had to do was push through these next couple weeks, like you always have when it came to him.

That should be a piece of cake, right?

Wrong.

“No, that looks stupid.”

You grit your teeth, swiping the back of your hand on your forehead. You’d been inside of this studio maybe 30 minutes tops, and you were on the verge of strangling Kevin. With as long as you’d been putting up with his shit, you thought getting through this wouldn’t be as rough as it’s been. But if there was one thing Kevin Moon had, it was pride.

“We don’t have time for you to nitpick right now. Let’s just finish the choreography and clean it after.” Your hands rest on your hips, nostrils flaring.

“If we clean as we go, we’ll have more time to drill it into our systems and get down muscle memory. It’ll be a stronger performance.” He argues. You roll your eyes as you turn away from him, taking a water break to calm yourself. “Why do you have so much fucking attitude today? You were the one preaching to the choir about me making things difficult. It seems the tables have turned.”

Usually, you were pretty good at keeping your frustration at bay when it came to Kevin’s remarks. You liked to think it was because you were down bad for the guy, despite him always wanting nothing to do with you. But as of late, (Read: Since your performance of Princess and the Pauper) every little comment he’s made has managed to crawl under your skin like a damn parasite. You were beginning to get real sick of it.

“God, you’re so—“ You interrupt yourself to groan, fingers curling into fists. “You’re fucking insufferable. Do you know that? I’ve been bending over backwards to ensure we aren’t kicked out of the goddamn program and you don’t even fucking care. Over what? A kiss that you initiated?”

Kevin is stunned into silence, not at all prepared for you to blow up on him like that. After all, that razor thin line between complacency and free-will had yet to be crossed. And well, it appears that you just crossed it. You whip around toward him, pulling down the collar of your t-shirt to reveal the faintest of bruises that still remains from your impromptu act of intimacy.

“I’ve had to look at this every day for a week and all it’s done is make me feel shitty, ashamed of something I didn’t even start. Now I need you to stop acting like an ass and get it together so we can finish this and perform the best dance this university has ever seen.” Your chest is heaving up and down, similarly to when you made out against the mirrors last week. Except this time isn’t out of breathlessness, but rather anger and exhaustion.

Kevin’s eyes don’t leave the hickey on the base of your throat, something undetectable swimming in them as he stares. You can’t read the emotions swirling rampantly in his irises, a mixture of too many blurring into one another. Honestly, it’s funny. It’s funny that it’s taken you this long to get him to shut his mouth for once.

So you laugh.

It’s a snort at first, an off handed projection of how comical the situation has become to you. But then it metamorphoses into a small giggle, which leads to full scale laughter that has you hunching over your knees and wiping away tears. This whole thing is stupid. Absolutely fucking stupid.

“What are you laughing at?” His eyebrow raises in question, broken from his weird trance.

“I just can’t believe it took three years for me to shut you up,” you shake your head slowly, rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm. “You’re always the one who can’t stop talking.”

Kevin deadpans, mouth pulled pin-straight as his expression drops. “You’re so unserious.”

As the height of your laughter reaches a valley, you collapse onto the ground, resting your back against the mirror. You take another long sip of water before sighing. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. Trust me, I know. But, we’ve gotta set aside our differences just this once. Please, for the sake of the department.”

“Fine,” he murmurs, plopping down beside you to stretch his back. “Let’s finish choreographing so we can start cleaning it up.”

It’s a victory in your book, and probably the most obedient the Pisces has ever been. Maybe this wouldn’t end in complete disaster like you assumed it would. It turns out Kevin Moon wasn’t entirely brainless and knew when he was wrong. Sometimes. Maybe. We’ll see.

You shut your eyes and visualize what you’ve choreographed so far, going over the moves in your head to see if the rest will come to you like a prophecy. It’s wishful thinking, but with how much you’ve accomplished since setting foot in the studio, you’re willing to try anything. The track would be nice for elements of hip hop style choreography, but you knew the audience wouldn’t eat it up as much as they would the route you’re currently taking.

Driver roll up the partition, please…

The song plays through the speakers and you watch as Kevin stands to run through everything you have. You’re entranced by his movements, the flow of his body on certain points. It’ll look ten times better once you’re doing it with him, costumed and performing it perfectly in front of a crowd. You can picture it now, the gentle but controlled glide of his hands along your arms when Beyoncé sings “We ain’t even gonna make it to this club”. He was right. You very well might be seduced by your enemy.

“Should we use props?” You suddenly voice, eyes narrowed in thought. He hums.

“That’s… not a half-bad idea, actually,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “What did you have in mind?”

“A chair, maybe,” you look away from him, placing your focus on the way your toes alternate between a tendu and relaxed position. “That could take up a good chunk of the choreo.”

Kevin stalks over to the supply closet in the corner of the studio, pulling out a folding chair. He puts it in the center of the room gently, careful to not scratch up the wooden, lacquered flooring. You spend the next couple of hours brainstorming through numerous versions of the dance. While it was a lot easier than your past practices, there were still the occasional argument over which movements looked good and whatnot.

At a certain point, everything becomes cohesive and the end is near. You gulp down some water as Kevin does some random choreography. It’s then that it comes to you, like a vision from That’s So Raven. You practically drop your water bottle, scrambling to your feet and stopping him. Your breath is heavy from fatigue and you’re slightly afraid of even suggesting this, but it’s exactly what this dance needs. It’s exactly what everyone wants to see from the two of you.

He pauses the music and gestures for you to get on with it. You push down the lump in your throat, scared of rejection. But maybe he was smart and he would agree that this is what you have to do. “What if we did a lift?”

You see the hesitation swirling in his eyes and you raise a finger before he can shut you down entirely. “Nothing crazy like… um— you know— Princess and the Pauper, but something smaller. Something… sexy? Like, Dancing with the Stars type beat.”

When he shrugs instead of outright dismissing your idea, you know you’ve won. He nods slowly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Okay, sure. But we better clean up everything else fast so we can perfect the lift.”

The two of you take another three hours running the entirety of the choreography, ingraining the moves into your brains and muscles. You still had a bit until the actual showcase, but your priority now lies with the lift. If you nailed it, the entire department would very well grovel after you in reparation for all of the slack you got after Kevin dropped you. Hell, the entire university would kiss your feet. This was your redemption. In more ways than one.

You both decide to call it a day at around 9:30 PM. Your hands reach for your belongings and then you halt yourself, a thought coming to mind. While you had him in this weird state of obedience, you figured it was as good a time as any to ask the question that’s been weighing on you for the past few years. Your fingers swipe away the sweat beading around your hairline.

”Kevin,” you start, voice a lot softer than before. “Why do you— what did I do to make you dislike me so much?”

He’s caught completely off guard, eyes widening in surprise. If he was anticipating you to say anything else prior to parting ways tonight, he didn’t think this would be it. He’s actually a little off put that you hadn’t asked him this already in the span of your definitely-one-sided rivalry. He takes a large gulp of water.

”I’d call it indifference, not dislike,” he corrects after a pregnant silence. “It’s really fucking stupid thinking about it in hindsight. I don’t know if you remember this time, way back in our first year, we ran into each other at the campus cafe— literally, might I add— and you spilled your coffee all over this white shirt of mine that Changmin had gotten for me as a birthday gift. I only recently found out that it wasn’t as expensive as he made it out to be.”

You blink at his admission, processing his words as thoroughly as possible. You don’t know what you wanted him to say. You weren’t even sure if there was a concrete reason for him to be so fucking mean to you all this time. And now that you know, you come to the conclusion that Kevin Moon isn’t as smart as you’ve painted him out to be in your head. He’s actually a gigantic idiot. Because who in their right mind goes through these lengths to form a distance between the only other person on par with their talent?

Before you can stop yourself, you’re bursting into another fit of laughter. Kevin falters at your reaction. He was waiting for you to blow up on him, to scream in his face for causing you so much pain and unnecessary drama over something so silly. So when you do none of that, when you start fucking laughing like a damn hyena, he feels dumb. Like his entire college career has been built off of nothing.

”This is so—“ you pause to gather your bearings, wiping away the tears that managed to escape. “We’ve spent so much time going back and forth over some spilled coffee? Surely you’ve realized how insane that is at some point.”

”It took a lengthy argument with Changmin, but yeah, I did,” he nods, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, finally getting your things together. The two of you bid each other an awkward goodbye. Neither of you knew what to make of your relationship now that things had been partially sorted through. There was a fuck ton of baggage that still had to be sifted, but at least you had an answer.

That was enough to push through this showcase performance. You think.

You’re nervous.

Never in your entire life have you ever been this nervous for a performance.

You grew up doing musical theatre and dancing, it’s always been the one constant presence you could rely on. But standing here, backstage at the showcase, you think you’re going to throw up. Your palms are clamming up uncontrollably and your chest feels unbearably heavy as you watch the quartet doing a contemporary piece to some ballad you couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of. There were still a couple groups before you.

Not even when you had to perform fuckass Princess and the Pauper were you this anxious. You wince, trying to stop the incessant bouncing of your leg. Your weight keeps shifting from one hip to the other. As a seasoned veteran, you don’t know why you feel this way. Maybe it had to do with all the pressure riding on this very dance. Every single eye in that crowd was going to scrutinize your every move on that stage.

“Calm down,” a voice whispers harshly from beside you. “You’re making me nervous.”

Kevin wraps his fingers around your wrist, stopping the annoying tap-tap-tap your own were doing against your thigh. He gives you a look, and you sigh. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

That’s a lie. Not only was the high expectations from the entire school getting to you, but so was the fear of history repeating itself. He knows this, it was inevitable. After what happened the last time he was tasked with lifting you, it was only natural.

”We’ve drilled this dance hundreds, if not thousands, of times, Y/N. We’ll do just fine.” Kevin assures you.

His hand feels foreign holding yours, like it was illegal for his skin to be touching your own. You feel your lower lip quiver, a sense of trepidation that you’ve never once felt creeping down your spine. Your mind was spiraling, and quite honestly, Kevin being so close was making it worse. All you could think about was him dropping you again, leaving you in the middle of the stage with a broken leg and a broken heart. You release a shaky breath and he turns to face you.

Your eyes widen and he searches your face for any disingenuity. When he finds his answer, he brings the hand that was holding yours up to cup your cheek. He’s cautious, afraid he might break you like he always does. He waits for you to shove him away and to yell at him for being a fucking coward.

You don’t. You stay still, hoping he follows through with what you think he’s about to do. And then he does.

It’s such a featherlight peck of his lips on your own, you almost don’t even register. But sparks shoot from the source all the way to the tips of your fingers. You feel as if you were dealt a static shock of electricity, your whole body buzzing from the small kiss alone.

He pulls away just in time for the stage manager to inform you that you’re next. Kevin rolls his neck jogging over to the wings to patiently await your performance like he hadn’t just kissed you a moment ago. You blink dumbly, two fingers coming up to touch where his lips had been. Sure the nerves were gone now, but the sensation of butterflies swarming about in your stomach easily replaced that. What the fuck was his problem?

“Our last performance is one I’m sure all of you have been waiting for. Kevin Moon and Y/N L/N with Partition!”

Before you know it, you and Kevin are in position, your body squared upstage and his to the crowd. Your eyes are closed, but you can feel his arm wrapped around your waist and his steady breathing on your nose. The spotlight switches on, the heat of the lighting warm against the side of your face. It’s silent in the auditorium, but it rings in your ears. You could do this.

Let me hear you say ‘Hey Miss Carter’…

You move on reflex, muscle memory kicking in instantaneously. Each circle of your hips, every turn you make— a fouetté here, a pirouette there, a couple coupes, each roll of your body. But what really gets you is the long brushes of Kevin’s skin on your own. You’d practiced with distance between the two of you. There was a tension that had been there for years. Now it’s all coming to a rolling boil, a new uncharted tension that every single member in that audience could see.

And then comes the lift.

You, along with everybody in the auditorium, practically hold your breath when Kevin’s hands grip your hips. He raises you above him with all of his strength, completely focused on you and only you. You shut your eyes and feel the moment, like, really feel it. Your body is relaxed, the Dirty Dancing-esque lift bringing the whole performance together just like you knew it would. The only difference from the movie and real life is the fact that you’re flipped, your backside to Kevin and your chest to the ceiling.

Your eyes flutter open, the spotlight all but blinding you, and you finally feel content. Like everything has fallen into the right place for once in your life. Especially so when Kevin sets you down gently and you finish your dance with the utmost confidence.

The crowd erupts into a roaring chorus of applause, going as far as giving you a standing ovation. Holy shit. You pulled it off. You actually managed to pull it off.

Your face feels like it might split from how big your smile is. You and Kevin bow, walking off stage. You’re entirely too happy right now, a newfound energy overtaking you as you trail behind him.

“We did it!” You cheer as you follow him towards the dressing room where your things are. You’re the only ones left backstage, everyone else filtering out between performances. Kevin doesn’t give you much of a response, just a small nod of acknowledgment. Your smile falters. “What the hell is your problem?”

”Nothing, Y/N, fuck. Can you just mind your own fucking business?” He snaps, turning around to glare at you just as the door slams behind you. You instinctively flinch at both loud noises. His features soften but you take a step back from him.

You aren’t sure why you’re surprised. This isn’t anything new. Kevin has always made it crystal clear that he wasn’t your number one fan. Being neutral for your performance wasn’t enough to repair all the holes in whatever your relationship was, and you should’ve known better. You shouldn’t have let your guard down so easily. You should’ve expected this. Old dogs can never learn new tricks.

But Kevin’s scared. He’s afraid of letting you in after all the mess he’s put you through. The only thing he’s good at doing is hurting you, over and over like there was a prize that came out of it.

”Look…”

”No, you listen to me,” you swallow heavily, tears already tight lining your eyes. “Kevin, I have taken so much shit from you. Over these past few years I have just sat there and let you unload all your fucked up insecurities onto me. Have you ever wondered why? Have you ever thought to stop and think about why I let you be so mean to me without even questioning it?”

He says nothing, just stares with his lips parted. They open and close like a fish out of water, words there at the tip of his tongue but refusing to make their escape. And then one of your tears rolls down your cheeks and he’s directly in front you, his heart on his sleeve for the first time since you’ve met him.

”Why?” The simple question is so quiet, you almost don’t hear him. But his eyes hold so much hurt, so much anguish that you’ve never seen in a person before.

“I’ve had feelings for you for so long, it’s actually starting to ache. You’ve only ever seen me as this thing, this obstacle. And I’m afraid that that’s all I’ll ever be to you, because you won’t let me be anything else. You won’t—“

”That’s not true, Y/N,” Kevin sighs, looking off to the side, away from you. “I just— it’s complicated. It’s more than just being rivals.”

”So help me understand,” you frown. “Let me in, please.”

”My entire life I’ve had to work to get to where I am. I’ve fought tooth and nail to be as good of a performer as I am today. There were so many hoops I had to go through to even get into this program and— and I thought I’d finally become the best I could be. I thought that there was no way anyone could ever be better than me. And then you showed up. You and your pretty smile and your natural ability to be the best at everything you do. It was like you were the real life manifestation of all of my critics, of every challenge I faced to get here. Where I had to practice day and night to perfect something, it just came to you like second nature. During Princess and the Pauper, when I dropped you, it truly was an accident. But we’d spent so much time nailing it, that it— I just made myself feel better by saying it was your fault. ‘How could it have been my fault if I perfected it?’ I was jealous and petty and it was just easier to blame hating— to blame my indifference on you spilling coffee on my stupid shirt. For that, I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what you were waiting to hear, but it wasn’t that. Your tears turn into full on blubbering, because what the fuck? That’s so much burden for someone to carry on their shoulders for three years.

