#one better finale written a hundred more to go | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

g0dlyunsub · 3 months

Text

it takes two.

spencer deals with a lot on the field, but nothing can prepare him for when he’s stuck inside a locker with you.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: 18+ due to sexual themes but no smut, slight claustrophobia triggers

word count :: 2.2k

author’s note :: inspired by a scene from s9e23, i'm imagining spencer in a fitted collared shirt and tie, reader wears a skirt

accompanying song :: stuck between by dutch criminal record

“nothing’s showing up on vicap. i’ve cross-checked records against everything you’ve mentioned, sir, but there’s literally nothing. zilch,” you hear garcia let out an exasperated groan as she ferociously taps at her keyboard.

you watch as hotch kneads the skin between his brows with growing impatience while morgan starts to pace around the room. you’re not doing any better yourself, your stressed-out fingers threatening to tug at the strands of hair neatly holding your ponytail together.

it’s too frustrating. the leads are clearly there, but your team is lacking the final puzzle piece to complete the profile, to confirm that it’s someone in the department that’s deliberately injecting themselves into the investigation.

“your answer is probably written down on paper. ugh, i hate when bad guys try to act all smart,” garcia fumes, and sulks as she gives an apologetic wave from her side of the screen. hotch nods, relays a thank you, and cuts the call before rounding the whole team together.

“think about it, those two are the perfect scapegoats. all of these agents have everything to lose, so why not just blame them? they’ve been in and out of cells already, and it makes perfect sense to craft a narrative that’ll point fingers at them,” morgan starts, making small gestures as he speaks with his signature cadence, topped with a honeyed rasp.

“and they’ve got all the authority to influence the public’s opinion,” jj nods in agreement.

“we need to try to get those two to talk again, but we also have to take extra precautions. jj and prentiss, go interview them one more time to see if they’ll spill any names. morgan, i need you to work with garcia to look for other possible leads. reid and l/n, go to the records room to review the files of the agents working with us. dave and i will try to hold down the fort,” hotch instructs, nodding at each of you as he rolls out the orders.

“and try not to draw suspicion. if all else fails, say that you need to run to the bathroom,” rossi adds with a wink. it always amazes you how calm the italian agent is during such high-pressure situations, a trait you’ve grown to immensely appreciate.

“shall we?” you say as you nudge spencer, and he hums back in response. you bid a wish of good luck to emily and jj and traverse the hallway to the records room with the doctor, your heels clacking beside the cushioned steps of his slightly worn converses.

after looking left and right to make sure no one’s around, spencer opens the door. you silence the sounds of your heels as you follow inside, and let the bolt of the lock plunge into the frame by slowly closing the door.

“alright, you take the left, i’ll take the right,” you whisper, and spencer gives you a thumbs up.

the two of you work silently and as fast as possible, sifting through the piles of records that lie on the tables and beside the cabinets. you feel your heart jump into a cartwheel every time a sheet of paper slips out of the manila folders, the sounds of rustling and creasing setting you on edge.

“i found mcgregor and drew, but i don’t think it’s either of them,” spencer declares with a voice that isn’t supposed to sound loud at all, but it feels hundreds of decibels higher than the bare whisper you spoke with earlier.

“okay, i found weaver and lee, but they don’t fit the profile either. let’s continue looking for the other two,” you call back.

spencer walks over to you and kneels beside your left to help you with your search. once you spread the folders on the floor, you spot one of the two remaining files, and spencer soon finds the other. you’re about to turn through the sheets in the folder when the doorknob starts to shake, startling the both of you.

“shit. spence,” you blurt as spencer takes his file in one hand and grabs yours with the other, and shoves them into an open drawer. after he slides the compartment back with his careful and nimble fingers, you grab his arm and squeeze into a spare locker. you barely manage to seal the opening shut in time.

you could say that it was quick thinking that saved your and spencer’s cover, since the door jiggles and thrusts open a mere second later.

you never would’ve imagined that the day would come when you would draw air directly from spencer’s breaths, let alone enclose yourself in the same room as him.

and yet here you are, perched on top of spencer’s knee, the scratchy fabric of his trousers resting under the hollow space of your pencil skirt and between your legs. his other leg presses against your side of the wall with an uncomfortable bend, while his chin sits an atom’s width from your forehead.

it’s a nonnegotiable consequence that comes with his tall figure, the way his clothed knee has to rub against your inner thighs under the draped fabric.

one of your hands lies awkwardly on his chest while the other is on his thigh, right above the knee that’s using you for leverage. your attention immediately shifts to your left when you see the rays of the intruder’s flashlight scope through the room.

you stop mid-exhale when the light pours through the gaps of the locker, casting shadows on spencer’s face and your body. he looks stressed, anxiously wetting his lips with closed eyes, face turned away from you.

and he looks overwhelmed. rapid bursts of inhales and exhales fire from his body, likely due to the collar of his shirt being bound tightly around his neck with the tie. with shaking fingers, you slowly reach for his tie, waiting for approval to loosen it.

you feel his forehead bury into the cave of your shoulder, and he whispers his desperate ask into your ear: “please.”

despite the lack of light around you, you’re able to locate the small end of his satin tie, and you tug lightly. the knot unfurls as you pull, and spencer lets out a small sigh of relief before breathing a low thank you in your ear.

as this happens, you hear the intruder surf through the piles of papers, unlocking drawers and lifting boxes left and right. hurry, hurry, hurry, you pray desperately in your head. beads of sweat start to form at your temple and threaten to fall down to your exposed neck, which happens to be situated directly in spencer’s line of sight.

“come on,” you hear the guest in the room complain, angrily flipping through papers and slamming the cabinets. you think it’s finally time for him to leave when you hear the high-pitched ring of his phone.

but your eyes widen when instead of heading to the door, he makes strides towards the locker right across from yours, and leans his back against it before holding the phone up to his ear. holy shit.

“jensen speaking,” he says with a gruff voice, and plays with the button of his flashlight so it turns on and off spontaneously. as the light flickers, it dimly shines the space inside your locker.

spencer turns his head to meet your eyes, a panicked expression covering his face. you’re about to mouth a small sorry for the helpless situation you’ve dragged him into, but just as you’re about to do so, spencer’s trousers slide against your legs, creating friction so unbearable that you let out a squeak.

you freeze, looking up to see spencer’s eyes flash warningly. he instantly clasps your mouth with his hands to cover any further sound from escaping your lips, but with no form of support to maintain his position, he starts to slip, and his shirt lightly skids against the locker’s slippery walls. this is somehow even worse for you, because spencer’s knee starts to dig further up your legs and into your cotton underwear, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

luckily for the both of you, jensen seems to be distracted by whatever words are being spewed from the other end of his phone call to pay any mind to your suppressed yelps.

“i think their agents might be on to us,” he scowls, and you watch from the corner of your eye as he tosses the last of his files into a box and opens the adjacent locker to ram it inside.

“yeah, i’ll try to stall them for as long as i can. they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into.”

jensen curses and promptly ends the call, returning his phone into the pocket of his shirt. he finally walks to the door, sighing as he twists the knob and steps out. the two of you lie in wait for an additional three minutes before trying anything.

“i think we’re good,” spencer huffs, finally opening the locker door with a thud as the sounds of steel clashing against steel echo throughout the air.

“yeah,” you nod, taking a breath to collect yourself as you step out. you watch as spencer runs a hand through his hair and moves his fingers down to adjust his tie.

he returns the stare, his adam’s apple bobbing when he eyes your wrinkled shirt and scrunched up pencil skirt – which looks more like a mini-skirt with how it sits right below your hips.

“i um, i need some air. how about you?” spencer asks at last, clearing his throat. you bite your lip when he starts to brush the dust off his thighs and knees, the moments of earlier flooding into the back of your mind like the warmth pooling between your thighs.

“yeah, i could use some fresh air too,” you respond breathily, averting your eyes and focusing instead on smoothing out your shirt and retying your loosened ponytail. when you’re done, you turn around and stagger to the door, not looking twice to see if spencer’s following you. an intense flush spreads across your cheeks, and your only viable path of escape is to the bathroom.

“you, um, missed a spot,” you hear from behind, and you follow spencer’s gaze to see that he’s referring to the back of your skirt.

“oh,” you say as embarrassment swamps you, and you hurriedly pat at the fabric. “does that look better?”

“it’s still folded there. if you want, i can- may i?”

the question tumbles from his pretty lips and messes with your head. his hand hovers right around your waist, the same way yours lingered on his tie as you waited for his consent. and his softening eyes. his slightly smoldering gaze looks so innocent and alluring at the same time, your heart starts to feel heavy with the weight of desire.

note to self: never wear a pencil skirt again.

“please,” you utter like a silent prayer, and mentally prepare yourself to endure the test of his fingers against your skin.

as soon as he receives your word, his hand lightly brushes against your thigh and trails down your skin. he takes the hem of your skirt and pulls down, giving several tugs before releasing the stretched garment.

he clears his throat when you don’t move even after he’s retracted his hand.

“all good now.”

spencer’s words drown out your thoughts and snap you back to reality. he’s already standing by the door, holding it open for you with a patient smile.

“thanks,” you say as you walk out and rub your hands together, nervous for what you’re about to say next. “spencer, um, i’m so sorry about that whole ordeal, it was really unprofessional of me to drag you in there, i wasn’t thinking when i-”

“you did the right thing,” spencer interrupts your ramble with the shake of his head, and his flawless smile pulls at your heartstrings.

“i would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn't. that door’s the only way in and out if you don’t count the windows,” he continues, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walks you to the elevator.

“oh,” you shyly murmur back, your cheeks flushing with a shade of bright pink as his words pour over you like warm water. he would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn’t?

“yeah, but how about we try a bigger locker next time?” spencer almost reads your mind as he half-mindedly jokes, causing you to drop your jaw in shock. he doesn’t acknowledge your reaction, however, because he starts to dial rossi’s number on his cell.

“by the way, the uh, new look suits you. the grey skirt and all,” spencer says with a lopsided smile before he raises a hand to excuse himself and call rossi. you’re saved the embarrassment of responding when rossi accepts the call, but your palms are already profusely sweating at his compliment.

note to self: maybe wear the pencil skirt again.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x you

1K notes · View notes

envy-of-the-apple · 2 months

Text

A Mutual Hatred

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

finally kicking out the fic that’s been a draft for three years:) ahaha...aha...ha if its obvious this was written for another character...no it wasn’t

(Warnings: implied non-con, implied drugging, college!AU, dark content)

Gojo Satoru did not like you.

He didn’t make it obvious. But, you could see the way he slowly inched away from you. And the fake fake smile he stretched on his lips anytime he was forced to talk to you.

It was a little offensive. You never obsessed about people liking you, but the fact that someone super popular would rather not exist when you were around...well, it stung.

It could’ve been worse. At least he didn’t openly admit his hatred of you. It was just the tiny, little things he did that made you know there were boundaries.

But you weren’t Gojo’s friend, you were Geto’s friend. Which meant, as much as you’d rather not to go the party celebrating their latest win, you were still dragged anyway.

A loud cheer erupted across from the room. Still nursing your drink, you gave Geto a look.

“The baseball team,” He sighed, “Shit, sorry. I didn’t know they were gonna be here. I know they’re fucking crazy but they won’t bother you. I promise.”

You have to laugh at his genuinely apologetic look. You wave him away.

“It’s fine,” You say, “I don’t mind, Besides, they look....fun.”

Your words come a bit too late as you spot the team captain trying to do a handstand on top of an extremely fragile vase. That would end well.

“I’m glad they’re supportive of you, at the very least,”

Geto is sighing, ready to apologize again. He promised you this would be low-key, just the basketball team and a few mutual friends.

Now it’s just the basketball team, along with a hundred other people.

If anything you’re impressed at how quickly the numbers formed. The music was loud, booming, nearly blowing out your ears. People were dancing, at the very least, moving together in disjointed clumps because you are pretty sure alcohol doesn’t help you with dancing.

Voices tear you away from the scene, and your gaze settles on Geto’s volleyball squad. They eagerly start to wave him over. He shakes his head. You frown.

“Don’t babysit me,” You tell him, “Go. Have fun.”

He gives you a look. You roll your eyes.

“I promise I’ll be fine. The only reason I’m here is for the free beer.”

You’re planning on throwing your cup of cheap booze away the second you can, but you don’t want him to think he has to guard you for the night. That’s who Geto is, a self-proclaimed protector. You don’t even know him all that well but he’s still more than happy to forfeit hanging out with his friends to sit here with you. He’s a good person.

You still can’t understand why a guy like him would ever be friends with Gojo.

They had been childhood friends. Best friends. Stayed together until college. Maybe it was just proximity that kept them so close, because you couldn’t imagine it were their personalities.

Geto sighs, reluctantly slipping away.

“If you need anything, lemme know.” You nod, keeping your smile on as he gives you one last look before joining his friends.

Finally alone, you drop the cup in the trash as soon as you can.

At least, you thought you were alone.

“Too strong?”

You jump at his voice. Gojo tilts his head, gazing at you with pretty blue eyes. His glasses are off tonight.

“I-” you stumble, not really sure what to say. He was going out of his way to talk to you? “I was just-”

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he laughs, light and airy and you’re starting to get why he has a fanclub, “Nazumaki has shitty tastes. Wanna try what I’m having?”

He hands you an opened can. Still a bit confused, you accept. It’s slightly better. With a fruity aftertaste. When you go to hand it back, he waves you off.

“Take it, I gotta’ drive home.” He reasons.

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, you accept. This was...weird. Really really weird. Gojo Satoru didn’t like you. Not even the slightest. Then, why was he being so...nice?

Or maybe you had it all wrong? You were overreacting?

“Congrats on winning your game.” You tell him, when the silence stretches on for far too long.

“Yeah,” he responds, “you went?”

You shake your hade.

“Too busy,” you responded sheepishly, “but I watched the highlights. You guys were awesome.”

“A huge improvement from fall semester.” he agrees. “Fuck, you should’ve seen us those first couple of weeks. Like a bunch of....coked up squirrels or something. Horrible passes, jumping all over the place, just-”

He’s cut off by your laugh. “I’m sorry...coked up squirrels?”

“You didn’t see our freshmen,” he argues, “It’s a great analogy.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” You smile.

It’s definitely the alcohol. On his part too. But conversation flows like you are two old friends. It’s so easy to talk to him. Laugh with him. For a moment, you almost forgotten how much disdain Gojo Satoru used to show you.

Almost.

“You know....for a while, I thought you hated me.” You confessed, because you had to bring it up eventually. The suspense was killing you, eating you alive.

“What?”

“I mean.” The floor looks weird. You don’t like the carpet. “On campus, you were always so stand-offish. Like you were mad at me.”

He shoots you an amused look. “I didn’t hate you. I guess I was kinda’ just pissed.”

You scrunch your forehead, “Oh, you were? Why?”

“’Cuz you had a nice ass and I wasn’t allowed to touch it.”

You blink. And then the world tilts sideways.

What?

Hands grip your shoulders, holding you upright.

“Woah, baby. I think you had a bit too much. Let’s go lay down.” Gojo purrs into your ear, as he starts leading you away.

You weren’t drunk. You knew that. You barely had anything. You make a meager struggle against his unwavering body as your dazed mind starts to piece what’s happening.

You nearly stumble into another group of people. Gojo takes the reigns immediately, apologizing on behalf of his ‘drunk friend who doesn’t know limits’. It’s so deranged that at one point you’re convinced you’re having an out-of-body experience. That this isn’t real. A dream. A nightmare.

But this is real. He shows you the moment he shoves you into a closet, shutting the door behind him.

“Wh-what are you doing-” your pleas are interrupted by soft lips. You’ve never once thought about kissing Gojo but his lips are like pillows. It’s his strength that suffocates you. Biting and licking up your blood.

“Would’ve done this sooner, but your bodyguard would never leave you alone for long. The bastard. Keeping you all to himself.”

Bodyguard? He’s kissing you again, groping you through your clothes and you can’t stand to even think. Geto, it eventually clicks. His helpful protectiveness. You-you thought he was like that with everyone.

Something, a second wind maybe, kicks up at you. You struggle against his large hands. Gojo grunts, as though your desperation was a minor inconvenience for him.

“Stop it, fucking stop.” He hisses, pulling at your hair. You yelp. “Stop fighting this when we both know you-”

The door opens, swinging in blaring light and the sounds of the party with it. Satoru stills, blinking up at the newcomer. You look up too, heart crackling with relief.

Geto stands there, chest heaving, and it takes a minute for you to realize he must have ran here. You open your mouth, nothing but a warbled plea comes out.

You expect him to do something. To grab Gojo by the hair and pull. To save you.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there.

When you search his eyes. You don’t find anger. You just see hunger.

Gojo’s pretty laugh rings through the air. Undisturbed. Expectant.

“What took you so long?”

#dark content #dark #dark Gojo satoru #Dark Gojo Satoru x reader #yandere #yandere jjk #drugging #tw:drugging #yandere gojo satoru x reader #Yandere Gojo Satoru

737 notes · View notes

onlyangel4 · 2 months

Text

healing a heart i didn't break. LH44. MV1. SMAU. part three.

cheater! lewis hamilton x reader. max verstappen x reader.

when your boyfriend of three years fumbles, his rival is there to put the pieces of your heart back together bit by bit.

warnings: 14 year age gap with lewis. cursing. cheating.

author's note: our girl finally getting the treatment she deserves

prev // next

faceclaim: camilla morrone

y/ninsta posted a story

written: nothing could keep me away from austin

y/nupdates

liked by user12, user45, user62 and 15,629 others

y/nupdates: it is official mother is not missing the austin gp. she had us wondering whether she would be present after the news that dropped on friday and her not being present at qualifying but she is back in the paddock. as usual arriving with charles and alex. fits like this are one of the many things that make y/n the perfect wag.

view all 530 comments

user12: i'm so glad she didn't miss austin she is on the record so many times saying that it is her favourite date in the calender because of the chaos.

user45: the fit! y/exbff could never

user62: she is a better woman than me, i would be in bed eating my weight in ice cream if what happened to her happened to me

y/ninsta posted a story

written: change of scenery

f1updates

liked by user22, f1fan7, user54 and 250,028 others

f1updates: lewis hamilton faces engine failure during the 23rd lap and DNFs in austin.

view all 5,682 comments

user22: i call that karma

user54: oh no what a shame

f1fan7: y/n cursed that bitch

user52: the way the sky camera man knows exactly what he is doing. it cut from lewis getting out of his car to y/exbff looking all concerned and then to y/n sat in the rb garage just sipping her drink with a straw unbothered

liked by maxverstappen, y/ninsta, f1fan32 and 920,310

f1: and he does it again. max verstappen takes poll at austin with norris in second and russell in third.

view all 19,283 comments

f1fan32: can't wait to see what mad max has to say about lewis' dnf

user61: he is going to have so much to say but red bull will silence him

y/nfan2: the way he hugged y/n when he got off podium. this friendship was so unexpected but it is so perfect

user51: they are so sunshine x grumpy coded and i love it

y/ninsta posted a story

written: an outfit change before dinner with my favourite people

y/ninsta

liked by maxverstappen, danielricciardo, alexandrasaintmleux and 761,982

y/ninsta: these past few months have been some of the worst of my entire life but the people in these picture + many more have made it one hundred times better. i love you all and i miss seeing you in the paddock however i am sure that with our many group chats i will still manage to annoy you all. so many exciting things on the horizon.

view all 7,284 comments

maxverstappen: going to miss your light in the paddock

y/ninsta: and i'm gonna miss all the free redbull

danielricciardo: and where did you get that last photo from

landonorris: i was about to ask the same thing

y/ninsta: you are both so stupid you stole my phone to take it

alexandrasaintmleux: charles is laughing at me for having tears in my eyes

y/ninsta: we are practically neighbors babe, you will see me all the time

y/nfan: y/n living in france? is she back in her model era?

carmenmundt: gonna miss my garage buddy but this is the right choice my love

y/ninsta: thank you my love

taglist: @sinofwriting @toldyouitwasamelodrama @formulaal

@minkyungseokie @shrbehndwn @gr1mes-cc @nichmeddar

@liberty-barnes @kravitzwhore @annaluna12

530 notes · View notes

celestie0 · 8 months

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.5 these feelings are hard to find

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 5/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 10.4k

a/n. aaaa this chapter took me a while because i was having some pretty bad writer's block. i seriously can't believe it crossed over 10k words, i very poorly planned how much i wanted to get done by this chapter, but i didn't feel like splitting it into two so oh wellll. hope you enjoy! pls excuse any typos we all live on a floating rock.

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

“I really don’t understand why I’m here…” you’re grumbling as you, Mina and Todo make your way up the pavement of the driveway leading to the house party. You glance to your right where Mina and Todo are holding hands, arms swinging as they keep pace together.

It was finally Friday after a particularly long and stressful week, so you were extremely excited to just spend the rest of the night relaxing at home. You had already poured yourself a glass of wine when you returned from your evening class and were sitting on the couch with a blanket on, scrolling through Netflix, when Mina approached you while she was talking to Todo on the phone. She mentioned something about an SAE party tonight that she wanted you to come along for and Todo said he’d extend his other invite to you. When you politely declined, Mina slumped down on the couch and told Todo she had no interest in going unless you also came. And then Todo was bribing you with a hundred bucks. Easiest hundred bucks you’ve ever made.

“Don’t be a downer. You’re here because I think you’ve been working hard and you need to relax a bit,” Mina chirps, now clinging onto Todo’s arm, “and there’s no better way to relax than getting drunk.”

“I could be getting drunk at home,” you mumble to yourself, the night you were imagining for yourself all day being very different from where you find yourself now.

The guy that was bouncing for tonight’s party was scanning people’s phones and engaging in some small talk before allowing people inside. He was pretty handsome and you wondered if there was some sort of requirement written in the rules to the SAE fraternity that they must be good-looking to join.

“Hello, my brother,” Todo says as he approaches, smacking him so hard on the back in greeting that the man stumbles over slightly and sends an irritated glare Todo’s way before he regains his balance.

“Hey, big guy, are these your invites?” He gestures towards you and Mina, his eyes landing on yours and lingering for a moment. You blink at him.

“Yes, this here’s my lovely lady, and this here’s my lovely lady’s friend,” Todo says with a faux suave that only makes you narrow your eyes at him. The man at the entrance sighs and nods before stepping out of the way and motioning the three of you towards the entrance.

The minute you enter, you immediately realize that this party felt very different from the one you were at last week. It was slightly less crowded, but there were still plenty of people bustling around the large expanse of the ground floor with loud rap music that practically shook the walls. It was dark, much more edgy, with the only source of light being the sporadic flashing of lights over by the DJ’s booth. You felt disoriented from the atmosphere, and the smell of weed and alcohol only further dazed you.

“This is insane,” you barely hear Mina say beside you over the music as she looks around the expansive interior of the house. In between the brief flickering lights that lit up people’s faces, you register that Todo is grinning at her as though he was entirely satisfied by her reaction.

You only make it a few steps inside, trailing behind Mina and Todo, before feeling the need to excuse yourself to get away from the intense environment for a second. “Hey, I think I’m going to use the restroom real quick. Todo, do you have any idea where it is?” You feel like you’re shouting just to be heard.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “There are some downstairs but they probably have lines. You could try upstairs.”

You give him an appreciative nod and head over to the base of the staircase at the right, glancing up before making your ascent. There didn’t seem to be anyone else upstairs, which surprised you, but you figured you were just in luck and began to walk up step by step until reaching the top. The music downstairs begins to sound muffled as you turn around the railing post and make your way to the left into the narrow hallway likely leading towards the bedrooms. There's a white door somewhere in the middle of the hallway that could only be either a closet or a bathroom. You wrap your hand around the cold metal door handle and twist, satisfied that it wasn’t locked.

The mumbling noises of people inside doesn’t register in your mind until you’ve already cracked the door open half-way, and your entire body recoils in the immediate rush of embarrassment washing over you as you take in the sight of two people, a man and a woman, getting handsy with one another in the bathroom.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” is all you manage to squeak out, blinking dumbly at the scene.

You’re quick to avert your gaze and about to close the door, incredibly mortified by what’s just happened, when the familiar silhouette in front of you causes you to freeze. You slowly lift your line of sight from the bathroom floor until Gojo Satoru is looking you straight in the eye from where he has a girl on the bathroom counter clinging to his shirt.

“I…” you stutter, face feeling immediately hot as you let go of the door handle and look away from his shocked face. “Sorry,” you say again, this time barely above a whisper, before turning on your heel and making your way down the hallway in such a hurry that you don’t even realize you’re going the wrong way. You hear a feminine voice echo something in the bathroom like what the fuck are you doing?, and then there’s footsteps following after you that sound faster than your own. Ignoring the call of your name, you practically storm into one of the bedrooms, entirely relieved that it was empty, and can only take a couple of steps inside before a hand grabs at your wrist. A chill runs down your spine from the contact.

“Wait, y/n,” Gojo says behind you from where he’s followed you inside, sounding like he’s out of breath. His hand is still holding onto you, keeping you still and you can feel the roughness of his calluses against your skin. When you turn around to face him, he’s close to you and you see his chest is heaving, his hair is disheveled, his shirt is wrinkled at the front and there’s a crease in his brow.

Your eyes don’t stay on his for long before you’re looking away from him again. “I’m…I’m really sorry, that was really awkward,” you say with a forced laugh and an attempt to wiggle yourself free of his grip but he’s unrelenting. The image of his fingers sliding up that girl’s top was still burned in your vision and no amount of excessive blinking at the carpet beneath your feet seemed to make it disappear.

“No, I’m sorry, I was supposed to lock…” his trails off and you notice there’s a rough quality to his voice, “that was just-, we were just-”

You finally brave yourself to look up at him and he somehow seems closer than before, his face just inches away from yours and his eyes briefly flickering to your lips before he meets your gaze with a tense expression on his face. You haven’t seen him look so flustered before, and you’ve certainly never heard him struggle this much to find his words either.

His other hand rubs the back of his neck as he closes his eyes in what looks like frustration, then takes a deep breath to seemingly calm himself down before speaking again. “She’s…We’re just friends,” is all he manages to say.

There’s a silence between the two of you as you blink at him and he stares at you, his thumb pressing into the skin of where his hand was still wrapped around your wrist. You try really hard to bite back the words you’re about to say, but no amount of willpower could’ve helped you. Your chin tips up, looking at him more decisively, and his gaze is flickering to your mouth again. “Just friends…can’t say I’ve ever tried to get my friends naked in the bathroom at a party before.” You didn’t understand why your tone came off so hostile, but it felt good to criticize his choice of words for some reason.

His lips press together, gaze narrowing slightly and eyebrows furrowing further at your words. He leans in closer to the point where your senses were entirely occupied by him and it was impossible to think of anything else. “Well, you weren’t supposed to see that.” His eyes are contrite but his tone is vexed.

You relax your body language and use your other hand to forcefully slide his hand off of your wrist, encountering some resistance from him before he acquiesces. Your skin tingles from the absence of his touch and you take a step backwards away from him. His posture straightens slightly, eyes continuing to dart across the features of your face and wide in anticipation as though he was patiently waiting for you to say something that would put him at ease.

“It’s fine,” you say, trying your best to keep your voice as level as possible, “I accidentally walked in on something I shouldn’t have. You don’t owe me any sort of explanation for it.” Gojo seems to tense up even further at your words, his expression briefly contorting into one of confusion before it reverts to concern again.

You walk around him towards the bedroom door and see him in your periphery watching every step you take until you eventually exit the room. This time, you don’t hear his footsteps pursuing you from behind. It’s only when you make it past the bathroom, not even daring to take a look inside of it, and about halfway down the hallway that you unsteadily let out the breath you were holding in. Your hand takes its place over your chest in a flimsy attempt to calm your heart down as you quickly make your way down the stairs. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach and you knew you just had to get as far away from here as possible.

You’re barely able to spot Mina from where she stood with Todo in a corner near the backyard screen door, and briefly notice that Nanami, Geto, as well as a few of their other teammates were clustered there too. You politely acknowledge their pleasant greetings to you as you approach Mina, pulling her to the side.

“Woah, hey, what’s going on?” She asks, stumbling a little bit and you let go of her sleeve.

“I’m going to go home, not feeling well, I think I just got my period,” you easily come up with a lie, “Nobara says she’ll pick me up.” In truth, you were planning on just calling an Uber for home, but you knew that Mina wouldn’t let you go home by yourself. You didn’t want your confusing and heightened emotions ruining her night.

“Wait, are you sure? I’ll come with you,” she’s quick to say, taking a step towards you but you shake your head.

“No, it’s fine, stay here with Todo,” you demand, “and call me if you need me to pick you up. I’ll let you know when I’m home.” You give her a little hug and she’s standing there confused before hesitantly nodding, and then you make your way to the door. The loud music, flashing lights, and blurred faces around you were so intensely stimulating that when the cold air from outside finally hit your skin, you felt like you were human again.

The Uber comes by in less than ten minutes as you wait for it on the sidewalk. The driver drops you off at the entrance of your apartment complex and the biting chill of the air has you wrapping your arms around yourself as you wait for the elevator to take you upstairs. Glancing down at your phone to check the time, you see a message from Mina asking if you were home yet. You also see that it’s nearly one in the morning.

Finally making your way inside your apartment, you lock the door behind you and text Mina that you’re home, then slide down with your back against the front door until you’re sitting on the floor. The heat inside was so comforting that you just spent a moment to warm yourself up and just breathe.

Memories of your conversation with Gojo from just half an hour ago instantly come to the forefront of your mind and you’re shutting your eyes to try and repel the thoughts away. Still so embarrassed that you walked in on him making out with someone, your brain decides to mortify you even further by asking what if you had walked in a few moments later instead? What would you have seen then?

You squish your cheeks between your hands defeatedly before letting out a sigh and drawing your legs in towards you, hugging your knees to your chest. You didn’t understand why you were so affected by what you saw. You’ve only met Gojo twice, and you knew even before you met him that he was that kind of person. He had a reputation of being involved with a lot of women, so his rather eager desire to explain himself to you just puzzled you even further.

Standing up, you head over to your bed and flop down on it. Your wrist still burns with the memory of the heat of his hand, and all you can see behind the lids of your eyes when you close them is the sight of him so close to you, stealing glances at your lips.

Somewhere along the night as you drifted in and out of sleep, Mina called to let you know that she was on her way home. When you hear her open the bedroom door and set her purse down on the nightstand near her bed, your body finally convinces you that it’s okay to rest, and that’s exactly what you do.

---

The weekend is over in the blink of an eye, simply not enough time to mope around in bed, and you’re walking out of your last class of the day on Monday. You check your phone pretty much every other minute to see if Gojo has sent you any messages regarding their new practice schedule for the week, which you’re sure he’s received by now, but there’s nothing. The last messages sent between the two of you were before the party on Friday, and an uneasy feeling has been settling in. You spent most of last week appreciating how helpful he was being so far, but you didn’t even consider the possibility that he could rescind his help at any time too.

You head over to the Department of Communication & Journalism building, making your way up the stairs until you reach the graduate division floor and walk down the hallway to Room 212. As you make your entry, a toasty and rich scent overtakes your senses.

“Ah, y/n, hello! So good to see you, thanks for coming by. I missed seeing you last week,” you hear Utahime say as she sets down a cup of coffee for you on the conference table in the middle of the room.

“Sorry, I was just…very mentally occupied last week,” you admit to her, setting your tote bag down on one of the chairs before taking the seat where the cup of coffee was placed, the fragrance instantly waking you up as you take a sip. “Thank you. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, thank you, just working through my thesis,” she says with a sigh and takes the seat next to you. “Just a few more months…just a few more months, and I’m free!”

You smile at her and watch as she pulls out her laptop, the start-up noise chiming before she starts clicking away at the million tabs that were open. “Did you receive the email I sent you for the newsletter shots?” You ask.

Utahime was a 4th-year graduate student in journalism and was also the head of the school’s newsletter. She has so graciously allowed for Film Club photography shout-outs in every monthly issue for the past couple of years.

She nods. “I did,” she says, resting her elbow on the table and tapping her index finger to her chin, “how come I didn’t see any of your photos in there, though?”

You sigh, sulking your shoulders slightly as you peer down into the brown liquid of your cup and watch the steam evaporate. “I didn’t really take great pictures this month.”

“Aw, well are you working on anything right now?” She returns to clicking away at tabs.

“Yeah, I’ll be taking film photos out on the field of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni next week. It’s for an assignment,” you tell her and watch as her face lights up.

“That’s wonderful! That’s a pretty big gig, they usually only let professionals out on the field. How were you able to secure that?” Utahime asks you as she tips her head to the side.

“Ah…let’s just say I have some sort of deal with one of their players?” You say. Your heart drops a little when you remember the lack of communication from Gojo as of recently, wondering if he was able to get that referee permission for you.

“Which one?” Utahime asks with a teasing smile, leaning over to nudge you with her elbow.

“Gojo Satoru,” you say and then she’s pulling away from you and rolling her eyes, an annoyed look making its way onto her face. You let out a small laugh at her behavior. “Okay, well now I’m curious.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh as she peers beyond the window of the room. “I was his TA when he was just a wee-little freshman. He was always showing up late to class and trying to flirt his way out of completing assignments,” she grumbles, “is he still a little brat?”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking way harder about her question than she had probably intended. “I don’t know…I don’t really know him all that well.” You look down at your hands. Despite the fact that you’ve only known Gojo for a short while, for some reason you felt like you did know him well. You knew the kinds of things that made him smile, you knew the look in his eyes when he was deep in thought about something. You knew what the heat from his body felt like, what the fragrance of his clothes smelled like.

Utahime is silent for a moment as she studies you. “Hmm,” she’s humming next to you, “well, tell you what, send me your photos when you’re done with them. If they’re good, I’ll use your photos for the sports recap in the newsletter instead of the professional ones we get sent from the school. I can compensate you for them as well.”

Your eyes widen as you look at her, jaw dropping a bit as you blink in disbelief. “Utahime…you would do that for me?”

She gives you a smile and a wink. “Of course, talent helps talent. And it’s my newsletter, I can do whatever I want with it. Besides, you want to get into the school’s film graduate program, right? I’m sure it would look great on your application that you’ve had some of your portfolio published to the school’s official reports. The photos have to be good, though.” She points a finger at you and gives you a strict look.

You feel tears prickle in your eyes from her words, so overwhelmingly grateful for her support, and can barely whisper out a thank you before she’s rushing over to the other table to grab a tissue box and set it in front of you.

“Gosh, why do all my undergrads cry in my presence?” she complains as she pulls out a tissue and hands it to you.

You dab it to your eye. “Because you have such wholesome mom energy.”

You say goodbye to Utahime after discussing a few more things and then leave the room. You check your phone and your heart skips a beat when you see Gojo’s name in your notifications.

|| 1:43PM Gojo Satoru: Hey, just wanted to let you know I was able to get that referee permission for you for next week

You let out a tiny gasp when you read his words then clutch your phone to your chest in relief. Utahime’s offer of the prospect of getting published in the school’s newsletter gave you a large sense of purpose, and you felt like it was time to take this assignment of yours extremely seriously to secure the opportunity. And Gojo was the one with the power to help you do that.

|| 1:52PM You: thank you so much, i really don’t know how to repay you

You sigh as you make your way to the stairs, grateful that you were getting some communication from him. The big game on the 28th was next Thursday, and you really needed to practice taking photos with your film camera. You open Instagram again to ask him for his practice schedule, but you see that he had sent you another message.

|| 1:54PM Gojo Satoru: No need to repay me, consider us even. Also sorry for the late notice, but we’re having a formal practice match in about an hour with one of the teams we played against earlier in the season. Do you want to come by?

After reading his message, you quickly shuffle your tote bag open and peer inside to see that you did indeed bring your film camera with you to campus today. Excited, you type out a response.

|| 1:55PM You: yes! i’ll hesd over right now

|| 1:55PM You: *head over

|| 1:55PM You: lol

You see little bubbles indicating typing in the left side corner.

|| 1:55PM Gojo Satoru: Meet me by the art sculpture, I’ll walk you over

You blink at the message for a few seconds, starting to type out a message before deleting it, and doing that a couple more times over. When someone tries to shuffle around you from behind, you notice you were standing awkwardly at the top of the stairs so you step away and lean against the wall. You press your lips together in consideration as you realize that today would be the first time you’re going to see Gojo again after that awkward interaction that you had with him at the party last Friday, and you were really not sure how you were going to feel having to be alone with him again.

|| 1:57PM You: that’s okay, i don’t want to trouble you

His response is instant.

|| 1:57PM Gojo Satoru: Just meet me there

Once you’ve made your way across campus, you spot Gojo sitting on the concrete barrier surrounding the art sculpture by the fields practically right in front of the please do not sit on the concrete barrier sign. His head is turned away from the direction you were approaching from, arms crossed at his chest and one of his legs impatiently bouncing up and down. You notice he’s wearing the school’s colors, a teal blue shirt and gray shorts that had some highlights of a sunset yellow, as well as gray athletic soccer shin socks and cleats. He looks so ridiculously sports boyfriend that you have to shake your head to try and physically fight the effect of how attracted you were to him.

He must’ve heard you approaching as you crossed the street towards him since he turned his head in your direction. He’s wearing a black sports headband across his forehead that’s pushing the hair up out of his face and you’re startled by the intensity of his blue eyes on you. When he stands up, his arms fall to his side, making you sad that you could no longer shamelessly stare at the way his biceps flexed when he had his arms crossed.

“Hey,” he says simply, staying perfectly still where he stood.

There was only one way to dissolve an awkward situation, and that was to pretend like it never happened in the first place. You tip your head to the side, giving him a curious look before skipping right on up to him. “Hello, there,” you cheerfully say. He looks at you with a borderline annoyed expression.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he comments, his voice sounding deeper than usual. Almost tired.

“Yes, very good mood,” you chirp as you walk past him, “I just got a very good offer.”

The sound of the bottom of his cleats on the sidewalk follow after you as you head in the direction of the softball batting cages. It's not long before he emerges at your side in your periphery. “What kind of offer?” You can tell from his tone that he was trying to restrain his curiosity.

“Oh, you’ll see,” you say as you look up at him and smile. He gives you an irritated expression due to your lack of transparency but you continue to skip forward until you’ve made it to stairs that lead up to the grassy hills.

Gojo’s about a step’s distance behind you as you lightly frolic across the land, your heavy tote bag bumping against your hip with every jump. You feel something fly out of it which halts you in your gleeful stride and look behind to where your bluetooth laptop mouse has fallen onto the grass right in front of Gojo. He’s sighing before crouching down to pick it up, then takes a step towards you and extends it out to you. When you glance up at him, he’s not looking at you and his face is hard to read.

You grab the mouse from him, fingertips brushing against the skin of his palm, and he ever-so-slightly shivers at the touch. His gaze finally meets yours.

With a sigh, you toss your computer mouse back into your bag. “I’m trying really hard to not feel awkward around you right now, but you’re making it pretty difficult.” You were so used to feeling like he has the upper edge of conversation when you’re with him, but now you felt like you were the one with the power.

He raises an eyebrow at you and when you look at his hands, you notice he was apprehensively cracking his knuckles with his thumbs. “Maybe you wouldn’t feel awkward if you actually stayed to talk last Friday.”

You cross your arms across your chest, disliking his tone. “Stayed to talk? About what? How not close you are with your ‘friends’?”

He tips his head up to the sky and closes his eyes, his brow furrowing like he was entirely frustrated by you, before he looks back down at you again. “If you don’t want to believe me, that’s fine, but what’s with you always running away whenever I try to talk to you?”

“I wasn’t feeling well that night,” you mumble to him as you turn away and continue to walk towards the practice field. It was the truth, you weren’t feeling well that night, and it was because seeing him kissing another girl made your stomach drop to the core of the Earth. But that wasn’t something you were going to admit to him. It wasn’t even something you were ready to admit to yourself. “Also, it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s that I don’t care to believe you.”

“But why don’t you care?” he’s asking you, his voice sounding desperate now as he makes his way to your side again. He’s looking at you but you’re looking straight ahead.

You roll your eyes, continuing to march forwards. “Not everyone cares about your love life, Satoru. Contrary to what you might think.”

He jogs ahead a few steps, now walking backwards in front of you and you narrow your eyes at him. His tongue is poking at the inside of his cheek and then there’s a boyish grin on his face. “Say that again.”

“Say what again?” you ask.

“My name,” he says.

You almost roll your eyes out of your head when you see his amused expression. “I seriously can’t believe this right now,” you’re muttering under your breath and walk past him down the large hill leading to the practice field, his gaze on you burning through your skin until you’re rubbing at your cheek with the back of your hand in a feeble attempt to physically wipe the blush away.

The practice field was much more crowded and busy than it was during the first practice you went to last week. Looking across to the other side, you see a group of men huddled near one of the benches, all of them wearing maroon-colored shirts with black shorts that have gold stripes running down the side of them. None of them were wearing jerseys, but you assumed they were wearing their school colors as some sort of distinguishing clothing that would help them during the practice match.

“Satoru! Where the hell have you been?” You flinch upon hearing Coach Yaga’s stern voice nearby and you look over to where he had his arms crossed and glaring at Gojo through his thick sunglasses.

Gojo walks past you towards the benches and gives Coach Yaga a salute. “Sorry, sir, personal business.” He then makes his way over to the rest of his teammates that were huddled on this side of the field. There were a few tables located on the sidelines that had refillable water stations, bottles of Gatorade, towels and all sorts of other athletic gear. You walk up to one of the tables and fix the settings on your film camera before taking a snapshot of the items laid out on it.

The atmosphere is light since this wasn’t an official match and so you spend some time fidgeting with your camera before they get started. You can only imagine how tense it must be during a proper tournament game at the actual stadium off-campus, the thought of thousands of people spectating from stands sending a shiver down your spine. Athletes were of a whole different breed, despite how wholesome and down-to-earth most of the UTokyo soccer players you’ve met so far were.

Eventually, Coach Yaga and the other coach from the opposing school blow their whistles, both acting as referees for the match, and the players scatter themselves across the field. You notice Gojo is at the center of the circle in the middle, his foot on top of the ball as he scans his eyes across the field to each of the players with a focused look in his eyes. He draws his foot back, and just when you think he’s about to kick it forwards to where he was looking, the back of his heel makes contact with the ball instead and it’s sent swiftly behind him towards Geto. Instantly, all the players begin to move across the field, some of the offensive opposing side charging towards Geto as he shuffles the ball between his feet before kicking it way ahead of him to another one of their teammates. You bring your camera up to your face and take a snapshot when one of the opposing team’s defenders makes an attempt to steal the ball.

The play continues further, both teams playing a push-and-pull with the ball. Gojo makes an attempt at a goal before the opposing team’s goalie lunges for the ball that was flying in the air straight towards the net, catching it in his arms and then crashing down onto the ground. Somewhere along the intense match, the coaches call half-time and you’re shocked by how fast the first half went by.

Some of the players retreat to the benches to quench their thirst and wipe the perspiration off their faces with their towels, while others remain on the green expanse to pace around while catching their breath. Your attention is drawn to Gojo who stood at the center with his hands on his hips and breathing visibly heavily. He leisurely shuffles the ball between his feet with an innate rhythm before passing it off towards Geto who stood a few feet away from him. Gojo pulled his headband off of his face, his hair falling over his forehead onto the sheen layer of sweat above his eyes. With each breath, his chest rises and falls, lips parted in a display of exertion, and then he grabs at the hem of his shirt to lift it to his face, exposing his toned torso, as he wipes away the sweat at his temples. Your eyes widen at the sight, almost entranced as a wave of arousal suddenly consumes you, before he releases his grip on the fabric and it falls back down. He pushes his hair back up out of his face with one of his hands, the other securing the headband back onto his forehead with a snap, and the muscles of his arms tense fluidly with every motion.

You quickly look away from him, afraid he'll catch you staring, and blink at the grass as you notice the fast beating of your heart. Coach Yaga's whistle blows, causing you to look back up again. Players were making their way back onto the field and Gojo found his position at the center again. His eyes darted across the field, making their way onto the faces of each player, and then they eventually landed on you. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards slightly into a small smile before he's looking back down at the ball by his feet. And then they start the kickoff.

UTokyo ends up winning 3-1, and by the end of the match the sun is starting to set, painting the sky beautiful hues of purple and orange. You lean over to pick your things up off the grass as the players make their final retreat to the benches, and you gently place your film camera back into its case when Gojo’s voice next to you makes you jump.

“Hey. Please don’t run off,” he says. When you turned to look at him, he was still breathing a bit fast and he had a flushed, almost serene, look across his face. “Give me your phone.” He extends his open palm out to you.

“My phone?” You ask him, reaching for where it was located in your back pocket and pulling it out. He nods without any further explanation. You place it in his palm and he’s tapping away at it before handing it back to you. When you look down, you notice he gave a random number a call.

“That’s my number. Save it,” he says. You blink at him. His expression is soft for a moment and then he’s turning around and away from you, heading over to where his teammates were crowded around one of the tables and giving each other pats on the back.

You tip your head to the side to watch him as a couple of his teammates sling their arm around his neck and smack his chest, masculine laughter and jokes filling the air. You can’t help but smile before you pick up your things and start making your way up the hill away from the field, back towards the heart of campus.

---

The following days of the week where you don’t see Gojo play soccer seems like a waste, because why weren’t you spending every single day of your life watching him play soccer? You sigh to yourself at the question as you use clothing pins to hang up the film photos you took up onto a wall in your school’s photo lab. You finished developing the photos from Monday’s practice match, only to realize that you accidentally took them on one of your black-and-white rolls instead of full-color. You step back to take a look at all the images you had clipped onto the string pinned to the walls, snapping a shot of the collage with your phone, before pulling them all back down and stuffing them into a Manila folder.

The only time the photo lab wasn’t bustling with other film & photography majors was usually after sunset, but by the time you finished having dinner with one of your friends on campus, you had made it there around 7PM. By the time you leave and make it to your parked car, it’s pitch black outside. As you step inside your car and turn the key to ignite the engine, the windshield wipers automatically swiping as the control lights inside come to life, the clock on your dashboard reads 10:37PM.

The GPS for some reason prompts you to take an alternative route back to your apartment that avoids the freeway in an attempt to save you from twenty minutes of traffic, and you consider what to do for a moment before the exhaustion in your bones convinces you to take the allegedly faster way home.

As you begin to head in the unfamiliar direction, the excitement you had to make it home as soon as possible slowly starts to dwindle more and more as the streets morph from well-lit and bustling with people to dark and surrounded by trees instead. What used to be a three-lane street turned into one, and you count the seconds between every passing car you see coming by in the opposite direction. You’re worried when your counting makes it past sixty seconds.

You turn your music up in your car to distract yourself from the fear of driving down the secluded and dark road. There was a slight fog settling up ahead in front of you to where you could only see clearly about thirty feet ahead. You spot something on the road, blinking rapidly to focus your vision, and then your eyes widen when you realize what it was. Rocks.

You’re instantly swerving your car to the side, attempting to deftly avoid the scattered rocks but unfortunately you drive over a few of them, causing your tire to pop and you let out a scream when you lose handle on your car. One of the rocks flies up and hits your windshield, cracking the glass, and suddenly you’re driving up over the curb to the right before you finally regain control of your car and swerve back onto the road, slamming on the brakes.

Your heart is beating fast in your chest, adrenaline rushing through your body, and you grip onto the steering wheel while you try to regain your breath. Your windshield had a large crack in it, large enough to where the cold air from outside was whistling its way inside your car, and you were slanted in your seat due to the punctured tire at the front. As you took deep breaths, you noticed how alone you were on a dimly lit street where you hadn’t seen a single car in more than five minutes, fear and anxiety surging through your body. Your hands reach for your phone, shakily turning it on and exhaling in relief when you see that you have reception, then call the emergency telephone line.

“Hello, how can we help you?” a feminine voice on the other end of the line says.

“Hi, um,” you say, voice sounding shaky, “I just got a flat tire on Musashi road, about five miles from the Main Street intersection. I don’t have a spare on me, and my windshield is cracked too…could you send roadside assistance?”

“Yes, absolutely,” the woman says kindly and begins to take down some information from you. “Thank you, ma’am. Unfortunately, there has been a big accident on the freeway, so many of the tow-trucks and officers have been dispatched to that area. It may take about an hour for help to arrive. Are you able to call someone to come stay with you as you wait?”

“Oh…” You press your lips together in thought. “Yes, I should be able to.” After working out a bit more logistics with the woman on the other line, you hang up and then you’re scrolling through your contacts. You first call Mina’s line, which goes straight to voicemail, and then you remember that she was out of town for tonight and half of tomorrow visiting her family. You call Nobara, who also doesn’t pick up, and then a couple of your other friends who go straight to voicemail as well. You start to panic slightly before calling your friend Maki who lives two hours away.

“Hello?” You hear her voice say when she picks up.

“Maki! Oh my gosh, thank you for picking up,” you say to her through the phone, your hand on your chest as you sigh. You explain your situation to her and she’s instantly providing you with soothing words.

“Is there no one that can come stay with you? I feel awful that I’m so far away,” she says.

“It’s okay, they said that help will be here in maybe fifty minutes now…I just really wanted to talk to someone,” you say, peering out into the darkness of the night. You’re still shocked you haven’t seen a single car drive by in the past ten minutes. You pull your phone from your face to check the time and see a notification on your phone that says 5% battery remaining. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Maki asks worriedly.

“My phone is running out of battery…” you say with a defeated tone. Your anxiety starts to rise in your chest again. “I don’t know if I can stay on the line.” You scroll through your contacts again, finger halting the screen when your eyes land on another name. “I…I think I have someone else I can try calling.”

“Good, try that. I don’t want you to be stuck out there with a dead phone and a flat tire. Let me know if this person doesn’t pick up, okay?” She’s saying to you and you send her your location before hanging up.

You’re breathing heavily from fear when a particularly harsh gust of wind pushes more cold air through the crack of your windshield. Pulling your phone from your face, you click on the name in your contacts and bring your phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, almost a third time before you hear a click and then a voice.

“Y/n?” Gojo’s voice calls out, sounding surprised.

Hearing his voice immediately causes a wave of relief to wash over you and you lay back in your seat, having to muffle the abrupt sob that threatens to erupt from the tightness in your throat. “Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey, is everything okay?” he asks.

“Mm…no,” you admit to him, sniffling slightly and swiping at the stray tear that rolls down your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt. “I’m just a bit scared right now.” Your voice cracks towards the end of your sentence and you silently berate yourself for not mustering enough emotional strength at the moment.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, his voice starting to sound uneasy.

“I was driving down this road, it was dark, I couldn’t really see much…but I ended up driving over these rocks and my tire punctured. I called for roadside assistance and they said it would take about an hour for help to arrive,” you ramble, “I tried calling Mina, and some of my other friends to come and wait with me, but-” You run out of breath to finish your sentence and you’re sniffling again.

“Send me your location, I’m heading over right now,” he says and you hear what sounds like keys jingling in the background along with some other shuffling noises, “can you stay on the line?”

You pull your phone from your ear and see that you’re at 3% now before sending him your location. “No…my phone is running out of battery.”

He’s silent for a second on the other end. “It says I’ll be there in twelve minutes. Just…hang tight, okay? Make sure your doors are locked.”

You nod before remembering that he can’t see you, so you say I will. He’s hesitant to hang up on you but when your phone flashes from 3% to 2%, you tell him you don’t have much of a choice and then he’s giving you another word of caution before reluctantly hanging up. You’re all alone to your thoughts in your car again, shaking from the anxiety and blinking tears away.

The twelve-minute wait felt so long, and eventually Gojo texts you that he’s one minute away when your phone is at 1% battery. You see headlights approaching behind your car in your rearview mirror, the first sight of another human being you’ve seen in probably the past thirty minutes stepping out of the driver’s seat and you immediately recognize his silhouette. He walks up to the passenger side door and tips his head down so he’s visible through the window. At the sight of him, you finally release the breath you were holding in before opening your car door and stepping outside. You both look at each other across the top of your car and you notice him letting out a deep breath of his own as his shoulders relax at the sight of you.

He makes his way wordlessly around the front of your car to you and he’s studying your face intently. You look away from him when you realize he could probably tell that your eyes were puffy and that you had been crying. From your periphery, you see the back of his hand reach out when he’s right in front of you, hesitating slightly before it briefly brushes against your cheek, dabbing at a tear that you must’ve missed. His hand is warm against your skin and the sudden desire to hug him consumes every single fiber of your being, but when you look up at him, the soft expression on his face renders you still.

“Thank you for coming,” you’re whispering to him.

He lets out a short comical exhale through his nose. “I wasn’t going to not come. What kind of person do you think I am?”

You shiver as another gust of wind passes through, crossing your arms across yourself. Gojo slips the jacket he was wearing off, revealing a beige sweater underneath, and then he’s circling around you to place it over your back. It’s cozy and it smells like him.

You’re about to voice your concern for him but his voice behind you cuts you off. “I run warm, don’t worry.”

He walks around to the front of your car, bending over to the side to assess the flat tire at the front, his hands shoved into his pockets. You pull his jacket around you tighter. “Damn, the tread on your tires is horrendous. No wonder. You should really check on them more often.” He straightens himself up and peers at the crack across your windshield. “And that’s definitely not gonna be cheap to fix.”

You sigh in annoyance, his casual tone causing your eye to twitch slightly, but when you noticed your heart was calm and your breathing was normal again, you looked at him with the realization that him just being here managed to soothe you.

He looks back over at you with a considerate expression. “Do you want to sit in my car? It’s chilly out here.”

You press your lips together before shaking your head. “I feel like I need the fresh air.”

Gojo’s walking over to the patch of grass on the pavement at the side of the road and sits down on the curb. He pats the spot next to him with an awaiting look on his face and you make your way to him, sitting to his left. He looks down at the distance you’ve put between the two of you, almost three feet, and he’s sighing before scootching closer to you. “Don’t be greedy with your body heat. I said I run warm, not that I’m a furnace.”

His shoulder brushes against yours and his knee bumps against your thigh as he gets comfortable. You bring your legs closer to you and wrap your arms around them, resting your chin on top of your knee. Gojo was leaning back onto his outstretched arms behind him, legs extended in front as he tipped his head back up to look at the sky. You look over at him. His gaze slowly shifts from one point in the sky to the other, and you wonder what he’s mapping with his eyes.

“Thank you for getting the referee permission for me,” you say, realizing you never thanked him in person. “I’m excited to take photos out on the field next week.”

“Sure thing, my freaky little photographer. I’m sure you are,” he chimes.

You stick your bottom lip out in an annoyed pout. “So, we’re even now.”

He looks over at you and smiles. His blue eyes were a bit darker underneath the starry sky with less light to reflect off of them, and the quality made them look gentle. “No, you’ve gotta make sure Mina stays interested in Todo.”

You can tell he’s just joking, but you respond as if he’s serious anyways. “That was never part of the agreement,” you say, “besides, I don’t really think that’s necessary. She seems to be pretty taken with him already.”

He laughs. “And you’re not worried about that?”

“What’s there to worry about?” You ask.

“I don’t know, the fact they hit it off so fast?” He shrugs and you feel the friction of the movement against your shoulder.

“Hmm, no. Mina’s a smart girl, she’s good at sniffing out those red flags,” you say assuredly before lifting a suspicious eyebrow at him, “should I be worried? He's your friend. Enlighten me.”

Gojo shakes his head musingly at your concern. “Todo’s a good guy,” he says in a soft voice.

“He’s not on the soccer team, right? I didn’t see him the past couple of times I was on the field,” you say with realization.

“Nah, he’s just a mad lad I met in my freshman year econ class. We’ve been friends ever since,” he says, swaying his knee from side to side. “He’s the one that got me to join the frat.”

You two are silent for a moment, listening to the noise of the wind through the trees and crickets chirping in the distance. The previous anxiety you had from the night completely dissipated into peacefulness instead, and the man beside you was responsible for that shift.

“Can you tell me what that offer was that you were so excited about earlier this week?” he asks.

You look up to the sky briefly, trying to remember what he was talking about. “Oh. I might be able to publish the photos I take of the game next week to the sports recap in the school newsletter,” you say.

He turns his head to look at you, eyes widened. “Woah, seriously? That’s so cool. Can you make sure I look hot?”

You roll your eyes and go back to resting your chin on your knees. “Sure.”

A comfortable silence settles before he’s speaking again. “What inspired you to be a film photographer?” He’s turning his body so he’s facing you a bit more directly.

“Well, the end goal is film movie making…but my professor says that it’s important to understand the art of film photography before that,” you say, twiddling with the zipper of his jacket. “He says that ‘if a filmmaker cannot master the single frame shot, then how can they possibly put together a film composed of a million of them’?”

Gojo is humming beside you and nodding in agreement. He turns away from you to face forward again and he starts tapping his foot on the pavement of the road. “Huh. That’s kind of similar to something coach says during drills.”

You glance over at him, a little surprised. He continues to stare forward with a somewhat innocent expression on his face, and then you can practically see the moment another question pops up into his head.

“Why don’t you make your Instagram public? Your photos would probably get a lot more views or likes that way,” he says in an excited tone, like he’s cracked some code.

You let out a small laugh and bury your face into your knees, your voice sounding muffled when you speak. “I did have it public for a while. Until a troll spammed a bunch of hate comments on my posts and I quickly switched it to private after that.” Saying it out loud, you felt a bit silly. You’re apprehensive as you say the next few words. “I guess I’m scared that I’m not good enough to be acknowledged or successful, and that somehow other people will see that truth before I can.”

“Oh come on, y/n,” he’s saying beside you, gently nudging your arm with his elbow. The contact causes your breath to catch in your throat. “You just have to go for it. You can’t accomplish anything if you don’t face your fears.” When you watch those words leave his mouth, you notice he now has a thoughtful expression as he stares ahead to the other side of the road.

Another beat of silence goes by. “Why did you start playing soccer?” you ask.

He’s quiet for a long time as he blinks, to the point where you’re unsure if he even heard your question, but then he finally answers. “My dad used to play in college. He introduced me to the sport when I was younger and I fell in love with it.” Your perk up slightly and tip your head to the side in curiosity. He’s looking down at his lap now.

“That’s really wonderful, Satoru. Was he also center forward in college?” When you ask him this, you don’t miss the way his eyebrows pinch together for a split second before his expression relaxes again.

“Yeah, he was,” he responds, “he got injured in his last year, though. Never got to play after that.” There’s an inflection at the end of his sentence that makes you think he’s about to say more but he doesn’t.

Your face softens when you see him stare down at the curb with a slightly troubled expression. In a moment of tenacity, you place your hand on his thigh and his eyes widen when he sees the movement before he’s looking over at you.

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you,” you say softly, your hand reaching up to brush a few strands of his hair away from his eyes. Both of you are shocked at the intimate gesture and you’re quick to withdraw your hand.

Your faces are close, his side still pressed against yours, and neither of you break eye contact. You take a moment to study the handsome features of his face and your heart aches a little. The cold air has you licking your lips and Gojo’s eyes dart to them, gaze lingering, and you blink slowly when he leans forward slightly. Blue eyes find yours again and he stills himself, searching your face for something, and when he doesn’t see it he continues to lean forward and you lean towards him too. And then his lips press against yours, so chaste and so light that it’s possible you could have imagined it, but just when you feel his warm hand cup your face and he’s about to deepen the kiss, a loud honking noise startles the two of you and you both jump, pulling away from one another. You see Gojo’s face illuminated with bright golden lighting as he winces and holds up one of his hands in front of his face to shield himself from being blinded by it.

You turn your head to the left towards the source of the light and see a tow truck approaching. “Hey! Is this the flat and windshield crack?” you hear the driver shout out from where his head was stuck out the window.

You’re speechless, cheeks feeling flushed from the realization that Gojo had just kissed you, and you turn to look at him. He silently stands up with a weary exhale and a calm expression on his face and then shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, it is.” He makes his way over to the tow truck and you hear him make conversation with the driver as well as the man in the passenger seat. You’re still sitting stunned on the curb, bringing your fingers up to gently touch your lips that were still searing from earlier. Gojo’s suddenly standing in front of you and you’re staring at his legs before you tip your head back up to look at him.

“Do you have any valuables in your car?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of your car.