“Why are you— why are you crying?” He flounders, reaching up to swipe away your tears.

“I wish I knew… I wish I could’ve helped you somehow,” you sniffle. “Kev, I’ve always admired you and your work ethic. I hoped one day I’d be half as disciplined as you, half as determined.”

He blinks. You’re both dumb, aren’t you? Too focused on the wrong things. You both could’ve been a lot less hateful, a lot less miserable, had you just spoken your differences out. This entire rivalry has been completely one sided, but also built off of plain stupidity and ignorance. He supposes it’s not too late to make amends if you aren’t running in the opposite direction despite everything he’s put you through.

Kevin leans forward, hand still pressed to your cheek, and connects your lips softly. He’s testing the waters, making sure you’re comfortable before he continues anything. When you don’t back away just yet, he adds more force, deepening the kiss like a man starved. You whine against his lips.

This is what you’ve been wanting from him. More than what he gave you before your performance, but not what happened in the studio a few weeks ago. This desperation isn’t abashed lust, it’s unbridled affection— it’s everything he’s holed inside of himself for years, unwilling to let it see the light of day until now. If you were to label anything as perfection, it wouldn’t be a dance or a moment on stage, it would be this. Just you and Kevin finally bringing yourselves together in the most intimately emotional union.

He pulls you closer to him, hands sliding down to grasp at your waist, bunching up the thin fabric of your leotard. You can’t help but bury your fingers in his hair, tugging when he nips at your lower lip. A gasp permeates the air when his mouth travels south, along your jaw and down the side of your neck. He bites and sucks the tender skin at the base of your throat, ensuring he leaves his mark on you. This time isn’t careless, this time he has purpose. He wants everybody to know that you’re his, that you’re the only person insane enough to put up with him.

Your breathing is shaky when you reach behind you to lock the dressing room, dragging him over to the long vanity adjacent to you. He slots between your legs when you hoist yourself onto the surface. He pecks your lips and pauses his movements, rubbing up and down your thighs. In the dim, yellow lighting of the room, you look so gorgeous. He’s always thought you were beautiful, the most stunning thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, but he’s repressed it for so long. He wants to take his time staring at what he’s avoided.

”You’re so pretty,” he says quietly, kissing you again and again and again. “I don’t think I can last long with you.”

“Can we skip the foreplay?” You ask, bottom lip jutted into a pout. “Need you to just fuck me like you mean it.”

Kevin’s forehead falls to your shoulder with a groan. “I don’t deserve you,” God, he’s such an idiot for holding out from this. You should’ve been given the world and so much more. He has a lot of lost time to make up for. He kisses your shoulder with a sigh. “Yeah, baby, I can do that.”

You don’t waste another second, slipping your arms through the sleeves of your leotard. He has to bite down on his tongue when he sees that you’re braless, fingers going slack as they unbutton the rest of his silk shirt. You shimmy out of the one piece, left in nothing but the fishnet stockings you wore underneath and your lacy panties. Kevin thinks he must’ve done at least something right in a past life to experience this.

Your eyes sparkle as you look up at him, undoing his slacks and kicking them down his legs with your feet. Something takes over him when he rips a bigger hole in your stockings, pushing your underwear to the side. His thumb glides through your folds with ease, your slick providing enough lubricant. He pushes your lower lips apart while you busy yourself shoving his underwear to his ankles.

His cock slips inside of you with less friction than he would’ve thought, but he doesn’t complain, screwing his eyes shut as he acclimates to the feeling of your walls surrounding him. You moan, such a soft sound that he nearly loses his balance.

“You feel so good, baby,” he coos, digging his fingers into your hips as he rocks his own. “You’re so so perfect.”

The praise is too much for you, given the circumstances. Your brain is already cloudy, stuffed with what could only be described as cotton. You watch with half lidded eyes as he begins to piston into you at a faster speed. This all feels like a fever dream, something that was only possible in your craziest fantasies. Even then, it seemed unlikely.

“‘M close, Kev,” you whine, unable to stay still and attempting to match his thrusts.

“Already? We’ve only just started, gorgeous.” He laughs, but it’s breathy, strained from the exertion of his body. You hardly have the strength in you to be embarrassed about it, especially since he’s seen you in much worse situations.

You nod frantically, snaking a hand between you to circle your clit with nimble fingers. Kevin halts you and pulls out momentarily, sliding his cock between your folds like it was your hand. The tip catches your sensitive bundle of nerves repeatedly, making you dizzier than you already were.

He presses back into you with ease, resuming his sloppy but animalistic pace. He uses his thumb to continue your handywork, your cunt fluttering around him needily. You’re both losing your sanity quickly, both going batshit insane over the bare minimum. You’ve just needed this for so long, yearned for this moment for a humiliating amount of time.

Your moans start to rise in pitch and he groans. “Fuck, baby, you can cum for me.”

He could cry, he thinks, when your back arches and your legs shake with your orgasm. It hits you like a freight train, triggering his own release just as fast.

You stay like that for a bit, regaining yourselves and comprehending everything that’s just happened. So much for the whole hating each other narrative.

“What does this mean for us?” You suddenly ask, arms hooked around Kevin’s neck. You’re still connected by your lower halves, but he makes no effort to pull away. Part of you likes it that way, it gives you hope that this isn’t a one time affair.

“It’ll be hard for things to change overnight,” he says, massaging your sides. “We have a lot of unresolved issues and insecurities that we still have to push past. But I’m willing to do that with you. I want to take a chance on us.”

Your lips pull into a smile, an expression you don’t think you’ve worn around him genuinely in the years you’ve known him. “I do, too.”

“It’s kind of ironic that it was a performance that tore us apart and brought us back together, don’t you think?” He laughs.

“And we fucked in the dressing room…” You add, glancing to the top corner where a security camera is stationed.

“Maybe we should get out of here before someone checks the footage,” he suggests. “Tau Beta Zeta is conveniently hosting our end of semester party tonight, do you wanna be my plus one?”

“I would be honored.” You grin, pecking his lips tenderly.

Perhaps happy endings existed after all.

#deoboyznet #the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz kevin #tbz kevin #kevin moon x reader #kevin moon smut #kevin x reader #kevin smut #moon hyungseo #blackoutorbackout🍻#juyeonszn

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girlboybug · 1 year

Text

California Gurls

"warm, wet n’ wild, there must be something in the water."

or the one where joel hasn't been to california in god knows how long, but, one thing's for certain. he loves, california girls.

what’s playing 🎧 : california gurls by katy perry

pairing : joel miller x cali!girl reader

word count : 2k

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUTTY HEADCANON LIST, age gap, public sex, light themes of exhibitionism, heavy petting, bikini fetish, is that a thing? it is now. unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampies, oral f!receiving, blowjobs, doggy style, riding, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia, switch coded joel and reader, joel still leans towards top/dom, edging, forced orgasms, drunk/high sex

TRIGGER WARNINGS : umm i honestly can't think of any besides sex under the influence of both alcohol and weed but neither joel and reader are sober so its all around consensual as always :) if i missed anything plz lmk!

a/n : hi baes, im sorry that ive been slacking on uploading, ive been a bit burnt out, and i recently just got a job! so i fear my uploading may become more scarce but i will try my best to not let it get too bad.

ive had this au in mind for awhile n thought a headcanon list would b perfect hehe and i might make it a full fic in the future. i have a very special fic im almost done with and then a few more requests, thank u to those patient ppl who requested it, i promise i havent forgotten abt u!!! anyways sorry this is so long kjjdsjhdjsj plz enjoy and if there is anyway i can make my writing more inclusive pleaaase let me know!

joel didn't even want to be in california, but it was on the way to where him and ellie needed to go, and it was supposed to be just them two passing through, nothing less, nothing more.

but then, and of course there's always a but, on the journey both joel and ellie stumble upon a beach.

a beach with you.

culture shock for joel, like immediately. it's almost like the virus never spread to california, specifically their beaches. girls girls girls, all clad in the skimpiest bikinis and swimwear he's seen in years - or ever actually.

ellie convinces him to stay, just for a little while, and of course, he obliges, begrudgingly. the begrudging feeling and furrow in his brows slowly melts away when he's left to unwind in the warm sand, wandering eyes traveling across the beach's very underdressed inhabitants.

he lets ellie play in the water, he's more than content enjoying the view surrounding him in the sand.

you’re quick to notice the newcomers, instantly excited upon meeting new people

you make it real difficult for joel to maintain eye contact while he talks to you, he feels like he needs to physically hold his eyes in place so they don't drift down to the way your tits spill out your bikini top

he can smell the salty water, the semi sweet and unforgettable scent of sunscreen and a hint of coconut on you, and it's honestly mind numbing

and when ellie begs to stay in california for a bit longer than they planned, he surprises both himself and ellie when he jumps to say yes.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

ੈ✩‧₊˚

you make joel never wanna leave california. when it's dark out, with the beach left empty and void of half naked and sunburnt people, it becomes a space for just you and joel.

he loves fucking you right on the sand, loves setting up your bright pink beach towel across the sandy floors just to push your face down onto it, smushing your cheek until your pretty lips pucker and sob his name when he bullies the fat head of his cock into your fluttering hole.

it was so easy getting joel to crack and fuck you, it didn't take much convincing, if anything, it took more convincing on his part to not bend you over upon immediate introductions. but when he finally lets himself have you, it's all he ever wants to do

it was a massive shock that he could keep up with your stamina, he's like what, 56? and you're a 20 something year old full of life and energy and yet he was giving you a run for your money, almost making you tap out when he forces a third orgasm of the night out of you

he loves to drag his tongue across your skin, loves to sink his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder when he fucks you from the back, he loves tasting the remnants of the ocean that lingers on your skin

loves to sneak off with you behind the lifeguard tower, and he loves hearing you plead with him to give you some attention.

he loves to make you beg for it. he loves pushing those tiny bikini bottoms that cover not enough, just to lap and lap and lap, at your soaked cunt.

loves to eat it til you cry, he doesn't stop until you have to push him off. he loves it when he gets to flip you on your tummy, he pulls your hips up and buries his face in your pussy, licking you up until your legs shake and can barely keep you upright, but it's okay, he's always there to keep you in place.

you enjoy feeding his ego when you tell him he's the best you've ever had, which isn't a lie

but the way he forces your knees near your ears when you whine about how his cock is the best, and the way he plunges in so deep you can feel him kiss your cervix, makes you feel like you'd say anything else he wanted to hear to get him to keep fucking you like that

sometimes he just can't keep his hands off you, so he'll pull you away to the secluded part of the beach, and make you ride him

oh you love riding him. you like feeling the slight shift in dominance that occurs when you get on top. you love pushing his chest down, letting his back connect to the sand, tons of little grains getting lost in his hair when you keep him down like that, fucking him the way you like, using his fat cock like your personal toy.

you don’t care about how sensitive he is, you make him take your tight cunt, he's the one that wanted this, so it's only fair he finishes what he started after all.

it's your turn to only get more turned on when you see his pretty brown eyes line with tears when you're fucking him through his second orgasm back to back.

you're insatiable when you're like this, drunk on his cock, and drunk on the power trip of being in control. you’re unable to stop your hips from rocking down onto his, guiding his fingers to your needy clit.

you lower yourself down to his chest, kissing his freckled shoulders, teeth grazing over his collarbones when he's whimpering in your hair, feeling too much everywhere but he doesn't tell you to stop, he takes everything you give him

loves pulling you into his chest when you've ticked him off, he keeps your back to his front, he spreads your legs and keeps them open with his ankle hooking around your's.

his strong bicep, that you love, keeps you in a loose chokehold, his free hand teasing your soaked cunt, bringing you to the edge of release just to rip it away from you. he loves kissing your sunkissed skin, feeling the warmth from being in the sun all day while he whispers for you to, shut the fuck up and behave.

his fingers circle around your clit, switching between that and burying his thick digits in your aching hole, scoffing when you sigh and whimper in relief when he pushes his middle finger in

doesn't let you finish despite your pleas and cries

he's so mean when he's mad at you. :(

he takes your bikini bottoms, pocketing them away and tossing you his flannel if you're gonna complain that much about being bare even though you're practically naked 99% of the time.

you immediately go home, throw his flannel over a pillow and hump it, trying your best to focus on the scent that wafts from his flannel, and lingers on your skin, pretending the friction you felt was from his fingers

you love getting back at joel, like when you're sitting at the tiki bar, and he's trying his best to converse with your friends

you'll snake yourself in his arms, hopping onto his lap while he sits in the barstool, accidentally letting your wet bikini bottoms soak his drying swim trunks

you also unintentionally squirm around in his lap, 'not realizing' you're grinding your ass right on his hardening cock, looking up at him in faux concern when he starts stuttering and stammering mid-convo

he grips your hips, his fingers digging into your warm skin, silently warning you

you don't heed his warnings, naturally, and instead hop off his lap, announcing to the group that you've decided to go for another session in the water, leaving him to awkwardly swivel his barstool away as to not flash his aching erection beneath his swim trunks to all your friends.

of course joel always gets the last word, he's pulling you away from the water, tugging you along with him by the rocks near the shore the furthest from everyone

little girl is gonna learn today, he mutters to himself, and you have to hide your squeals of excitement, knowing he's gonna fuck you stupid

and that he does, he makes you work for your orgasm, and that’s only if he feels nice enough in the moment

he has you on your knees in front of him while he leans his back against the sturdy surface of a large rock, his hand resting behind your head while he grunts for you to take every inch of him down your throat

s’what girls like you are good for, i’nt that right baby?

your cunt flutters at his words, he always makes you tingly from just speaking

when he’s about to cum he can never decide which is better, seeing your pretty face covered in his seed or watching you swallow it down without a single flinch

before you, joel hadn’t done anything like this in like, 20+ years, so when you think you’re done, you’re not.

his cock stays hard sometimes, and he’s more than willing to use you over and over until he’s satisfied, not that you complain, you’re always so pliable and compliant for him.

he sits you up, pulls you into his lap and makes you put it in, loves watching his fat cock disappear into your greedy cunt, sucking him in and wrapping around him like a tight glove.

holds your hips down and keeps you in place while he fucks up in to you, tugs your bikini top down and sucks on your chest, tongue messily dragging all along your salty skin, teasing your sensitive nipples with his teeth

sometimes he’ll play nice, he’ll rub your sweet little clit, cooing and kissing at your neck and cheek when you collapse in his chest, rutting on his cock while he fucks you through your all consuming orgasm.

buries his face in your neck to breathe in your scent when he’s close, whispers to you if you’ll let him cum inside, and you always say yes

grunts a few utterances of your name when he cums in you, he slowly fucks his cum inside you, the wet sound from your grinding bodies turns him on more than he can even describe, addicted to how it feels and how it sounds

loves to slowly pull out, and watch his cum leak from your hole, loves knowing he’s the first and only one, who gets to do that to you.

and when he’s at your small place, with ellie being at a girl her age’s place for the night, he unwinds in your bed with you, passing a blunt back and forth

you give him sips from whatever fruity alcoholic drink you’ve concocted that night, giggling mid kiss when you taste the mixture of a mango pineapple drink and weed on his tongue

and he always gets the munchies on nights like this, but not for food

loves devouring your pussy when he’s high, he’ll make his way on top of you, eyes ablaze, mouth parted with low breaths, eyeing you down like you’re his prey

you try to tease him by closing your legs, but that’s fine, he can work with that

he grabs your ankles, taking them in one big hand, pulling you down towards him before he lifts your legs up by your ankles, smirking to himself when he pushes your panties to the side and dives in tongue first

he can eat you out for hours, he’s just so hungry, and he can’t get enough of you

and when you’re shaking, trembling, struggling to breathe, he loves watching the violent jerk your body makes when he pushes his cock inside your messy and soaked hole, loves holding you down while you shake beneath him from your burning orgasms you just had back to back

fucks you nice and slow, wants you to feel every single inch, and every single vein inside of you, wants you to know who’s fucking you this good

and when he can’t hold off on leaving california any longer, he tries to convince you to come with him. and in the time that the pair has stayed in california, ellie has grown to like you, and naturally joins him in his pleas, begging you to come along with them.

and as much as you want to go along with them, you can't get yourself to leave. california’s your home, and it could be their’s too, you try to tell them, but you both know where the other belongs.

when he leaves, he kisses you hard enough that you pray it bruises into your lips for the rest of your life.

you make him promise to try and come by at least every summer, and with a wide smile, he says he can do that.