“Ah…my phone and my tote bag,” you say. He crouches down in front of you, earnest eyes level with yours, and his hand reaches into the pocket of his jacket where you had stashed your keys. He removes only your car key from the ring, handing the set of other keys back to you, and then he’s unlocking your car to get your stuff out of it.

You remain on the curb, watching as Gojo handles the entire interaction with the tow truck helpers. When they’ve successfully anchored your car to the tow truck and one of the men comes around to shake Gojo’s hand, you see him reach into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and handing the man some cash. You stand up in a bit of a panic and head over.

The tow truck is already pulling away with your car from the curb when you make it in front of Gojo. He hands you a business card with the towing company information on it and then looks down at you with a mild demeanor, letting out a long exhale. “Ready to go home? You’ve had a long night.”

Exhaustion suddenly consumes your entire being and you hesitantly nod.

The interior of Gojo’s car is nice. It’s clean, smells like him and pine, with nice leather seats that have warmers. You’re still wearing his jacket, clenching it tightly around you, as he inputs your apartment address into his GPS and starts to drive you home.

Neither of you say a word to one another during the ride. You watch his hand tighten its grip at the top of the steering wheel occasionally as he drives. He turns his car into the entrance of your apartment complex and parks in the loading zone. You watch as he makes his way out of the car to the passenger side door, opening it for you. You step outside and thank him.

“It’s okay, I’ll head inside from here,” you say, already feeling like you’ve caused him enough trouble. You abruptly remember that Mina isn’t home and the realization that you’ll be all alone tonight creates a hollow feeling in your chest.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Come on,” he says, walking past you to make his way to the elevator and pressing the up button. It dings before immediately opening and he walks inside like he’s the one that lives here. He places a hand out to hold the door sensors when he sees that you don’t follow him inside. You jump out of the mild trance you were in and quickly rush in before he withdraws his hand and the elevator door shuts.

“Which floor?” He asks, finger hovering over the control pad. You tell him three.

Once you reach the third floor, you step out into the hallway and he follows suit. Your apartment was just seven units down towards the right and the two of you eventually made it to the door. You turn around to look up at him. His expression becomes slightly distressed and when you don’t say anything to him, he shoves his hands further into his pockets and sways back and forth slightly.

“Alright, mission accomplished, I got you home,” he says with a forced jovial tone, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. You notice he does that when he seems nervous about something.

Your mind recalls the kiss from earlier, the feeling of Gojo’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed up against you in the cold, the tender way his hand held your face still so he could have more of you, only for it to be cut short. Your heart is beating fast in your chest and your cheeks flush with warmth. He’s looking down at you intently and you’re looking up at him pensively.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Not yet.

Your hands reach into your tote bag to pull out the keys to your apartment. “Yes, home.” He watches you jingle the metal in your hands. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he says and he takes a step back. Turning around, you push your key into the keyhole with shaking hands, turning it, and open the door to your apartment, letting yourself inside. You look at him from the entryway with the door still ajar.

“Good night, take it easy,” he says to you.

“Thanks, you too.” And then he’s out of your sight as you shut the door.

You lean back against the front door, letting out a sigh and biting down on your lip, the thumping of your heart pertinent throughout your entire body. There was a lingering truth to all of the emotions that you’ve been having recently. It followed you in the early hours of the morning, it followed you as you tried to fall asleep at night, it was present in the silence, lurking in the dark, and it was there with you tonight for every second that he was by your side.

You had feelings for Gojo Satoru.

a/n. thanks sooo much for reading and i hope you enjoyed aaa idk this week felt off for my writing for some reason but i heavily edited it so i hope it came out okay in the end.

➸ take me to chapter six!

tag list: @who-can-touch-my-boob @getitsatoru

1K notes · View notes

usedpidemo · 7 months

Text

More than you know (Nmixx Haewon)

“Miss Haewon, please see me after class hours later. I would like to talk to you.”

There it is. A rather predictable bookend to another dull lecture. She saw it coming from the moment she walked into the classroom.

She absolutely loathes hearing it.

Despite the comically indignant scowl she shoots you on the way out—and the mocking jeers from her friends that elicit embarrassment—by the time the final bell rings, she couldn’t wait to see you later on.

You’re excited, too—but for all the wrong reasons.

She’s the only thing keeping your passion for teaching alive.

—————

For the record, Haewon is not a bad student, not in the slightest. If anything, she’s par for the course. She’s not gonna be some summa cum laude, but she isn’t a sorry case, either. And that’s been the pattern with your students for years. They only care enough just to get by. Haewon is the most clear-cut example you can refer to.

Based on the rather intriguing stares she shoots at you, you’d be tricked into believing she’s actually interested enough in improving her future performance in class. Peeking through the laptop, catching glimpses of everyone’s grades. Her name is highlighted on the document, and the scores consist primarily of mid-eighties with some low-nineties. Clearly she’s nowhere close to a flunk or a future dropout.

Better than the high seventies and low eighties that the rest of your class averages.

“Sir, how many times do we need to go over this. I’m doing well for myself,” she remarks, giving you a look that says I told you so. The evidence is right in front of you, written in bold. “C’mon sir. Just let me go early today.”

And that’s when you make your first of many mistakes—feeding her the attention she craves. Where’s this energy when it comes to your lectures, you wonder?

Before you even entertain the thought, the scene has already gone completely sideways. Here’s a student with zero regard for following rules, and you’ve experienced your fair share of troublemakers. She’s sitting on the desk, pale skin in plain view from the off shoulder cropped sweatshirt that barely qualifies for the dress code. You’re looking—and she’s keenly noticing.

“Maybe another time, sir?” Haewon reads your mind like an open book. She’s purposely dressing improperly for two reasons: to piss off the higher-ups who hate her guts, and to make it easier for you to rip through her clothes. “I’ve got dance practice with the theater girls and I’m running late.”

“Well for one, you can drop the honorifics,” you reply, plainly, in a particularly weak effort to change the conversation. The attention you give her is short-lived; your focus returns to the unanswered emails and grades you need to fill. “Class hours are done for the day.”

It’s evidently not the response she wanted, because her arms are crossed and she’s pouting. You have to admit, she looks cute acting like that, revealing clothes be damned.

“Sir.” Haewon drawls out into a groan, bothered by the monotony of waiting when she has places to be. She won’t go as far as to knock your laptop down, but she’s considering it as a last resort. “You’re being a bitch right now.”

Anyone else in her position would get it—a verbal lashing that would get your teaching license rescinded and take you to court, but Haewon is the epitome of getting away with murder. You have no idea how she does it—how she manages to escape mostly unscathed from punishment. Even now while you drum on the keyboard, because you’re allowing her to call you a bitch without consequence.

Maybe because you like her more than you would openly admit.

She sighs. It’s a defeatist tone. A few moments later, you close your laptop and she perks up.

“Take a seat. I do want to talk to you about something important,” you tell her, knowing one hundred percent certain she’s not getting off your desk.

Haewon can’t help herself to a snarky comment. “Damn. Finally.”

By every conceivable account, this should be awkward, if not outright wrong. She’s still an undergrad, you tell yourself, staring into her sharp, alluring eyes. For as rebellious and as unruly as Haewon acts, she still listens to you. Hell, you’re the only professor she bothers to attend classes regularly for. She’d tell you she cares in her own twisted way. Look at how she dresses, for one. Your thoughts consist of mainly her in some cumbersome position, her lips letting out these desperate, heavy gasps. Your hands squeezing her taut breasts; the way her shirt accentuates the curves of her chest drives your imagination wild. You can spend all day planning how you intend to fuck her—

“Sir, you’re staring again.” A snap back to the present, where she’s grinning and leaning close to your face. So pretty. “I get it—I’m hot, but we’re on borrowed time, sir.”

“Right. I honestly forgot what I was gonna tell you,” you mindlessly drawl, searching through your desk for something. Something to temporarily distract you from the inevitability of the end. The rest of your paperwork lies unattended in the faculty room, you remember, but you’re not gonna step foot inside that place—not when the other professors are still around. Time is money. “But it’s definitely not your grades, that’s for certain.”

“What’s it about, then?” Her eyes continue to follow your every move.

You place a folded sheet of paper between you. She grabs it and reads through the brief content. The response is concerning.

“You’re leaving?” Haewon turns to you, stunned and gobsmacked. A rare expression coming from someone who’s usually indifferent toward everything and everyone.

Genuinely, you have no idea how to explain yourself. You had this all planned out since the beginning of the year; these two semesters will be your last, you were completely certain. You could have told anyone in the faculty. They’re decent people—as decent as they can be during the few times you actually interact with them—but they were merely coworkers and nothing more. You could have told your wife, who just so happens to be a fellow professor and colleague, but she’s one of the reasons why you’re leaving in the first place.

Word spreads like wildfire around campus, so you know to be careful, but this is straight recklessness. You call it mutual trust.

“Been thinking about it for a while,” you say, rather quietly, trying your hardest not to look her way.

“Let me guess,” she says, breaking the pretense of sympathy and concern for her usual caustic tone. “No one cares about your shitty class?”

You’re not remotely bothered by her comment, even if she’s speaking the truth. Though she could have used a nicer word besides shitty. “Part of it, yeah.”

“I seriously don’t understand why there’s gotta be a religious unit for a business degree,” she adds, fascinated by her own question. Even more so than listening to your lectures. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either.” Truthfully, you seriously question why you’re even teaching here to begin with.

You’re employed by one of the top universities in the country; every parent would sacrifice everything just for their children to study here. It pays well by teaching standards, but the bar is in hell. Despite the prestige, the overall experience is no different than your time in public high school. Most of the students who do attend come from rich backgrounds; people who use the place as a dick measuring contest to see who is the richer person. These entitled scholars who are always on their phone—one of their many phones—and cheat to get ahead.

It happens so often on the regular that you eventually stopped caring.

“Hmm,” Haewon thinks to herself, running through every piece of information she has to weaponize against you. She knows you better than anyone, mainly because you share personal life details like they’re the daily newspaper. Not to mention the very reason she comes to the classroom in the afternoons: you.

Then she comes to a rather off the wall conclusion. “It’s Miss Myoui, isn’t it?”

You squint your eyes. Haewon glints up. A small opening.

After a brief pause, she piles on, smirking. “Did I touch a nerve? Poor you,” she says, shooting you a mocking pout that you mostly ignore. “I guess you haven’t had some good pussy in a while. I mean, there’s no reason for me to be here other than the fact that Miss Myoui isn’t letting you clap her ass. Maybe the rumors are true then—”

Before she continues to spill more information that anyone shouldn’t be allowed to know, you fire back with a sharp glare. She cheekily grins. By ignoring the flashing red light right in front of you, you’re purposefully walking towards your own downfall. It’s a trap; you know this. You know Haewon more than any other student. All her little tricks, all her crafty schemes.

God, you can already see how this is gonna end.

“So I’m right?” Haewon tilts her head, leaning slightly forward. Her smug expression, word choice, and mocking tone tests your patience—including your blood levels—and you’re failing by the minute. “Trouble at home?”

Your response? Nothing. Going word for word with her ultimately results in a losing effort; previous conversations with her leave you more tongue tied and in a rut by the end. Haewon is so natural at getting under people’s skin. It’s what she gets off on—wrapping professors and superiors around her finger with her mouth. And more often than not, she’s charismatic and charming enough that it’s entertaining, but no one wants to openly admit it except you.

It’s how she’s able to read you like an open book. Let personal information slip so seamlessly. The numerous discussions regarding her underperformance in class lead into intimate sessions where you and Haewon become more acquainted with each other. A little too comfortable at times, but you can see where and why she acts the way she does. And you had come to the conclusion that you can’t fix her. Many have tried—and failed. She does whatever she wants, and she’ll end up getting away with it.

You slide your laptop aside, ready to dance with the devil, going against everything you swore against. “Mmm—not quite, but you’re halfway there.”

Haewon smiles and her eyes flutter. Not in a patronizing, condescending way, but the sweet kind. Genuine. The soft side she’ll only let you see. “Miss Myoui not letting you clap, sir?”

“She does,” you say, dour. And I already told you class hours are done. Please don’t call me sir.”

“Right. Sir.” Haewon’s playful tone trails off with that loathsome word. She can’t help but smirk; it’s second nature to her. She’ll claim that you fell for that bait, but that was deliberate, you’ll say—even if she refuses to believe you.

After a brief impasse, “So—sir,” she follows, using her eyebrows and cadence to tease, her hands on the edge of her pants, teasing some underwear, “You need to fuck me again? Now? Is Miss Myoui not letting you have some lately?”

Turning your gaze away and to the desk, “About Mina,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the table, deep in thought, “I’m planning to divorce her soon.”

“Huh?” Her eyes shoot wide, her expression rather surprised at the sudden revelation. You’d think by how she teases you about your wife, she’d have a much more subdued reaction. Considering she knows facets of your rather strange relationship with Mina. “Well, I would tell you’d be fumbling big time, but you should know—”

“She’s cheating on me. I know.”

Now she’s genuinely shocked, completely caught unaware. She’d assume you to be particularly naive and clueless about campus rumblings, especially since she’d never see you outside of the classroom and in the faculty room. “Well damn. I honestly thought you didn’t know.”

“Can’t say it would be the first time I’ve heard about it,” you say, turning to face her again, cold and gloomy. Pointing your finger at her, “And before you say anything, no, I didn’t catch her getting eaten out in the faculty room.”

You say that with the utmost sincerity—and sarcasm.

Haewon hesitates, before answering, rather “I figured.” She understands that your poor eyes have seen some things you shouldn’t be seeing.

Truthfully, you’re amazed she hasn’t brought up the subject a lot earlier. Since the end of the previous academic year, you’ve noticed Mina’s sudden changes in behavior. She’s sending more text messages telling you she’ll arrive home later than usual, the frequent faculty outings she chooses to attend, the cancellation of plans scheduled months in advance—the biggest of which, a dinner date at a particularly expensive five-star restaurant on the other side of town that has a notorious 18 month waitlist that you miraculously booked for your anniversary. And that was five months ago.

People change, but Mina is an entirely different person to you now. You can hardly recognize her.

“I guess I should say I’m sorry for what happened,” Haewon says, pretty modest and empathetic in tone, but even during serious moments, she can’t help but remark, “But you were kind of loser material for a woman like her.”

You can only stare back, annoyed. She chuckles, heartily. Seeing your animated, cartoonish expressions only serves to amuse her even further and fuel her addiction of teasing you.

“Ah, I fucking love you, sir. You’re my favorite professor for this reason.” In an instant, the somber facade falls apart and she’s back to being her usual coy self.

“Among other things?” you question.

“Such as?” Haewon looks confused. It’s a bluff; you’re calling it now. “Such as what, sir?”

Placing a hand on her knee, you’re creating friction so intense that her mouth goes agape and her breaths grow heavier. “Such as the fact that no one eats you out better than I do,” you reply, inflection transitioning from formal to low.

“Oh?” She doesn’t believe what’s happening to you. “Sir,” her cadence dances in such a melodic and sultry way it’s gonna ruin you faster than anything she’s done so far. “You have no evidence to prove—”

Suddenly, Haewon goes tongue tied, unable to finish her sentence. That’s a first. And you didn’t need to lift a finger or use your voice. Your other hand finds solace around her toned waist, exploring her tummy, and it’s thankfully not restricted by any layer of clothing. So much pristine skin to claim as yours, you begin to lose your restraint—and there isn’t much left to begin with.

“I can take you to the faculty room and show you,” you mumble against her belly, the cold breath tickling her flesh that she trembles. Haewon’s senses float off, her vision growing dark as her hands impulsively latch onto your shoulders. In return, you peck her navel, her abs, until you reach her abdomen, a hair’s breadth away from her chest. Between kisses, you continue to feed into her want, “Or I can give you an example right now.”

“Please,” Haewon finds enough clarity to cup your face up and meet her in a lengthy passionate liplock. This is what she wanted from the start. “Indulge me, sir.”

The only thing keeping you two apart is the laptop dangling on the opposite side of the table, almost pushed aside while you were making out. You quickly place it on a random desk before closing the two classroom door curtains.

When you return to Haewon, she’s sitting atop your desk, playfully swinging her legs, smiling modestly. It’s only now that you recognize how pretty she looks. But behind that meek appearance is a demon, a temptress that only sees you as a conduit for pleasure. In her eyes, the only purpose you have to give is sex, and nothing more.

So push your chair forward when you sit down. Haewon’s legs are already spread wide, but the pants remain on them. She doesn’t like to do it herself.

“Won’t give me a cheating discount?” you say, looking up at her coy grin, placing your hands around the hem of her trousers.

“Technically—” she trails off, kissing you, “You’re cheating on her with me, sir.” Followed by another. Each one deeper, more intimate than the last. “Don’t act all innocent now, especially when we’ve been doing this for months.”

Then, Haewon consumes you—as in, devours you. Grabs you and makes out with you with a passion you wish she’d present during class hours. You’d be content to remain in this position for the rest of the day, even if the clothes never come off; he’s so passionate and fervent that it’s intoxicating. But it’s all planned. Elaborate. You’re familiar with her more than you ever want to be: how she loves to unbutton your shirt while kissing you, how she mumbles and hums softly against your mouth, how she whispers desires that end up becoming realized after the foreplay. In reality, she’s the one dictating the pace, the one calling all the shots, and you’re merely an instrument she uses to indulge herself.

And she wants it: everywhere, in every position—something you find too much to handle, and she’s already quite the handful. But it’s merely a delay of the inevitable; you’re going to fuck Haewon, you’re gonna pour all your cum inside her, and you can figure out the rest the morning after.

More often than not, your shirt ends up unbuttoned, but not completely undone. One of two layers keeping your impulsive desires in check. As you work Haewon’s pants down her legs, most of your lesser instincts are shown in full display. It takes almost tearing your own fingers off your very hands not to rip through her panties. Meanwhile, she’s lounging on the desk, enjoying the sight of you reverting back to something primal.

The way you fondle her creamy thighs, never finding their beginning and end, is like beholding a sculpture crafted by the gods. They’re meant to be worshiped, to be handled reverently.

And Haewon guides you through the process, commanding you like she has authority over you. Titles do not matter—they never have. “Keep going,” she says, as you leave delicate kiss marks down her thighs, slowly burying yourself into the inviting presence of her pussy. Peeking through the near-nonexistent layer of fabric, she shifts the lift of her legs, perching on your shoulders as she forces you into her suffocating warmth.

“Show me,” she gasps, brushing your hair with her hand, and that’s what sets the rest into motion.

Her legs clutch you into a breathless hold. God, she’s killing you slowly, and you don’t mind it one bit. At this point, you have nothing to lose. You might as well treat this as your last supper, your final meal before you have to say goodbye. She can strangle you with her thighs while you drag your tongue up and down her folds, suck on her clit, take in all her nectar—it doesn’t change the fact that Haewon is gonna fucking end you.

You might as well repay the favor.

And despite throwing caution to the wind, Haewon appears unprepared. Dazed and confused by the overwhelming sensation burning through her nerves, she trembles—and moans. She couldn’t be any less subtle if she tried; hearing her hit notes you never thought she’s capable of hitting only serves to be a minor distraction from her pulsating heat. You’re relentless, slowly picking away at her senses, at her sensitive cunt, knowing that no one can eat her out as well as you do.

“S-sir.” Haewon can only muster up a single word before her mouth fills the room with nothing but air.

Deep down, you despise the rather obstructive yet comfortable position you’re in. Your tongue brushes against Haewon’s folds, going back and forth to taste of her warmth and her clit. The rest of her frame lays atop the desk, trembling, unable to keep herself steady under your grip. She’s lost you somewhere in between, clinging onto the edges of the table for support. You can only imagine her jaw agape, her expressions twisting in pleasure, wriggling and tossing her head around as she aimlessly tries to find some semblance of control.

Her mouth is the only tool she can use to make some sense of this overwhelming bliss. And even that doesn’t amount to much. ‘Shit,’ ‘so good,’ ‘don’t stop—’ these are only some of the things she groans out as you trap her in a whirlpool of her own ecstasy. It’s still not enough. You want to prove her wrong; you want to remind her what’s important, and the only way you can make sure she truly understands if she fucking cums all over your face.

So while Haewon writhes and makes a damn mess of your desk, you continue to feast on her pretty cunt. She’s making sure every person in the building knows how good your tongue is, and it’s in character with how unabashedly shameless she behaves in front of everyone. Her legs kick sharply against your chair, so you end up where you were supposed to be from the beginning—on your knees. And yet it doesn’t deter you; if anything, you grow more attached to her pussy, savoring every taste and drop, taking piece of every little part of her as yours.

You can’t wait to explore the rest of her body and claim it as yours. On the off chance you’re able to rip her shirt off, your hands roam her tight, lithe figure. You’re met by layers of fabric, frustrated at the inability to grab her breasts in their natural form. She grabs you by the wrists; it’s a miracle she’s able to feel you through the waves crushing her to the desk. You suck on her clit hard. She lets out this guttural moan that sounds violent in nature, like you’re hurting her, when you’re actually doing the exact opposite.

And it’s how you play off each other for the most part. Your need to get Haewon naked is only matched by her desperation to cum. She doesn’t need to tell you directly how much she wants to. Her hands guide you beneath her shirt, and you press on the underside of her boobs in appreciation. You’re playing a dangerous game; you have no intention of letting go.

Surprisingly, Haewon holds up well. One look and it might appear that she’s a complete wreck: how her body trembles unceasingly, how she has half her shirt lifted to give you a better view of her chest for when you eventually come up for air, how helpless she is at even the slightest touch. You made her like this. It’s a habit she’s used to by now; she’s learned that a figure like hers is meant to be admired, to be used.

Before you grow comfortable with the habit, the idea that you can eat her out on the desk for hours, Haewon cums.

She keens and shudders through her surprise orgasm. It’s aligned with her playful nature to cum without your knowing, even though the signs were there all along. Your tongue works through the torrent of fluid, then the wave of slick that you drink up. Lap whatever your satiated bud allows. You can see remnants of her climax spill down the desk and to the floor, to her pants.

Even now, you’re still learning something new about your students. For one, you never knew Haewon squirts.

The wet desk would make for a perfect reference picture for when she questions your legitimacy again—but you have better ways of explaining yourself.

You give Haewon no reprieve; she mewls and whimpers as you lick her folds clean, till you settle into soft, gentle kisses. The situation is all sorts of fucked; she has places to be and friends to meet, but you have her on top of your desk, keening after eating her out and making her cum without a care. It’s gonna take an essay's worth of explaining the glaringly wet patches on her clothes and deep red marks over her skin.

Truthfully, she’d rather be with you than with her overbearing friends—but you won’t hear it directly from her lips.

Speaking of, you hear a phone ring. Haewon cranes her neck in the direction of her bag. “Sir, I need my phone.” She huffs, gasping for air, each word spaced out between deep breaths.

Regretfully, it takes every bit of your resolve to release your tongue from her warm cunt. You rummage through her bag and hand the phone over to her. It’s about picking up the pieces now, salvaging whatever you can make of the mess you made, albeit there’s hardly anything to save, even yourself.

“Don’t.” Haewon uses her loose toes to point at you, shifting herself into a sitting position on the desk. You’re halfway done with the first button on your shirt when she stops you. She’s tapping through her phone, texting some bullshit excuse to her friends. Knowing her, they’re most likely no better than her; they might be playing into your little secret, too. All it takes is one person, one word of mouth, before information spreads around like wildfire.

Like everything else about her, you had mostly left it up to interpretation. Forcing details out of Haewon is a near-impossible task. You were never really a good negotiator. The deal usually ends up like this: her panties for a bonus in her grades, her lips for a signed excuse letter, and if she was really in the mood, her pussy for a cheat sheet. Sometimes,

She sets her phone aside on the desk, hopping off the table to lay her hands on your exposed chest. Momentarily kissing you, she whispers, “Sir, I told them I would be a little late today. You should know better by now.”

Her fingers wring around the collar of your button up shirt, eyes ablaze with reinvigorated lust, lips curled in a pleasant smile. You’re so enamored with her, it drives you crazy. Even when she pushes you onto your chair, even when she rips the already undone shirt off your body, all you can do is pay attention to the stars in her eyes. Her warm, wanton gaze—both charming and alluring in all the right ways. She knows how to use every part of herself to near perfection.

The rest of your clothes couldn’t come off any faster. Your pants and boxers pool around your ankles, followed shortly by a dark cropped sweatshirt. You’re not given any time to savor the perfection that is Haewon’s naked figure; she’s straddled on your lap, stroking your hard cock with a delicate grip. She smirks, and she has every right to look smug. You’re left breathless, under pressure; if only you can see yourself in the mirror and see how needy you look, and the utter control Haewon has over you.

And you allow her; this is her specialty, this is what she’s built for—to fucking end you.

If your words allow you, you’d command her to get on her knees, suck your cock and take a warm load all over her face; this is the ideal position to make the move. But you can’t. Not when you’re missing the point.

Haewon is on the edge of your lap, running her hand around your cock, gathering spurts of precum on her nails and finger pads. She’s still winded from before, slow in her movements. The naughty look she gives your body never grows old.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question,” she starts, looking down at the little mess she’s making on your thigh. You’re too overwhelmed to breathe, let alone say a word.

“Be honest with me. I’m being serious for once.”

And she sounds like she means it. You gulp your throat as you enter the unknown.

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her expression deep in thought, something she’s not usually seen doing. And you feel the heat gradually building on your lap, but you’re paralyzed by anxiety for the sensation to register. She runs the other hand through hair to take a good luck at you: your rather sweaty face, somewhere between pleasure and tense.

“Tell me,” she sighs, running a hand down your shoulder to your elbow, before continuing, “Am I the best student you’ve ever fucked?”

“Yes.” The word comes out involuntarily, as if it were muscle memory. Like your body knows, and it knows itself better than anyone or anything else.

It draws a piqued reaction from Haewon. She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what about Yoona?”

“And what about her?”

A reply you end up regretting almost immediately. Haewon doesn’t take bullshit for an answer, as evident by the cold, dour stare on her face. If there’s anyone who knows the ins and outs of university, it’s her.

It doesn’t take long for you to cave in. “She’s so tight,” you admit, sounding like a guilty criminal being interrogated. “But you’re still the best, I swear.”

“And what about Yuna? That exchange student Lily? Miss Minatozaki? You say that to just about anyone.”

In an instant, she goes from curious and passionate to downright frightening. It’s not supposed to be like this; normally it’s you who has the authority. Haewon can go on and on for hours if she wanted to. She has all the leverage, all the evidence, all the power to cause the end of everything, your life included. But she only wants one thing: the truth.

“They’re nothing compared to you. Promise. You’re still my favorite student.”

To a certain extent, you’re right; Haewon is your favorite, but for all for the wrong reasons. It has nothing to do with teaching her anything other than being a good toy, because deep down, she’s about as irredeemable as your peers make her out to be. Really, it’s about using her body, fucking her, pushing her to the absolute limits—anything to get your mind out of the numbing, monotonous work of being an actual professor. There are many good girls in class, including the names she mentions in passing, but this is a stark reminder that Haewon is yours, and you belong to Haewon.

“Then show me.”

And to drive the point even further, she sinks down on your lap, pressing her weight on your crotch—until her pussy meets your cock and you both disappear into the sea of pleasure again.

Haewon throws her head back, and she’s never looked more vulnerable, not even when you had her laid out on the desk. All this flesh and body to claim, and you have no clue where to begin. But that’s the least of your problems when she begins to glide up and down, rocking your lap with slow, agonizing thrusts. You end up blanking out and caring about the friction in your hips instead.

The slip of your cock in and out of her pussy when she rides you. Your palms press against her waist while you watch her slowly come undone: the moans, curses, and every sound in between, the rapidly twisting expressions, the hypnotic jiggle of her chest. Soon, you find a steady rhythm to match, and everything becomes effortless. Both of you pushing and pulling against each other’s bodies in an effort to get deeper. You forget you’re a professor and her a student, only two souls in need of sex during some trying times in your lives.

In a way, you’re both meant to be. Fate is a strange entity.

Then Haewon regains some clarity, enough to be kissing you, moaning directly in your ear, demanding your gaze. Even when her hole swallows your cock, she still wants your attention. And even while you have it so deep in her cunt that she’s mewling, struggling for oxygen, she manages to form a coherent sentence.

“Tell me I’m the tightest. Tell me I have the best pussy you ever fucked.”

God, she’s so fucking tight you can’t fully comprehend it. Perhaps even more, and you’re used to using her. Maybe it’s all that pent-up frustration toward your dead end job, toward Mina, that makes her clench tighter. That’s now how pussy works; you’re just stretching her out really hard, but you have nothing sensible to conclude with. What you can tell, however, is that you needed this—and you needed it badly.

You’re thankful you closed off the doors and curtains to the classroom, because the last thing anyone needs to see and hear is the sight of Haewon riding you while you both moan about how good the other feels.

“Love this pussy,” you murmur, breathing against her collarbone, wanting a taste of her taut nipple. She has you in a tight bearhug that binds your hands around her waist. “Fuck—so—fucking—tight—the best—”

And that’s all she needed to hear. Every word—every sound—slips from her lips like it hurts, but she’s in total bliss. She moves her hips against the roll of your cock with deep emphasis, like fitting puzzle pieces together, and it sends you. You’re left even more breathless, more in awe at how fucking well Haewon takes your length. As if it was always meant for her.

Curses and praise aside, she’s never one to talk during sex. But then she makes the faintest comment about how your cock fits so snug inside her, and you honestly just lose it.

Once in a while, a certain inquiry is brought up. What’s your favorite thing about me, Haewon asks, when it’s supposed to be the opposite. You’re supposed to give out this very question to your students as a way to improve your teaching style and maybe come off as an approachable authority figure. As expected, it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. She then would suddenly come to you at the most random of times with this particular question, and you’d be preoccupied with numerous things—home life, school activities, the usual—to find an answer.

But right there, right as you spear deep into her tight, needy cunt, is where you figure it all out. It’s all in the little details. Your hand going up and down her arched back. The squelching of her pussy against your cock. The furious sound of your flesh slapping against hers. Her loose, shrilly whines while you bury your face between her chest, begging you harder. Her hands tangled with your hair and nape. All that while she’s bouncing on your lap at such a feverish pace; she’s going to break the chair you’re sitting on.

Before you know it, your tongue has traveled all over the most sensitive parts of her body: nipples, neck, and even pits.

Everything about Haewon is so ridiculous, you can’t believe how much of a challenge she has been for the longest time that you’ve forgotten how easily she folds. Like she’s meant to be used.

But no punishment is suitable enough; no amount of discipline can change her. If anything, it only fuels her goal to thread the needle even further.

“Gonna fucking cum, Haewon,” you hiss against her ear, blurring the line between kissing and biting her collarbone. Using all the strength in your hips, you have her legs spread as wide as they can over the chair, over your thighs. The squirt she releases as she crashes on your lap serves to fan the flames in your cock even brighter. It’s all but inevitable that you’ll pour it all inside her, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you had any semblance of a spine, you’d never let her hear the end of it. The idea that her pussy isn’t getting its fair share of seed disgusts her. She needs to learn what boundaries are, and how not to cross said lines. At least there’s one lesson you can impart on her before you split, but you’ll save that for another day, because you cum.

You fuck Haewon so hard, she turns into mush that melts in your grasp. Forget the guttural groan you made; the aftermath is alarming. Her pussy drips with a huge load pooling on the chair and trickling down her thighs. You make sure you bury yourself to the hilt and unload inside her. The evidence is undeniable; from the smell to the sight of clothes and cum, there’s no concealing it—if there was even anything to hide, because your salacious activity could easily be heard anywhere in the building.

And lost in the madness is your train of thought; your body is reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you simply idle. Let your cock stay in Haewon’s warmth as long as possible. Let the setting sun bathe her pretty face in that lovely afterglow. Let her slowly recover and realize that you’ve been right all along about everything.

“Sir, you came inside me a lot,” she says, a little over a whisper, trying to take record of your work. Her eyes stay glued to the puddle of cum dripping down her leg, running a finger to taste you.

“For my favorite student, why wouldn’t I,” you tell her, caressing your hand up and down her back. Even through the climax, you never stopped.

The brief, peaceful respite is interrupted by, you guessed it, another phone. This time, it’s not Haewon’s. She moves gingerly bending down, almost tumbling over in an attempt to retrieve your phone from the depths of your pocket. Your only contribution is ensuring she doesn’t bash her head on the floor.

“Well, well, well,” she comments, looking at your phone with a familiar, sarcastic tone before handing it over to you. “Speak of the devil.”

On the screen are two missed calls and one new text, all from none other than Mina herself. A grim reminder of the reality you live in.

The message is as predictable as it reads. She won’t be home till late in the evening, which might as well be dawn of the next day.

“Miss Myoui is getting it. A hundred percent sure.”

She delivers it with such conviction that it might as well be fact. You’d be upset about the very thought—anyone would—but a glance at Haewon gives you an idea. One that leaves her curious.

“Sir? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You can already imagine it: the image of railing Haewon everywhere. On the table, against the wall, under the showers. Maybe if you’re lucky enough, Mina will go through that door and be greeted by the sight of her least favorite student getting fucked by her husband from behind.

You show her the text, and just like that, you’re both one and the same. A look of pride crosses her face, as if she’s accomplished an important milestone—and it’s quite a momentous one.

And what better way to celebrate than inside the comfort of your home.

—————

(A/N: Been down bad for Haewon since December. Also, NMIXX is actually good now! Their latest EP has some bangers, highly recommend Run for Roses and Passionfruit. The setting might be a bit more on the bleaker/less wholesome side, but I hope it's not uncomfortable/upsetting. Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #nmixx #haewon

969 notes · View notes

cameronsprincess · 7 months

Text

— summary: Rafe Cameron. Your toxic ex boyfriend who can’t seem to let you go. Even your best attempt at fighting him off, telling him no, he comes back. He won’t let you go.

— CW: 18+ only! toxic!ex bf!rafe, dark!rafe, violence, kidnapping, strong language, cocaine use, fingering, choking, marking, unprotected sex, breeding kink.

— a/n: this is a work of fiction. i do not condone anything written. this will all be in rafe’s pov. enjoy🖤

likes, comments and reblogs aren’t expected but are very appreciated <3

❥ toxic — r.c

I always knew something was wrong with me. It started when my mom died. My mind just went… Dark.

My life had started taking a really dark turn. And for a while, I could control my dark tendencies, I could control the darkness that ate away at my mind. But, the older I got, the harder it became to control that darkness inside me.

For as long as I could remember, my dad always hated me. He fucking hated me, and there was nothing I could do to change that. He only cared about Sarah, my younger sister. From the moment she was born, all of his love and attention went to her. Like she was something fucking special, like she hung the fucking moon. I was left to care for myself, pick myself back up when I fell. My dad still financially supported me, — even though he wished he didn’t have too — so at least I still had that going for me.

But he didn’t love me. No, he wished I had been a stain on the bedsheets, wished I had been wiped away with a fucking warm washcloth after the deed was done. But that wasn’t the case, obviously. I was born. And I was here. And he fucking hated that.

I stopped believing in love at a very young age. Fucked up, right? What kid doesn’t believe in love? What kid doesn’t believe that someone is capable of loving him? If you didn’t already know the answer to that, it’s me. At least, it was me.

The idea of loving someone and being loved crept back into my life when I was eighteen. When she came into my life. I loved her the best I knew how, which, wasn’t really saying anything. I didn’t know how to fucking love someone, so… I hurt her. I hurt her in every way possible…

… And when she finally walked away from me, telling me that she “deserved better”, I fucking lost it. I lost the only fucking person in this world who mattered to me. The only person who tried to love even the darkest parts of me. I fucking lost her.

But her walking away from me. From us. Wasn’t going to stop me. No, she was fucking mine. And I was going to get her back, even if I had to force my way back into her life, she would come back to me.

“Rafe, are you sure about this?” Topper asks, pulling me from my own mind.

I shake my head, dragging my eyes up to find Topper’s intense stare. His eyes narrow into small slits, eyebrows raising as he tries to read my face. I blink. Once. Twice. “What?” I ask, completely confused.

“Are you sure you wanna do this shit, man? Y/N will never fucking forgive you, and you know…”

“I don’t fucking care, Top! She’s mine, and she needs to be fucking reminded of that!” I snap. My fists are now balled up at my sides, chest heaving up and down and nostrils flared as thoughts of her begin to fill my mind.

Topper throws his hands up in surrender. “Whatever, bro. Not my problem.”

I smile, but it holds no amusement. No happiness. It’s a cold smile. “Exactly. Not your problem. Now cut that shit up, I need one more line before I head out.”

Topper sighs, but does as I ask. He leans forward, grabbing my black Amex off the glass table and begins cutting a new set of lines for the two of us. I chew at the skin around my thumb nail as I watch him create four perfectly straight lines out of the white powdery substance.

Once he finishes, I shove his shoulder to the side, allowing me access to the table. I snatch the already rolled hundred dollar bill off of the glass, rolling it a little tighter and placing one end to my right nostril. I lean forward, sticking the other end of the bill onto one of the four lines and snort the powder up into my nose. I quickly do my second line before tossing the bill back onto the table and falling back into the couch, squeezing my eyes shut and letting out a loud sigh. The drug burns my nose and throat, but the numbing sensation that comes from the cocaine quickly replaces that burn. My nose, throat, and tongue are numb, but my entire body feels like it’s on fire, a new surge of adrenaline pumping into my veins and making me ready to do what I must do tonight.

I stand from my spot on the couch, glancing down at Topper once more before heading for the door. His concerned voice stops me in my tracks. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, man. She’s going to hate you after tonight”

I snort. I don’t give a fuck if she hates me. She’s mine, and she needs to be reminded of that. She can’t hate me more than she already does. Or maybe she can, I don’t know. If I have anything to say about it though, she won’t hate me. No, she’ll love me again. I’ll make sure she loves me.

“Maybe. But she can’t hate me forever. She will love me again.”

I walk out the door, slamming it shut behind me before Topper can even open his mouth to ramble off anymore bullshit. I didn’t care to hear it. I didn’t care about his opinion. I was doing this.

I sit outside of her work. Watching. Waiting. I know she’ll be off any minute now, I used to pick her up every night when we were together. My girl doesn’t have a car, so I already know she’ll probably be leaving with one of her coworkers, but that won’t stray my plan. It’ll only make it more interesting. More fun.

My phone goes off in my pocket, letting me know I have a text. Pulling it out, I glare down at the words on the screen.

Ward: Where the fuck are you Rafe? Tonight was fucking important and you’re fucking everything up. I don’t even know why i’m surprised, you’re nothing but a walking fuck up.

I growl, angrily tossing my phone into the passenger side floorboard. Fuck my dad. And fuck the business deal that he so badly needed me at tonight. He doesn’t give a fuck about anything other than money and Sarah. So naturally, I’m putting what I want first. And what I want is Y/N. I don’t give a fuck about anything else.

The sound of her laughter filters in through my cracked window, making me sit up straight in my seat. One glance out the windshield and I see her. She looks as gorgeous as I remember. And her laugh, fuck, it has my cock growing in my pants, straining against the harsh fabric of my boxers and jeans. I adjust myself, and shake my head a few times. I need to focus. My eyes travel to the left of her. My fists automatically ball themselves by my sides when I see her walking and talking with Pope. I fucking hate that pogue. I hate all pogues. Except for her. She will always be the exception.

He stands too close to her for my liking, and it makes my blood boil. Tossing a part of my plan out the window, I shove my door open and march my way toward them. She’s in the middle of talking when Pope’s wide eyes have her audibly clamping her mouth shut.

“Pope, what is- Rafe.” She says softly, her breathing picking up now that I’m right in front of her.

“Baby girl.” I reply, a slow smile spreading across my face.

“Don’t- Don’t call me that, Rafe. We’re not together anymore.”

My jaw tightens at her words, nostrils flaring as I try and keep my composure. I don’t need to lash out just yet. I need to keep my calm, for now.

I ignore her and turn my attention toward Pope. “Heyward. Get the fuck out of here.” I say simply. It’s as simple as that. He can leave, or I can beat the shit out of him. The choice is his.

He glares at me, his eyes narrowed into slits and his breathing calm. Seems like the kid grew a pair of balls in the last thirty seconds. He opens his mouth to speak, but my fist connecting with his nose cuts off whatever bullshit he was about to say.

“Rafe! What the fuck?!” Y/N shouts, dropping to her knees and checking on the boy that’s now laid out on the ground, blood pouring from his probably broken nose.

“Get up, Y/N. We’re leaving”

Her neck snaps in my direction so fast, eyes narrowed. “I’m not fucking going anywhere with you! Fucking leave me alone, Rafe!”

I roll my neck from side to side before taking a step toward her. “You can either come with me willingly, or I can make you come with me. Your call, baby girl.”

The look in her eyes has me straining in my jeans. She’s so fucking sexy when she’s mad. She looks down at Pope, he’s groaning and holding his nose as blood continues to pour from it.

“Y/N! Now!” I shout. My patience is growing thin. And she’s not going to like it if I have to force her to come with me. I want her to make at least one choice on her own tonight.

She slowly stands, but Pope grabbing at her hand has her stopping halfway up. I fist my hands, ready to fucking hit him again if needed.

“Y/N… Don’t go with him…” Pope says softly. I chuckle at that. He thinks she has a choice in the matter. The only choice she has is to willingly come. And even now, I have a feeling she’s going to opt out of that choice.

She glances between him and me, and I can see the gears turning in her head. She’s thinking of running. Go for it, baby. I’ve planned for her running. As if she can read my thoughts, she yanks her hand from his grip and turns as fast as she can. She takes off running down the empty street, but I’m right on her heels.

“Keep running baby, you know I love it when you run!”

She looks behind her shoulder, a look of pure fear in her eyes. When she puts her focus back on what’s in front of her I pick up my speed. Once I’m directly behind her, I wrap my right arm around her waist and yank her back into my front. She begins kicking and screaming, her nails clawing into my arm. “Rafe! Put me down!” She shouts, and I just laugh.

“Baby girl, you know I can’t do that.”

I carry her back to my truck, opening the back door and tossing her inside. I jog around to the driver side, glancing over to where she and Pope walked out of and noticing he’s gone. Oh well. Not my problem. My dad will get me out of whatever he tries to throw my way. I climb inside the truck, locking the doors and bringing the engine to life. I glance into the back seat to find her sitting up right, and she’s seething. Anger flashes through her beautiful eyes, her chest is heaving up and down and nostrils flaring as she glares at me.

“Fuck you, Rafe! What the fuck do you want?!”

I smirk. “You.” I answer simply, and her eyes go wide.

It’s as simple as that. I want her. And she is going to want me again, even if it takes days, months, years. She will want me again.

“Rafe, put me the fuck down! I can fucking walk!” She shouts. Her small fists are pounding into my back. I have her tossed over my shoulder, walking up the stairs of the porch and into the front door of Tannyhill.

Once inside, I finally set her down on her feet and she scrambles away from me. I laugh, she thinks she can escape me, but she can’t. She never will. She’s mine to own. To fuck. To control. She’s mine.

��You know, it hurts my feelings how scared of me you are, baby girl.”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you fucking serious? You just basically kidnapped me, Rafe! You’re fucking insane!”

I let out a breathy laugh. “I am insane. But only for you. Because of you. I fucking love you, Y/N. Why can’t you see that?”

She scoffs. “You don’t love me. You want to fucking own me, like I’m your fucking property or some shit. I’m not! I’m a human fucking being, Rafe!”

I love the fight she has in her. I always have. Just not when she’s fighting me. Against me. She’ll learn soon enough that I am the scariest part of her life. I’m her biggest threat. But I will also protect her. She needs to be protected from everyone but me. She fucking needs me.

“This can go one of two ways, sweetheart. One. You can willingly come upstairs with me, and let me fuck that attitude out of you, let me remind you who the fuck you belong to. Or two. I can drag your ass up those stairs by your hair and remind you who the fuck you belong to. Either way, you’re going to be begging for my cock by the end of the night.”

I don’t miss how her nipples harden at my words. She still wants me. When she notices my eyes on her now hard nipples she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest, causing me to smirk in amusement and arch a brow.

“I don’t fucking belong to you, Rafe! God, you’re fucking crazy! Go to hell!”

A smile spreads across my face at her words. “Sweetheart, I am hell.”

Her breath hitches in her throat and her arms drop to her sides. I take a step toward her, causing her to take one back. I roll my eyes, taking one long step toward her and closing the distance between us. I wrap my right arm around her waist, pulling her flush into my body. I lean my head down, breathing in her intoxicating scent before my lips brush against the shell of her ear, I whisper, “You wanna do things my way? I’ll take you right here. Right now. Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. I’m not against letting anyone see me claim what’s mine.”

I feel her body tense in my hold, and it only makes my smile grow. She’s scared of me. But that’s expected. For now. After I’m done with her, she’ll be begging for more. She won’t want to let me go. She’ll be mine, just like I am hers.

“Rafe-” She breathes out, but I cut her off. I smash my lips against hers in a breathtaking, aggressive kiss. She involuntarily moans against my mouth, allowing me to force my tongue into her mouth. She melts into me, her body going slack in my hold as she allows my tongue to explore her mouth, brushing against hers. God I fucking missed her. The taste of her.

She snaps her eyes open, pushing me back, and I’m so fucking weak from the kiss that I don’t fight it. I stumble back a little before straightening myself. She has her eyes narrowed and her tiny fists balled at her sides.

“Fuck you, Rafe! Stop trying to get into my head! I- I fucking can’t keep doing this with you!”

She tries to make her way past me, but I grip the back of her neck. I pull her backward, angling her head up so her eyes are on mine. She tries to pull herself from my grip, but I tighten my hand on her neck, making her whine out in pain.

“Is my soul too dark for you, baby girl? What is it? Can you not love me for who I am?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but I release her neck, tossing her onto the ground in the process. She lands on her ass, her hands flying behind her to keep her upright. I slowly make my way toward her, letting out a deep exhale.

“You see, I tried to be better for you. But I can’t change who I am. Not for you. Not for anyone. But, one thing did change. You wanna know what that is?”

Her eyes begin to fill with tears, one slipping past her lower lashes. “W-What?”

“I learned how to love. How to accept love into my life. I love you, Y/N. And you left me. Left me like I didn’t mean anything to you. That should have been enough for me to let you go. You know? I’ve always been rejected. My own dad fucking hates me. I’ve never known love. But you. You came into my fucking life and wrecked everything. I fell in love with you, and I know you loved me. So I can’t just let that go. I fucking need you. And you need me. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

I kneel in front of her, reaching my right hand out and running it down the side of her pretty face. She flinches back and I grip her cheeks between my fingers, squeezing tightly. “Now. Let me remind you of who the fuck you belong to.”

She whimpers, more tears spilling past her lower lashes. I lay her onto her back, crawling on top of her and caging her in with my arms. She doesn’t fight. Sobs rack her chest, and she rolls her head to the side, trying to avoid my stare. I press my hips into hers, groaning when my hard dick presses against her clothed pussy.

“You feel that, Y/N? That’s what you do to me. You own me. Are you going to let me own you?”

She rolls her head back toward me. Her bloodshot eyes and mascara stained cheeks make me groan. Fuck, I’m in love with this girl. Even if she’s terrified of me right now, I fucking need her.

I chuckle at her silence. My hands go to the hem of her work shirt, sliding it up and exposing her smooth stomach. I take my left hand and run my fingers over the expanse of her skin, pulling a shudder from her. “You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart. And you’re all mine.”

She chokes out a sob, squeezing her eyes shut as my fingers trail up her stomach and to the underside of her bra. I cup one of her breasts in my hand, firmly squeezing at it. She whimpers, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth to try and silence her cries of pleasure.

I slip her shirt up and over her head, leaving her in her pink lace bra. I snake my hand underneath her back, finding the clasps that hold the bra in place and pop them. My fingers find the straps, slowly sliding them down her arms and exposing her chest to me. Her nipples are hard, perfectly pointed peaks. My mouth waters, wanting to suck on them. I lean my head down, wrapping my lips around one of her nipples and sucking at it lightly before bringing it between my teeth and lightly biting. She moans loudly when I pull back with her nipple in my teeth. I let the pebbled bud fall from my mouth and smirk down at her.

“Are you wet f’me, sweetheart?”

She rolls her eyes. “No”

I chuckle. She’s lying. I know her better than she thinks I do. And I know she’s fucking lying. She’s ashamed. She doesn’t want to be wet for me, but she is.

I run my fingers down to the waistband of her jeans, popping the button on them and slowly pulling the zipper down. She squirms underneath my touch, trying to get away but I press my weight into her, keeping her pressed onto the cold tile of the entryway of Tannyhill.

I slide the rough fabric down her legs just enough to expose her matching pink thong. I bought her this set. And fuck, she looks good wearing it. I slide my hand between us again, running my hand up her inner thighs until I reach her clothed center. Even from here, I can feel how soaked she is. I slide her panties to the side, baring her cunt and running my index finger through her arousal slick folds.

“You’re right, you’re not wet. You’re fucking soaked, princess. Your body misses me.”

I shove my index finger inside of her soaked pussy, pulling a moan from her. I add another, curling them slightly and working them in and out of her slowly. I press my palm firmly against her clit as I continue to fuck my fingers in and out of her. The sounds her pussy makes while my fingers are buried inside her have me straining harshly against my jeans. She begins to roll her hips, fucking herself against my hand.

I bury my face into her neck, sinking my teeth into her flesh and sucking a bruise into her otherwise flawless skin. I release her skin, looking at the deep purple bruise that adorns her neck before I lick the bruise and up to her ear. I nip at the lobe of her ear before whispering, “That’s it baby, ride my hand. Good fucking girl”

She whimpers, her hips picking up the pace as she rides my fingers and hand. Her pussy clenches around my fingers, letting me know she’s close to her release. I quickly pull my fingers from her, and she whines at the loss.

“Don’t worry baby, you’ll cum. But it’ll be all over my cock. I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to fuck this pretty pussy, and you’re going to love it”

I push myself off of her and quickly kick my shoes off before pulling my shirt over my head. I work on my jeans next, pulling them and my boxers down in one swift motion. Her eyes go wide when she sees my throbbing cock, precum already leaking from the tip. I drop to my knees and pull her jeans down the rest of the way. I rip her thong from her hips, making her gasp in surprise. “Rafe, I liked those!” I smirk. I can buy her a thousand more where that came from.

Ignoring her anger over the flimsy fabric I ripped from her body, I place my left hand on the ground, baring my weight while grasping my hard cock in my right hand and line it with her weeping entrance. My blue eyes find hers. “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t fucking want this, because if you don’t, I’m not sorry for what’s to come. I will fucking hurt you. I will not be gentle.”

She doesnt respond, and I take her silence as my okay. I shove myself inside her in one harsh push. I groan when my swollen head hits that spongey sweet spot inside of her and she gasps loudly. Her hands fly around my neck, nails digging into my shoulders. I stay still for a minute, needing to focus on not busting inside of her right now. I want to enjoy this. I want to fucking feel her wrapped around me for longer than a few fucking minutes, but she feels so fucking good. I feel like a teenage boy discovering women for the first time all over again.

“Fuck baby girl, so fucking right and wet. And all for me.” I rasp.

“Rafe… Please?” She begs.

“Please what, baby girl. Tell me what you want”

She whimpers and it makes my dick jerk inside her. “Please… Fuck me Rafe. I- I need you.”

I smirk. She admitted that she needs me. She fucking needs me.

I ignore the small victory for now and slowly pull myself from inside her, slamming myself back inside her warm cunt before she can even think of saying anything.

My hips find a pace, quick and harsh. I slam myself in and out of her. Her sweat slick body slides on the tile, and I wrap and arm around her waist, keeping her in place. I still myself inside her, quickly grabbing her right leg and placing it around my hips, allowing me better access to her pussy. I begin pounding my hips into hers again, pulling the sweetest moans from her lips.

“Tell me you’re fucking mine. Tell me you won’t ever fucking leave me again.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing but whines and moans come out. I slow my hips, completely stilling myself inside her once more. My right hand wraps around her throat, squeezing and cutting off her air. Her wide, tear filled eyes stare up at me. “Fucking say it! Tell me you fucking need me! Tell me you fucking love me!”

She tries to speak, but my grip on her throat tightened, making her beautiful face turn a bright shade of red. Her lips begin to turn blue and I release her neck. She sucks in a deep breath of air, gasping as tears pour from her eyes.

“Tell me baby. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I-I’m yours, Rafe. Only yours. I need you. I love you. I’ll never leave you again.”

I smile at her words. They make a warmth flood through my body. A warmth i’ve only ever felt with her. She may be lying for her own pleasure right now, but she will love me again, and she will mean it.

Satisfied with her answer I begin thrusting into her again, slow and sensual thrusts that have her softly moaning. I dip my head down, burying it into her neck again. I sink my teeth into her shoulder, biting on the skin harshly before moving to the other side and repeating the action. She will be completely marked by me by the end of the night. Reminders of this night, reminders of who she belongs to marked into her skin.

Her pussy clenches around me, tightly gripping at my cock and sucking me in deeper. I groan, my lips kissing over all the bruises and teeth marks i’ve left on her skin. “Come f’me, princess. Come all over my cock, s’kay. Let me have it”

She whimpers, her pussy pulsing and body stiffening as her release rushes through her. Her body shakes, tears spill from her eyes as she screams my name. I smash my lips with hers, silencing her cries. Our tongues clash together, heavy breathing and the sounds of our skin slapping bounce off the walls. I break the kiss, my eyes finding hers. “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty pussy baby. I wanna see you swollen with my child. Do you want that? You can’t escape me if you’re pregnant with my child.”

She whines, squeezing her eyes shut as she nears another orgasm. I feel her pussy clench around me again, squeezing me tightly like it’s trying to milk me for every last drop of my cum.

My hips stutter, dick twitching inside her warm and wet cunt as I explode deep inside her pussy. “That’s it baby, take it all. I wanna see you pregnant with my baby. You’re mine. Forever”

I push deep inside her one more time, shoving my cum deep into her abused cunt before I slowly pull myself out. I fall to the floor beside her, rolling onto my side and kissing her sweat slick forehead. “All mine baby. You’re never leaving me again.”

rafe cameron masterlist | taglist form

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #dark!rafe #dark!rafe cameron #toxic ex bf!rafe cameron #toxic!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron brainrot #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you

956 notes · View notes

silantryoo · 2 months

Text

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — EPILOGUE 3, begin again

jo yuri and choi yena's wedding.

WARNINGS ; implied depression, mentions of overworking, slightly suggestive, mentions of broken homes (2.4k)

y/n wished that it was her up on that altar with wonyoung.

the hues of white and gold twinkled against the sunlight, the heat of the californian sun blinding everyone in the venue. yuri's dress, a hanbok beautifully accentuated with gold, ruffled in the wind, yena standing across from her soon-to-be wife with tears in her eyes.

y/n couldn't focus as they began to open their letters, the couple's vows written in great length (and the last time y/n asked yuri, she had almost two pages).

all she saw was jang wonyoung, standing across from her with a soft smile, watching the couple exchange their speeches.

the wonyoung she knew was still there, bits and pieces of the shy, caring girl she fell in love with years ago making herself known through each smile and laugh. her smile was still angelic, but gone was the burden of her last name. she walked lighter, the shackles of expectations now released from her .

she wasn't jang wonyoung, the daughter of a politician. she wasn't jang wonyoung, the promising volleyball player and the hope of suma, nor was she 'victory' jang, yoo 'the ace of korea' jimin's shadow.

she was wonyoung, just wonyoung.

and somehow, despite the years apart, wonyoung looked as beautiful as ever. she seemed much older, wiser, yet it was all the same. with her hair slightly shorter, y/n could tell she had gained some weight in her cheeks. her eyes, still doe-like, never seemed brighter, and from where she stood, y/n could see someone familiar.

she didn't know why, but y/n wanted to fall in love with this wonyoung, just like she she fell in love with her wonyoung.

y/n's eyes tore away from her ex, the entirety of the venue cheering as yena and yuri kissed.

she clapped half-heartedly, her mind and eyes wandering to the tall girl standing on the other side.

she was happy for the two, knowing how hard it must've been for them. y/n knew about their rough patch and the long-distance relationship they had during yena's overseas training. she admired them honestly, the way they pushed through it.

y/n wanted to be like them, so sure they'd be better for the other person.

she glanced at wonyoung, their eyes meeting.

it was pathetic, honestly. she was still hung up on her ex from college despite graduating so long ago. even through her multiple counselling and therapy sessions, she couldn't let go of it.

she did all the steps. she explored her options, dating around but nothing truly sticking. she took care of herself, both mentally and physically. she focused on her career, finally a well known actress.

but it always ended with wonyoung in her heart, no matter how much her mind wanted it to stop.

yuri and yena walked down the aisle, and beside her, jiwon and minju had already begun to cry.

(she was sure after their toasts later, jiwon would sob a river.)

it was bittersweet, knowing that when she was young, she had always dreamed that she and her wonyoung would be walking down in a similar fashion, somewhere in france.

wiping a stray tear on her cheek, y/n smiled. they followed suit with the now-wedded couple, cheers erupting as flowers littered the hot air.

y/n looked forward at the couple.

wonyoung didn't.

the after-party started right after aeri's toast.

they had moved to a much bigger, more ambient venue once the ceremony had ended. it was a couple minutes away from the vineyard, yet it was enough to fill the entirety of the one hundred guests and the couple's requests.

wonyoung knew coming in that there would be a huge bar with a plethora of fine wines and liquor. yena had asked her months ago about the most expensive services money could buy. beside it, a photo booth with yena and yuri's cardboard cutouts stood. tables littered the floor, the front designated for the two brides. in the center was the dance floor, a huge, rave-like stage sat in the middle.

she was surprised that the two didn't bother to buy a disco ball while they were at it.

"yeah," yujin hiccuped, raising a glass of champagne in her hand. she watched as yena messily made out with her now-wife in the middle of the dance floor. "that's my friend!"

wonyoung smiled. part of her wished rei could've come to humble yujin a tad, but things were already hard on her with the mention of jiwon. if she were to see the kim, fully dressed up, she was sure to have a mental breakdown.

gaeul sat yujin down, the taller girl leaning on her fiancée.

"is yujin-unnie drunk already?"

her eyes wandered for a moment, settling on the actress who constantly invaded her mind.

unlike wonyoung who was mostly known for her brand, l/n y/n was a name you heard everywhere. her face was on billboards, her smile on screens. everywhere she looked, everything she heard was y/n, or at least adjacent to her.

it hurt for a while, seeing the girl you loved everywhere but not hearing from her. wonyoung had waited months for a text back, for a call.

nothing came, and it was enough for wonyoung to know that y/n was done with her.

but the years of drowning herself in horrible music, expensive wine, and using work as a distraction paid off. VKY took off, and the bigger it got, the worse and worse her mind became.

the first few months of success felt like a failure.

"she was drunk during the ceremony, actually." gaeul clarified, ignoring the sulking girl beside her.

wonyoung was thankful for them, dragging her away from her desk and forcing her to face everything she worked so hard to push away. gaeul, rei and yujin urged her to go get help, and despite her parents raising hell to prevent wonyoung, she did.

she hated taking those stupid pills though.

"i was not!" yujin sulked, clinging onto gaeul like saran wrap. "i was tipsy."

wonyoung glanced once more at her ex, y/n smiling at some joke yuri had made.

she got over it, the ghosting. it took a year or two (or three), but she did. she cried, she drank, she tried to forget. wonyoung even journaled, her baby blue leather book filled with tears and pain.

still, she could never get over y/n.

it was by accident. wonyoung had found out when she was going through her contacts with yujin, the two talking about other notable people to model for her newest collection. yujin, always making sure never forgot, mentioned the actress. out of curiosity, she checked, only to realize that her number was wrong.

and then she panicked even further.

('wrong number.' she had double-checked with jiwon.)

"baby," yujin whined, her eyes watery. "i wanna dance."

the olympian tugged on her fiancée, huffing at gaeul's sluggish movements. yujin's emotions always got amplified tenfold when she drank, and years later, it was still the same.

"i'm gonna go with her." gaeul grinned, gathering her purse as yujin tugged harder. "she'll start telling people we're married if i don't."

"we are!"