#joel miller x reader #the last of us smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal joel miller #the last of us hbo #joel miller x female reader #ellie williams tlou #headcanon #joel miller headcanon #tlou hbo #the last of us #joel miller hbo #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #joel miller headcanons

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jakeyt · 7 months

Text

Covet: Chapter 8 (Part 2.3 of 2)

PART 2 OF PART 2

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great.

Was.

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home.

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in.

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); smut (!!); angst; unprotected sex (p in v); jealousy; negative self-talk; negative body talk concerning body changes; talks of pregnancy; contemplation of terminating pregnancy; argument (includes: manipulation, misunderstanding, lying); masturbation (f! receiving); anxiety; stress; extreme feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; substance use (alcohol) (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 19.9k+

a/n: here it issss…. here’s the big thing: you’re going to be pissed w y/n a time or two & you’re just going to have to remember she’s sooo fucking stubborn. 🫠 (poor Jake) her healing journey starts sooner than you may think, though… 🖤

hopefully after you've read this part, you'll realize why i've included the bolded dates (i think most of you already knew what was coming though... lol). as the author, i believed the big event in this chapter required a timeline for you, as the reader, to keep track of order of events... makes things wrap together in a nice bow haha

@joshym, @alwaysonthemend, + @welightthefire, you three are so special to me and this story flourishes bc of your never ending support as i write. love u so much <3

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

enjoy!

-🌼🌼🌼-

August 27, 2022

The golden morning light was nearly blinding. You shielded your face in the arm of the body beneath you. It was almost too much. . . The warm body underneath you was almost too much.

You remembered having sex with him, talking to him. . . but the details were fuzzy. . . your body felt so relaxed. . . There was so much you couldn’t recollect, but at that moment, it wasn’t a concern. Because Jake was with you and it wouldn’t be this way for much longer. You wanted to relish in this.

Everything that had been swirling in your mind for days was still very real. . . and you knew the list of reasons this was a bad idea were endless. You wished there wasn’t a list of reasons that haunted you– the old and the new. But there was a list and at this point, the reasons were mocking you for being where you were at this moment.

Curled up in Jake, your round ass pushing against his thick cock, already hard. The heat that radiated from him, combined with the feeling of his body pressed against yours, made you sticky with sweat. Your body was on fire. But you didn’t want to leave him. You couldn’t leave him. This feeling, him. . . so safe and cozy.

This was a feeling you wanted to sink into. You blinked a few more times into the open air of your bedroom, seeing the dust particles floating in the rays of yellow sunlight flooding your room.

As much as you didn’t want to leave Jake’s body, you knew you had to start the day at some point. You tried to sit up. But you instantly regretted it. Your head felt fuzzy. Fuck.

Things were foggy as hell. This was always how you reacted to weed. One reason why you rarely smoked it. But you’d needed to last night. Needed that time, feeling free and loose. . . with Jake. Before your time with him came to its inevitable end.

Like it had become your daily routine, you started becoming consumed by several all-encompassing, nagging emotions. You hated how fucking complete you felt in his arms, in bed with him. . . but all it had taken were a few seconds passing before you started feeling the familiar, anxious spinning in your stomach. Turmoil.

Josh’s words from outside your bedroom, bouncing around in your head. The rules that you’d set in place for a reason– to protect you both (though, they hadn’t worked on your end). The image of Maya, so beautiful and attentive . . . Dammit. The way your heart sunk in your chest, the sadness rushing through you, made a mess of emotions in the pit of your stomach.

And you knew that was your body’s way of signaling to you that it was time. Time to end things.

No matter how much your heart lurched at the thought. Your eyes filled with unshed tears, dreading it.

But your body was persistent in communicating to you that it was the right move. To let him go.

You rejected it for just a small moment to turn and give him a kiss on the lips, your bare chest meeting his, which rose and fell underneath you.

Then you remembered–. The guys. In the living room. Shit.

You pulled away to pat his chest, trying to get him to come to. And he did, with one deep breath through his nose, blinking at you with sleepy eyes. He squinted, the sun in his eyes. You loved the way the light turned his eyes to dark honey. . .

Now is not the time, y/n.

As soon as you knew he was awake, you were scrambling out of bed, finding a big t-shirt in your dresser and putting it on. Then you bent over, searching your underwear drawer for a new pair that wasn’t a fucking thong. . . you had too many thongs.

“That ass,” he said, voice gruff and low from sleep. “Damn, baby.”

You instantly felt wetness gather at your folds. Not. Now.

Last night was the last time. And it was going to stay that way.

Underwear, underwear, under– yes!

Finding a pair of black panties, you slipped them on hastily before yanking on a pair of pajama shorts that were laying on the ground. As you wrapped your hair up into a quick ponytail, at your vanity, you made the mistake of looking in the mirror. The bed perfectly placed in the mirror’s path, and a sight from the bed made your breath catch in your throat.

Jake, in your bed, his long hair, still messy from sleep and sex. . . his deeply set, tired eyes. . . tanned skin, the perfect shade of brown after hours spent in the summer sun. The sight reflecting back at you was making your heart race. You caught your breath, taking in a sharp breath. The elbow, holding him up, while the other worked under the sheets. . . his eyes lust-filled and appreciating your exposed thighs. Fuck.

So, abandoning your hair, you decided to not ignore the need that thrummed between your thighs, making your heart beat wildly in your chest. When he was laying there looking like that, you couldn’t refuse. His defined pecs and fit biceps flexed with each pump of his fist. Your building arousal was already ruining your new pair of panties. Best to not dirty another pair, right?

Your legs walked on their own over to the bed while you stripped yourself of the clothes you’d just put on. He sat up, as your eyes surely told him of what you wanted. And in no time, you were on top of him, as he deliciously stretched you, opening you up for him. He held your ass for a moment, aiding you in your movements. His lips found your nipples, hardened and begging for his attention.

As he lifted his hips to start a rhythm inside of you, the pressure was just right, and his tip was massaging you exactly where you needed him. With every hard rock of his hips, you were pushing down against his thrusts. Languid, lazy sounds sighed from your mouth. . . The friction was heavenly. Both of you, relentless with your unsteady tempo of vigorous need– back and forth, back and forth.

He sensed it coming before you did, as you were too distracted by his handsome face. His mouth, opening in the slightest any time your walls clenched around him. Brows dipped in with deep concentration, balancing his view from where your bodies connected, and then back to your eyes. He reached between you, a skilled thumb making tight circles against your sensitive, swollen clit. And, much too soon, you were coming undone, the familiar burn in your belly, your body buzzing and walls fluttering around him at a rapid speed. You threw your head back, riding it out. You never wanted it to end. He felt so fucking good inside of you– filling you all the way up.

With one hand on your breast, and another on your hip, he used that as leverage to pull out of you. And, without thinking much of it, you got on all fours, knees digging into the mattress, wanting to bare your ass to him. You heard him let out a shaky breath, before he was following, raising to his knees. As soon as he was where he needed to be, he released, warm on your back. He gripped your ass with a strong hand, the flesh putty in his hands as you pushed back against him, your ass meeting his thighs.

More, more, more, more, mor–

And, without any stimulation, save for the feeling of him still spilling onto your back and his tight hold on your ass, you were finishing again, your body shaking, pussy clenching around nothing. Your arms almost gave out where they held you up. You tried to keep your whining quiet, remembering why you had been worried about your predicament before.

“Holy fucking shit,” he moaned, his tone throaty. “Did you just–? Again?”

“Y-yeah,” you sighed, feeling completely refreshed, your body still wracking from the effects of your orgasm. And finally, you let your arms give out. But before you could reach the mattress, he was pulling you back to him, sitting you on his lap again as he gave you a full kiss on the mouth, his tongue pushing through your lips.

You reciprocated, tangling your tongue with his, the sound of wet kisses encapsulated your room. The apartment was so quiet–silent, even–save for the sounds of your sighs. The world was nearly drowned out. The only thing that existed was Jake, the taste of his sweet mouth, and the feeling of his lips melding to yours.

But you broke from the escape, the silence of the apartment getting pierced by the telling signs of someone yawning loudly in the living room. You were up without even thinking about it. You hurriedly re-dressed, and before you opened the door, you glanced back at him.

“You were never in here,” you hushed, before shutting the door to go into the living room.

Thankfully, Sammy and Danny were still asleep. But your eyes found Josh, who was rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“What time is it?” He grumbled. And as he closed his eyes with another yawn, you saw movement from the corner of your eye. You peeked from Josh to see Jake, dressed again, silently shutting your door and heading to his own bedroom.

As much as you wanted to go to him, you looked at the glowing green time on the oven. Your eyes bugged at the hour, and you rushed to check your schedule on the fridge.

Shit. While your mind was already tumbling with reasons to call it quits, you just added one more to the list. Until Jake, you’d never been so forgetful of your work schedule. But as of right now, your mind was way too preoccupied with him. You winced at the idea of becoming that forgetful with school. You had to be more responsible.

You had less than thirty minutes before you had to be walking into the Black and Gold.

“Y/n?” Josh called, still slowly coming to.

“It’s one in the afternoon,” you rushed out, practically sprinting to the bathroom, from where you finished your statement. “I’m gonna be late for fucking work.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

You’d been correct– ending up at the B&G ten minutes late. That had never happened before in the history of you working at the shop. It pissed you off to no end that you had let yourself be so irresponsible.

You spent your entire shift thinking of all the things you’d let take precedence in your life above your job and your school. . . In recent days, you’d spent a ridiculous amount of time thinking of Jake to the point of being stressed enough that he’d noticed, told his brother. . . which resulted in a night of getting high to rid yourself of the nerves. You’d let yourself partake in it even when you knew it made you so incredibly fuzzy. On a night where you worked the next day.

Then, there was the sex that had happened last night, this morning. . . making you lose track of time. There was one common denominator. He’d become too important. A distraction. And you feared being the same to him. You’d had your fun and now it was time to give it up.

You fucking hated the idea of having to do it– made tears moisten your eyes. But you would be okay. And Jake would definitely be okay. You weren’t to him what he was to you. (Why that felt wrong to think, you didn’t know. . .) He had a woman to lean back on, if he wanted one. A woman much more fit for him than you could ever be.

And, chances were, he was bound to leave what you had for her eventually, so you felt it best to end things now before he could. It would hurt you less to take the initiative now. You didn’t want to risk the pain that would come with him fully rejecting you for another. The idea of Jake leaving you high and dry like your mother had sounded horrible. And you did not want to experience it.

By the time you were turning off the lights and locking the doors to the store, you’d made up your mind. Tomorrow. You were going to rip the damn bandaid off. There were too many reasons indicating you needed to. Before it was too late.

-🌼🌼🌼-

August 28, 2022

He would be home any minute. Your leg was bouncing with pent up nerves that wouldn’t be released until you said what you needed to. Your palms were sweaty, making you need to repeatedly wipe them on the worn denim of your jeans. And anytime you’d wipe them off, you’d grab your phone off the counter, checking it unnecessarily. Because even after you’d wipe them, they’d still shake with nervous jitters, and you needed something to do with them.

The sound of the key unlocking the door made your stomach twist. Suddenly, you were questioning yourself. Questioning what you’d been planning on doing.

I’m not ready. I don’t want to do this. It can wait. It’s not time. I don’t want this.

But it was necessary.

And plenty of those thoughts had become too insistent for you to ignore. Even as you watched him set his guitar and amp down in the living room, through the opening of the kitchen. You were longing to ask him about his day. Or ask him to watch a tv show or movie with you. Tease him and make him follow you to bed. . .

But in spite of all of that, you knew what was right.

Don’t be selfish, y/n. You know what is best for him. For you. For both of you. Don’t you dare chicken out. Continuing this cycle of selfishness will end badly. You know it. Stick to the plan.

So, when he finally walked into the kitchen to cross off his day of work on his fridge calendar, humming what you assumed to be a new song. . .you decided to not waste time. It would hurt less.

Rip the bandaid clean off.

You cleared your throat before speaking, leaning even further into the kitchen counter. You wanted to sink into it. Hide. “Hey.”

He jumped, holding his chest. “You’ve gotta stop scaring me like that,” he laughed, crossing the day off his rehearsal schedule.

Then, when he looked over his shoulder at you, you almost lost your motivation.

Those eyes. . .

But you persisted. For you. For him.

“We need to talk,” you said, the words feeling thick in your throat.

And when he turned to face you fully, his brows were scrunched with confusion and concern.

“You okay?” He inquired. “I wondered why you didn’t talk to me when you got home from work last night. Is something happening at the Black and G–?”

Rip. It. Off.

“We’re done,” you stated. You suddenly felt completely frozen, time beginning to move around you much faster than you could keep up with. The words were trapped in the air with you, hanging there.

He just stared at you, eyes round and questioning. He blinked a couple times, his lips on the verge of a smirk, but ultimately staying in a straight line, as if not sure how to react. “What?”

Keep going.

“We’re done,” you repeated, the words coming out a little easier the second time. “I’m calling it quits. I can’t do this anymore.”

He took a couple steps towards you, then took them back. He turned, looking at the kitchen cabinets as a hand held his chin. He used one finger to scratch at a brow.

Still looking away, he spoke again. “Why?”

You felt the heartache begin again, not wanting to do what you knew you had to. Prior to this, you’d decided anytime you felt the sorrow creep up, you would replace it with anger. Fight the weak emotion with a stronger one. You’d bury the sad, and use anger instead. It would help you and him in the long run. It would.

“I hate when you fucking ask that,” you snapped, your head feeling heavy and the words wrong.

His brown eyes got big, shocked. “Where is this coming from?”

“I told you, Jake,” you said, clearing your throat to eliminate the tears. You want this. “I told you that night at the bowling alley. I said if one of us wanted to end this, the other one has to be okay with it, without any questions asked. That was a rule,” you reiterated, standing firm on the words you’d stupidly spoken in the past. They were your shaky wall of defense in this situation, where you felt defenseless against yourself. “And right now, I don’t want to answer questions. I just want to say it’s over and you be okay with it.”

He scoffed, scratching his cheek before running the hand through his hair. He leaned against the counter closest to him, across the kitchen from you. Come closer. Please.

But he didn’t. He just crossed his arms and pierced you with his dark eyes.

“That’s not how normal people do things, y/n,” he clarified, like he was talking to a child.

You didn’t have to fake anger in response to that. Don’t tell me things like I’m an idiot.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You fumed, your coolness fading quickly.

“Goddamn, y/n,” he swallowed hard and looked out the little window above your head, right above the lavender. “Stop acting so fuckin’ obtuse. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked,” you griped sardonically, silently begging him to look at you as your eyes followed him. “Because I speak fucking asshole I knew what you meant by that. You’re right.”

He brought a hand up to his face, covering his eyes before letting it run down to rest at his chin. He was losing his patience. This should be good. Why didn’t it feel that way? This was what you wanted. He let his eyes rest on his feet, refusing to acknowledge your stare.

“I’m still trying to figure out where this is coming from,” he said, reiterating his prior question. “Yesterday morning, everything was normal. We were fine. How were you able to just turn all of that off?”

You were at a loss. How in depth were you supposed to go with him? Should you be honest? Or should you lie? Cover up the truth with blanket statements and lies? You weren’t sure. . .

So you just started talking. And a lie came out first.

“I had a quiz this past Friday and I failed it,” you said, the untrue words feeling dirty coming out of your mouth. Trying to cover up the lie with a truth, you continued. “I keep getting distracted and it’s never been like this for me before. Since my first day of Freshman year at Pratt, I’ve never failed a quiz.” And I still haven’t, you finished silently, guiltily. “I just know that the reason I’m so distracted is because of this,” you motioned between the two of you, even though he was still looking at the ground. “Because of us. It’s not healthy.”

He finally brought his gaze up from the floor, interlocking it with yours. And if you thought the guilt from lying was bad before, it was even worse as you looked into his eyes.

“How is the relationship we have not healthy?” He asked, truly wondering.

Relationship.

You decided to be as honest as possible to keep your guilty conscience at bay.

“For one, it’s distracting me from classes. And two, it’s not a relationship. It’s been a rule since the beginning–the number one rule, actually– and I made it a rule because I knew I couldn’t handle a relationship right now.” All of that was mostly honest. Doing great. “I have other things I need to be focusing on right now. . .dedicating my time to. And from the beginning, this has only been sex,” okay, that was a lie. “And I wanted it to be that way so when the time came for me to cut it off, it would be easier. I made it that way on purpose.”

The way he was watching you with rapt attention, actually hearing you out, it made your heart jump into your throat. I don’t want to be doing this right now. I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose him.

Don’t be selfish, y/n, your brutally honest inner voice combated you.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked, his voice indicating he was eager to assist you however you may need.

Keep going.

You swallowed the tears, your voice low with the tears that vanished. “Yes, you can help me by not challenging this right now.”

He breathed in deeply, his jaw clenching. “It’s not that easy for me.”

“It has to be.”

This isn’t easy for me either.

“See, it’s always been like this with you,” he started, leaning a shoulder against the fridge, his face turning harder than before. “You think you can just control everything and everyone around you. But you can't, that's not how life works. There are other people in your life with real emotions–real feelings–that you don’t get to dictate.”

You felt utterly singled out, and it made your blood turn to fire in your veins.

Who is he to say all of this?

“Why do you want to put up with me when you view me so horribly anyways?” You spit out, your eyes growing wet in spite of yourself.

He saw the tears in your eyes, and on instinct, started walking towards you, his entire face softening in response. But you put up a hand to stop him, your rigid expression and body communicating for you.

“I don’t view you horribly,” he said, tone sincere. He sighed, stopping at the island between you, resting his hands stop it. “You know that.”

You watched the way his hands held so tightly to the counter. He was like his brother in a few ways, you’d come to notice. One of which being how passionate he could become when talking about something that meant a lot to him. And at this moment, you saw how deeply he felt for what he was saying. His entire body exuded his emotions— when he let them show. . .

And, for the past couple of months, you’d been lucky enough to witness him bringing those walls down. Especially during the past month of sleeping with him, growing intimate with him. . . In this moment, you despised the fact that you were so freely giving that up. You selfishly wanted to keep all of those pieces of him.

Frames of time fluttered through your mind, showing how he would watch you, so affectionately. You heard words that had been spoken, so caring and genuine. . .How patient he’d been so many times. . .

But, just now when he’d called you out on your control issues? Had he thought that all along? Had he felt animosity towards the way you liked control? Or, on the other side of the coin, had he only been pitying you all along? Putting up with you? Had he just started caring about you because he felt like he had to? You were the one who had pushed this thing between the two of you in the first place. . . maybe he hadn’t wanted it as badly as you. Maybe he’d just given in, and ended up sticking around for it because he felt bad for you and got free sex on his end.

He’d left the comfort of Maya for the chaos of you. You were sure he’d do it again if you gave him long enough. . . Because all you’d done was add trouble to his life with the way you naturally were. The obnoxious, broken, damaged person you were. Your baggage was heavy and you knew it was due time before it weighed him completely down.

“Well I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience,” you fought back, guarded tears growing thicker in your eyes. You couldn’t will them away this time. “You’ve said what you wanted to say; it’s off your chest. So just let yourself be done with me,” you bitterly insisted. “Take a fucking breather from the ravaging storm that is me.”

“I never–,” he shook his head, looking away. A sharp breath had his lip curling as his hands went to comb through his hair. His eyes were wet when you saw them next. Fuck. Please don’t cry, baby. “That’s not what I fucking mean and you know it! Why are you always assuming the worst about me? Always.”

“I don’t!” You argued, not believing your words for a second. You knew he was right. The tears, still resting at your ducts, started trickling down your cheeks. “I just– I know I have shit wrong with me. I know I’m the most controlling fucking person. I know that. But I’ve been through too fucking much to believe that you could actually want me. You shouldn’t want me, Jake! I’m–,” you started, choking on a sob. “I don’t even–. . .” You went to meet him across the island, putting your forearms on the counter as you rested your head between them. You let the tears win, letting them flow easily. Relentless trails of mascara on your cheeks and the arms you were crying into, you were sure.

When you looked up to see him again, he was no longer standing there.

See, Jake? You don’t want to stay. Why would you? Leave while you can. But why do I feel like I need you to stay? How did it come to this?

Just as you were turning to look out the window to contemplate, he was back in the kitchen, a wet washcloth held in his hand.

Stop taking care of me. You’re better than this.

But before you could argue with him, he was coming around the island to meet you, touching the warm cloth to your dampened cheek. And, like the selfish person you were, you let him clean your cheeks of the blackened tracks.

You stopped him, midway through him tending to the left side of your face, grabbing the cloth from him. “I can take it from here,” you muttered pitifully. “Please stop doing this.”

He relented, giving the cloth and standing across from you. His eyes watched you conscientiously as you finished cleaning your face. You set the cloth down on the counter.

His brows were knitted when he spoke next. “Stop doing what?”

You choked on a dry sob. “Helping me,” you responded resolutely. And when it looked like he was about to fight you on it, you chose to bring out the knives and lies again. Don’t break, y/n. With your next words, you looked away from him. At your feet instead. Freshly painted, black toenails matching your heart.“I don’t want you to.”

You had to lie. You had to protect him and his future from you. He had to get rid of you to do what was best for himself. But when you peered up at him through your wet lashes again, you questioned your methods. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he quickly sniffed, bringing a hand to his face to get rid of the exposure of emotion.

He turned to look straight ahead, away from you. He looked up at the ceiling, putting his flexing hands in his front pockets.

When he looked at you next, his eyes were still wet, but there was a fire behind them. God, you fucking hated this. “Is that what you truly want? All of this? Gone? Over? You don’t want any of what we’ve had?”

You couldn’t stand seeing him like this. This needed to be over. Your heart couldn’t handle much more of this.

“I don’t want you,” you said, bile rising in your throat. Fucking liar. “I never wanted you as badly as I let on. I just wanted sex and you were an easy target because you live with me. Available whenever I needed you.” Your throat constricted, heart racing. You didn’t look away from him, pinning him with your eyes, trying your best to void them of any emotion. “And I don’t need you anymore,” you said, the words tight and constricting your opposing heart. “You’ve served your purpose.”

His lips curl into a shaky smile, mirroring shock and disbelief. Brown eyes, pooling with tears despite how hard set they are. “So you don’t love me?”

Love him? What?

And then it was rushing back.

Your mind, foggy and heart, completely transparent.

What you’d admitted to yourself and him in the hallway outside your room.

Had he said it back? The details were fading from your memory, blurry at best. You couldn’t remember.

Had you said it in response to him or just to expose yourself to him?

Did you love him? Truly?

You closed your eyes, needing to find a level ground as you felt completely shaky and unbalanced. How had you been so careless with your words?

What did you feel?

You know exactly how you feel, a calm, careful voice settled in your ear. You don’t have to deny it.

Yes, I do. If I do love him, I have to deny it. It’s what’s best for him.

“When did I say that?” You asked, avoiding it to start.

His eyes cleared, opening up as if he were getting somewhere with you.

You’re a coward, y/n.

“The other night,” he clarified, sniffling again. “When the guys were here.”

I know.

“I don’t remember saying it,” you stated, firm. “So, maybe I did,” you said, his eyes still hopeful. “But if I was high when I said it, there was no validity behind it. I wasn’t me. My head was in the clouds.” His jaw set, lips a hard line. Tense. “So it’s not fucking true. That’s something that someone would remember saying if they actually meant it. And I don’t.”

This was all a giant fucking mess. Why did it have to be like this?

He only stared at you, his nostrils flaring. His eyes were narrowed. His thoughts, most likely spinning. He just didn’t articulate any of the thoughts you knew to be buzzing in his head. He closed his eyes, pushing his thumb and pointer finger against his eyelids. When he opened them, the blank look on his features was worse than any anger he’d ever emitted.

The emotion was drained from him. Though, his hands were shaking as he untucked them into his front pockets.

“Okay,” he responded, his tone matching his empty expression. He took a deep breath and went to turn around to leave the kitchen, messing with his hair.

One of his nervous ticks, you thought, morosely.

But. . . You weren’t done. This couldn’t be it.

You suddenly didn’t want this conversation to be over. We aren’t done yet. There was no closure for me. No agreement on his end.

You’d made the terrible realization that once this talk was over, you two were over. Ripping the bandaid off didn’t seem so attractive anymore. It was stupid, but you were already missing him as you watched him walk away. The sight of him leaving made even more tears accumulate in your eyes. You knew he wasn’t done— and neither were you.

You snapped. “Jacob!”

Saying his name stopped him right before he could exit the kitchen.

His shoulders tensed as he turned slowly, facing you. His expressionless face now took on all of the emotion you knew he wanted to feel.

That’s it, you thought, challenging the man in front of you. Keep up with me.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” He snapped, patience completely gone.

The line was being drawn. And as invisible as it was, you could still swear you saw it being drawn in the space between you and where he stood.

“I want you to say that this is fucking over,” you fumed, your voice raising.

He laughed hotly, rolling his eyes. He rubbed his chin, contemplating his next words. “I don’t want it to be fucking over. I want you to stop whatever game you’re playing. I know you and I know this is coming from somewhere deep in the roots of your trauma.”

“Don’t you dare use my trauma against me, fucker!” You roared, your skin red hot.

He pointed a finger at you, accusing. “I am not using it against you! I’m trying to get you to snap out of this!”

“Snap out of what?!” You sneered back. You crossed your arms to hide the fact that you were shaking. “Finally being honest with you?!” You paused, a part of your heart break open of its own accord. “You were just going to fucking leave me anyway. This wasn’t meant to last. It never was.”

“Leave you?! That’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to leave you,” he begged you to understand.

Your heart pressed firmly to your chest with how hard it was pounding. “My own fucking mom did it, Jake! So what in the hell would stop you from doing it, too?” You blinked away the tears that came with the way you were hurting yourself with these words.

He brought two fisted hands to his eyes, his body stock still, but chest heaving as he let the words sit in the air around you.

The words hanging in the air were mocking you, though, and you needed to hear him speak to clear their torment.

“Ja—.”

“Do not let your trauma dictate who you choose to think I am. Don’t use it as a way to tell me who I am. I’m not your mom. I’m not the people who have left you,” he breathed deeply, finally showing you his eyes. They were red. And as he ferociously wiped at his cheeks yet again, you noticed why they were bloodshot. When had he started crying? His hands flattened next to him with his next words, spread out and making a point. “Stop acting like I’m someone I’m not when I’ve proven that wrong time and again by being there for you.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, wanting nothing more than to cross the room and kiss him. Let him know how much you needed him and how the words you’d spoken in the hallway were true.

But what’s best for him? His career? Remember how Josh said he didn’t need this right now? And neither do you.

“Well, I don’t want it,” you repeated your lie. “Accept that.”

Within seconds, his eyes shifted from sad and pleading to. . . Vacant. Right in front of your eyes, you witnessed how it felt to return back to square one with him.

And you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so fucking terrible.

“I accept it,” he relented, tone empty of any feeling. Come back to me. “We’re done.”

The way your heart fell all the way to your feet— how your knees felt as though they would buckle under the heavy weight of emotion— made you regret every single thing you’d said.

At that moment, you wanted to take it all back. But it was too late.

The man you saw in front of you wasn’t your Jake.

The man you saw was the one who’d entered your apartment on that destined day in May. Before you could even think to say anything to cut through the heaviness penetrating the room, he was gone.

And you were giving into the way your knees begged to let you fall and you did, back against the opposite side of the island so he couldn’t see you. The tears fell, silent and unrelenting, as you heard the front door open and harshly close. Signaling the end you didn’t want, whatsoever.

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 2, 2022

A little over one month later. . .

You woke up slowly, not wanting to face the day.

Life was stressful and weird right now, and every time your eyes blinked open to face a new morning, you dreaded what the day might come with.

Thankfully today, you had a distraction from the sadness of life. You were meeting with Theo across town at a coffee shop to study for an upcoming exam in one of your more studious courses.

When you’d created your course schedule for this semester, you’d loaded yourself down with 12 credits in required courses, and 4 credits in electives. You’d thought it to be a good idea: make your senior year count with a giant ass course load. Next semester was outlined as well. . . With 16 credits of its own.

But, it was not the best idea.

It was causing waves upon waves of stress that you really didn’t need. You were grateful for how it helped (a little) in distracting you from your sorrow after losing what you had with Jake. . . But it made you dread going to school even more than you already did. You weren’t able to catch your breath. You’d never dreaded school until recently. You were going to school for writing when you still found yourself lacking a passion for it. The only thing that you looked forward to were the few music courses you had to take for your minor.

The giant course load, the long hours at the B&G now that Josh only worked one day a week, Jake’s presence, Jake’s lack of presence.