"we are not." gaeul's voice blended into the background, finally giving into yujin's request. "our wedding is next year, yujinnie."

the music continued to blast around them, wonyoung watching as they walked into the surprisingly active crowd (but what did she expect from yena and yuri's friends?). their figures blurred into the horde, leaving wonyoung alone at the table.

she looked at her glass, dripping as the cold mingled with the hotter air.

it was lonely, being twenty-six years old and watching your friends get married. she achieved success, all the things her father was sure she would never reach. but not once was she date. she didn't want to date anyone, and when she did, it wasn't her.

it wasn't y/n.

wonyoung felt like she was back in that stupid bathtub, drinking some wine she grabbed from the dollar store, and playing some music that someone probably dedicated to their ex. her eighteen-year-old self would probably sit beside her, crying in her arms. she'd probably even throw up on the ta-

"hey."

l/n y/n.

familiar yet different, everything and nothing, hers but no ones.

"hi." wonyoung smiled, her grin soft but her heart hammering.

y/n's nerves crackled in the dim light, the sun setting behind her. for years, she had dreamt about this, pathetically so.

"can i sit here?"

the designer nodded. "go ahead."

the decorated chair scraped the floor lightly, y/n taking place on it. she was close enough to feel, the heat of her skin permeating onto wonyoung's, their knees nearly touching. wonyoung strained her ears, hyper-aware of every move, every breath, everything that was y/n.

she was over the hurt, but wonyoung would never be over y/n.

"congrats, by the way."

wonyoung glanced at the shorter girl's hands, watching as she rubbed her knuckles. "on what?"

"on your brand." y/n whispered, her words coming out slightly forced and awkward. "i remember you always liked stuff like that."

she always tried to hide it, but y/n remembered freshman year, and the little pastel blue notebook wonyoung would hide in her nightstand.

"i did." wonyoung fought the urge to look up, to steal a glance, afraid that this was just another dream. "i just never had the time to."

fear always ruled jang wonyoung.

the fear of imperfection, of loss and pain. it lingered in the halls of the jang household, long before wonyoung was born. it was a birthright that she had no say in, one acquired through her father's actions and her mother's words.

wonyoung wasn't scared anymore.

the taller girl's eyes met with y/n's, a soft sigh escaping her mouth. y/n was way more beautiful than she remembered, her cat-like eyes and her mole pairing with her smile.

"how's hyunseo?"

"she's good." wonyoung closed her eyes, letting out another breath as she relaxed. "we visited hannah's grave a couple weeks back."

y/n had never heard of hannah, her name a foreign word to the actress. she tried to wrack her mind for any memories, but every single one came out empty.

"hannah?" y/n sighed softly. "who's hannah?"

wonyoung stared at her, her eyes softening. it felt so freeing, finally being able to say her name. "hannah was someone who meant a lot to me."

even after years, a near decade, y/n could still read the bits and pieces of wonyoung. how she'd look away, contemplating on telling more. how the girl take a sip of water, trying her best to calm down.

wonyoung was still so similar to the girl she met, the girl she loved, and the girl she let go.

"why didn't you tell me that you were the deleted number?" her mouth moved before she could process her words.

"huh?" wonyoung froze, and from the corner of her eye, she could see the crowd getting larger and larger. "oh, um, i didn't think it mattered anymore."

if wonyoung was eighty percent sure she let go, then she was sure y/n definitely did.

and before, as soon as those words left wonyoung's mouth, y/n would already be in hysterics. her heart would be ripped in two, and she'd go silent, trying her best to figure out what she did wrong.

"it mattered to me." it felt like the world lifted off her shoulders. "you should've said something."

their eyes met once more.

"i panicked." wonyoung's voice was sheepish, a small dust of red coating her face. "it was stupid of me, i know. i just..."

y/n's fingers twitched, her mind itching to touch her wonyoung again, to figure out who was in there.

"an old habit, i'm guessing?"

she'd love any version of wonyoung, whether it was hers or not.

"a very old habit."

the air danced around them as the night continued, the smell of booze multiplying with each minute. neither moved from their spot, worried that this was the last time - the last chance - they'd get to see each other. so the two sat, stealing glances and people-watching, content with whatever was going to happen next, whether it be good or bad.

a soft whisper traveled into wonyoung's ears, and if she hadn't spent the past eight years yearning for the sound, she might have missed it.

"i'm better now, wonnie."

wonyoung loved that nickname more than life itself. "sorry?"

"my promise." a smile flickered onto the actress's face, and wonyoung found herself afraid of losing her again. "i'm better now."

old habits die hard, but time marched forward. wonyoung knew that they changed, for better or for worse. she knew that no matter what, in sickness and in health, she'd love y/n. they weren't the same two naive girls who were hurting, and even though glimpses of them flashed through, wonyoung was willing.

y/n held her hand, and everything fell into place.

"thank you..." wonyoung could barely hold her tears back. "for keeping your promise."

"anything for you, wonnie."

y/n squeezed her hand, and the room fell silent. wonyoung felt like she was floating. she wasn't sure where she was gonna land, if it was gonna hurt her or anyone else. all she knew was that somewhere, y/n was waiting for her, just like wonyoung had been too.

to love someone was to do the right thing.

"are you seeing anyone?"

"no." a grin splayed across y/n's face, one that was only ever reserved for wonyoung. "i'm not."

jang wonyoung would wait forever. she would wait for the perfect time, sitting idly in the corner of the room. she'd count the seconds as they go by, watching as each hand moved at a snail's pace, but a pace nonetheless.

"good."

l/n y/n couldn't wait. she couldn't sit by and let nature take its course. she could prevent earthquakes and hurricanes if it meant protecting wonyoung. she'd move planets, shapeshift, become someone new... someone better.

"good?"

wonyoung stood up, her hand trembling. she reached out to her y/n, offering a hand. she couldn't keep waiting forever, and she knew y/n couldn't be the only one changing for rest of eternity.

(wonyoung was too grown to keep being an idiot, anyway.)

"dance with me, y/nnie?"

love.

it was still there.

"gladly."

THE END.

masterlist

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@moontealemonpie @rikisgeef @cutieseo @limbforalimb @ahnneyong @yumtooki @lcv3lies @sserajeans @jiwoneiric @blue4hour @trsrina @xyxlyn @misumiausworld @awkwardtoafault @d7dream @slowlyturninggay291 @perfectsunlight @juhyunsthirdwife @uzumakioden @txtbrainrot @rosiehrs @wlwgirlsworld @skisk1 @bzeus28 @deeznutzryu @jisooftme @jihyostolemyheart @li0ilthecxnt @eggomi @ddoxhan @zhivaxo @sweet-dhrafts @bearseulgs @marimo-anura @wonyoluvr @serenitygrace24 @ddeonutz @noiacha @livelaughchoerry @yunnybunnyy @ivy-aurora

#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

204 notes · View notes

solverse · 11 months

Text

okay, we all know about SAGAU and its different hundred of aus (not complaining tho, some are chef kiss out there) but like I've been interested in Honkai Star Rail self-aware AU– like i know it's been out for a while but the SAGAU concept is even better when it comes to HSR because of it sheer size and potential.

(not saying Genshin SAGAU aren't good tho.)

It just that I've been having this brainrot and I just need to get it out.

Imagine in SAHSR (yk, self-aware honkai star rail), we got an OC (or reader, if you're more comfortable with that– i refuse to use Y/N, just no) that is an Aeon.

Nothing shocking but lets turn that up a bit by making the OC (or Reader) the oldest yet an unknown Aeon since they went into hiding, but still kept watch of the galaxies. People know little to nothing about OC other than their loyal followers– like, even some of the newer Aeons know nothing about us (or Reader).

My brain rot came up with the Aeon of Mortality. Kinda like an emphasization that we (the Aeon) was here before most of the living being in the galaxies (hence the 'creator' thingy).

Or Aeon of Origin would be a good one too since theres Terminus, the Aeon of Finality.

(kinda like a direct reference to Kiana and Mei, hehe.) But im leaning more towards Aeon of Mortality.

Heck, yk how the Imaginary element embodies the light of lives? yeh, spin that point to how when OC(or Reader), the Aeon of Mortality came into existence, which created the Imaginary element. hell, maybe even drag the Quantum element in too bcs mortality also embodies the aspect of death.

some of the faction/group names i came up with are [Freedom-willed Sworn], [Home of the Epheremeal] and [Anti-Entropy].

not gonna explain the meaning of all of that, but they all gotta do with mortality, freedom, freewill, the will to choose and live, etc.

now thats out of the way, lets get to the fun part!

OC (or Reader) is the Aeon that watches over the Trailblazers (like, us players) and latches onto the Astral Express because they used to be besties with Akilivi ( D: ). Stelle/Caelus have no idea how they got a whole Aeon to get attached to them but they aren't complaining!

(we are also the one enabling the two's trash-loving behavior lmao)

the Astral Express also has no idea why an Aeon, the oldest one (and one they know nothing about) decided to ride along with them. Himeko got used to our presence as we appeared when she repaired the train.

March is confused but happy, Dan Heng is cautious but tolerant and Welt is skeptical but lenient. But slowly, they get used to our presence and might even start liking our help and support!

Asta and Arlan are surprised to know that the oldest Aeon known is constantly watching over them. They've never met an Aeon that interact so close! Herta might have a whole aneurysm wanting to learn anything about us.

Screwllum and Ruan Mei would try to stop her but even they could not hide their curiosity about the oldest Aeon.

The Stellaron Hunters are surprised by our appearance as it was not written or foretold in Elio's script. Kafka is amused by the outcome, also a bit delighted to know that the Aeon (or Reader) was watching over them.

Going to Jarilo-IV! Surprise, surprise! Theres someone in Belobog who is a [Freedom-willed Sworn]! who is it? it can be whoever you might think it is!

The Jarilo-IV gang would be shocked to know that an Aeon was traveling alongside the Astral Express and was currently watching over them.

Some of them would be shy and awkward for knowing that, especially Bronya and Gepard. Some would be apprehensive, like Seele and Svarog. And some would be delighted! Aka, Sampo, Serval and Luka! Even Clara and Hook are happy to have us here.

Next station, the Xianzhou Luofu! right from the start, every kind of words gets out when they find out that the Aeon of Mortality is with the Astral Express. Xianzhou Luofu are skeptical of us, since they do not know of our standing, especially when it comes to the Plague Author (Yaoshi.)

not to mention OC/Reader is the Aeon of Mortality and little is known about us so they might think that our path is aligned with Yaoshi. (which doesnt, honestly.)

Jing Yuan would be suspicious of us but he would hide it well, Fu Xuan would be discontent since the future she saw did not include us, Yanqing have his own opinion but he'd follow Jing Yuan's belief, Sushang would be fascinated and Luocha would be surprised at our reveal.

Tingyun (or Phantylia) would be intrigued at our sudden appearance, Yukong is the same as Jing Yuan (just that she doesn't hide it) and Qingque wouldn't really care.

but once the Xianzhou Luofu quest is over and the gang understands that OC/Reader is not aligned with Yaoshi, they start warming up to us! while Xianzhou Luofu is devoted to Lan the Hunt in their pursue to eradicate Yaoshi, they wouldn't oppose the help of the oldest Aeon!

also, our relationship with some of the Aeons? Aeon OC/Reader constantly gives Qlipoth headaches and they would get worried about us since we do all kinds of shits ehehe.

Aeon OC/Reader constantly annoys Lan (affectionately) and Nanook whenever they get the chance.

OC/Reader are besties with Xipe (goes on a date all the time) and IX (bcs its hilarious). Likes to go sightseeing with Fuli and constantly argue with Aha lmao.

p.s. im hesitant to include the notion of 'Reader' as im not used to using that title but i think most people are more comfortable with that. i, however, will not use Y/N.

–

#just a little something #hsr brain rot bcs yes #sagau #sahsrau #self aware genshin #hsr aeons #honkai star rail #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin sagau #honkai

530 notes · View notes

fillinforlater · 1 year

Note

Hello plz feel free to replace my Eunbi ask with a Rose daddy kink feet smut. She has maybe my fave feet for K idol and I dream of the day I can see this smut published. White polish Rose feet stuff, licking, sucking, tasting, feet fucking ofc, and also getting her pussy pounded cumming inside, but also cumming all over her feet. Plot line you can decide. Thanks QT.

The Interview

Male Reader x Roseanne Park

Length: 2188 words

Tags: feet kink, cheating, daddy kink, an interview gone wild, infidelity, fucking feet, feet licking, footjob, masturbation, creampie, hair pulling, cum drinking, rough sex, folding in half

TW: no editing lol

(A/N: the final request of my first request phase back in early 2022. This one is so old, sorry that you had to wait for so long buddy @sooyadelicacies. I hope you enjoy it lol)

"Are you not going to start the interview? Or are you just going to stare at my feet all day?"

"W-well, it's hard to focus, like, your legs are literally pointing down at them. Your sandals barely hide the rosie!"

Rose rolls her eyes. Slender arms folded like a pretzel, she leans back into the beige cushion of her chair, fifteen-hundred, made for her ass and her ass alone. In annoyance she watches her useless boyfriend put the back of his pen on her calves but even a heavy sigh does not stop his advance. In one continuous trail, he drags the pen to her knee before she stops him with a snarky remark.

"Will you stop it? This is important to me. I need your focus on this." She taps the clipboard in his hand, knowing all too well that his horny ass has not written down a single practice question. "Please practice this with me."

"Nah, I'd much rather practice with my cock in your pussie, Rosie~" he responds, face in a smirk so disgustingly self-satisfied at his pathetic attempt at a joke that no one would argue with him looking downright ugly. Rose turns to the side, arms entangled rightly.

"You don't give a fuck about this, hm?" Rose fires back and grips her boyfriend's wrist. "We can fuck afterwards, but not now. I need your help, so please, at least try to act like a journalist."

There he goes again, blank stare focussed on her feet, her face, turning to a smirk as he finds another horny rebuttal:

"I'm no journalist, I'd much rather be an explorer. I could write books about how smooth your legs feel and how tight your pussy is."

"He is a journalist, he can surely write better than you can ever dream off!"

Rose's shout makes the room go quiet. Not that there were more people anywhere near them—but it feels like every atom has stopped moving and only motionless, perfect silence remains. Her boyfriend sinks backwards into the couch, arms folded the same way she has, an eyebrow raised in more than light concern.

"Oh. It's a guy doing the interview?"

"Are you not going to start the interview? Or are you just going to stare at my feet all day?"

You straighten your neck, terrified at Rose’s carelessly spoken words. It was only for a fleeting moment that your eyes caught her bare feet, the way her slender legs seem to point down at them, it was impossible not to look. You could promise her that this was only because she decided not to wear any shoes, which would have explained it, but nonetheless, you are in deep shit.

“Excuse my behavior, please,” you quickly respond, beads of sweat forming at the side of your temple. “I was just spacing out. I know I shouldn’t, but please, forgive me.”

“You’re taking this too seriously,” Rose laughs and leans back into her chair. “Is this your first interview with…”

“With someone of your caliber—yes, though I have never felt nervousness rise in me to the point such a mistake happens. I really am sorry.” You bow your head to the idol, hoping to overplay any and every thought of her thinking that you’re thinking about her feet in all kinds of ways. “Shall we begin?”

You pull out your recording device, ready to hit play and make this the professional question and answer session it was supposed to be, but Rose interjects. God knows what she is thinking when she leans forward, slender fingers right above your thigh, voice husky and deep.

“You want them on your cock, right?”

“What?!”

“You want my feet around your cock, right

“Daddy?”

“E-excuse me?!”

“I can see you drooling.” Rose captures a string of saliva with her thumb, blowing away your coverage behind decency, and spreading it over your dry lips. “I can see the want in your eyes when you look at my feet. Aren’t they pretty?”

“R-Rose, this is highly—”

"Inappropriate?" she asks, a look of brattiness and disappointment on her stunning features as her pointy, purple painted nail pokes your cheek. “Inappropriate, like staring at a lady’s feet while fantasizing about them?”

“I-I told you I’m sorry. A-and I was not fantasizing in the slightest.”

Your explanation ends with a wince. The pointy ends of Rose’s delicate fingers sink into the skin of your neck. You throw your head back. The pain is sharp, severe enough that you want it to end, but your hands still tightly hold onto the clipboard and recording device.

“Now you’re lying, Daddy.” Rose repeats that damn word without care. “Why can’t you admit that you like my feet?”

“Because…” you stammer, trying to escape the idol by sinking deeper into the couch, but Rose gets closer to you. Her face right above yours, her thighs trapping yours, her other hand is right on your—

“Because then I wouldn’t be able to hold back!”

Rose is gone, the small of her back back in her seat, her entire body far away from yours. Her entire body? No. You could never forget about her bare feet, which she raises from the carpet and places them on your piping hot bulge. In an attempt at torture, she giggles while rubbing you in between her tiny toes, curling them, pressing them against the head of your hidden cock.

“What if I don’t want you to hold back?” she whispers and fiddles with the top of her dress.

“Rose, I—”

"Don’t talk, Daddy, just

“Take me.”

Drop these useless devices, there will be no record of what is about to happen. Rose’s last sentence has ended the interview before it even started. If you can’t talk with your mouth, your hands will have to do the talking. Nothing stops you from popping open your dress pants, yanking them down your legs, your bulge the only real(ly massive) obstacle, and getting a hold of Rose’s feet.

She smiles, pale cheeks blushing at your sight and the feeling of your cock on her soles. You adjust them, making a perfect pocket to thrust into, but before you can jerk your hips upwards, Rose has taken the lead with this absolutely dreamy look in her eyes.

“Oh Daddy~” Rose moans and moves her feet up and down your length. “You are so big and girthy. Let me worship you with my feet, pretty please.”

“I-I… you’re already doing it, Rosie,” you hiss, her soft soles feeling incredible, yet you wish for some kind of lubrication for things to go smoothly.

Rose nods, her breathing getting more rapid by the second: “It’s just that I—I can’t hold back anymore. Daddy, I need to make you cover my feet, Daddy!”

Not holding back, not holding back, not—you grab Rose’s left calf and as she still yelps in shock, you put her toes in your mouth. With all manners thrown out of the window, you slobber all over her pretty little foot, spit covering every inch of her spotless skin. Rose starts to moan, her other foot teasing the sensitive underside of your shaft, forcing droplets of clean precum out of the tip.

Done with one foot, you take the other and everything leads up to this vicious cycle of covering one foot in drool while the other massages your member, smearing it with your saliva. You take a second to open your eyes and look at the idol before you. She has melted into the chair, biting the fingers of one hand while the other is rubbing her clothed crotch.

"Take them off," you mindlessly groan, before your tongue twirls around her toes. "Take off your clothes for Daddy."

Rose is eager to nod at you using the uncalled for, yet not unwanted nickname. Her eagerness does not stop there however, as she is quick to get rid of her tight white outfit, the thin strings fly over her head, her skirt travels down her legs. Before they reach her feet, she starts to jerk you off, keeping you hard and horny the few short seconds without stimulation.

"Daddy, please plaster your thick cum on my feet!" Rose moans as she inserts two fingers into her cunt.

"I won't hold back."

Pull her ankles close to you. Rose almost falls off her chair, eyes in surprise, then bliss. She is piercing herself open, her fragile legs weak, fully under her control. She loses her mind, you help her lose it and you lose your mind, she helps you lose it and you lose your train of thought—fuck it, fuck her feet.

"Daddy, y-you really seem to like me feet~"

"Fuck, they are the softest."

Move your hips back and forth, her ankles forth and back, squeeze them tighter around your cock. Watch your tip poke through it, watch Rose's finger move in and out, watch her tongue fall out of her mouth. It's all getting you closer, your breathing is rapid, Rose's too. Is she also—

"Daddy, I'm so~close~" the idol mewls and you thrust faster.

"Finger yourself stupid!" you command. "Watch me paint your feet, fuck!"

Rose's eyes tremble. She can barely focus on your erupting cock as her own sex explodes in a violent, squirting orgasm that leaves her thighs and chair in a messy, wet puddle. A deep, echoing, dumb sounding scream comes from her wide open mouth. She is the opposite of you, quietly relishing in the bliss of a climax that sends strings of cum all over soles, feet, even up to her legs.

Before the tremble of Rose's legs makes your semen fall off of them onto the carpet, you quickly fold her in half. The surprisingly flexible woman now has her cum-covered feet dangling above her delirious, glowing face.

"Open your mouth, baby girl," you whisper and watch Rose instinctively stick out her tongue. Your cum drips from her thin legs and feet straight on her face. Rose licks off whatever she can get in desperate desire, while you poke her exposed labia with your stiff cock.

"How does it taste?" you jokingly ask, ready to penetrate her pristine pussy.

"Is this really the first question to your interview?"

"There was an interview?"

Oh fuck.

"Oh fuck!" Rose vocalizes your inner thought as her pussy engulfs your entire length. You can feel her sensitive walls wrap around you, cling onto you, like she wants to squeeze more of your initial load out of you. No, you first have to get there, but with this incredible tightness and her insanely lewd expression as she swallows your dripping cum, she will have you cumming in no time.

"F-forget the interview," Rose whines. "I'll send you the answers per, per mail."

"No, we'll do the interview. Now," you growl at her, fingers tightly grabbing her small thighs. "You'll answer truthfully, baby girl."

"Hng, I-I can't think!"

"No need to. Just tell me: who fucks you better?"

"Wha—ah!"

Rose screams, laughs when you tickle her feet by spreading the remnants of your first load over her soles. Through all of it you start to thrust slower but harder, the depths of her cunt spread widely by your tip. You watch Rose throw her head back and decide to ask again.

"Who fucks you better, Rose? Your boyfriend or me?"

"You, oh God, you!"

"And who did you wear this white polish for?"

"Y-you, I'm only fucking you."

You ponder for a second, resting a hand on her throat. Rose suddenly has these puppy eyes that lack lewdness but increase your desire to dump a ridiculously large second load in her tight cunt.

"God, you look so breedable," you groan and lean down to her face, strands of rose-gold hair not hiding but increasing her stunningness. "But remember: I'm the one fucking you."

"Yes, Daddy." Rose seems to brace for a hard final fucking, but you don't want to give it to her. You feel great, fully inside her small pussy, her juices around you, keeping you wet and warm.

"Final question, Mrs. sluttiest idol:

"Where do you want my seed?"

"I need it in my pussy, Daddy~"

"You need it?"

"Of course, Daddy~ Fill me up!"

A loving thumb crazing her cheek, that's your final showing of mercy. Her ponytail in one hand, clit pinch with the other, you start to jackhammer into Rose's pussy with all the power the word 'Daddy' has given you. You won't be able to keep this up for long, but Rose is already a mess, nothing compared to the powerful idol from before.

She wants to be the little messy nothing on the chair, drilled by a big cock, her painted feet high in the air, her pussy convulsing. That's the way she wants to milk you, get your seed, and with a final thrust (and final, very harsh pull on her hair) you start to cum inside her.

"So warm, Daddy, ah!"

Fuck the interview or Fuck: The Interview? you think as you see you either losing your job or having the most incredible career of anyone in this industry.

758 notes · View notes

cameronspecial · 1 year

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/cameronspecial/730937552404627456/let-me-protect-you-angel

can you tell use more about rafe’s rules for the reader, pls and thank you lol 👀

— @cantstoptheimagines

Let Me Save You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Uncomfortable Because of A Pervy Misogynist

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: This is a continuation of Let Me Protect You, Angel.

Masterlist

Some of Y/N’s favourite rules for being Rafe’s girlfriend are the ones that show her that he cares. She didn’t need to look at the napkin anymore to remember which rule was which number because she had them all memorized since they wrote them down on that napkin during their first date. Numbers Five and Six often happen in tandem and show Rafe’s caring side. She hasn’t seen Rafe in almost five days, which is quite obvious to the whole campus as Rafe always gets more on edge when he doesn’t see her. However, she finally gets to see him again and follows Rule Number Six. The door to Rafe’s room has a code, which beeps its little song as she punches in her birthday.

Her thoughts are focused on taking her stuff out of her backpack, so she is genuinely surprised by Rafe’s arms wrapping around her waist. “I’m so glad you could come over tonight, Angel. I was scared we were going to break our streak,” he declares, pressing his nose against the skin of her neck. She brings her hands up to wrap them around his neck and looks up at him, “It would be a shame. I’ve slept over at least once a week since we started dating. That’s a hundred and four-week streak.” Rule Number Six: Sleepover in Rafe’s room once per week whenever possible.

He moves them over to lie down on his bed with his head resting on her breasts. She can feel his soft breath on her skin as he talks. “Rule Number Five, Angel.” She draws patterns on his back, letting out a big sigh, “It was stressful. I had a lab and I couldn’t find my notebook with all my notes for this week’s experiment. And then I got caught up in the cafeteria line at lunch so I was late for my meeting with my academic advisor. This whole week has been so busy.” She feels his fingers start to trace tiny hearts on her bicep. “I’m sorry things have been so hard and I couldn’t be there for you, Angel. I hate that I had to go away for my football game,” he grumbles. The fact that his mouth is pressed against her skin turns his words into raspberries and it makes them both laugh.

“It’s okay, I’ve been pretty busy, so I probably wouldn’t have been able to come over anyway. How was your day, Rafe?”

“It was okay. Same as always. The only eventful thing that happened was that Topper accidentally wore my underwear. That was weird. But it got so much better when you walked through the door though, Angel.”

“My day got better when I walked through the door too.”

He lifts his head and gives her a sweet kiss on the lips. Rule Number Five: Always tell each other how your day went, no lying. Even if it has to be over the phone, through a text, in an email or in a written letter.

——

Y/N remembers how ridiculous she thought Rule Number One was when Rafe wrote it down on the napkin. “Come on, that’s never going to happen,” she proclaimed, tilting her head upright after reading the words. Rafe shook his head, underlining a specific word of the rule, “You don’t know that. And, god forbid if it does, then I want you to let me save you, Angel.” She could see he was serious and concerned about the possibility of something happening, so all she could give him was a nod as a promise.

Right now, she could not be more glad that her boyfriend is always thinking ahead on how to protect her. She didn’t know how she got into this situation. One minute, she was by herself in the lab looking over the work she did for this week's experiment and the next, Terrick was in the room with her. He has every right to be in the room; he is also in her class and pays for tuition. However, she always feels a little unsettled by him. The way he looks at her makes it obvious he is objectifying her. The way he speaks makes it clear that he was not taught to respect women. The way he stands too close to her makes her stomach drop. She wants to walk out of the lab right now so she isn’t alone with him, but he is blocking the doorway. “And the bitch got my name wrong too. Like sure, get my order and my name wrong,” he starts ranting. “I don’t understand how a girl can screw up my drink order. Aren’t you guys made to do that type of stuff?”

Y/N doesn’t know what to say. His frustration at something so trivial causes fear to flash through her and she is scared of what might happen if she tries to leave the room. Thankfully, as if Rafe had spider senses, she gets a call from him. She gently lifts a finger up to tell Terrick to give her a second, “Hi, Rafe. What’s wrong?” “Nothing, I was just wondering what you wanted me to bring over tonight. I’m at the store, right now,” Rafe asks, placing his pre-workout into his cart while his phone is wedged between his shoulder and ear. Y/N flashes Terrick a tight-lipped smile as he impatiently waits for her to get off the phone, “I’m actually craving some pie. Could you get me a coconut pie?” Rafe immediately stops what he is doing and moves his phone to his other ear. “Are you sure you want coconut?” he presses, already returning the stuff he was going to get onto the shelf.

“Yes.”

——

They stayed on the phone for the whole time it took Rafe to get back on campus, pretending that he needed a detailed account of every single item Y/N needed from the store. When he walks through the door, Y/N feels her heart rate start to slow down. “What are you doing here?” Terrick snides through his teeth, looking at her boyfriend in annoyance. Rafe immediately puts himself between Y/N and the other man, “I realized that I am so clueless that I need Y/N to come to the store with me, so I came to pick her up. Are you ready to go, Angel?” The last part is obviously directed toward her and she is quick to get her backpack so she can weasel her way under Rafe’s protective arm. “Yep. Bye, Terrick. Great talk.”

The couple makes their exit in each other’s hold with Rafe keeping an eye on Terrick. Once they are out of his earshot, Y/N lets out a sigh of relief. “Are you okay?” Rafe worries, looking her over for any indications that Terrick touched her. She gives a small nod, “Yeah, he didn’t hurt me. I don’t think he was going to. I’m sorry I used the code word, I probably shouldn’t have if I didn’t think he was going to do anything.” He stops their journey towards the exit and swings himself so he is facing her. His hands find weight on her shoulders and he lifts her chin up to look him in the eyes. “I don’t care if you use the code word for me to come kill a spider. If you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable or scared, you tell me coconut pie and you let me save you, Angel. Do you understand?” he brings her into a hug and kisses her temple. “You have to trust your instinct. Your safety is my number one priority.”

Rule Number One: Say coconut pie if she needs Rafe to save her.