Your group of people had become extremely absent due to constantly working in the recording studio. Yes, recording studio. You were beyond proud and completely happy for them. . . but you’d hardly seen any of them for the past month. Even the one who lived with you. . . And the one thing you still had after you broke things off with Jake was at least having the opportunity to look at him every now and then.

And, although you wouldn’t speak it out loud, you were so very glad that neither of you had brought up the prospect of him moving out amidst that terrible conversation in the kitchen. All you had left with him was the occasional glance (you to him, of course; he never looked at you anymore).

Humiliating as it was, you hated the idea of him moving out. Even though you knew it would be coming sooner rather than later with his career picking up. But, even though he still lived with you, your schedules never aligned for you to see him much. The guys were recording artists now. They’d spent all of September, working with their manager as they accepted a record deal and started the process of recording music.

It was truly what all of their dreams were made of, and it was what you wanted Jake to have all along. . . But you selfishly missed seeing him. You were excited for him with what the future might bring, but you were also dreading his complete and utter lack of presence in your life. . . The thoughts of it all were draining you.

All of the stress over that and school, had even started causing you to have a super upset stomach— you were vomiting every day from all that weighed on your mind – the jumbled mess your life had become. So, that’s why you’d made the executive decision to create some sort of schedule of things to distract you. You cleaned every Saturday evening, you met with Theo every Sunday, you jogged every morning like you used to (especially since you’d started fucking stress eating). . .

You’d even taken time to try and healthily write thoughts in your journal, rather than keeping them all in your messy head. Although, all they did was translate as a depressing, convoluted mess on the pages.

But none of your coping strategies were truly what you wanted. What you were craving most was the person you’d pushed out of your life. The person who was now gone more than he was home. And when he was home, and you were able to catch a glimpse of him, all it did was hurt to look at him. Things were tense; you couldn’t even talk to him the way you wanted. It just hurt to be near him at all. But you wanted him. You just wanted him in ways you knew you couldn’t have him. Especially after you’d been the one to break things off.

You were upset that you’d gotten into anything with him in the first place. You knew it wasn’t meant to last, but you’d still let yourself get caught up in him. It had been impossible not to. It was all so natural with him. It was a giant joke that the universe had cast on your life: the one person you wanted was the one you could never have.

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 8, 2022

Your boobs were hurting like you were about to start your period.

Anytime they felt heavy, looked bigger, or itched, you knew it was coming.

A telling sign. And for a week or two, they’d been that way.

It made you think about checking the period tracker app on your phone— see when it was coming. And when you had checked it, you realized you were late.

It’s because of all of the fucking stress, you thought, deducing it to only that to keep from worrying about anything else. There was no way it was anything else anyway.

The only person you’d had sex with in recent months was Jake and he always pulled out. There was also the added piece of how you’d been weaning off of birth control for the past several months. Late periods were known to occur while going off of that particular drug.

You were checking the toilet paper every time you went pee, waiting to see blood on it. And when you finally did see just the slightest bit of blood, you decided to check for tampons in your bathroom cabinet.

Aaand. . . You realized you were out of them.

Needing to go to Walmart for a few groceries anyway (you’d eaten all of the Cosmic Brownies you’d recently bought and needed more immediately), you decided to make a quick run for necessities.

-🌼🌼🌼-

It took you longer than you had planned trying to find a box of damn tampons. Walmart was sold out of your go-to’s, and searching Google to figure out a good environmentally-friendly dupe was harder than you’d anticipated.

But, it must have been your lucky day. Because, as you stood there, a graying woman in the tell-tale blue vest came up with totes to stock the shelves. And, as she started unloading, you saw a box of your normal brand of products in a tote.

Walking over, you started to kindly ask if you could have one of the boxes of tampons in her tote. . .but the smell of her perfume was so strong and outrageously floral– you could smell every hint of artificial rose. Your stomach churned at the obtrusion to your nose, so you backed away a bit to gain your bearings.

You went ahead and asked once you’d settled back a foot or two. When she smiled back at you, you felt bad for being so grossed out by the smell of her perfume, but damn she’d layered it on thick . . .

“Which kind, sweetheart?” Her voice wobbled with her age, the hump in her back much more prominent when she went to bend down to grab it for you.

You extended a delicate hand, touching her frail arm to stop her. “Oh, ma’am,” you said, causing her to look up at you. “You don’t have to get them out. I can do it.” She raised a brow, so you hastily added, “If you don’t mind, of course.”

It took everything in you to not help her up from her slightly bent position, as you didn’t want to break any boundaries. You also weren’t sure if you could handle being so close to her with the way she smelled like an artificial flower shop. . .your tummy was still rolling with the scent and you didn’t want to puke on the poor thing.

When she stood back up, as straight as she could, her smile was bright behind her magenta lipstick.

“Oh, sweetie,” she winked a glassy eye, placing her hand on your arm this time. You smiled as she continued, “You are one of the rare ones, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” You giggled, holding your nose a bit when her hand came up to touch you. How much of the stuff had she sprayed on herself?

“Willing to help your elders?” She questioned, thankfully letting go and stepping back again.

You took a breath and blinked, not expecting that. “Oh, of course. I wouldn’t ever think of doing anything different,” you shook your head, your grin sticking to your lips. “I don’t want you having to do that for me.”

“Well, you are just too sweet, honey. If you’re sure, I’m going to continue stocking. You go ahead and get it out, honey.”

With that, she walked back to her prior job.

And when you bent to get your tampons, your stomach lurched. Again. Just like it’d been doing for the past week or so. But, you felt like you might actually vomit, and you didn’t want to do that in the Walmart totes. So, you put a hand to your mouth when you stood back up.

The woman—Wanda, her name tag said— looked over at you. Her brow wrinkled when she asked, “You alright, honey?”

Swallowing, you nodded, knitting a brow. “Oh, yeah. Don’t you worry about me.”

She nodded back, almost turning back to her job when she stopped. “You know, it’s so funny. I remember once back in my day, when I was around your age, I was in an aisle just like this one. . . Getting my own napkins, searching high and low for them,” she chuckled. You smiled kindly, unsure of why she was telling you this. You were about to turn on your heel with a quick goodbye when her voice stopped you. “But, it’s funny, I searched so hard that day, and later that week. . . I found out I was pregnant!” She got a kick out of that one, slapping her tiny thigh. “I’d been late for weeks.”

In contrast to her humorous state, your stomach sank. . . Plummeting to your knees.

But before you could say anything back, she was being called by her supervisor to help locate an item. She waved a quick goodbye, and you barely registered it. Your thoughts were going insane.

No. There was no way. You knew you were late. . . But you weren’t that late.

School had just been stressful. Your anxiety building up to you being sick and everyth—. Fuck. Your nausea.

No. No no no no.

It wasn’t possible.

Standing stock still in that aisle, you measured your thoughts the best you could. Tried to make them all slow the fuck down. Flashbacks of Jake infiltrated your mind, him being the only one to have aided in that possibility.

The only guy you’d slept with in months. And he always, always pulled out. Without fail. Fuck. Absolutely not. Why were you even thinking of him? Of that? Entertaining that thought?

It wouldn’t have even been a blip of an idea had that lady not mentioned anything. Hurriedly, you scampered down the aisle, wanting to get out of dodge of the ladies’ aisle. But just as you’d passed the pregnancy tests, you stopped in your tracks, walking back to them.

There is no fucking way this is possible, you thought. You shook your head, almost continuing out of the aisle again.

But. That dreadful voice nagged at you, causing you to stay in your place.

Better safe than sorry, y/n, it seemed to remark smartly to you. What’s the harm in checking?

And without really thinking, you were getting out your phone to search for the most accurate tests. You weren’t about to get a false positive that might freak you out for no reason. As you navigated the best brands on a blog, bile rose in your throat, your tummy doing somersaults.

You didn’t want to think about it as you eyed the Clear Blue tests. This was stupid anyway. But you went to grab one, in spite of you knowing you literally weren’t pregnant.

You didn’t know why you were fucking embarrassed as you reached for the box of tests. It wasn’t like you weren’t a grown ass fucking woman. And it wasn’t like you were actually pregnant. There was no way in hell. This was just a precaution to prove to yourself that you were overthinking things. There was no way.

Every single time you’d been with Jake, he’d pulled out. Every. Single. Ti–.

Then, it came back. The night you’d gotten high on Josh’s fucking green.

Fuck.

It had been one of the most euphoric times you’d had sex with Jake. That much you could remember–and you hadn’t forgotten how good it had felt for a damn second. And, the more you thought about it. . . It dawned on you as your stomach rolled.

Knowing how into it you’d been. . . How good it had been. The weed hindering your decision— probably hadn’t used fucking protection then.

Dammit.

Most likely, you knew he hadn’t pulled out. You’d both been so out of it. . . too lost in the moment. (A moment that you had, admittedly, been waiting for– feeling his naked cock inside of you, throbbing as he released his hot seed inside of you. . .)

And, as you stood under the judging, bright fluorescent lights of fucking Wally World, the words were coming back to you. . . the entire moment was flooding back to you. Whether you wanted it to or not.

You felt your legs quiver, your heat clenched around him as your clit twitched with need.

So close. Fuck.

His eyes rolled, his lids shutting with the feeling. He bit his pink lip. His lips, still swollen from your kisses and shiny from your release. The butterflies in your stomach started fluttering ferociously, the familiar feeling overtaking you as your body trembled– your nerves humming.

You were about to finish. And you had to do it with him.

Completely.

“Y/n,” he gasped, warning you. “I’m going to fucking cum.”

You felt his cock pulse inside of you, confirming his words.

“I know,” you said, for the third time. “But I need to feel you. I want you to finish inside of me.”

His eyes bugged. “Y/n– fuck. No. No. You are under the influence. You don’t want–.”

You felt your chest flare with irritation at his words. “Jake, I swear to fuck,” you whined, your eyes shutting as one particular nudge of his cock against your folds pushed you nearly over the edge. “Please, Jake. Please, baby. I promise you won’t be taking advantage or some shit. I need it. Please. Let me have it. Just this one time.”

Let our last time be special, you thought. You tried to let your eyes echo your thoughts, willing him to understand.

He seemed to, because his next words were less apprehensive– an air of eagerness and an air of excitement painting his tone with his next words. “Are you sure?”

“More than sure,” you reassured, smoothing your thumb across his sharp cheekbone.

And with one last buck from his hips, your clit twitched and your legs turned to Jell-o. All composure was lost–shuddering and heart chanting his name.

Then, with a final groaned growl, his eyelids drooped, and his irises hazily watched you. His mouth relaxed to an ‘o’ shape, just the same as it did when he played his beloved instrument. You felt the glorious feeling of his release, as he spilled warm and plentiful inside of you.

You remember now that, in your hazy state, you’d banked on everything being okay. Because you were going to get a Plan B. . .

But, there’d never been a Plan B.

You felt a cold sweat develop on your forehead as your hands became clammy with fear. Your hand trembled as you held the box of Clear Blue tests tightly to your chest.

You didn’t need this. Fuck. He didn’t need this.

It was just a fluke. There was no way. It was one time.

So, that’s why, when you reached out to get a box of First Response tests, you knew it was just to back up what you knew.

Two different types of tests to confirm the truth. Double reassurance.

It was not possible at all that you were pregnant. How fucking often does it happen after just one time? An hour later, when you got home, you decided to push the tests all the way to the back of your underwear drawer.

You decided to hide them because you knew it was stupid to even begin to think of the impossible. And you were not about to entertain such an asinine idea.

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 15, 2022

You put off taking the test for as long as you possibly could. Tried to ignore the fact that it was even in your drawer.

Even though you knew there was a chance that you were, you didn’t want to sit on it, in the case that it might not be true. Because it more than likely wasn’t. But when that week trickled into the next, and you still hadn’t been greeted by Aunt Flo, you started getting more and more worried.

And the puking didn’t let up for anything. . . In fact, only getting progressively worse.

Which, on the Saturday of the next week, clicked as a horrid sign to you.

No.

Surely the fuck not. It was just stress. There was no harm in taking the test to prove yourself right. So, you gave in and went to grab the test after you’d done your newly scheduled weekly cleaning of the apartment, that next Saturday night. You decided it was ideal to do it then since Jake was gone performing at another festival with the guys.

Halloween-themed festival this time. . . And as fun as it’d sounded, you knew when Josh had texted you about it that there was no way in hell you were going to go to that.

Biggest reason being that you and Jake were still not on speaking terms, and you didn’t want to test those waters. You also didn’t want to run the risk of seeing Maya. Because you already knew that seeing her might actually make you keel over and vomit.

And also, Elsie was too busy to attend, so you for goddamned sure weren’t going to attend and experience anything negative without your wingwoman. So, you’d given a half-assed, ridiculous excuse of homework. Thankfully, he was wonderfully Josh and didn’t give you any trouble over it.

But, it meant Jake was gone tonight, and you could take the test without running into him. The night was still young, and you had plenty of time to get it done and out of the way before he got back.

Grabbing the tests felt like you were taking a giant leap into a field of the unknown and that was terrifying as hell to you. But you didn’t let it stop you from reaching your shaking hand into the deepest tresses of your underwear drawer. Once in hand, you rushed to the bathroom.

Calm down, y/n. Just breathe, you coached yourself, as you read the giant Over 99% Accurate! at the top of each box. Chances are very slim. You just have to take the tests.

You read the instructions on the back of each box at least five times. Each box had three different forms of tests: two regular tests and one digital for both brands. And you were about to pee on all six.

Wait. That might not work. How do you even stall your fuckin’ pee like that? For six tests? And still be totally sure it’s accurate? You didn’t want to chance inaccuracy of any kind, so you thought of your next best option. On a whim, you squatted to look in the under-sink cabinet for Dixie cups. You could not for the life of you remember the last time you bought those, but maybe. . .

Aha!

Shoved to the back of the cabinet, forgotten, was a dispenser you now remember as Elsie’s. Her dental routine, always having been extensive, now coming in extremely handy. Once you had your hands on it, you pulled one cup sticking out of the top.

Last one. Damn. Lucky day.

Let’s just keep getting lucky, then.

So, you sat down to pee, after reviewing the instructions for the both brands of sticks once more.

And, once you’d peed in the cup, washed your hands, and built up the final bit of courage to do it, you opened the boxes. As quickly as you could, you got all six out, unwrapped them, and then dipped each tab in the little cup. Once you felt they’d all been dipped the perfect amount, you laid them out on the counter and set the timer on your phone.

All six laid there, taunting you and your stupid, careless decision. The two digitals next to one another, blinked with the time until results appeared. The four other tests’ screens, all got colored, one-by-one by your pee. Gross.

Deciding you couldn’t watch, you went ahead and fed Stevie during the waiting period. You left your phone on the counter, too, the volume turned up all the way so you’d be able to hear the alarm.

Just before you threw the boxes away in the kitchen, you read the backs of them once more. One part stuck out to you, the piece of information you were reading, both reassuring you and terrifying you all at once.

“This pregnancy test detects the “pregnancy hormone” (hCG), which starts showing up in your urine shortly after implantation. Plus, its DualSense(TM) Technology may help prevent false positives in the very small number of non-pregnant women who may have low levels of hCG in their urine.”

At least I know they’ll show me accurate results. Like the fact that I’m not pregnant, you recited, once more.

You bent over to feed your fluffy gray cat, but when you did, you felt the usual wave of sickness flood your senses. But there was no stopping it like you were sometimes able to do. Thankfully, you were able to get her food in the dish and still make it back over to the toilet, in time to empty the contents of your stomach.

And, as if on cue, just as you flushed it down, the timer on your phone went off.

You suddenly wanted Elsie there with you, holding your hand as you met your fate. But you quickly pushed that to the side, remembering that this was on you. This was your mistake to face. And your body. You had to be the one to make all of the choices that followed any possible, unwanted result. You had to face this alone. This was on you.

By The Seaside’s cheery tone did not match your sick tummy or the dread that was pooling at the bottom of it. It was as though bricks had been piled there, keeping you on the ground until the tone started getting so infuriating, you couldn’t take the sound any longer. You also didn’t want to wait so long to possibly get inaccurate results.

Your eyes were pinched shut as you stood up. Yes, to keep the dizziness subdued, but mostly out of fear for what awaited you on the countertop. When you opened your eyes, you directed your sight first to your phone, pressing the STOP button to turn off the seriously grating alarm tone.

Before you even glimpsed the counter holding your (possible) future, you knew what you were going to see.

And you were proven terribly correct.

Four tests with two pink lines on each screen. Two digitals saying two words you didn’t want to think true. . .

YES (with a stupid little plus sign) on one and Pregnant, big, fat, and bold on the other.

Fitting. Big and fat. Just like I’m about to fucking be.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You laid in bed crying for hours. You didn’t even remember getting to your bed. But by some miracle you did. And you never wanted to leave it. This was the last thing you fucking wanted. Really.

You avoided touching your stomach for a while, not wanting to make any association to the unspeakable reality of your situation.

A fucking baby wasn’t in the cards at all. It couldn’t be.

You could not have this baby. No way, no how. You and Jake weren’t ever going to work as a couple. For prior reasons and because you fucking stomped out any of that possibility with the hateful, untrue things you’d told him in August.

Then, there was the career aspect. If you were afraid of Jake compromising his career for you, you knew he would most probably (most definitely) put his career on hold for his own fucking kid. And you refused to let that happen. It was not an option for a baby to get in the way of the lifelong dream he was finally living out. He was more important than that being halted for a barely-there kid.

You still had no earthly clue what the fuck you were going to do with your life, but even you refused to quit your life for a baby you didn’t want. Before you could schedule the appointment, though, you were sobbing yourself to sleep.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You woke to the telling sound of the front door opening and closing.

Your eyes were difficult to open. But, as you pried your red and puffy lids open, you squinted at your phone screen to see a text from Els and the fact that it was 2:30 a.m.

Dear god, where has he been?, you thought, irritated at being woken at an ungodly hour on this wretched night. All you wanted to do was sleep.

But, you couldn’t stop yourself from contemplating where he’d been. . . you soon regretted the train of thought. Because, you knew exactly why he’d been out so late. It was the same reason he used to stay out late. Women. Now, it was Maya, most likely.

You blew into yet another tissue from your bedside table. The disgusting pile of dirty kleenex from your delightful evening had come to cover the pretty white painted wood.

Just like this horrid situation is going to take over my life if I don't stop it from happening.

Taking comfort in what you could control in the present, you decided to get off of your worthless ass to throw away the tissues in your bedroom’s trash basket.

Shit.

The trash.

Without giving a thought what Jake’s reaction would be to your swollen red face, you made a beeline from your bedroom to the kitchen’s waste bin.

Gratefully, he was nowhere to be seen. And when you heard the shower turn on, you knew you were safe for a bit. So you hurriedly wrapped up the bag and ran it down the concrete stairs to the complex’s dumpster. On the way back up the stairs, you rushed, too, as you didn’t want to risk seeing Jake at all. You didn’t know how long he’d be in the shower, and considering it was late, you figured he’d be in and out.

Right before you were able to grace the last step on your way up the stairs, you nearly tripped.

And, just as you gasped, catching yourself from mid-fall, you also protectively grabbed another part of your body.

Only on instinct, you defended the choice.

But as you made the rest of the way to the apartment, you didn’t move the hand from the bottom of your belly.

You couldn’t defend that.

To your relief, when you made it back up, hesitantly opening the door, you realized Jake was still in the shower. As you put a new bag in, you had to let go of your tummy. And it was fine. You didn’t miss the contact.

It was just instinct before.

But, just as you finished with your job, you were no longer alone.

You watched him leave the bathroom, towel around his waist. The waist you’d hungrily gripped so many times before. . . But, in recent times’ fashion, he didn’t look your way for even a millisecond. You knew why. You knew you’d been an asshole and said terrible things you could never take back.

You said what you did for good reason, your inner, brutally honest voice reminded you for the 80th time in the past month.

For as long as you could, you let your eyes follow his body, surely still warm from his shower. He was so completely handsome. His long, dark, wet hair, sticking to his tanned, broad shoulders, which shined with water droplets. Droplets that trickled to dip below the towel at his waist. . .just as you’d witnessed them do before.

Before. Better times.

Though, as soon as he was in your line of sight, he was gone.

Minutes later, you were back in the safety of your bed, trying to not think about your roommate, wet and possibly naked next door as you searched Google for a Planned Parenthood near you.

And, as you were scheduling your appointment, you refused to acknowledge the soft thoughts that were entering your brain.

A baby. Not so bad. . .Soft. Cuddly. Sweet. Yours. . .

Jake’s.

But before you could hit the precipice of overthought, you reminded yourself that it was unreasonable and it would be selfish to keep the baby. It would be you halting Jake in one more way.

And, just as you were tiptoeing the edge of a deep slumber, an even more devastating thought entered your mind.

You could absolutely not have this child.

Because, based on your tumultuous past of mistreating other people, how would this poor, innocent baby be any different? Be safe from you? Even with the gut-wrenching thoughts, you fell into sleep easily. Crying always took it out of you. Now you could blame part of it on the life you were growing inside of you.

Without thinking of it, your hand found your still-flat belly again as you drifted off. . .

But, when you did, your sleep was not that easy. Your dreams, ever-vivid. A mixture of wonderful, pastel-colored moments with a giggling baby, a glowy morning light tickling her pretty features. . .

Then the terrible ones where you saw yourself as the exact person who’d hurt you most. . .Your mother.

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 29, 2022

Unbeknownst to you at the time you’d scheduled your Planned Parenthood appointment, you’d planned it for the same day as Josh’s annual Halloween bash.

The one he would be hosting at your house, just as he always had. And, he’d planned it when he always did. The Saturday before Halloween. You just hadn’t thought of it when you’d scheduled.

So many people in your home, on the day of an appointment for which you’d had equal parts apprehensiveness and eagerness. . . maybe slightly more apprehensive. Either way, they were two completely different emotions. And you weren’t sure how in the hell you’d handle them once the deed was actually done. . . So the prospect of coming back to an apartment full of people to feel it all was not your favorite.

Good thing was, you’d at least been able to reschedule your appointment for earlier in the day, which would end up giving you plenty of time to cry and cope on the drive home, get back home, cope some more, and then dress up. . . And then you’d be fine. . . right?

You’d decided to put off the appointment for as long as you felt like you could. The night you’d found out had been a shitshow of emotions. But when you awoke the next day, there had been a new light that hadn’t appeared the night before when you’d read the tests.

A light that left you feeling unsure of ending it so quickly. You just hadn’t felt totally comfortable going in so soon without giving it time. You’d wanted time to process it. So, you’d scheduled it far enough out to do so.

Two weeks. You decided that giving yourself two weeks to really think it through, would help you have enough leeway to think and come to a sensible conclusion.

But. . . you still hadn’t come to one. Not really.

You’d at least had the two weeks on your own, the apartment being void of Jake. The boys’ record label had suggested going to a cabin in the middle of the woods to write music and spend that time together, just them. They’d left roughly midway through the first week after you’d found out. Much as you wanted to deny it, you had missed him. His presence. But him being gone had been what you needed to thoroughly digest it all. Theorize. Imagine all kinds of scenarios for you and the baby.

But the days and the nights were different– a total contrast of each other. And you’d bounced back and forth between the strong, all encompassing feelings for long enough that you’d made your decision. Even though it wasn’t necessarily an easy decision, you knew it was what needed to happen.

Most nights, you fell asleep, holding your belly (a little excited by it growing just the slightest bit in the past two weeks). . . You’d come to the same conclusion anytime your head hit the pillow. The euphoric, pastel dreams. The precious baby you could hold and love, safe in your arms.

You knew what you wanted at those moments and it felt heavenly, honestly. . .

But the utter trainwreck of thoughts that plagued you in the daytime were what had you getting into your car, putting the clinic in your Maps app. Tumbling between your thoughts of not harming Jake and not becoming your mother and harming the child, you’d made the final decision of what was best for all parties involved.

Especially the baby you held in your womb.

Your hand went to its natural resting place, the bottom of your faintly protruding tummy, where you imagined your baby growing steadily. You hadn’t researched how big it was or even let yourself do the math of how far along you were. No tracker apps. No research. It would keep you disconnected enough to go through with the most beneficial option for everyone.

Avoiding all of the fun things had been difficult, as you’d spent every waking minute thinking about the life inside of you. The baby motivated you. Kept you going when you started feeling sad. . . Weird as it was, the tiny little bean in your belly was inspiring you on a daily basis.

But, as you came to the first stoplight on your journey, you remembered this was best.

The appointment was at the Hempstead clinic. You’d made it at that location, forty minutes away from your home, in the hopes you wouldn’t see anyone you knew. No one knew about the life inside of you and you had decided it probably needed to stay that way.

It had become increasingly burdensome to keep it from your Elsie. There’d never been a time in your life where you didn’t tell her everything. Keeping the thing with Jake from her had already been hard enough, so adding a baby to the mix made it rise tenfold. Any time she Facetimed you, texted you, or called you, you wanted to tell her. A couple of times you almost slipped up.

But telling her that would mean admitting everything about you and Jake. The sex. The feelings you’d developed. The way you’d cut things off. . .

And you didn’t want her advice. Weren’t ready for the way she’d react to it all. She always seemed to conflict with your ideas on things like this. . . the hard decisions you’d make. She was notorious for saying you “make things too hard for yourself” and to “let go of the heaviness”, but all you normally heard was “I don’t understand what you’re feeling, but I’m going to tell you this worthless piece of advice anyway.” You knew she’d judge how you ended things. She’d question it. Quiz you.

Now was not the time for any of that. You already had your constant, terribly rude voice of reason that coached you through the tough things. So, as much as it tempted you, you didn’t dare mention any of it to your sister: your time with Jake or what it had ended up producing in your uterus.

(There was also the crippling fear that she may slip up and tell Josh. . .and he was the last person you wanted to find out. . .The fear of disappointing him two times the amount as before.)

But, at this moment, as you joined the crazy busy traffic on the highway, soul music lifting your spirits as high as they could go, you wished she was there to talk it through with you. So for the thousandth time, you tried doing it yourself. The same thoughts you’d gone over and over for the past two weeks.

The first thing you thought of every time your mind started rambling was what it could and would honestly, truthfully be like.

How could you actually make it work?

Usually, this was where you’d lose hope, telling yourself you absolutely couldn’t make it work. . . start derailing from the possibility of happiness. . . but as that certain Aretha Franklin song came on your fucking shuffle. . .

Like an eagle protects his nest, for you I'll do my best

Stand by you like a tree and dare anybody to try and move me

Darlin' in you I've found, strength where I was torn down

I don't know what's in store, but together we can open any door

The lyrics inspired your thoughts to take a surprising turn for a. . . promising, positive outlook.

There was most likely a way you could make sure to hold Jake to his dream. You could encourage him to stay on track. You’d been able to talk through things with him before. Even though things were weird now, you could do it again. . . probably. Hopefully. Do what you always did and make a list of reasons why he should, get him to understand the importance of him not giving up on it. . .

Then the darkness filtered in a bit, reminding you of how hateful you’d been to him during your last conversation. Would he listen to you? Could you blame him if he didn’t want to? And the recycled thought of how toxic you were. . . You’d cared so deeply for him and still allowed yourself to talk that way to him to protect him. What in the hell would you say to your child to protect it in the future? Why was your idea of loving someone so fucked up?

Could you fix that? Figure it out?

At the very least, you could try. For your baby. For you.

You merged lanes, the track slipping into the next. You turned the volume down to hear your thoughts. Give them your attention.

How would you raise the baby? As roommates? Weird. Friends? Sad. You couldn’t cross the territory from before again. That would make things too complicated for the baby. . .And probably for you while you figured things out. Getting lost in him again wasn’t an option. The glorious fucking– it wasn’t an option. Did he even want that? Probably the fuck not. . . But you knew he’d make something work for the baby. . . He’d make sure the baby felt safe with an arrangement between the two of you. You knew the kind heart he held in his chest.

You could do it as friends and make it okay. You could. Even if it broke your heart to only be his friend as you raised a baby together. You would do it for your baby. For him. You would do it for him–because you'd cut things off with him for a reason. A solid reason. And a baby didn’t change that.

In fact, a baby affirmed that it stayed the way you had made it. . . You’d made a mess and he didn’t need to be distracted by you. You could share the baby, yes, but you were the obvious primary caretaker. You’d take over whenever he was away or needed time to focus. . . It wouldn’t be fully on him to handle a baby.

It would barely be on him. You were the mom. This was your thing.

But, it would be fully on him to handle your bullshit. You weren’t worthy of a relationship like he could offer. And he didn’t need to be on your healing journey with you while he pursued what made him feel happy and fulfilled. Just like the rules had stated: you weren’t his responsibility.

Responsibility. . .he didn’t need to have any with the baby, honestly. He didn’t need to be involved. Only if he wanted to be. You weren’t going to force him.

But damn, you wanted him there for all of it. From birth up until the day of college graduation. . .

The sound of your phone ringing through Hands Free interrupted your train of thought, right as you got on the exit you needed to take to get you closer to the clinic. You didn’t even look at the caller ID as you pressed the answer button, focusing on the tricky road you’d made it to instead. You knew it was probably Josh or Elsie, calling to figure out something about tonight.

“Hello?” you said, loud enough for the other person to hear, starting the conversation.

“Hey.”

The voice you heard through the sound system of your car was almost enough to make you veer off of the roads, actually making you swerve the slightest bit.

Jake. Why was he calling?

“H-hey,” you stuttered, not sure where to even begin in conversation with him. You hadn’t spoken for a damned month, and now you knew you were carrying his baby. . . things were strange. Altered. Poles apart from before. You covered your wavering response with as much truth as you could tell. “Sorry, driving on some weird roads. On my way to a doctor’s appointment right now.”

“It’s fine,” he responded, voice hard and clipped. Unfamiliar. He’s not your Jake. Your heart fell as you felt that newfound (or re-found?) tension fill the conversation. “Just calling to tell you I’m leaving my key with Josh so he can get in to decorate. Thought you’d wanna know.”

Your brow wrinkled, suddenly curious and a little irritated. “Josh has a key. . .?” You took another exit that indicated how many miles you had left until your destination.

“I lost the little fuckin’ thing,” Josh’s voice now reverbrated, grainy through your speakers. You smiled at the sound of him, but turned down the volume to make it less overpowering, in case he talked again. “I’m so sorry, love!”