706 notes · View notes

leporellian · 3 months

Text

actually i'm going to talk about the met's weird thing with the rust belt more because it was definitely one of those things where a few years ago when the new met lucia was in development i was like, oh cool i wonder what they'll do with that, but now that we're here... man does it leave a bad taste in the mouth.

here's a question for you: Why Do So Many Operas Take Place In Seville?

seville is the setting for some hundreds of operas, including many of the famous ones: the barber of seville, carmen, la forza del destino, the marriage of figaro, fidelio, don giovanni (which actually might not take place in seville but given don juan stories up to them did it sticks)... the list keeps going. and there was a legitimate reason for this- for hundreds of years, seville was seen as a seedy and sexualized location where anything could happen. that exoticism carries over into the plot of many of the Seville Operas, which often feature seductions, crimes, and passion stories that fit neatly into the tales of the seedy city.

opera is about, in a lot of ways, EXOTICIZING OTHER PLACES. the spectacle of a setting was often a major part of the excitement of seeing a new opera, especially in the 19th century. but some of these places 'work' better than others, for a variety of reasons that boil down to the politics of representation and who is being who onstage.

seville works as an Exotic Opera Location Du Jour for multiple reasons. for one thing, if you notice, a lot of the seville operas take place 60-100+ years before the composition of the opera. for example, the marriage of figaro and don giovanni were composed in 1786 and 1787 respectively, and both depict 1600s seville. if you were writing a Seville Opera right now, for comparison, it would probably take place between 1890 and 1960- there's enough of a time gap that exploring the world as a more fantastical setting is easier to swallow. for another, seville is in western europe, and many of the composers depicting it were also from western europe. there is an evened playing field. (THERE IS A NOTABLE EXCEPTION about this that I WILL GET TO SOON.) finally, now that these operas are over a century old, we're even more removed from their concept of 'seville' and the 'seville' in operas has been turned into something of a convenient fantasy location in which to put an opera. it's something out of a medieval times dinner and tournament and not necessarily meant to be Actual Real Seville at all, which works fine because Seville Operas work without needing much context about the location. don jose is a soldier, you don't need to know what seville soldiers' duties were. figaro is a barber, you don't need to know what barbers in seville were like. and so on.

but there are other opera locations that don't serve this purpose as well- often nonwhite regions appropriated by white composers. the incredibly warped conceptions of egypt that show up in aida and the magic flute, the looking-glass japan of madama butterfly, the brief moment in which la fanciulla del west wherein the opera remembers the existence of native american peoples... suddenly the make-believe of exoticism goes away and is replaced by a sour feeling because in many cases these cultures could not have a say on their own depictions in the operatic world, while the western europeans featured in the operas that exoticize locations like seville or paris could.

carmen is an interesting case study in Opera Exoticism because it features a location that is fine enough to exoticize (early 1800s seville) and a titular character that is not. carmen was- and, in many productions, is still- written as romani. she embodies many negative stereotypes about the culture- she is seductive, morally ambiguous, a smuggler, a femme fatale. yet we as an audience are made to sympathize with her. she is honest about who she is, accepting of the hard truths that are given to her; she is close to her friends and her crueler moments come across as more of an ill-planned joke than a real sense of antipathy. carmen is both a product of how romani people were written by white men in her time, and progressive in that we root for her against the (white) don jose. (and it should be noted that she knows that if he kills her he will be executed for it- carmen is about a mutual kill.) a good carmen production will evaluate all of these features and include them into the work somehow; be it through metatextual commentary, or careful representation, or understanding of what the audience is seeing.

anyway, now that we've covered all that, let's go look at The Met Opera's Current Fascination With Lower Class American Communities and see what we find there.

the rust belt and the sun belt have captured the imagination of the met opera recently, as seen in their current productions of lucia di lammermoor and carmen. these settings are depicted as grimy, miserable, and joyless; women are thrown around by men, men are depicted as one-dimensional monsters that are not to be understood or seen into. the cruelty is the point- these productions do not treat lower-class americans as people to relate to or understand. the sole exceptions are lucia- who is made out to be something of an outsider, so the audience can relate to her- and carmen, who is misinterpreted into being a sad woman who just wants love (god forbid a woman have some other motivation). the racial issues that dominate the cultural conversation in america are unspoken of in these productions, even when there is an opportunity to; this becomes especially uncomfortable in carmen, where the above history of carmen as a nonwhite woman and the opera's setting on the US-Mexico border (with the soldiers cast as border agents!) goes unmentioned in the name of 'heightening the class and gender inequality'- both of which were already in the original work along with the race inequality! these productions are both directed by non-american white people. simon stone is from australia, carrie cracknell is from britain. why would they want to depict this setting? because they see it as a dark, cynical den of seediness and repressed sexuality- a world where we don't have to worry about empathy, or broader implications, because the people in these settings do not go to the met- a world where we can look on with revulsion and unease.... this crosses the line from exoticism into fetishization, in which lower class people become pawns for the met to use as set dressing.

this is especially uncomfortable because of opera's long history being seen as a 'rich people hobby'. opera is characterized as snobbish, useless, reprehensible; an art form that exists only to please the rich and the white and the male-dominated. all of which is not true! i believe to the bottom of my heart that everybody deserves a night at the opera, and that there is an opera for everyone, and everybody should feel welcome in the opera house (or other opera space du jour). and there are so many people working to change the industry from the inside, particularly the work of artists of color to broaden the opera canon and depictions of that canon as we know them. but as long as the met continues to use poor people as set dressing instead of bothering to communicate with them in a meaningful way, as long as the met sees these settings as places where brutes live instead of human beings, that stereotype of the rich man's hobby is going to continue. and the met is going to suffer for it- as i suspect that, as time goes on, the voyeuristic lens of these operas into the lives of abused lower-class women will be seen as more and more revolting.

TLDR

#opera tag #carmen #lucia di lammermoor #rambles

151 notes · View notes

seneon · 4 months

Text

ESCORT ──── shinji hirako x fem! reader. ib chase atlantic's escort. fluff + mentions of alcohol. wc of 600+

thinking about captain shinji hirako who would most definitely bribe or pay or do whatever it takes just to have you in the fifth division. he'd be so desperate about it, even go on his knees just to recruit you into the squad that he takes charge of. and for what reason?

the mere sole reason that you miraculously stole the heart of the captain while he came down to shin’o academy to demonstrate kenjutsu for the students. you just so happened to be one of the students that the hirako had to personally teach.

as beautiful as you can be and as bright your smile can shine, it only took a few hours for the blond-haired male to fall under your spell. but you never even put a spell on him in the first place. all you did was breathe, exist, and learn as shinji teaches.

as pathetic as the man can be, he doesn't ever show it. in fact, he does the opposite. he'd go all “oh look. it's the student girl whom i taught that sucks at swordsmanship.” like bro you did not just get on your knees to beg yamamoto to put the ‘student girl’ in your division…

he wants you to work for him and be under his wing, so he watch whatever you do. even better if he's seeing you make such a drastic change and progress ever since your academy days. not that he's a weirdo captain or anything that fancies a student of his, but your ages weren't that much of a difference. in fact, shinji is the one who ended up becoming a captain at such a young and admirable age.

“i can give you love for free, y/n…” shinji said during one messy night where the word sober left his vocabulary. all on his mind are fuzzy images of you.

“trust me, sir, she'd appreciate your love one hundred percent,” a voice said as they took away the bottle of sake in their captain's hands. the man simply looked up at the figure and looked back down, snuggling his drunken face into his arms. “you're kinda... pretty.. not any more beautiful than y/n though.”

“woah sir, thanks for the compliment. i honestly agree too, she's very cute, captain.”

the hirako glared at his subordinate who's helping him get up from the table so he can finally leave the pub with some guidance from someone of his barracks. “you keep her name outta your mouth, pink!”

“it's punk, sir. not pink.”

“shut up. only y/n can tell me what's right or wrong,” shinji's head wobbled just as his division member sighed and draped his long arms around their shoulders. they were oddly smaller than the fifth division captain.

“come on, captain. time to go home. y/n wishes that you return home safely.”

the voice of his subordinate is gentle and soft, so similar to his crush’s voice. he couldn't even tell what is going on right now, but he just lets his subordinate escort him home, not really in the correct state to think of anything else. although, his squad member uttering the name y/n made him all sweets and butterflies on the inside.

after such a night, the man wakes up in a frenzy, struggling to remember whatever happened last night and however in the world he ends up in his soft comfy futon without ever remembering how he got back into his bed.

he stares at a bone china vase for a few good minutes, attempting to search and dig for anything that has been buried by the headache that he currently has. but the more he stared at the reflection of the vase, the more he caught something at the corner of his eyes.

shinji shot his head at the few bags of items that laid beside his futon, a note of instructions on the items written down. he knows this writing. he out of anyone would've recognised this immediately. it belonged to you.

then a flash of memories became visible in his vision.

“THAT WAS Y/N?!?!?”

note. requested by @imaginingbleach. tumblr murdered me on the inside when i lost your request ask... i'll write an aizen piece soon trust

#⋆ ❨ writing ❩ ֢֢֢ ۟#bleach #bleach x reader #bleach fluff #bleach tybw #shinji hirako #hirako shinji #shinji x reader #shinji hirako x reader #hirako bleach #bleach shinji #bleach imagines #shinji fluff

220 notes · View notes

girl8890 · 2 years

Text

JK | Virgin Sacrifice

⭐️ Currently #1 Post On My AC ⭐️

word count: 7.7k

Summary: Since the day you were born, your parents prepared you for your sacrifice. The whole village knew, and with that everyone stayed away from you. Thinking even just looking at you would make the demon in waiting mad. The demon that has been praying on you since birth, but not for what you expected.

Paring: Demon!Jungkook x Virgin!Reader.

Genre: demon!au, virgin sacrifice, smut, angst

Rating: 18+

Warnings: neglectful parents, grooming, minor character death, jealousy, loss of virginity, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, big dick!jk, marking, biting, rough sex, one-sided love, stalking, murder, blood

A/N: In the spirit of Halloween coming up, I’ve written this story. By that I mean the scenario has been in my head for months and I finally decided to write it out. It’s different than what I usually write, but I really like the scenario of demon JK being in love with the person he’s meant to eat. I know I’m weird, but I guess it’s better than being normal and boring. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic. Comment below if you want or message me through the request/ask button. I love to stay connected with you guys, and I’m sorry I haven’t been heavily active a lot lately. i’ve just been really busy with work, school, as well as an internship. I’m trying to be more active. Okay… I’ll stop talking now… Enjoy the fic! 😊

。・°°・°°・。。・°°・°°・。。・°°・°°・。

You always dreaded turning eighteen. You always dreaded turning the age that meant your death.

It was on the day of your birth that you were chosen. Chosen to be your village's sacrifice to the demon that stalked your town for decades before you were born. He came in a puff of smoke and chose you. Saying you were the next human he would take, so your village would stay unharmed for another hundred years. You never saw the demon, and even if you did at the time, you were only an hour old, so how would you remember it if you did? But the whole village saw him. Heard him cast you as the next sacrifice for their prosperity.

You've been told since day one what you need to do and how you could ready yourself for him. Not understanding half of the measures, but also never getting answers. Your parents always treated you neutrally in the family since they knew what would happen to you one day and not really caring what you did with your life because of it.

Well... they did care about one thing.

You had to stay a virgin.

This was a request from the demon himself, but it was never asked from him before. You were the first.

The sacrifices were always female and cast when the girl was born, but making sure you were a virgin was a first. And this first was also promised by the demon to be his last casting.

You will be the last sacrifice ever taken from your village if you stayed a virgin until the day of your reaping. And you did stay a virgin, although no one in your town gave you a choice on the matter.

Everyone knew who you were because of the demons declaring, so no one pursued you. You were close to defying the rule one day when some travelers came into the village. They didn't know who you were or who you were meant to be. One traveler took your first kiss. You would have let him take more because you were always angry at age sixteen. Always mad at knowing you will one day die, and you'll never be able to enjoy the act of lovemaking.

So, you were going to let him do whatever he wanted to you out of spite, but the second his touches became more intimate. Just when his hands caressed the sides of your breasts. His eyes, once as blue as the sky, turned as black as night, and he ripped himself away from you like you were on fire and left you there bewildered.

He died the next day. Suicide they say. Jumping off a cliff into the pile of jagged rocks, they say. Killed by getting stabbed by a sharp rock into the stomach at the bottom of a trench.

You didn't see the massacre, but you didn't need to. You could smell the blood from a mile, and that's how you knew his body was not just simply stabbed, and there was no way it was suicide. You saw it in his eyes that night. He was murdered.

Since then, you knew you were being watched. Not just by the people in the village, or your parents, but by the demon himself. You weren't sure why he cared so much that you stayed a virgin, or why he looked after you the way he did, but it angered you for a long time. It angered you until your seventeenth birthday. One year before your death.

You would think at least your parents would cry at the fact that you were dying soon, but just like yourself they groomed themselves to accept your fate. The fate that you will die by the hands of a demon in one years time.

And that years time... was today.

The exact date you were born, on the exact time you were born, they prepared you. Prepared you to look your best for your death. Garnishing you with flowers in your hair with braids, and making you wear white to signify your still standing purity. It was a simple white wrapping of fabric, but there was nothing underneath. Making everything easy for the demon to access for when he decides to eat every last bit of you.

You didn’t cry. You cried too much over the years to not have to on the actual day. Even while the priest prayed over you, rubbing holy water on your forehead, telling you to have safe travels to heaven after your death, you still didn't cry. Even when two men in all black strapped your arms and legs to a stone alter, making you all spread out and be in the position of an ‘X,’ not a single pass of tears crossed your eyes.

You were completely done with it all, and were opening your arms to death. At least your village would be safe for eternity now, you told yourself. At least another girl wouldn't need to go through this in the future, you told yourself. Anything to ensure that this will all end up okay... for everyone else but you.

It wasn't until a whole hour had passed that you knew the demon was in the same room as you. There was no one left in the alter room besides you, and the only light you had was from a few candles left on the floor surrounding the alter. You only knew he was there by the smell.

It was a smell you have never smelt before. You couldn't even describe it if you were asked, but it was almost other worldly. Like a smell that was only made in his dimension, and no mortal would ever be able to copy it. But, in a way, it was comforting. Everything reminded you of death in this room, so the one outlying thing gave you this comfort. You grasped onto that comfort, and continued to stare up at the ceiling. Not caring enough to look for the demon who's about to devour you whole.

Your suspicions of him being there were confirmed, when he spoke.

“What a lovely set up. You mortals really outdone yourselves this year.” The demon then chuckled at his own comment, and you felt your heart stutter. You’ve never heard such an enchanting voice in all your life, and it almost had you turning your head in search to find out who owned that enchanting voice, but you stayed still. Only twitching when the bindings around your arms began to itch.

“It’s all for you, mighty demon,” You said simply. You were couched early on how to act, and what was okay to say to the demon. Saying anything course to him would just invoke a painful death, so you followed the instructions from the town folk that you thought knew the most information about this ritual.

The demon laughed this time. You raised an eyebrow, confused on what you could have said that made him laugh, but finding your ears perk at the sound too. Everything about this demon so far was pulling at your senses, but your eyes stayed trained on the ceiling.

“All mighty demon, you say? Funny thing to call me especially since you believe I'm here to eat you up.”

His last three words made you shiver, and you tighten your arms on your retrains, holding onto the tattered rope. You can tell he’s getting closer to you by the distance of his voice echoing around the room, and you're not sure what to do with that information.

“But that is what you are, and what you will do. I-… I have accepted that, and I'm happy to be your sacrifice.”

All of sudden, a gust of wind was felt. Making your stray hairs not in the braids move, and your skin crawl with goosebumps.

“Lies,” The demon hisses close to your ear.

This time, you can’t help it. Your defense mechanisms kick in, and your bindings hurt as you pull at them, but once you turn to face the demon—you freeze.

Your not sure what you were expecting. Never seeing a demon before has rendered you speechless because out of all the things you expected him to look like, you weren’t expecting that. You weren’t expecting him to look like the most handsome man you’ve ever set your eyes on.

His once static expression turns into a smirk like he can read your thoughts, and knows that you’re thinking about him right now. You feel a soft hand caress your cheek, and twitch at the cold contact. Not expecting his skin to be soft either.

“My dear, you can’t still think after all this time that I’m here to eat you, do you?”

Your eyes go wide at this. Not understanding what else he could possibly want from you besides eating you. You’ve been prepared for it. You’ve finally accepted - although still not completely - that your death was going to be by this demon. What else could he possible want besides-

Your thoughts are cut short when you watch his eyes cast down your body. He bites his bottom lip and suddenly the cold hand on your cheek turns warm. It slowly moves down your cheek, across your jaw, and settling on your collarbone. Mapping out your features.

No… fricken… way.

“Yes, way.”

“What?” You blink up at him. Not only has all your worries been flipped upside down, making everything you’ve learned being completely unless, but he just read your-

“Yes, I can read your mind. How do you think I knew you didn’t accept this whole ordeal?” He waves his hand around like the prospect of eating or… making love to you, was such an easy one. “Did you really think I just wanted you to stay a virgin for the fun of it?”

You blink a few times, take a moment to process his words, then shout out, “Yes!”

The demon starts to cackle like a hyena. Like you thinking anything other then his cruelty was a joke. But he is cruel.

“Such a cruel devil,” You say without thinking, and instantly regret it. His laughter ceases altogether, and his smile completely falls. The eyes that once made you think the world was full of became black as night. His hand traveled up your trembling skin until it wrapped around your neck, applying slight pressure to your throat.

“First off, sweetheart. Names Jungkook. Not demon, not devil, Jung-fucking-kook.” His breathe fans your face as he talks. The demon now known as Jungkook is so close to you that he can probably see your hairs standing on end. “Secondly, your lucky I choose you instead of some other cunt with a death wish.”

Your once fearful state turns back into confusion. Jungkook backs away from your face, hand still wrapped around your throat, staring down at your defenseless form and making your squirm.

“W-what do you mean lucky?”

It’s a understandable question. In which way did any of this render you lucky? Your whole life you thought you were going to killed by a demon, and never able to enjoy any part of life including intimacy with others. Now, you were told you’re going to lose your virginity to a fucking demon that’s probably eaten girls like you for breakfast.

Yeah… no luck here.

Jungkook bites the corner of his lip, thinking over your question, but he decides to ignore it altogether. “Enough talking.”

Well, fuck me!

“I will soon,” Jungkook says, reading your mind, with a smirk. You gasp, surprised by his vulgar words.

His eyes linger running down your body again. Him licking his lips like your the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. He lifts his hand, going to touch you, and you struggle in your retrains.

“D-don’t touch me!” You say, but your words fall on deaf ears. All Jungkook does is squint at you, and continue to smirk. He slowly places his hand on your stomach over the white cloth you’ve been dressed in. The cloth you originally - and was planned - to be so he could eat you with no barer, but now there’s no barer for other things.

His hand slowly travels up your stomach to the valley of your breasts. You feel your face heat up when he brushes the sides of one of your breasts. He glances at your eyes one more time before gliding his singular finger around your breasts like he’s mapping out an infinity symbol. Teasing at what he’s going to do.

“P-please… don’t.” Even as you say those words, you don’t believe your own plead. This whole day has been about the complete opposite of what you want. The complete opposite of what you’ve wanted out of your life.

In all honestly, your done with trying for anything. He’s also a very beautiful being. Would it be the worse thing to just… let him? Maybe he’ll even let you live after. Even if, you would have let the traveler do anything he wanted to you. Why not let the person you’ve been preparing for to do the same?

His hand pauses on your sternum, his eye’s flash even darker than before, and his smirk becomes sharper. “Thinking about your last conquest, are you? How you almost let some vile man fuck you out of spite?”

Your eyes widen, and you feel his other hand travel up your leg. You start to struggle again, but not as much as before. Only moving because the feel of his hand on your knee surprised you.

Then it dawns on you that you were right. He knew about the man you gave your first kiss to. A guy that you barely even remember, but was significant enough in your life to remember what happened to him.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

Jungkook doesn’t need clarification on what you mean. Of course, he was there. You knew he was, but you just wanted to hear the demon say it himself.

“If you only heard his thoughts about you that day, you would be thanking me instead of giving me that death look. You should actually be thanking me.”

In no way were you going to thank him. Instead, you set your jaw tight and once again yell, with more urgency this time, “Don’t touch me!” Not wanting to feel the hands of a murderer on your skin.

Instead of doing what you ask, his hand travels further up your leg until it reaches the inside of your thigh. Making your core clench when his hand touches a part of you that no one, but you had ever touched before. You swallow, hating your bodies reaction to the new feeling.

“Enough talking about him,” Jungkook hisses at you. “Enough talk altogether. I’ve waited far to long for you, and I’m not waiting any longer.”

Before you could figure out what that meant, you gasp when his fingers touch your mounds for the first time. You don’t even realize how wet you were until he does. Maybe it was something he did to you. He can read minds, after all, but you have to bite your lip super hard to stop yourself from moaning when his fingers start to work you over.

You keep wanting to tell him to stop touching you, to stay away from you, but all that comes out is whimpers. His, clearly experienced, fingers working your neglected pussy over without even entering you yet. Flicking at your clit, rubbing at your entrance, and applying pressure in all the right places.

You feel a tear fall down your face, and you look away from him. Shutting your eyes, and trying to think that you’re anywhere else but here. His hand that was placed on your sternum then suddenly lands on your face. Gripping your chin and turning your face back to him. Jungkook’s face is once again inches from yours, and the heat of his breathe makes your eyes go wide open.

“None of that,” He says. And then his fingers are entering you roughly. Making you see stars and arch your back up into him. Your chests hitting, and you don’t even register that his lips are on yours until a minute has passed.

Soft lips colliding with yours roughly and impatiently. Like he wants to consume your entire being with one kiss. You moan into his mouth when his once singular finger turns into two, and this reminds you of all the times you were too afraid to do just that. Now looking back at all the times you pleasured yourself at night, maybe your body knew this would come.

That you would need to stay clean even from your own touches for the demon above you. Stealing your breathe away with kisses, and plunging his fingers inside you on repeat. It’s all so overwhelming. The smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. It has you tipping over the edge faster than you ever thought possible, to the point you almost shout out his name as you orgasm. Luckily, you had some composure to hold yourself back from doing so. Not wanting to give him complete satisfaction that his name was what you wanted to scream in euphoria.

Jungkook could tell, though. That you held yourself back. Even though watching you come undone was quite literally the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, it’s clear by the way his eyes twitched that he wanted to hear you say his name. That he’s been waiting for you to scream out his name as you cum.

Suddenly, and with no warning, he rips the cloth covering your entire body right off of you. Making you completely bare, and your nipples perk up when a gust of cool air that came from his action hits your body. Your checks were flush before from your orgasm, but you’re completely red in the face now. No one has ever seen you this bare before, especially the way Jungkook is now.

Jungkook drinks up your naked body with his eyes, and wets his lips. He’s been waiting for the chance to see you bare up close, and have the ability to touch any part of you. Fingering you was his appetizer, but the rest of you is his dinner.

He climbs on top of you, straddling your stomach, and smooths his two hands up your arms. You watch in embarrassment as he continues to gawk at you to the point you whimper. His eyes shot back to yours when he hears that sound. Smirk returning.

“By the end of tonight, beautiful. I’ll make sure the only name you’ll ever be able to think about is my own.”

“Why wou-“

Before you could finish your question, Jungkook resumes kissing you. Not as rough as before, but it once again steals your breathe away. Any words you were going to say in return, were sucked right out of you. Dizzying you further when you feel his tongue attack your own.

A moan is heard echoed in the room, but it’s not from you. Your eyes shoot open at the sound from the demon above you, and you're surprised with yourself when you want to hear it again.

His lips then detach from yours and travel south. With each kiss to your skin you quiver, and moan at the contact. Surrendering yourself to him, and giving up the victim act. You can’t deny that you want this. It’s always been a tease on your life, and always been a want of yours to feel like this. Wanted and praised by a man.

Maybe that’s why he wanted you as a virgin. To tease you from the very start and make this experience a hundred times better, and you a hundred times wetter on top of that. He smiles against the top of your chest, and you revel at the feel of his teeth against your skin.

Jungkook licks a stripe from the top of your chest back to your neck, and you receive a singular kiss there. Your feeling ten times lighter then before, and you think it’s because his lips alone have cast a spell upon you. Making every movement from him above you feel like electric coursing through your bones.

One second your feeling amazing, the next second a earthshaking painful bite gets driven into your neck. You open your mouth to let out a silent scream, and you look to see Jungkook is biting into your neck. His eyes rolling back when blood starts to pool in his mouth.

For a millisecond you think he’s going to eat you. That all his words of not wanting to kill you were lies, but then he’s detaching his lips from your skin and licking at the bumpy surface.

“Mmm - I knew you would taste sooo good.” He blinks up at you, rubbing his nose across your own. “Your everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You force out your question before, not wanting to be distracted again when he suddenly moves south on your body again. “Why did it matter that I was a virgin?”

His movements south stop at your words. His face right above your breasts, but his eyes on you. Widening for a second before he can compose himself. He cocks his head to the side, and smiles the most innocent smile that shouldn’t be on such a devilish face.

“Because I’m the only one that can have you.”

You get about five seconds to process his answer until his lips attach themselves to your left nipple. The sucking along with his tongue has your back arching up into him. His other hand finds purchase on your other breast, and you roll your head back. How is it that his hands feel so much better than your own?

It’s then, before you can stop yourself, that you let out his name him in a whimper. Unable to control the full extent of ecstasy you're feeling from his mouth and hands, and you think you’ve somehow lost a battle. But then he’s moaning against your breasts, and rutting himself against you... then your suddenly realizing your position.

He’s very hard, and very big. And that very hard and very big thing is going to enter you soon. Your nervousness doubles, but you moan again at the thought of him being inside of you. You feel crazy by just enjoying that thought, but don’t bring yourself to care.

Especially when he lifts himself off of you and strips himself of his shirt. Leaving himself bare from the waist up, and you feel your face redden again by the sight. Of course, he’s got fucking muscles. Of course, he’s cut like a god instead of a demon. He’s already handsome in the face, so why wouldn’t the rest of him make you wetter then a fucking fountain?

You bite your lip, trying and failing to look away from him and drinking your fill of this beautiful man in front of you. He smirks, the devilish way he has been all night, and looks you straight in the eyes in silence for a moment. You wonder what he's thinking, and wished you had his ability to read others thoughts. That way you could smile and smirk the way he's doing right now. As you think up all he ways he looks good. Boosting his ego by accident.

“If I knew all I needed to do was take my shirt off to make you want me, I would have did that from the very start.” You roll your eyes at him stroking his own ego, which makes Jungkook chuckle at the fact that you just rolled your eyes at a demon, and him taking it as it was - funny.

Jungkook bends forward, putting both of his hands on either side of your head, staring down at you. He slowly inches his face back down to you until both of your lips reattach into a gentle kiss. Each kiss has been so different.

Rough. Smooth. Gentle.

Almost like Jungkook can’t decide how to treat you. How to behave with you. You’re not sure how you feel about that, but then again you weren’t sure how to feel about all of this. Your head still spinning from it all.

More caresses are given, and each time you get into the kissing enough, you move your hands to touch him or bend your knee to get comfortable, and then remember what you are to him. Just a virgin sacrifice. A virgin sacrifice that is now getting frustrated at the lack of action. It feels like it’s been an hour since you orgasmed last. You still feel the coating of your cum dripping down your leg, but besides Jungkook’s hands roaming your entire body he hasn’t even went down there since.

It gets to the point where even the kissing is making you ache. Is this how teasing is done? Is this how it feels when someone prolongs the inevitable? You guess so, since you’ve never been in a situation even close to this one before.

“J-Jungkook,” you say his name and it feels like your tongue is fat in your mouth. Jungkook just got done ravishing your neck and breasts to the point they are purple and red all over. The bite mark on your neck being only one of many now littered down your body.

“Yes, sweetheart,” He says with a drip of dark lust coming across his words.

Your eyes feel heavy, and your chest is heaving with air. You try your best to say what you want without completely embarrassing yourself. “When are you going to - you know?”

Jungkook bites his lip, trying to contain his laughter. He sobers quickly and fakes innocence as he cocks his head at you. “Do I know? I think you need to be a little more clear.”

You blow hot air out of your mouth in frustration, and wiggle in your restrains. “Come on, stop teasing.”

Jungkook raises a pointed eyebrow at you. “Teasing? I would never.”

Now who’s the lier.

He smiles.

“Fuck you too then.” He laughs at that. When his laughter ceases all of a sudden the aura in the room has changed. Like what was once a room full of sex and heat has turned infertile and cold.

You stare up at the demon and see something pass through his eyes. An emotion you can’t quite understand. Jungkook leans down to be close to your face again, but doesn’t touch your nose or lips this time. He pushes your sweaty hair out of your face, and pets the top of your head. Staring at you now like it’s the first time, and he's using new eyes to see.

Your stomach swirls as he does this. Like he’s looking at a lover that he’s been missing for years, and not someone he just met and is using for his own needs. Nonetheless, you drink up the loving look he’s giving you. Never being able to have that look aimed at you before, especially by someone as enchanting as him.

“I finally have you,” Jungkook whispers in between the two of you. Placing another gentle kiss on your now swollen lips. You don’t know what he meant by “finally.” You know it was always planned for him to take you, but it almost seemed deeper for him. Like he’s been waiting decades instead of eighteen years. You’re not so sure what he’s feeling, and your mind goes blank on the matter when you feel him start to rut against your core. Drawing out a long moan by you that is being swallowed by him.

Everything moves fast after that. He removes his boots, then goes right back to kissing you. He removes his pants, and you gasp when you feel the appendage that’s had your nerves spiking since the first time it rubbed against you through his clothes touch your thigh. Without even looking, you know he’s huge. Bigger then what’s considered average, and the thought has your core clenching once again at knowing someone as experienced and lucky wants you. Has wanted and waiting for you for eighteen years.

He says, “Breathe,” against your lips. And you do. You breathe through the pain that accumulates through you when he starts to enter you. Your body stretching to new heights it’s never expected to stretch to. By the time he’s bottomed out, his eyes still looking down at you with the same look as before, lips inches from touching yours, you’re feeling so full. So elated. So womanly. A feeling you never expected to be allowed to have.

Your breathing is harsh, and it takes you a moment to get adjusted to him. By the time you have, you realize he’s waiting for you. That you didn’t expect at all. Although he’s given you more reasons to like him then hate him this past hour, you can’t help but admit you thought this was always going to be a painful experience, but it isn’t. It wasn’t. Nothing even close once you’re fully accustomed to him.

Without words, you tell him, I’m ready. His eyes widen ever so slightly when he reads your mind, and once that second passes he starts thrusting into you at a slow pace. Making sure your body doesn’t feel any pain from his movements. You’re greatful for it but still confused. Innocence are like a demons favorite snack. Yet he treats you like fragile glass in this moment.

By the time you’re feeling so good, him hitting a spot inside of you that you could never reach before, you’re saying his name like a prayer, and that’s all Jungkook needs to be allowed to do what he’s been waiting for. What you’ve been expecting from the very start.

He fucking ravishes you.

Holding the end of the alter in one hand and your hip in the other, to steady himself, he piston fucks you into oblivion. You didn’t even know hips could move that fast, but then again, you’re not fucking a human… you’re fucking a demon… and you’re loving every second of it.

You wail, scream, and moan out so many profanities as Jungkook’s cock fucks into you with earnest. Your mouth not closing as each thrust pounds the life out of you. All the while his face is in your neck and only some grunts can be heard.

“Fuck- Jungkook - Shit! God!”

Your last plead somehow has Jungkook smiling against your neck.

“Trust me, love. There’s no god here.”

Maybe it’s him calling you love, or the way he explains how there’s no god in this situation. Only you and a demon. But it has your second orgasm of the night rippling through you. Your restrains tearing at your wrists, you want to hold him so badly, especially when he’s not letting up on you whatsoever. Thrusting into you like your not currently close to blacking out from how good your first orgasm since losing your virginity feels.

Losing your virginity. You’re no longer a virgin. That thought alone has you moaning to the heavens. Or maybe even hell. Your not sure since the only thing right in this world to you right now is the being on top of you.

Jungkook moves his hands so there on top of your hands still in your restrains. He only slows down to adjust himself to the new angle, then he’s back to fucking into you - faster then before. Your screaming from the overstimulation, but there’s no pain coming from your screams. All pleasure. All want, and need, and lust, and fuck!

“Fuck your so sexy, Y/n.” Your realize then that he just said your name for the first time tonight, and that has your mind coming out of the fuzz for just a moment. If he said anything else before that, your mind wouldn’t have been able to register a single word, but just your name alone has you focusing on the man above you even more.

Every sharp line on his torso. How his hips flex when he thrusts into you. The way his arm muscles jut out as he holds himself above you. Everything about his body is so erotic, not to mention his face is like the word sex was reincarnated into a being.

Jungkook’s licks his teeth, chuckling as he looks down at you. “Am I better then him?” Your heart stops. “Am I better then you imagined him to be?” You wiggle in your spot, barely moving besides when his hips thrust into you so hard they move you upwards. “I wish I could kill him again. Knowing he touched you first. Knowing kissed you first. But he never got this.” Jungkook thrusts into you extra hard to make sure you know the extent of his words. “He never got to feel how good you feel.”

Suddenly, your wrists are free. You don’t get a chance to feel relived on the matter, though, because then Jungkook is picking you up into the air and thrusting up into you twice as deep as before. Your arms are wrapped around his neck tightly, and your screaming into his shoulder as each earth quacking thrust gets driven up into you. Even his name from your lips is coming out as jumble because of the way he’s fucking you.

You scratch at his back as your third orgasm rips through you. As good as it feels, going though the roller coaster of emotions this man - demon - is putting you though, you realize he hasn’t even cum once, but you’re to much of a sweaty mess to contemplate that until another moment of rough fucking has passed.

Jungkook’s hands are full of your ass cheeks and he’s squeezing onto them so tightly that only that little bit of pain makes you come out of your dizzying post orgasm state. You take your face out of his shoulder, look at the demon that’s been making you see stars, and see something you haven’t expected or seen before.

You thought just the small grunts we’re what he does when he feels good, but his face is an entirely different story when it comes to pleasure. He must have been hiding it before, but the way his eyes are screwed shut, and his jaw is slack you can tell Jungkook is feeling just as good as you have been.

That’s why, for the first time, you kiss him first. You kiss his open mouth and hold onto his face as best as you can while still moving with each of Jungkook’s thrusts. He moans into your mouth, and it’s music to your ears now. You feel him grown even bigger - which is somehow possible - inside of you. All of this indicating that your demon is close to spilling his seed inside of you. Officially claiming in all senses.

First the orgasm by just his fingers. Then the multiple bites. And now he will claim you by pouring his cum as deep as possible inside of you.

You whisper against his cheek, wanting to drive him as crazy as he has you the entire time, “Fill me up, Jungkook. Make me yours like I was born to be.”

Jungkook hears you, widening his eyes, and then he’s slamming you back onto the alter, arms wrapped around your middle and head so you don’t get hurt by the impact, and thrusts into you so deep it's like he’s trying to split you in two. Then you feel it. The overwhelming heat inside of you as he spills every last drop into you. You start to tear up, it feels so good. Overly stretching you as each spurt goes inside of you.

Jungkook is praying it sounds like near your ear. In a different language you have never heard before. The only thing you’re able to decipher is your name being prayed along with whatever else he’s saying. By the time he’s completely emptied himself inside of you, your eyes have dried out too. Both of you breathing into each other’s necks, and looking like a mess of limbs. Your arms still wrapped around his neck, as his only get tighter around your waist.

It takes both of you a moment to look at each other, but when Jungkook makes the first move to exit your neck and look down at you again, you could cry all over again. That same look of pure love is clear as water now on his face. A look you’ll gladly see every day.

A bunch of thoughts cross Jungkook eyes that he wants to say. So many things you think he should say. But out of all the things he’s planned to say in this moment, only three words seem right.

“You’re finally mine.”

Jungkook has looked over this small village since the beginning of human existence. Even before God was a known being to the mortals, Jungkook was always there. Feasting off of their prayers, until someone like God was born in their lives. That’s when Jungkook had to get creative when it came to getting praise from the mortals.

He cursed the village with his presence. Destroying it with fire until it was nearly gone, and eating up all the villagers that stood to fight against him. Each person tasting even more vile than the last. Eating humans was never a necessary thing, but it was entertaining to watch them beg for mercy before he bit a huge chunk out of their bodies. The ones that were meant to die young we're the only ones that tasted appetizing enough to have Jungkook’s gums itch for more.

That’s how the ritual started. Every hundred years, Jungkook would search for a soul that was meant to die young, and let them live up until their eighteenth birthday. Stopping them from drying young since their paths would be changed. Each time he came to claim a victim, it was scary for the living to the point they would make their sacrifice have a terrible life, ignoring their existence, but that’s not what Jungkook wanted. He wanted to save them for awhile, but still get his praise and delicious feeding out of it.

It wasn’t until you were born, that he even considered stopping. Every hundred years he would view every mortal women that gave birth, and wait for the one that’s soul was meant to die before they turned eighteen. You had the worst way of dying. Dying by losing your virginity to the man, in fact. Him fucking you then murdering you at the age of sixteen. Some sick fuck you gave your purity too, indeed.

But that’s not what changed his mind about the ritual, wanting to finally stop his torment on the village. Your soul was. He watched your entire life play out in a flash. Every time you laughed, cried, smiled, he watched it all.

By the time he blinked your world away, Jungkook was in love.

An emotion the demon never knew was possible for him, was suddenly fully opened up when he looked into your life. He wanted to hold you through every sorrow, laugh along with you to every joke, and hurt every person who hurt you. He wanted you to watch the world burn and then be reborn again with him. Things he never expected to want with another person, he wanted them all with you.

To wake up next to you at daybreak, and fall asleep next to you at night fall. To watch the wars go through the motions, and be there when a new religion was created. He wanted you as his partner, his lover, his everything.

That’s why, instead of his usual “she’s the sacrifice, see you in eighteen years” bullshit speech he’s always given, he added something new. That you were to stay a virgin until you were sacrificed to him on your eighteenth birthday, and that would be the last sacrifice the village would ever need to give.

You’re all he needed, after that. Although making sure you stayed a virgin has some selfish reasoning to it, since Jungkook didn’t want you to get any physical affections - especially like that - from anyone but him, but also, the fact that the person that was meant to kill you was also the person that would take that gift away from you.

He watched your entire life play out in front of him, and he watched every second of it in real time too. From your first steps, to your first successful grade, even your first skinned knee. Times he saw you cry were always the hardest for him. Even if you were a child, all he wanted to do was reveal himself and hold you close. Keep you safe, and promise you protection forever. To at least tell you everything was going to be okay. He did sometimes. Revel himself to you, but each time he sobered you he would have to make you forget him. That made Jungkook’s own heart hurt. Knowing as soon as he had you out of his arm, you would forget his face and that he existed.

You knew there was a demon coming for you one day, and the thought of him like that only served to radiate hate from you. Something he never wanted you to feel against him.

But nothing, and I mean nothing, was more painful to Jungkook than to watch you be with another man. The man that stool your first kiss was a traveler from another village. He had brown hair and tanned skin. He was handsome. So handsome that no one would expect him to secretly be a ripper of the night. He would have sex with desperate women, and then kill them right after with any object he could get his hands on.

Any other person, Jungkook wouldn’t even bat an eye at him for what he did, but because he set his eyes on you, Jungkook had no problem using his powers to kill the man in the most gruesome way possible. At first, Jungkook let you play out your little spiteful game with the man. Clenching his jaw so tight his teeth almost broke as he watched and heard you feel so good by someone else besides him.

Unlike all the times he watched you pleasure yourself, Jungkook was not smiling. He was not wishing for the day to join you. He was not happy to hear you moan or whimper as the man kissed you. And when the man went to touch your breasts, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He consumed the man’s mind with his darkness, and had the man peeled himself away from you. The look of shock soon fell from your face when you saw his eyes. It upset Jungkook a little that you were angry. That you knew it was he who stopped you from going further with this man, but you didn’t know what Jungkook knew. You didn’t know that this man would have killed you as soon as he was done with you.

Although you only knew the barest of details about this man’s death, Jungkook ripped him to shreds. Throwing his body away in a deep trench, and making it look like a suicide. It was clear by the mass of blood that it wasn’t a suicide, but your village wasn’t as advanced yet to think anything else but suicide.

Jungkook continued to watch you closely after that. Even closer then before. He was surprised you didn’t feel him somehow. Since his love for you was so strong. But you never knew he was there, at least not a hundred percent. You had your suspicions after the man you wanted to give your everything to died.

But you still didn’t know a hundred percent until your eighteenth birthday. It angered Jungkook that the village people continued to make your life feel so lonely like they did all the other sacrifices, but he also knew you weren’t going to die today. After today, you were going to be treated like a queen in his kingdom. Both of you descending back into hell together after he claimed you as his.

Claimed you as his.

That thought alone had Jungkook stretching your wait for him. Usually the second the other mortals left the room, the one you were currently in, he would devour the girl on the alter. Instead, knowing what was actually going to go down, what Jungkook actually had plan for you, had the demon feeling nervous.

Nervous that you wouldn’t let him do anything. He could force you, but as someone who was actually in love with you he could never. He would never. He would butter you up and make you see and feel his love. The challenge was… well, that. Jungkook has never needed to seduce someone before. Women would always just flock to him when he reveled himself. But you’re also not just any other women crossing his path. You’re the one who stole his heart, and locked it away as forever yours.

He knew you hated him right now. Hated, but somewhat accepted your fate with him. A fate that was never going to come. You were never going to die tonight. You were never going to feel lonely ever again.

That’s why, after pining and waiting all this time, Jungkook says the first thing that comes to mind when he enters the room you’re in.

“What a lovely set up. You mortals really outdone yourselves this year.”

Because what else would a nervous, madly in love, reputation of being god awful, demon say for the first time when seeing the love of his life? It wasn’t until you spoke to him next, that Jungkook really breathed in the situation.

“It’s all for you, mighty demon.”

And although you meant the room, Jungkook’s cock jumped in his jeans for what he took your words as.

You — being all for him.

And by the end of the night, you were exactly that.

The End.

#jungkook #jk #bts #bts jk #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x fem!reader #demon!jungkook #demon!au #demon!jungkook x reader #virgin sacrifice #pining jk #virgin!reader #demon!jungkook x virgin!reader #jungkook x virgin!reader #Halloween #this fic took me so long to write lol #jungkook smut

4K notes · View notes

wardenparker · 2 months

Text

Bones Full of Words, ch 3

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia (sometimes internalized and sometimes not), canon typical violence* Mentions of Helena's assault and recovery, snooping, assumptions, jumping to conclusions, mention of death, drunken silliness, secrets. Summary: In the aftermath of Helena's attack, you and Javier do your best to take care of her. But it leads to butting heads, accusations, and an uncomfortable revelation from your mutual friends. Notes: Thank you all so much for your wonderful response to this story so far! I'm glad to hear people are enjoying it!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2

Whatever Javier had to do at the embassy, it's none of your business. Helena sleeps while he takes care of it, she sleeps while you're at your apartment packing a bag, and she's just waking up when you return to the apartment to the sight of Javier Peña shoving his gun in the back of his pants.

Stake out, he explains gruffly, and then tells you to order some food for dinner after pointing to the drawer in his kitchen that holds extra cash and a few take out menus from local restaurants.

Helena had slept through his own watch over her. Letting Javi sit and shed a few, swiped away tear in peace. Quietly asking her for forgiveness that he did not deserve. He shouldn’t have pushed her for information, shouldn’t have asked her to risk everything for him. Not when he could give her nothing in return. He was still being denied a visa, leaving her abandoned here as a casualty of this vicious war.

"She'll be okay." You wouldn't condescend to say we and include yourself in the thought, knowing that Peña doesn't give a shit about you or even really know you from a whole in the wall. You're here to take care of Helena and that's rightfully what he cares about. "Go do whatever you have to do."

Your tone is one that rubs him the wrong way. It’s judgmental, grating. As if you know his part in Helena’s tragedy and view him as no better than the men who had abused her. “Thank you for your permission.” He grouses, frowning as he strides out of the kitchen. “I didn’t realize I was fucking married.”

"Asshole." Grumbling at his back as he heads for the door, you huff and shake your head before turning back to the guest room where Helena is staying. He probably heard you. You might even hope he did. But it doesn't matter, you're not here to make a new best friend. You're just caring for one under his roof.

When you see Helena is finally awake again, you smile from the bedroom door. "Hey sleepyhead." A soft, gentle teasing. Helena usually likes it when you joke with her. "Can I get you anything? Another pillow? A glass of water?"

“I— I don’t know.” She admits quietly. She’s been given good painkillers at Javier’s insistence, but they have been leaving her groggy. “How long was I asleep?”

"Most of the day." But you smile and lean against the doorframe, glad to see her slightly less out of it this time. "I'll get us some water and I'll come and sit with you. How does that sound?"

“You should go home.” She frowns slightly and winces because it pulls at the cuts. “I know you are busy.”

"I'm not too busy for you." That, at least, is the absolute truth. "Sorry, beautiful. But you're stuck with me for at least a few days." Blowing her a kiss from the doorway, you knock softly on the dark wood and step back. "Water. I'll be right back."

Left by herself, Helena closes her eyes again. Unsure of why she thought she had heard Javi’s voice when he’s not here. Wondering if you’ve discovered the secret that she’s kept from you.

Within a minute you're back again, carrying two bar glasses of cold water and settling yourself in the chair beside her bed before handing one over. "Are you relatively comfortable?" You ask, ready to pop up and fix anything she needs.

“I’m fine.” It’s a lie, but she isn’t going to run you ragged because of what happened to her. She takes the water and gratefully sips, feeling like her mouth is dry and her throat rough.

“With all the love in my heart, I don’t believe you.” You shoot your friend a grin and stand up again. “Pillows? Blankets? I can open the windows if you want some fresh air.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “Open the window.” She gives in after a moment. “But there is nothing you can do for me, really.”

“I can sit and keep you company.” There is no possibility that you’ll ask her what happened. Her discharge paperwork from the hospital told you everything you need to know and more, and you will not make her talk about that. Not ever. If she chooses to open up about it that is up to her. In the meantime, the least you can do is open a window, so you pop out of your chair to do that. “Javier had some work to take care of so it’s just you and me for a while.”

She sighs softly and looks over at the window as you open the curtains before throwing it wide to let the fresh air in.

“There we go.” The smile you offer her is as soft as it can be, and you wipe your hands as if it was a job well done. “Much less stuffy.”

She doesn’t say anything, just nods and drinks down the rest of the water. Finishing the glass quickly and setting it down.

“Would you…” Shifting slightly, you look over at her again and bite back any kind of tone whatsoever that could upset your friend or make her think you’re judging her in the least. That couldn’t be further from the truth. “Prefer if I left you alone?”

“I don’t know.” She admits softly. “I feel…numb.”

"That sounds...pretty fair, honestly." Though you nod vaguely, you pick up her empty water glass from the nightstand and hold it up like a salute. "I'm going to grab you some more water and we can just sit if you want to. No need to talk or anything. Just...be. Or if you want to be distracted, we can do that, too. Even if it only helps for a few seconds, that's better than nothing."

"I think I want to sleep again." Helena admits, feeling a little ashamed of that. It’s blissful in that deep sleep from the painkillers. No thoughts or dreams.

“Then you should get some sleep.” You nod again, more purposefully this time, and pick up your glass along with hers. “I’ll leave you a fresh glass by the bed, and I’ll go read my book in the living room. Nice quiet apartment, no surprises or anything. Just enjoy your rest.”

"Thank you." Her thanks is whispered, her eyes already closing as she slips back into sleep. She's exhausted and feeling like no matter how long she sleeps, it will never be enough. Not after what she's been through.

Water for the two of you. That happens first. And then you half close the door to the guest room that Helena is in and take your book out to the sunken living room. You guess you’ll just…sit and read until you get hungry or until Helena needs something. Or maybe it’s the perfect time to work on your column since you have the quiet of the apartment to work in.

******

“So you have the girl and someone else in your apartment?” Steve asks, looking over at Javier still wearing his sunglasses despite the sun going down. “Yeah.” He grunts, shrugging slightly and trying to shove down the annoyance at the simple question. “American too. Don’t know why the fuck she’s involved.” He had questions, but he wasn’t going to ask Helena them right now.

“There’s a complete stranger in your apartment taking care of your injured informant and you don’t even know why she’s there?” Steve’s leans back in the driver’s seat of the car as they stake out some nightclub supposedly being used as a stop point for money and supplies by some of the sicarios in the area. Tonight is Surveillance before they get into the thick of it. “Very thorough, Jav.”

“It’s not like she’s a fucking spy for Pablo.” Although, now he’s frowning because he hadn’t had time to clear away the tapes he had gotten. They are still sitting out on the coffee table.

“That you know of.” Murphy snarked, smirk curling the corner of his mouth. He had already called in a background check on you to the embassy when Javi got out of the car to take a leak, but the chance to fuck with his partner was never a thing Steve Murphy could or would give up.

His jaw tightens, his glare deepening slightly as he stares at the door to the club. “Pay attention.” He huffs. “And fucking practice your goddamn Spanish.”

“Cranky.” He chuckles, pleased with himself as he sips from his coffee cup.

Huffing, Javi doesn’t dignify Steve with an answer. Instead he leans forward when someone approaches the door. “Who the fuck is that?”

“6’1”, about…thick build…American clothing…” Steve reaches for the binoculars as quickly as possible and grunts. “CIA,” he grumbles. “I’ve seen that guy around the embassy.”

“The fuck is this fucker doing here?” Javi hisses, leaning forward and instantly not liking this fucker. Something about him rubs Javi the wrong way.

“Looks like he’s chatting with the bartender.” Steve reports, thanks to the large picture windows of the club.

Javi frowns, leaning back. “How the fuck does the CIA have a beat on this place?”

"Beats the shit out of me," the other man admits. "I'm surprised he knows which way his asshole points."

That is enough to give a small snort of amusement, motioning for Steve to take a photo. “The spooks hate when you get them.” He tells Steve.

"Fuck 'em." Steve snorts, aiming his camera and taking three shots just for good measure.

“That’s the spirit.” Javi leans back and watches the conversation carefully, wishing he could know what is being said.

"They're pal-y, but I wouldn't say she likes him too much," Steve observes after a few more minutes. "Her body language is real skeptical."

“I would be too.” He huffs and taps his phone on his thigh. He could make a call, make things difficult for the agent, but he would rather see what happens.

"She just pulled out an envelope from under the bar." Steve still has the binoculars pressed to his eyes and chews his lip for a moment. "Handed it to him. He looked excited for a second, but his face just dropped."

“Wonder what’s in the envelope.” Javi narrows his eyes as if he could see what was written on the paper he opened.

"Bad news whatever it is." The other man says, based on the way the CIA agent inside is now gesticulating exaggeratedly at the bartender.

“We could pay a kid to pick pocket him.” Javi suggests, glancing over at Steve.

Murphy smirks, eagerly sitting up in his seat. "What's the price of a pickpocket these days?"

“For you or for me?” Javi snorts as he eyes a group of almost teenagers grouped near a bodega a few doors down. “Stay here.” He tells his partner as he opens the door.

It's a fair point, but Steve still frowns reflexively as he watches his partner approach the group of kids. They chat for barely more than a minute, Javi shakes hands with one of them, and then he walks back to the car with a swagger in his stride.

Javi smirks as he climbs back onto the car. “Cost me ten bucks and he gets to keep whatever cash is in the fucker’s wallet.” He tells Steve.

Murphy's laugh is deep and true, an honest rumbling chuckle at the expense of the agent currently standing in the bar. "Nice touch."

“You get in your licks where you can.” The CIA has been a thorn in his side, obviously playing both sides and being so goddamn smug about it. Not caring about the lives being ruined by their involvement.

"Anytime we can kick a spook, I'm in." Murphy agrees, picking up his binoculars again.

The kid is good, Javi has to admit that. He doesn’t just enter the club and immediately make his way to the gringo. He scopes him out, obviously not his first time pick-pocketing someone. Javi chuckles to himself as he watches him circle around the bar.

It takes nearly ten minutes before the kid makes his way back outside. His hands are empty, of course, when he appears. Nonchalantly walking through the alley, he pulls the wallet from his pocket, slips the cash out, and tosses it down in the middle of the street directly beside Javi's car door as he continues on his way through the alley. The envelope protrudes from the top of the wallet, ready and waiting to be read.

Javi grunts, getting back out of the car and looking around before he leans down and scoops the envelope out of the wallet and leaves it there. Making sure he touches nothing else. He climbs back into the car and hands it to Steve before starting the engine. “Need to move.”

“Hell of an efficient system,” Steve snorts as Javi pulls the car away. He’s learned that there are things from his partner that he needs to ignore and things he very much ought to learn. Employing the talents of some local kids without being told off is definitely a skill to be learned.

"Gets things done." He circles the block and finds a spot on the opposite side of the street, away from the discarded wallet. If the CIA dick does realize he's been stolen from, they can claim they had nothing to do with it. "What's the letter say?" He asks.

“Alex,” he reads off the name in the greeting line of the note and shrugs. It’s a boring, normal name just like ‘Steve’ is. “Sorry I can’t meet you tonight. I’m helping out a friend who got hurt at work and need to stay with her overnight for the next few days. Beep me if you want to make some dinner plans this week, I might be able to swing it depending on how my friend is doing.” Steve reads off the pager number and name signed at the bottom of the page before holding it to to Javi with an expectant expression on his face.

“Motherfucker.” Javi hisses, recognizing the number and slapping his hand against the steering wheel.

“What?” Steve huffs, not wanting to admit that the reaction had made him jump a little.

He recognizes that number, has dialed it recently. “We’re done.” He decides, turning the key again. “We aren’t going to find shit here.”

“The fuck is going in, Jav?” His partner asks, tone turning serious.

“Nothing.” Javi snorts, shaking his head. “Fucking sicarios won’t be within ten miles of this fucking place.”

“You figure they’re all still in Medellín?” If He’s Honest, Murphy really doesn’t know what set his partner off, except the possibility of the weird circumstantial coincidence between whoever wrote this note and the girl staying at Javi’s—— “Oh fuck.”

He’s got to give it to Murphy, he’s not too dumb. “Fuckers.”

Murphy shifts in his seat, imagining the deeply fucking uncomfortable confrontation that will no doubt occur at his partner’s apartment in no more than a half an hour. “Do you want backup?” He asks, unsure how else he can help.

He doesn’t answer, just firing up the engine again and pulling away from the curb with a yank of the wheel. A fucking CIA informant is in his house. He knew the bastards played dirty, but this is going too far.

******

Helena sleeps most of the evening and into the night. You’ve got around a hundred pages of your book left but you e put it down in favor of picking up pencil and notepad to work on your article, though you know it won’t quite be what your editor had in mind. Next week’s column on the sacrifices made and abuses endured by the working girls of Colombia will be unusual by your paper’s standards. It’s all in service of the greater narrative.

By the time Javi drops Steve off and gets back to his apartment, he’s furious. Wondering what all your rifled through to report back to your boyfriend.

The door slams so hard it rattles the frame when he comes into the apartment, and you jump up from the couch in the living room with a start. “Quiet!” You hiss out to the entry hall, putting your hands up in case he’s forgotten you’re here. “Helena’s sleeping again.”

Javi rushes forward and grabs you, spinning you around and hauling you up against the wall. “Where is it?” He demands, his hands running over your body. “Are you fucking wired?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” You hiss back, shoving Javier off of you just as forcefully as he had come at you. The sheer definition of fight or flight has you giving his aggression back to him full throttle. “Be fucking quiet! She just got back to sleep!”

Javi stumbles back but grabs you again, shaking you. “You’re fucking spying on me!”

“What?” Shoving him away again, you put both hands out in a sort of unconscious show of innocence as much as trying to keep him away. “I’m not fucking spying on you!”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” He hisses, narrowing a hot glare at you. “It’s just fucking coincidence you are passing notes to the fucking CIA?”

“What the fucking are you talking about?” The best that you can do right now to keep the sounds from carrying down the hall is to move this conversation into his kitchen so you stalk past him and motion sharply for him to follow.

He growls when you just slide by him like you own the fucking place. It makes him want to throw you out on your ass, but Helena asked for you.

“Tell me what the fuck you’re talking about,” you insist, crossing your arms in the middle of his kitchen.

“Don’t fucking play stupid, sweetheart.” Javi scoffs, rolling his eyes. “CIA is just fucking pissed off we’ve shut them out of the investigation. So what? They decided to send you when the opportunity presented itself?”

“CIA doesn’t know jack shit and I wouldn’t tell them anyway.” The people that you’ve met at the embassy from the CIA are…well, Alex is the very best of them. But you can’t see how he would know about Alex and you since he didn’t even recognize you from being around the embassy from time to time.

“Bullshit.” He grunts.

“I’m a fucking journalist, Javier.” You spit at him, disgusted with the boorish way he’s barreled into this line of questioning. “I know when to keep my fucking nose clean and I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“A journalist?” He’s highly skeptical of that but it is plausible.

“I’m going to brush past the fact that we’ve passed each other in the embassy halls at least a half dozen times and you didn’t recognize me at all when we officially met.” That’s annoying, and embarrassing, but expected. Infuriatingly handsome men do not notice girls like you. “But yes, I’m a journalist. The human-interest side of the War on Drugs. Showing people the real face of what’s going on down here alongside all of the facts and figures that make up the cartels. I’m here to work, I’m not a fucking spy.”

He remembers seeing you in the Embassy now, he had thought you were a secretary. Your ass had looked good in that pencil skirt and pink blouse. “So what? You just happened to get in bed with the CIA?” He pulls out the note and holds it up.

“How the fuck did you get that?” Snatching the note away with quick fingers, you hold it like he might have somehow hurt the paper and huff in disgust. “Way to be fucking literal, Javier. I had a date with my boyfriend tonight that I had to cancel. Is that okay with you?”

He curls his nose, repulsed by the idea that you would date that guy. Confused as to why he would give a damn too. “So why is the goddamn bartender at the club we were staking out tonight passing that note to him?” He demands. “Fucking convenient.”

This time your forehead furrowed in genuine curiosity. “Why the hell are you stalking out my building?”

“Your building?” Now it’s time for Javi to look confused. “The fucking club was supposed to be an informal meeting for the sicarios tonight.”

“Are you kidding me?” Your eyes widen in shock. “I just—I live upstairs! The bartender—Inez has been my friend since I got to Colombia, that’s all. When I went by my place earlier to get clothes, I left a note for Alex at the bar with her.”

Javi’s hands go to his hips and he stares at you. Waiting for you to give him some indication that you are lying, but you don’t. You don’t shuffle or look off to the side. Your own gaze takes on a challenging glint and it’s him that breaks first, glancing down at your lips and then back up. “And how did you get tangled up with Helena?” He demands. “Ran into her at the bodega?”

“No.” When you shake your head it’s just a little thing. Just a small motion. “I’m…a client,” you admit, releasing the breath you were holding. “And a friend. But friendship came later.”

His brows shoot up, getting the last answer he ever thought he would hear. He had expected some vague explanation that would continue to fuel his doubts about your motives but his tense frame relaxes when he hears that you had rolled around in Helena’s bed with her. Instantly trying to imagine that scene and instantly feeling guilty for it because of the other woman’s recent ordeal. “Okay.” He says simply.

“If I had thought my personal bullshit mattered to anything, I would have told you.” It twists your stomach and punches your nerves in ways you don’t want to examine too closely, to find Javier Peña upset and angry at you. That’s not a feeling you’re going to give too much thought to if you can help it.

“Who you fuck isn’t my problem.” He holds his hands up, not judging you for wanting to have sex with Helena. “With women at least.” He snorts. “But fucking a CIA cuck?” He shakes his head. “That’s sad.”

“He’s nice to me.” It sounds like a poor defense when it comes out of your mouth, but it’s the truth. It’s only been a few weeks and Alex has been nothing but nice.

“Yeah.” Javi snorts again. “I bet.” He has a reasonable idea why he’s so nice to you and it has nothing to do with finding you attractive.

Your brow furrows more deeply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You live above a club that has been on the fucking watchlist for months.” He chuckles. “I bet there’s a great view of the entrance from your windows, isn’t there?”

The protest is on the tip of your tongue. It’s right there. Alex is a nice guy. He’s sweet and he never protests your weird hours. Or even insisted that you stop seeing the girls. “Yeah.” Your voice turned small and defeated. “Yeah…I guess there is.”

You seem to deflate and for a second, Javier feels that same nagging tug of guilt that he feels when he thinks of Helena. Like he's at fault. Instead of letting it linger, he shifts. "If you're going to be here, you don't pass anything to him." He tells you. "Or I'll have your visa revoked so fucking fast it'll take a week for your ass to catch up to it." He promises. "Doesn't matter how nice it is." He growls, turning around and stalking off.

“I wasn’t fucking going to.” You growl at his back, but immediately thump off to the guest room where Helena is sleeping so you don’t have to look at him.

Closing the door to his bedroom behind him, Javi sighs. closing his eyes as the tension from the past few days weighs him down. He needs a fucking break and this new discovery just makes him even more stressed. His cock twitches in his pants and he thinks about what he really needs. He needs to fuck and he reaches up to rub his neck, feeling the knot of tension there. Maybe Vanessa is back from Medellín.