“It’s fine, Joshy,” you conceded with a sigh. “Hope I don’t get a burglar or some shit thanks to you,” you were joking, but also completely serious. “You’re replacing the entire apartment if that happens.”

“You’ve got it, Mama,” he responded dutifully.

But the only thing you could hear was mama. . .Mama, mama. . .fuck.

Your hands started sweating as you noticed your Map had you down to three minutes until you made it. Rather than making it obvious that you were lost in thought, you started talking. Using it as a way to distract yourself as well. (More so for yourself, if you were being honest.)

“I thought Elsie was coming to help you? She has one.”

“Her plane got delayed and she’s going to be getting here later than she planned,” Jake replied to you, short in his response. “See you la–.”

“Is she okay?” You asked, your heart rate increasing at the thought of her possibly being stuck somewhere. “Is she safe? I’ve been driving. Do you think she’s tried texting me? Josh, is she okay?”

You heard Josh chuckle, which eased your nerves. “Yes, she’s perfectly fine,” he confirmed gently. “She’s on the flight now, and if things line up, she should be here in two hours, so we’re good.”

“Okay, goo–.”

“And I’m sure she’s texted you because you both text each other non-fuckin’-stop,” he pointed out. Then you heard him laugh at himself. “No–I love it. But she’s okay.”

Jake’s voice, annoyed, broke through the flow of your conversation with his brother. “Alright, well, see you la–.”

Just as you pulled up to the clinic, you cut him off. “Jake.” Truthfully, the reason you kept him on the line was because your heart was heavily thrumming in your ears, vision tunneling. . . You just needed to hear his voice. He couldn’t hang up yet. “Why won’t you be there to let him in?”

He sighed, the sound making your heart slow down a little. You could imagine him rubbing his face or giving you a look that said “really?”. But he actually responded kindly, sounding like himself. “I have a few things to do before the party. I won’t be home.”

Even though you so badly wanted to ask what those things were, just to continue hearing his voice, you didn’t keep him. It wasn’t your place to know and you knew better than to ask anymore questions that weren’t your business.

“Okay.” You paused, thinking if it was okay to ask what you wanted to next. Just go for it. “Are you going to be at the party?”

Embarrassing to ask, but here you were.

“Yes. . .?” He replied, tone questioning.

Relief. That was what you were feeling. You were relieved that he’d be there.

He waited a few beats and then spoke again. “. . .Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering if you’d be at the party,” you rushed out, not wanting to push him further.

The next thing you heard throughout the body of your car was Josh’s voice again. He was hurling expletive after expletive. And then, “Did you see that, Jake? Did you see that?” in the background of the call.

It was enough to make you laugh. You’d been there for his loss of patience on the road. Completely oblivious drivers getting an earload from the man in the next car over. It was even funnier when you’d look over to see them grinning, or singing along to a song. . .no idea that they were getting called horrendous names.

Simply watching him lose his cool on others was entertaining because it was hardly ever seen. The best thing you could think to compare him to was an angry leprechaun when he’d start on his little road rage fits.

And without warning, the sound you needed to hear most rushed through the car and into your ears. Jake’s lovely, raspy chuckle. It’d been so long since you’d heard it. Too long. (You might’ve turned up your volume a smidge in hopes of hearing it again.)

The insane person in you wanted to ask him to do it again. But, obviously, you didn’t.

Though, he didn’t immediately try to hang up when he spoke next. When you heard him again, it was almost like you could imagine the past month hadn’t happened. The talk in the kitchen hadn’t happened. . . things were normal. You were okay. He was okay. Both of you, peaceful . . .blissful.

“Are you good?” He asked smoothly– familiarly. Jake. And, you were sure your ears were fooling you, but you swore you could hear a hint of concern in his tone.

You weren’t sure what to say. This was more than you expected from him by far. . . Shocked was an understatement. What you wanted was to open up, tell him every last thing on your mind, but you knew you couldn’t do that anymore.

You plainly weren’t. You put a hand on your tummy and aimed to match his sincerity in your tone. Settling with a, “Yeah, I’m good,” as your reply.

I miss you, though, you added, silently.

“Alright,” he said. But he didn’t hang up. Instead, the line stayed connected almost as though he was. . .waiting? Was he? Possibly waiting for you to talk more? Like he used to? Giving you time? But before you could think any further, he was wrapping it up. “See you later.”

The tone clicked off, leaving you in the silence of your car briefly before your eardrums got attacked by Marvin Gaye’s voice.

“Shit.”

You reached the knob, turning down the volume.

Had I really turned it up that loud?

You shook your head as you giggled to yourself at the fact that you’d been so obscenely desperate to hear him laugh.

But, his laugh. . . Exactly what you needed to keep calming down. . . That laugh. . . And the way his eyes would light up with it.

Oh, fuck. . .

His eyes.

His wonderful eyes. Amber-brown. The first thing you’d noticed about him. They were so kind and so open when he cared for someone he spoke to. . . Even sparkling sometimes when he’d smile. . .

And without warning, you could see it. Clear as day. A baby with Jake’s kind eyes.

A baby that was part of him. . .

You let yourself sit on that. Think about it. Just that. Not about all of the intricate, fine-tuned details. No, just thought about the simple fact that this baby was half Jake.

Half of someone who’d brought so much unadulterated joy to your life. If you were always honest with yourself, you knew he wasn’t what had caused you to become distracted, sad, and in your head. . . you’d done that to yourself. All he had done was be a listening ear. A helper. A lover. A friend. . .

He’d done nothing wrong. You knew this. And imagining a baby who could bring the same light to the world as him. . .Even if all the baby had were his eyes, that would be enough. But then there was his heart. The beautiful heart and passion his child would no doubt have. It would be inevitable. Especially being the child of you two. . . but his passion shining through a kid?

You could not get it out of your head. You didn’t want to. It was all so beautiful to imagine. . .You also didn’t want to rid the world of a gift that could be so wonderful as Jake Kiszka.

The little details could be worked out. You would work on yourself. You would try your best to be the best you could be. . .

You would. Had to do it for yourself and your baby.

Determined, you turned off your car. And when you went inside Planned Parenthood, you canceled your appointment. You tried your best to shut off your brain to any of its usual worrying for the sake of the life you now knew without a doubt you wanted to keep. Hold. Love.

And as you were driving home, the nerves were gone and replaced with relief. Your baby would be okay. You’d make damn sure of it.

When you took the final exit off the highway to reach the city streets that led to your apartment, you got logical again. Now, the logic didn’t worry you. It didn’t make you feel unsure. This logic felt safe. You were working things out– not just getting rid of something to temporarily patch up a hole. Yes, you were more than self-aware. You knew you did that shit.

It was what you’d done your whole life to feel safe. But it wasn’t what the baby did. It wasn’t what the baby needed. And now, the baby in your belly would also get what it needed.

As you rolled into your parking spot, you started searching the best apps to use and downloaded all of the most reliable trackers. The loading apps made you feel jittery with anxiety, but in a good way you’d never felt before.

Later on in your pregnancy, you knew it was possible you could end up regretting the choice to keep the kid. You’d done nothing to prepare for a child and the fear of being completely out of control was daunting. But that was what adoption was for.

You just couldn’t be the reason that the world lost such a precious piece of Jake. Because, even if you couldn’t keep the baby yourself, you needed to at least see such an inevitably beautiful person enter this world. And, you didn’t have to be out of control in all of this. You could keep your hands on it all. Stay aware and informed. . . Help the baby. . . Feel purpose. You could do something good and worthwhile.

You walked up the stairs to your building, watching your every step while you kept one firm hand on your lower tummy. The apps that had loaded were dying to be opened. But you were going to shower and start getting ready before you gave yourself that reward.

For the first time in your life, you had a shaky-ass, unsure plan. But it was oddly the first time in your life you felt like you could conquer your shit. You could take it by the horns and start working on it. For you. For your baby. The baby that motivated and inspired you so much already. . .It all felt so freeing.

You unlocked your front door, finding the place was still empty. Your shoulders relaxed as the day started draining from you. The past two weeks, honestly. . . You moved your shoulders a little to loosen the muscles from their pent-up tension, took deep breaths in and out, in and out. . .

You breathed a sigh of contentment, placing your delicate hand on where the baby grew.

And as you got into the shower, you realized something. . .

The persistent voice that always accompanied you, helping you feel less alone in your hurt. . . had been silenced. Was that okay? That it wasn’t there to guide you? Had you been able to turn it off?

You weren’t sure how to feel about it. But, as you kept glancing down at your slightly rounded tummy as you showered, you came to a clarifying thought.

You weren’t alone anymore. Didn’t have to be. Maybe the voice was no longer needed. Maybe this was the beginning of a massive change.

Giggling to yourself as you dried off, you thought to yourself.

Duh, it’s a massive change. The biggest. And one I’m ready to welcome.

-🌼🌼🌼-

When Elsie’s plane landed at the airport, Josh had already been at your place decorating for an hour or two. And as soon as she texted, he was gathering his things and giving you instructions on finishing up the place.

Then, he left to pick her up.

Finally.

You breathed a sigh of relief when he ended up leaving.

The thoughts that’d swarmed your head in such close proximity to him had been too much. It was weird being around him now, knowing who you were carrying. Josh being completely oblivious (and probably unapproving if he were to find out) caused you some incredible anxiety. While you’d come to the realization that there was no doubt you wanted to have the baby, the thought of people finding out was making your nerves short circuit.

Especially Josh. He was still the main person you didn’t want knowing of you and Jake. Same as always, you didn’t want him to feel betrayed, or like you’d let yourself be to Jake what Amelia had been to him (destroying his dreams for your gain). And now, you knew how much worse it could end up being when he found out about your child. You figured that he would feel like he’d been left totally in the dark. Which, he had been. . .but for good reason.

You just felt guilty over it.

Taking instructions from him on how to finish up some of the decorations, you hung the rest of the red and black streamers and some cute, eclectic garland between the streamers. Little fabric ghosts, attached to a string that he’d probably found at a Home Goods store. After that, per his wish, you shut all of the lights off and turned all of the twinkle lights on. Some red, some white. . . But so many of them. Dear God.

The lights were a good idea though, as they added the final touch to everything he’d done around the place. . .highlighting everything a very mystifying, spooky hue.

Once you completed those tasks, you made the red punch. Josh had already whipped up the orange punch and had it chilling in the fridge. When it looked ‘blood red’ enough (Josh’s words), you placed it in the fridge with the other bowl. Each bowl, shaped like a giant skeleton hand.

Does he just host it here because I have a massive fridge? You genuinely wondered.

On the shelf above the bowls, you saw the several hilariously made food items. He’d designed them carefully and specially to look like scary things, labeling each as its inspiration (Witch’s Fingers being the name of one item). It was something you’d see at a party for a child, but you weren’t surprised that Josh had found the idea amusing. Something you loved about Josh was the fact that he was a child at heart, while also showing the traits of an 80 year old man.

Crossing the living room to walk to your room, you admired the way he’d jazzed up the spacious apartment. It looked spooky and cute and fun. You knew people would love it. He always went all out and you enjoyed seeing what he decided to do each year.

What worried you, though, was the amount of orange solo cups that sat on your bar. It looked to be at least (probably more than) 50 cups. Maybe he’d just gotten that many for the people who wouldn’t reuse their cups. . .but the Sharpie sitting next to them begged to differ.

Why in the fuck hadn’t you put a limit on the number of people? Yeah, your apartment was roomier than some, but how were you going to fit that many goddamned people in your place?

There’d never been so many solo cups waiting. . . How many people were there going to be? And why the sudden change in numbers?

-🌼🌼🌼-

It was thirty minutes to party time when they got back.

You’d finished most of your makeup, having done it during the long time you’d waited on your sister’s arrival. When Elsie finally walked into your room, her foundation, blush, and contour were on, but nothing else.

“Bitch, we’ve gotta hurry,” she said, setting her bags down on your bed. “Do you have the costumes?”

You gave your false lashes one more swipe of mascara, pleased with how you looked.

Not half bad, you thought. You made a pout at yourself in the mirror; your red lipstick made your lips look damn good. The gloss you'd coated them with helped as well.

Kissable.

“Yes,” you answered, rising from the vanity to grab their hangers out of your closet. “We are never buying costumes on Etsy again, though. These ripped a hole in my bank account.”

“Oh, shut up, Little Miss ‘my grandparents pay for my rent’,” she sassed back, rolling her eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” you countered, annoyed with her. “They did the same damn thing for you.”

“You’re not wrong,” she agreed, a laugh in her voice. “But giving you shit is too fun. And also, you don’t have to travel all over the globe for your job, so. . . I bet your account still looks prettier than mine, even after this purchase.” She grabbed her little blue top and skirt from your waiting hand. “These are perfect though,” she turned the costume around, admiring. “Thanks, sissy.”

“Did you bring the white stockings?” You asked, taking off your sweats and changing from granny panties to a white, lacy thong to fit the mood.

“Duh,” she responded, going to retrieve them from her duffel, throwing your pair at you. They hit you on the head, as you were folding your sweats onto your bed.

“Elsie!” You yelped. “You little fuck.”

“Get over it. I’m sure you’ve done something to me recently to deserve it.”

When you looked back at her, to continue the jesting, she was in her light ensemble. She moved in front of the mirror, gawking. She twisted and turned to see every angle of the glorified lingerie. “Damn these are sexy,” she commented, impressed with the look.

Your eyes were big, noticing the same thing as her. They were hot, but. . . A lot of skin was going to be exposed. . .

“Short as hell,” you noted, observing the costume on your sister’s body. . . Her ass would be fully out if she bent the wrong way. But her boobs looked great– complimented by the cropped blouse, pushed up. She adjusted the little pink bow in her hair that’d come with the ‘fit. “And lots of skin.”

“Just like we wanted them,” she reminded you, going to get her makeup bag to finish her makeup at the vanity.

Yeah, we decided on these damned costumes when I was fucking Jake and had someone to look sexy for. . . Fuck. The thought of him seeing you tonight and not being able to react like he would have two months ago. . .it made your heart pinch sadly. It suddenly felt totally counterproductive to even dress cute.

Why would you want to do it now? The only person you wanted to impress would definitely not be looking your way. . . You had a terrible feeling that all night, you were going to feel like a clown. Ridiculous. Dressed up in a stupid, extremely revealing costume. Completely unseen by one pair of pretty brown eyes. . .

“Put your costume on!” Elsie ordered, her eyes pinned on you through the mirror as you stood there, behind her, lost in thought. “The party starts super fucking soon.”

You had to do this with her. If you backed out on your costume with Els, it would be a giant dick move. Coordinating costumes with her on Halloween had been a tradition for as long as you could remember.

It will be fun to do it with her. Just like always.

Resigning to putting on the tiny outfit, you went to take off your sweatshirt. But just as you gripped material at your hip to pull it up and off, you froze again.

Dammit. The tiny bump.

You hadn’t thought of her possibly seeing you—or it— as you changed. . . Should have done it before she got there. Would she even notice? Honestly, it just looked like you were bloated. It wasn’t super obvious what it was— not yet.

It’s okay. It’s fine. It’ll be okay.

So, you kept on with taking it off, throwing it to your bed to fold, turning around so you weren’t facing her in the process of getting changed. Just a safety precaution.

“Nice ass,” she giggled, snarky as usual before continuing her eyeliner.

But your mind went into hyperdrive. A recent event, coming to your mind at her words.

“That ass,” he’d said, his voice still low and sleepy. “Damn, baby.”

The way he’d looked. . . Stroking himself in bed as he’d watched you. . .

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Naturally, you went to hold your tummy. Though, you dropped the hand when you heard your sister huff frustratedly. “Do I have to come over there and do it for you?”

You looked over your shoulder at her, narrowing your eyes and giving her the middle finger before finally putting on every piece of the ensemble.

You had to be careful with the top, which included its built-in push up bra. Your breasts had become much more sensitive than you were used to. Sometimes hurting to the touch. To your relief, the bra added just the right amount of pressure to them that it felt like they were being held well. . .

Just wouldn’t be able to put up with the feeling all night. . . You knew that they’d start to hurt from being pressed so tightly to something as the night wore on. After situating your boobs just so, you put on the last piece: A black platform heels, closed-toe, resembling a pair of traditional Mary Janes.

Smoothing your hands over the skirt, you noticed it was a little tight. . . But not bad. Not noticeable to any unsuspecting eye. Just like your previous thought, it could really just be passed off as period bloating. However, when you eventually checked over the outfit on yourself, in the mirror. . . You did notice something. A change.

The past couple of weeks had been a time of you not acknowledging any body changes. Only your belly, which you frequently, absentmindedly touched. . . But anything else that might feel or look abnormal? You’d avoided, if you could.

The boob pain had been too incessantly uncomfortable to ignore, having to flip and flop every which way in the night time so they wouldn’t feel like aching, ton-pound weights on your chest.

But you hadn’t looked at them. They truly looked bigger. You weren’t that far along. . . Were you? You didn’t understand all of the pregnancy math yet. You still hadn’t had the chance to delve into your new apps.

Whatever the case may be, they were definitely growing. Your veins in them, darker than normal. The way they looked swollen, full. . . damn.

Do they seriously start changing this soon? I don’t know. . ., you wondered silently, moving to the side to see how they were giving you fantastic cleavage at your deep, sweetheart neckline. Mentally, you made a note to check those apps to get some answers as soon as possible.

You went about your business, trying to distract yourself from the body changes you weren’t completely sure about . . .

As you were adjusting your own pink bow in your hair, you heard her wolf whistle.

“Dear God, sis,” Elsie commented. You looked down at her in the mirror, where she still sat at the vanity stool. Her face was almost completely finished. “What in the hell have you done to make your boobs look so fantastic? Please, tell me your ways.”

If only you fucking knew, you thought, fluffing your hair, and adjusting your outfit as much as you could, once more before eyeing her.

“Just on my period,” you lied, not ready to tell her. But . . .you kind of were. You wanted to tell someone and she was your person. When would you be able to finally break the news?

You pushed the thought away as she did the same as you with her outfit and put her own shoes on.

Hearing the sounds of people arriving, and Josh’s music starting, you gave her a look.

“You ready?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

The party had been droning on for several minutes.

A lot of people had shown up. . . some you recognized from past parties, and others you’d never seen before. All you knew was there were definitely enough people for all of the cups.

You’d already taken your annual Halloween picture with Elsie, and now she was off with Josh, attached to his side and conversing with every person that he did.

Why couldn’t you have what they had? Why was everything in your life so goddamned complicated?

And where was Jake?

Your other two friends had arrived (surprisingly) on time, getting the party kicked off. They were now playing a small game of “mini beer pong” with two girls they’d probably met through an app. Maybe a festival, though? That was a possibility now. Weird.

Yawning, you made your way over to the punch and put some of the orange in a plastic cup. Before you took a sip, you smelled it, making sure it was uncontaminated with Josh’s liquor of choice. Knowing you were safe, you took a decently sized swig. And, thankfully, the taste didn’t make you want to hurl.

All of the little things that had been happening before you’d found out were all stark and apparent in their nature now. All of your “stress” symptoms had been signs of you growing a little life inside of you. From being sick, wanting to eat everything in sight, the sore boobs for the couple of weeks before you’d found out. . . and even the extreme sadness about Jake. Had that perhaps been the hormones, too?

Getting up on your tiptoes to peer over the people, punch bowls, and several types of alcohol on the counter, you once again searched for your roommate.

Where was he?

And, right as you’d pondered the question again, there he was. Opening and striding through the front door, already in his costume. . .and looking sexy as fucking hell.

Your eyes trailed his solid figure. . . From his black boots, black pants, loose white shirt (almost entirely unbuttoned, dear fuck), a few necklaces laying upon his defined chest. . .and all the way up to the dark red bandana that he’d tied around the top of his head, gold hooped earrings peeking out from his dark hair, flowing below the bandana.

A pirate.

Hot damn.

And even though it was dark, the insurmountable amount of twinkle lights Josh had perfectly hung illuminated his handsome face enough for you to see. . .

Had he started growing a mustache on their trip?

Fuck. Me.

You squirmed from where you were behind the counter, totally irritated with yourself over what you’d done in this very kitchen, two months ago. Even though it had been for his own good, you wished right now that you could take back time and hold off on doing it when you had. Because all you wanted to do in that moment was walk over to him and tell him all of the filthy thoughts that were clouding up your brain.

But. . . before they could get any dirtier, you saw the person he’d arrived with, walking in beautiful and majestic behind him.

Maya.

Also dressed as a pirate. Except her costume was one you’d probably see advertised as “Sexy Female Pirate” in a Spirit Halloween bag where Jake’s seemed to be a bunch of pieces of his own clothing that he’d pieced together to make the stunning look.

Thankfully from the waist down, you were out of sight behind the bar counter. So you were able to lay a gentle hand on your belly, a little more round after eating some of Josh’s finger foods. You realized that, apparently, holding your belly was a new go-to to gain peace in a situation.

Because, sad as you were over the woman he’d arrived with, you were able to ground yourself with the hand on your stomach.

This was going to happen anyway. . . Surely. You two weren’t meant for each other, and you were bound to see him with another woman again after you ended things with him. And you were not shocked at all that it was Maya with him tonight. Just as Elsie and Josh had been doing, they started strolling the room, talking to the other party-goers. His smile, so bright to lighten up that dark room. . . The occasional laugh he’d give in response to someone that you wished so badly to hear, but just watch instead . . .

You could do this. You could watch him from where you were. Even if she was with him every step of the way, you could admire him. Wistfully. Wantingly. Longingly. . .

But what you saw next was the worst thing you’d seen between them so far.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. When he wrapped an arm behind her. . . But what made your heart lull was seeing him give her ass a squeeze through the material of her (cheap nylon, off-the-costume-rack) pirate dress.

God, no. Unshed tears pricked your eyes. Your chest felt heavy.

Before you could watch any longer, you made your way over to the cabinet next to the oven. You’d hid your phone so as not to get it mixed up with any others. You’d assumed it was a risk when the multiple people filed in at the beginning of the party.

You averted your gaze from anywhere near where you’d last seen Jake. Then, found a place on the countertop to perch yourself, getting comfortable (and carefully situating your legs to not reveal anything).

Now was the perfect time to start perusing those apps. . .

-🌼🌼🌼-

Elsie had migrated to be next to you for the latter portion of the evening, both of you feeling the hyperactivity of the crowd grating on your anxious nerves.

You’d sat, secluded for hours. Talked about nothing and everything. Shared TikToks. Laughed at ridiculous things that no one else would get. . .But time with her made you that much more ready to tell her of your predicament. Even if her advice pissed you off, you still felt like you needed it. If only to round out the massive, intricate equation your life had become. You could use her input as a multiple fucking choice answer choice.

When it had gotten long enough that she hadn’t seen Josh, she had to get her fix and he walked off to find him.

And you decided you were done sitting on the couch, crammed against the wall. You just wanted to go to sleep. You’d kept your phone on hand when you’d come to sit with her, and the time on your screen was reinforcing your want for your comfy bed. You’d been yawning for the past couple of hours off and on, and finally reached the point of your eyes closing where you sat at the back of the party.

For the past couple of weeks, you’d been going to sleep much, much earlier than 11 p.m.

After you’d spent a lot of time reading about the first trimester on those (extremely helpful) apps, you now knew the newfound tiredness was most likely due to a baby growing healthily inside of you, using your energy to thrive. Providing life for yourself and another was exhausting work.

You couldn’t find Elsie and Josh in the mass of people, so you just decided to excuse yourself quietly to bed. Sammy and Danny, the only ones to get a goodbye and goodnight from you as you quickly passed by them. You were not about to look for Jake.

Stevie meowed when you entered your room, as if greeting you. She’d stayed in your bedroom with her necessities so she wouldn’t get overly anxious with the crowds, since that was the last thing you wanted for her. You’d greeted her back as you shut the door behind you, almost falling asleep against the back of the door.

But your costume had become way too uncomfortable and constricting for that to be an option.

You started stripping yourself of it, sighing as your chest hit the cool air of your room. Then, you slipped back into your heavenly sweats. No bra of any kind constricting your chest. Praises fucking be. You felt soft and cozy in your baggy sweats and you could fall asleep right there. Standing up. In the middle of your room.

Though, your face was still heavy with makeup, and you weren’t going to sleep with that on your skin to possibly clog your pores. Another thing you’d learnt from your apps was that pregnant women easily broke out with hormonal acne, and you weren’t about to test any of the waters to give yourself more acne. You were already lacking enough self confidence, and you didn’t need to add a broken out face to the mix.

When you went to grab your makeup wipes from your vanity (no time for the whole face routine tonight– you were too tired), you noticed the package was empty. And right next to all of her makeup, still splayed out, was the used cloth.

Of course Elsie had used the last one. She owed you for that one. Especially for the timing. Right now was not the time. You were going to have to go back out into the crowd to get to the bathroom for your new package. Thus, getting overstimulated all over again when all you wanted was to crash hard in your bed.

But when you got to your bathroom, your search for makeup wipes came up dry. And then you remembered that your last trip to the store had been weeks ago. The same day where you left with two packages of tests triple bagged. And that day, by the time you got to the toiletries section, your brain had been infiltrated by the memory that got you where you were now. You hadn’t remembered to get a new pack of remover wipes.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, angry that you now had to use Micellar water and dirty a washcloth and . . .ugh.

By the time you’d spent forever doing that, you figured you might as well do your full nighttime routine on your face.

Twenty minutes later, you were leaving the bathroom, face feeling incredibly fresh. But the way the final step cooled your face, made you feel more awake than before. So, after tossing your hair into a messy bun, you slipped past the people who were still taking up space in your home, avoiding any and all eye contact, to get a cup of water, a Cosmic Brownie, and a bowl of pickles.

Just as you thought you’d figured out a way to carry it all to your room, you ended up dropping the box of brownies, each package falling out of the box, all over the floor (one didn’t sound like enough once you’d made it to the kitchen). The clatter of plastic made you want to cry, honestly. And a few tears hit your hand as you sat the pickles and water on the counter.

I just want to eat and go to sleep, you thought, getting on your hands and knees to pick up the brownies.

But before you could, a hand was stopping you, bending down to do it himself. Confused, you stood back up, not questioning the help in your state. And when you looked to see who the helper was, you bit your lip to try and keep the new tears at bay. Stupid hormones.

Your heart leapt at Jake. Pirate costume and all, on the floor, putting the last couple of packages back in the box.

When he stood up, his eyes were glassy like he’d been drinking. You gave them one glance and then looked at the box, not letting your eyes meet his.

He’d probably forget about this, you thought, a little sad by that. He probably doesn’t even want to be doing this right now and his drunkenness is making him move without thinking.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, going to grab the box from him. But he pulled it back so you couldn’t. You tried again, but he pressed it to his chest, out of your reach. “Give me the box?” You requested, in question. Your brow wrinkled, unsure why he was doing this.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice wavy, softly demanding.

. . .and slightly British? You would have laughed if circumstances were different.

Yeah, his voice definitely indicated he wasn’t sober.

But, you did as he asked, your craving made you follow his instructions without hesitation.

Mistake, mistake, mistake. Abort mission.

You hadn’t been given the opportunity to look into his eyes for so long. And doing it now made your airways constrict. The eyes that convinced you to turn around today. The same beautiful brown eyes you wanted your baby to have.

Wanting to ignore the way your heartbeat was literally washing through your ears, you tried to speak.

“Why?” You asked, your question weak, but voice clear of emotion. Thank God.

His gaze was open, eyes a little lost thanks to his inebriation. “You looked fucking beautiful tonight,” he lazed, tone serious. He glanced down at your body, just briefly. “Still do. Always do.”

Your breath went shallow at his words. He didn’t mean this. He was drunk. You could’ve sworn he hadn’t been looking at you. He wouldn’t; Maya had been with him all night. Right?

“Thanks,” you choked out. You averted your gaze from his again, your heart couldn’t take this. “Can I have my brownies now?”

You saw them move in your direction, and grasped the box as soon as it was in front of you. Gathering up the water, bowl, and box with much more ease this time. Strategy.

“D’you want my help?” he offered, voice still iffy, but tone sweet and sincere.

Shaking your head, you flashed your eyes at him once more. Just one more look.

“No, I can make it,” you affirmed, wanting to say the opposite. Yes, please. Stay with me. “But thank you.”

He mimicked your actions, shook his head as he furrowed his brow. “Yeah, yeah,” his eyes held yours. You couldn’t look away. He smiled shakily, as if telling a joke. “I’m drunk.”

You giggled in spite of it all. “I know.”

And then he was letting you move past him, his cologne coming off of him in the most delicious waves. . . fuck.

Before you could totally get away, though, he lightly grabbed your arm. You were stuck in a trance. His touch, burning, even through your sweatshirt. The way he smelled, exactly what your senses needed.

You peered up at him through your lashes, wondering. “What?”

He seemed to get lost in your stare for a second, forgetting what he wanted to say. Alcohol could do that to a person.

But then he was moving towards you. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. What was he. . .? You couldn’t move. Then, he was dipping his lips to be right above your ear. Holy fuck. More. His voice was low and raspy when he whispered. “Your tits looked fucking incredible tonight.” Heat flushed in your cheeks, all the way down to the pit of your stomach and to your throbbing heat. God. “That fuckin’ tiny excuse for a shirt barely held them in.”

God-fucking-damn.

You could feel your nipples hardening, to match the rest of your body. You could feel them tight and hard, begging for his touch. But he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. He didn’t want that.

He. Was. Drunk.

Gaining what bearings you could, still blushing, you gave him a small grin, eyes innocent and at his mercy. “Thanks, Jake.”

And then you were booking it out of that kitchen. Quickly as you could, to the safety of your room and the vibrator you kept in your nightstand.

In an embarrassing amount of time, you were reaching the peak you so desperately needed. . . Every quiver from the tiny instrument, his wet tongue. Your toes curled as you found release, moaning his name loudly, but against your pillow to muffle the sound.

Then you tucked it back in your nightstand, the food forgotten as you let yourself fall into a deep sleep, holding the soft bump of your belly.

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: i think "You're All I Need To Get By" is their song..... hm? do you think this baby might be the magic key? or do you think things are only going to get worse? 🤔🤔

also, who can guess what the girls were for Halloween? 🪓

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts!

Fill this form out if you'd like to join my taglist! <3

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

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