******

You close the door of the guest room carefully behind you, working not to wake Helena up, until you turn to sit down in the chair beside her bed again and find her with her eyes open staring at the ceiling. “Hey beautiful,” you hum, instantly moving to her side. “How are you feeling?”

"The same." She admits softly. "Numb." She lifts her fingers and wiggles them slightly before she looks over at you. "Did I hear Javier?" She asks, hoping that he will come in and see her. That heavy feeling in her chest might disappear if he's in here.

“Um…yeah. He’s back.” The hope in her voice breaks your heart, so you try to excuse it as quickly as you can. Excuse him even though he doesn’t deserve it. “In a bad mood.”

She sighs softly. "Then he will be leaving again." She murmurs. "Finding Vanessa or Freckles for company."

“Is that what he does when he’s in a bad mood?” That makes you frown even more, imagining how he must treat them when he comes in angry.

She catches your frown and reaches over, touching your hand. "It's not bad." She promises you softly. "He has never left a bruise that wasn't wanted." She knows you are aware of some pleasurable bruises, you've left a few yourself. "He just....exhausts himself with us when he is worked up."

“I worry,” you admit, just as quietly, and squeeze her hand back. “Obviously. Worrying too much is why you had my beeper number.” Which, in turn, is evidence that you apparently worry just the right amount.

“Javi isn’t that type of man.” She murmurs. “He’s gruff, but kind. He’s wonderful.”

“You care about him.” She more than cares, that has always been fairly obvious to you from the time you’ve gotten to know her, but you never commented on it before.

“I do.” She sighs wistfully. “There was a time I imagined that he might be the one for me.” She admits quietly. “Even if we don’t share marks. But I know that is just a foolish dream.”

“Marks don’t have to determine your life,” you remind her, although you can’t say that you understand the affection for Javier specifically. Aside from being ludicrously sexy, you don’t quite get it. “People make their own decisions every day and are wonderfully happy with their lives.”

“I know.” She sighs and closes her eyes. “But that’s not possible in this case.”

"Nothing is impossible." That is something you have always believed in, but you try not to sound empty in your optimism. After all, life is hard as hell and sometimes things just don't go your way. But that doesn't mean good things can't happen.

“You are sweet.” She murmurs, squeezing your hand gently and then changing the subject. “Can I have some water?”

"Of course." Without hesitation, you hand her the glass you have handy on the nearby nightstand.

“Thank you.” She takes the glass and sits up to take a drink, the cuts and bruises on her body are raw and a contrast to her normally smooth and beautiful skin. “What do you think of him?” She asks after she has drunk her fill. “He’s wonderful, yes?”

"He is...opinionated." You state, trying for something diplomatic but having a feeling that you're falling far short.

She looks at you and the tiniest corner of her mouth inches up. “So he made a good impression on you?” Her tone says she knows otherwise and is amused by it.

"He's very sure of himself." That's your second try, but you know it's still not very good.

She gives as small laugh and then shuffles slightly. “I need to use the bathroom.” She admits quietly.

It's only a small effort to help her out of bed. Helena isn't incapable just a little woozy, but you steady her down the hall. It's apparent once you leave the room that Javier has, in fact, gone, and you hope like hell that Helena is right about him not overdoing it with the girls when he's upset. You'd rather stand in front of the man yourself and take a beating without fighting back than subject any of them to a single finger on them when they didn't want it.

Even though she didn’t need much help, she’s still tired and angry at herself for being that way. “This is ridiculous.” She hisses as you literally tuck her into bed.

“It will get less ridiculous every day.” Even though you’re not sure how many days it will take for her to feel better, or the degree of ‘better’ that each day will bring. You’ll be here for all of it.

“Will it?” She asks, her eyes veiled and guilty. “I don’t think it will.”

“It will.” Stalwart in your support, you sit down again and smooth out the surprisingly soft blanket on the guest bed. “It may not be quickly, and it will probably be hard, but it will get better.”

Helena knows that there will be a lot more she has to recover from that just the physical injuries. She still has to support her son and the only way she knows how to do that is by selling her body. “We will see.”

******

Since coming into this apartment you have felt nothing but frustrated and upset, so when you plop down on the living room couch again with your notebook in front of you to work on your article, you can't concentrate. There's crap strewn out on the coffee table, and while you had dutifully ignored anything that wasn't your before, now you're pissed at Javier.

His own sense of guilt had run him out of his own apartment. Irritating him even more when he sees the hurt in your eyes when you had accused him of not noticing you at the embassy. Leaving him once again, unable to clean shit up before he had hauled ass, an unfortunate result that he had to deal with until he returned. Hopefully you were telling the truth and you would keep your nose out of his shit.

The fact is, it is an accident at first. There is a stereo in the living room with a tape in the cassette deck and you just wanted to listen to some music quietly and try to clear your head.

The part that is your fault is that you didn’t shut off the tape when you heard Javier’s voice play out of the speakers.

“Listen.” Javier can see how nervous Helena is and the rasp of his hands stroking her arms comes through the recording. “I just want you to listen.” He tells her quietly. “Don’t ask questions. You smile at them. Take their money, and listen.”

Your blood freezes in your veins as you listen, and you shift forward on the couch with a frown etched on your face hoping that you’re hearing things incorrectly as the conversation goes on.

“Where are you going to be?” Helena asks, the pout evident in her voice. “I know I will have to shower, but I will need you to make me feel good after.”

Javi sighs softly. “We are booking a room at the hotel, making sure we can take photos of the sicarios and heads of the drug cartels as they come in.”

He put her up to this. He fucking put her up to this, the bastard. Whatever trouble Helena got into was at Javier fucking Peña’s request.

“Anyone I should go for?” Helena is eager to please, wanting to get as much information as she can to help him. Hoping that it will ease along her plea for a visa to the US.

“Don’t try to pick out someone in particular.” He warns. “Most of them are even more paranoid than the sicarios they have working for them.”

Fucking hell…he was even giving her directions. The sickening flip on your stomach deepens distinctly. How could she possibly still trust him after his instructions got her so hurt?

“Okay.” Helena agrees and there is the sound of a quick kiss. “I’m serious Helena. Don’t ask questions. Don’t let them think you know anything about them.”

Disbelief and anger flood your system, making you seethe as you sit and listen to Javier’s clearly concerned tone as he instructs Helena on how to collect information and her absolute willingness to go into danger based on blind affection.

Again there is another sigh. "You meet me when you’re done." Javi demands. "Two blocks over, when you leave, you come straight to me."

“Christ.” You mutter out loud, slamming your hand down in the cassette buttons to stop the horror from unfolding even further.

The doorknob rattles, a hissed curse and the sound of dropped keys is muted through the door. Javi doesn't exactly feel happy, but he's better now. A little less raw around the edges after spending a few hours with Freckles. He had seen Vanessa, reassuring himself that both women had come out of Medellín unscathed and told them about Helena. They had wanted to come back to the apartment with him, but he had promised he would let them over when she was up for more than an hour at a time.

The sick feeling in your stomach roils violently when you hear the door, and the faster you can get out of that living room the better. It isn’t running away, it isn’t fleeing, but it is certainly avoiding him. Avoiding him at all fucking costs while the only words you could possibly have will be the angry and screaming sort. For now all you do is retreat to your own guest room right next door to Helena, securely locking the door behind you. If he wants to speak to you — which he surely won’t — he can knock politely and get a denial. That’s all there is to it.

He's surprised to find the living room vacant when he opens the door. The lights are on, but no one is there. Glancing at the table, he tilts his head when he sees the tape player pushed slightly askew and he looks towards the closed bedroom door. Deciding that the best thing he can do is go to bed after the puts all that shit away.

******

The last time you talked to Javier was five days ago when you argued and he'd gone out the door in a huff. Since then you have made every effort to avoid him despite continuing to stay at his apartment, making sure that Helena is protected and cared for above all else.

It's been long enough that she's feeling physically better. While the mental scars may never completely heal, the best thing for them at this moment is good company. Today the apartment will be full of life and light for the first time in a whole damn week, as you clear the coffee table in Javier's living room and get out lunch things and a deck of cards for Freckles and Vanessa to come over and see their closest friend.

"I feel so much better after a shower." Helena admits with soft groan, running her fingers through her squeaky-clean curls, towel still wrapped around her nude body. While she had been cleaned up in the hospital and you had helped her for the past few days, this was the first time she had been able to linger in a shower and not worry about any cuts.

"Sometimes it's the little things that make us feel more human." You offer her a smile as she passes through the living room. "The girls should be here any minute. Do you want a cold drink?"

"I'd rather break into Javi's whiskey bottle." She admits with a small grin. She has been able to recover here a lot faster than she would have expected. Javi had been gone a lot, but she knows that he has been leaving her favorite fruits every morning for her. It's a sweet, and unnecessary gesture.

"Then that's what we'll do." Feeling no allegiance to the man whatsoever, you have no guilt opening that bottle for her benefit, and you wave her toward her room. "Pick out some clean clothes and I'll play bartender," you promise her.

“I’ll go get dressed.” She agrees, feeling better when she has that comfortable shirt on. She might have stolen it from Javier’s drawer in his bedroom, but it made her feel better.

It's really just bits of things that you assemble for lunch, but plates of cheese and fresh bread and juicy fruit and spicy seasoned meat are all piled high. And while you're sure that you could have attempted making arepas and the girls would all have been kind about it, you figured it was better to pop down to the stand on the street corner one block over and buy a stack of them from the cart owner. With everything out to pick on just as leisurely as you please, you plunk a deck of cards in the center and turn to mix cocktails while Helena gets dressed.

She pairs the shirt with a pair of shorts , looking in the mirror for only a second as she pulls her hair back, the bruises on her face garish shades of green and black. It still looks better than before so she counts herself lucky.

The buzzer goes off mere seconds after Helena emerges from her room, and you cross to the panel in the hallway to answer it. Freckles and Vanessa’s joyful voices are on the other end, and you buzz them up without hesitation. They deserve this time together, these three dear friends, and you’re grateful that they’re willing to let you stay and be a part of their liveliness in the process.

The knock on the door comes a few moments later since Javi’s apartment is on the second floor of the split-level building. Both of them still chattering happily when you open the door to let them in.

“It’s so good to see you.” There are hugs all around when you step back to let them inside, but Freckles and Vanessa look positively confounded to see you in Javier’s apartment.

“We didn’t expect to see you here.” Vanessa hums, and Freckles smirks slightly. “At least not now. In the future for sure.”

“Be…cause…all Americans in Bogotá know each other?” Clearly confused but shrugging it off, you wave them both into the apartment where Helena is emerging from her room and the living room table is set with food and drinks.

The attention turns to Helena and there are tearful hugs and caresses shared by the three women. “You poor thing.” Vanessa coos softly. “I was so worried until Javi called.” She confesses. “Bianca was killed, we had thought you-“ she chokes up and Freckles breaks in. “But you didn’t, you are here and as soon as you are able, we have decided that we are going to rent a house together.”

Bianca was killed. The words rattle through you as your three friends reunite, with the knowledge that one friend will never return home at all. It’s a sobering piece of knowledge, and one that ironically makes you reach for a glass of whiskey even faster than you would have otherwise.

Helena closes her eyes and tries not to cry. She knows too well that it could have happened with her, it honestly should have happened if it weren’t for Javi. “What about her friend?” She asks softly.

“Lorena is okay.” Freckles sits down on the couch beside Helena and takes her hand. “No one really got out without something happening.”

“We never should have gone to Medellín for that party.” She murmurs, although it wasn’t like they had much of a choice.

“What’s done is done.” Vanessa reminds her gently. “All we can do now is keep moving forward.”

“I’m glad we got out.” She admits, looking down at her hands. “Why do you want to rent a house?” She asks.

“We need a place to live that isn’t attached to all that.” Vanessa insists. She kisses your cheek when you hand out glasses but say nothing, not interrupting their conversation but helping them all relax.

“I think it will be good for us.” She admits after a moment. “And it would be good to be away from the brothel for the visa.”

"And it would be better to look for a job if our address is not a brothel," Freckles adds, shifting the weight of her glass between her hands.

“You want to get out?” Helena is surprised, since they both earned really well at the brothel.

“I want there to be the chance,” Freckles admits quietly, her eyes trained on the rug with guilt. “The money is good but…look at what has happened to all of us in the last few weeks.”

“Yeah.” Vanessa sighs softly. “Even if Javi can’t get you a visa, your son deserves to have his mother with him.”

“I’m not a miracle worker…” Sitting in one of the armchairs in the living room, you survey your three friends with nothing but the deepest affection. “But I’ll help however I can.”

“You have your own things to worry about.” Freckles sends you a mysterious smile. “How is your story coming?”

“It’s…something I wanted to talk to all of you about,” you admit, but shake it off. “Later, though.” Helena had already agreed to be interviewed for your article with a further hope of being granted a visa under far less dangerous circumstances. “I think we all deserve a little time to be with our friends.”

“Of course.” Vanessa smiles. “We will drink Javi’s booze and we brought some food.”

“There’s lots of food.” Helena had teased you gently about playing hostess, but only out of love.

“Oh?” Freckles snorts. “Have you been treated like royalty?” She reaches over and squeezes her hand, knowing that she deserves it.

“Fuck no.” You snort and shake your head. “I went shopping to make sure we had nice things today.”

The other two women eye you with a small smirk. “Javi doesn’t keep a lot in the apartment?” She asks, even though she can guess the answer. Food is an after thought to Javier Peña. Well below pussy, cigarette, whiskey.

“I didn’t even ask about his stuff.” Not that you’ve said more than six different words to him in the last few days. No. The less you see of or speak to that infuriating man, the better.

“Uh oh.” Vanessa and Freckles exchange a laugh, having discussed several times how they felt you and Javi would clash. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“I’m sorry.” Shifting in your seat, you shrug a little as though you aren’t still deep attracted to the bastard and dealing with a weirdly nagging guilty feeling in the hollow of your chest. “I know you guys are friends with him but Javier’s been nothing but an asshole to me.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” Helena reaches for your hand. “But don’t hate him too much. He has a good heart. Truly.”

“If you say so.” Though it doesn’t make sense to you why they keep insisting you give Javier so much leeway.

“Well.” Freckles claps her hands together and changes the subject. “Why don’t we eat? I’m starving!”

“Absolutely!” Vanessa agrees, picking up on the tone, and all four of you dig in to the food that you’ve laid out for a lazy, social lunch.

There are crazy stories, jokes and laughter to be heard from the apartment. The four of you having fun and relaxing in a much needed get together. Helena forgets about her bruises and the other things that happened as she laughs at one of your stories and takes another sip of her drink.

Stories begin to roll out, about this and that and whatever, and soon the pack of cards is open and being dealt. It's not exactly a day for strip poker, but as the whiskey flows and the snack tidbits they're betting with become a pile in the middle of the table, and the group of friends somehow turn each winning hand into the ability to ask a question that all the others must answer on penalty of forfeiting some of their winnings.

Freckles rolls her eyes playfully as she huffs at Helena. “What kind of question is that?” She demands, even as she throws her cards back onto the pile. “You know the answer.” Helena snorts and wags her finger at her. “Then answer it.” Freckles laughs.

"I don't know the answer!" You remind them, pouting to insist that Helena reveals the identity of the very best lover she's ever had. The stories make you certain that it is most definitely not her son's father, but you have just enough whiskey in your system that you could not possibly guess who it will be. Most cohesive or logical thought has flown out the window like a particularly pretty bird.

She sighs and there is a guilty edge to the way her teeth work her lip between them. “I— for a woman….” She shrugs. “It’s you.” She admits, glancing back at you and holding up her hands. “I’m serious.”

"You don't have to say that just because I'm sitting here!" That can't possibly be true. Can it? Out of all the women in the world? "You're sweet to say it though, gorgeous."

“I knew she would not believe it.” Helena rolls her eyes and looks towards Vanessa. “It is true. She told me after the first time you fucked.”

“I guess I’m just eager to please.” Despite eating your fill, you definitely have a light head from the whiskey and end up giggling over the very idea that you are anyone’s best anything. It’s immensely flattering to say the least.

Freckles throws her head back and laughs. "The irony of this is just too much." She throws her arm around Helena. "You know this, right?"

“Irony of what?” You snort through another laugh. “That some chubby American girl is good in bed?”

Vanessa huffs at your description of yourself. "That is not nice to yourself." She tells you. "No, it's who her male best lover is."

You simply gloss over the protest of your self-description with the wave of a hand. “Unless it’s one of my brothers, I don’t see the irony.”

"Shhhhhhh." Freckles puts her finger to her lips and giggles. "She doesn't know."

“Don’t know what?” It feels like proof of your cluelessness that your head pops up and your brows knit in confusion, but you actually don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.

"They are so alike though." Helena sighs, almost mournfully, even though her heart would clench for both of you equally. "It's only fair that they share marks."

“Who does?” Just because you have mixed feelings about your own soulmate doesn’t mean that other people can’t want or be happy with theirs. You’re just not the girl who sat around twiddling your thumbs until your preordained match decided to come knocking.

"You." Vanessa giggles, biting her lip and leaning back so she can take another sip of her drink. "You and Javi." She coos. "Another great lover."

“Oh shut the fuck up.” The curse pours out in English and you sputter at all of them for a minute before switching back to Spanish. “You’re only saying that because I said he was rude.”

"Vanessa!" Freckles hisses, even though she is laughing because of the alcohol and the horror on her face. Helena pouts, still slightly upset that you don't believe her that you are a good lover. "It is true."

“Aren’t soulmates supposed to have an instant attraction or something?” But you did, you realize a moment later, and swallow the lump in your throat in horror. You’ve been attracted to Javier Peña since the second you saw him. Thinking he’s an insufferable egotist and finding him attractive are separate things.

"You don't find him attractive?" Helena is shocked, unable to imagine that. She's seen you looking at the one picture Javier has of himself in the apartment. It's a picture of him with his mother, before she got sick. He was twenty and it was before he had decided to grow a mustache.

“I mean…” Feeling like you’ve been caught in a trap, you squirm in your seat and shrug dramatically. “I guess? But it’s so much more about personality for me.”

"He is...complicated." She insists. "But he is not a bad guy."

“It’s not that I necessarily think he’s bad, it’s just that—” As easily as you had begun rambling, your mouth snaps shut again as you look between the other three women. Your friends. Your lovers. You lovers of several months at this point. And all of a sudden the clenching in your chest feels like betrayal instead of heartache. “How long have you known?”

All three women suddenly stop smiling, the humor slipping from their faces when they see how upset you are. "From the beginning." Helena admits quietly. "We have not said anything to either one of you until now."

“Why not?” It seems so important to have that piece of information about someone, and now you’re shifting in your seat all over again.

"Because both of you seem so..." Freckles shrugs. "Indifferent to the idea of a soulmate." They had all noticed that neither one of you seem particularly interested in finding that other person, despite them being so close.

“It still seems like something you should tell a person.” It’s not that you’re angry necessarily. You’re not. Just like you’re not excited or joyful at the fact. It’s more like…you’re frustrated that a piece of intimate knowledge about you yourself was kept from you by people you otherwise feel fairly close to.

“We were hoping you would find out naturally.” Vanessa adds. “You might not think so now, but you are Javi’s type.”

“You were hoping he’d just sweep me off my feet and we’d find out in a frenzy of torn clothes?” It’s such an unrealistic scenario to you. Starting with the very idea that a man as universally desired as Javier Peña would even look twice at you.

"We didn't know if you would meet at the embassy, or a bar, or even the brothel." Freckles snorts. "Although we had kind of hoped it would be at the brothel."

"You guys were just hoping to witness it for the gossip." It's the first wisp of a smile since they told you, and it cracks the frown on your face like a thin sheet of ice.

"I wanted to see the fireworks." Vanessa admits. "Because I know there will be some. You two are passionate people."

A barely perceptible puff of a huff comes from your lips, and you shrug while you settle back in your seat – along with the last long drink of whiskey from your glass. "Now instead of fucking, we might just kill each other instead."

“I think he would still fuck you.” This time with you and Javi in the apartment together has gone a long way to helping her put her feelings for Javi aside.

"Well, even if he did..." Your glass is empty, so you reach immediately for the bottle to pour yourself more. This is definitely more than a two-drink problem. "Even if he did decide he wasn't repulsed by me, we're constantly at each other's throats. It would never work."

“You haven’t seen the way he looks at you.” She murmurs softly.

"He doesn't look at me." Distance be damned, you shift forward and grab the whiskey bottle, pouring yourself another measure without guilt. "We don't see each other and we don't speak. Some fucking soulmates we are."

Helena snorts. “Every night, two-thirty on the dot, that man comes into my room.” She admits. “Sometimes I let him know I’m awake, but most of the time, I just pretend to be asleep.” She sighs softly. “He looks at you in that chair like you are a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. A mystery that is haunting him.” She nearly laughs, but it comes out breathy. “That’s what wakes you up when you fall asleep in that armchair, you know. It’s Javi coming into the room every night.”

"The only woman in the world who didn't instantly drop her clothes at his feet." It's only half a joke. Any of those times at the embassy, or outside the brothel, or any of those early days...you would have. You would have just been one of the many women mooning over him as he passed them by. You had been one of those women. Now you're so blinded by anger and frustration that you're basically hate-masturbating about him in the shower. Which is a whole other bag of worms that you aren't quite ready to open.

“He’s been turned down plenty of times.” Freckles snorts. “Hell, I turned him down to start.”

"You know what I mean," you mumble at them with a childish pout on your face.

“What happened to make you dislike him so much?” Vanessa asks, nosey about this hostility. Javi has never been overtly mean to any woman that she’s seen and she can’t imagine he would be to you.

"We got into some arguments when I first got here." Explaining what you heard on that tape -- while you were eavesdropping – feels too dirty. It makes you feel every bit as guilty of his bad opinion of you as he is of yours. "After basically the first day, we just haven't talked to each other."

“Emotions were high.” Freckles guesses, knowing that Javi has been feeling extremely guilty for what happened, even if all the girls were still going to go to Medellín even if he hadn’t known about it.

"What matters is that we got you home," you murmur, reaching over to gently touch Helena's arm and making sure she sees the gesture coming the whole time. She is understandably jumpy about sudden movements and touches right now.

“I’m here.” She murmurs. “I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about me anymore.”

“I’m always going to worry just a little bit.” She touches your hand briefly when you say it, just a gesture of understanding and affection, and you withdraw again so she doesn’t feel pinned down by the small gesture. And you realize in the same instant that despite continuing to drink you feel irrevocably sober. “That’s part of caring about my friends.”

“And we care about you.” Vanessa tells you seriously. “You have been the sweetest woman we have known outside of our own girls.”

“And you have all been just as sweet to me.” This one, rather large piece of information is the exception. This is the difference. The change. That they kept this from you. It isn’t that you want to run off into the sunset with your soulmate — that isn’t it at all. It’s that you….well, why do you care at all? The man is frustrating as all hell.

"I need to go to the bathroom." Helena announces and stands up, swaying slightly before waving off help and stumbling to the bathroom.

The remaining few of you are quiet for some time, contemplating your drinks or —Freckles and Vanessa’s preferred sitting position — cuddling on the couch. It isn’t until Helena has been gone maybe five minutes that you set your glass down and exhale slowly, like you’re gathering your strength. “You three really all think the world of him, don’t you?”

Vanessa hums, looking over at you with soft affection. "What we think doesn't really matter." She promises. "Maybe we fucked up by not telling you." She can admit that they were wrong, and that dropping that little fun fact wasn't the best idea when they've killed a bottle of Javi's whiskey. "You- we didn't want it to be strange for you. To know that we were all sleeping with your soulmate." She admits. "Some of it was selfishness. Most people don't like knowing the past of their person and we could lost both of you."

“Sex is different than love. They’re both important, but they’re different. Or at least not always intertwined.” They know that you feel that way. After all, you’re their client, too. And even with starting to see Alex, you hadn’t stopped. Not that you ever had any disillusion of loving Alex. Not for a second. “If I had even pretended to care who my soulmate slept with before me, I’d be an awful hypocrite.” You’re an awful hypocrite for caring who he loves before you too, you realize with a pang of guilt. But maybe it’s for the best that you distance yourself from the whole situation. “Can I ask…” you bite your lip. “Does he know?”

“We hadn’t breathed a word of it to either of you.” Freckles promises, shaking her head. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“It isn’t fair that he doesn’t know now,” you point out quietly, unsure how the man in question will react to this news. If at all.

“Well, I guess it’s now just a matter of who tells him.” Vanessa sighs. She knows what you might not believe, the moment Javier Peña knows who his soulmate is, he will stop seeing them.

“I don’t think it would be particularly welcome coming from me.” And he also deserves an explanation of why they never told him, but you won’t insist they give him that. It’s up to the three of them and him. You just can’t imagine that coming out of the guest room long enough to term the man you’re soulmates after not speaking to him for the better part of five days will go over well.

“You’ve never been curious about the small tattoo on your inner thigh?” She asks curiously. “Why an elephant?”

“Curious?” You shrug as though you hadn’t obsessed over it when it appeared. “I guess? I just figured the person liked elephants.”

“His mother loved elephants.” She had asked him about it one time and he had reluctantly told her the story.

“There we go.” You don’t really know what else to say to that. Your own tattoo is small but distinct and probably makes no sense to anyone but you. “Mystery solved.”

Freckles sighs, not exactly pleased with your nonchalance. It’s not like she can make you care. Helena comes out of the bathroom and she groans, putting down her own drink. “My turn.” She hums, needing to use the bathroom too.

It becomes a line, much to everyone’s amusement, and four women parade one by one to the bathroom beside the apartment’s living room. The mood lightens a little purely based on a change of topic, and you, Freckles, and Vanessa put all your attention on Helena’s readiness to go home.

“It will be good to be in my bed.” Helena admits with a small smile. “That bed is comfortable, but it is not mine.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” you nod, feeling the same way about the other guest bed versus your own comfortably soft mattress at home.

“You do not have to stay.” Helena murmurs, motioning towards herself. “I can move around. I’ve decided to tell Javier I will be leaving in a few days.”

“I’ll leave when you’re ready to.” The decision to stay for her was easy and immediate and so is this. You’re not leaving her while she might still need help. “Unless he kicks me out when you tell him. Which would be fair.”

She snorts softly, sure that wouldn’t be the case, but you seem to think there are no redeeming qualities to Javier. “Well, thank you.”

“He’s not going to kick you out, bonita.” Freckles promises, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “You’ll see.”

It’s like he’s been summoned by the conversation. It’s probably the first time he’s been home before dark in a week. Only here because both Vanessa and Freckles weren’t available and he wasn’t feeling like paying anyone else for their time. He had decided to come home and be moody in his own damn apartment so you could just deal with it. He paid the goddamn rent here. His key slides easily and turns in the lock since it wasn’t secured and he opens the door to find the women he had been look for sitting on his couch with Helena and you.

“Speak of the devil.” Freckles hums, popping up from her seat to go over and greet Javi when his figure appears, looming in the hallway.

“Ladies.” He shoots you all an almost self-conscious grin, caught a little off guard to have all of them here together. The remnants of food, booze and cards are still scattered, and he chuckles. “Throwing a party?”

"Helena was finally feeling up to having some more company." Freckles tells him, moving across the room to give him a kiss by way of greeting. "We may have snitched a bottle of whiskey to celebrate with."

Javi turns his mouth towards hers, not shy about accepting and deepening the kiss from the beautiful woman. There’s an easy intimacy with all of them, except you, that allows it. “I can tell.” He hums, amused when Vanessa almost stumbles behind Freckles. “You’re all shit housed.”

"Not all of us." Vanessa huffs, but giggles at herself as she nudges your side. "Somebody got serious and sobered up."

His eyes slide over to you, dark and searching before he looks back at Freckles. “One of you has to be responsible.” He hums.

"I'm just less drunk than these three," you point out, accepting Vanessa's kiss to your cheek as a measure of some kind of reassurance. "I wouldn't call this sober."

Helena comes over and slides her arm around Javi’s waist, she’s more comfortable when she’s making the gesture right now and it’s comforting to feel him immediately hug her close. “They have been wonderful.”

"You just needed a little girl time." Freckles hugs Helena and Javier both before moving away from his side. She sways slightly but it's less than she did on the way back from the bathroom so that counts as a win in her book.

“That’s good.” Javi’s hands are gentle as he holds Helena. “You doing alright today?”

"A lot better." She leans into his touch but doesn't push it further like she usually would. She's too acutely aware of you standing just a few yards away. "Thank you, Javi."

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He still feels guilty, but at least the haunted gaze has finally fled her eyes.

"I think I'll..." she swallows, but looks up to find his watchful eyes on her. "I'll head home in a few more days."

“You don’t have to.” He murmurs softly, frowning at the idea of her leaving before she’s ready.

"I know." Helena places another kiss on his other cheek and pats his chest, like she's reassuring not only him but also herself. "I'm healing, and stronger every day. And I miss my son."

"I'll be out of your hair as soon as Helena is ready to go home again," you tell him. These few minutes are the first you've even spent in the room with him in days, let alone spoke to him, and now it feels even more awkward since you know what you are to each other.

Now that it's in your head, you can't help but wonder. Wonder what the hell it is they see in him that seems to be so wonderful.

And wonder if you could ever see it, too.

Javi wants to be an asshole, the harsh words that have passed between you sit like another weight in his belly. He hates when a beautiful woman is mad at him, even if he doesn’t show it. It chews him up and makes him doubt himself. “I’m sure you will be happy to go home.” He offers quietly, figuring that might be less offensive than anything else he might say.

He’s found your paper after asking Coleen some questions and has been reading your articles. You’re fucking talented and witty in your stories, even if you’ve been given shit to write about. He’s got to wonder why you are here, and what you will write about next.

"Sure." You nod vaguely, but the sick feeling in your stomach says that you're not entirely sure. And doubt only makes the sick feeling worsen. "I miss my landlady's dog."

Javi nods. “Right.” He looks around at the other women and sighs. “Come on ladies.” He jerks his head towards the door. “I’ll give you a ride home. You’re too drunk for me to let you get home on your own.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

BFoW: @haileymorelikestupid @theorganasolo @missladym1981 @alexiamargot06

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña x female reader #Javier Peña x f!reader #Javier Peña x plus size reader #plus size reader #Narcos #Narcos fanfic #soulmate au

119 notes · View notes