#ready to sleep for an entire lifetime

[honestsycrets]

starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you’re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

[dark-konohagakure2]

Yandere Illumi x Dumb Little Sis Reader? Breeding Kink, (Little sweet?)

tw: incest, sibling incest, dubcon, yandere, infantilization, breeding, isolation, brainwashing, bimboification, mating press

All characters depicted are 18+

The words 'sweet' and 'Illumi' are two words that are never used in the same sentence by any sane individual, the man's face seems incapable of changing from it's impassive mask, let alone making a gentle expression, but none of those preconceptions about him are held by his dearest baby sister, who thinks the world of him.

His sister is such a silly little thing, acting like a little girl again whenever she's with her big brother, despite being much too old to act in such a way. Illumi finds it adorable, it's so cute how she acts so submissive around him, and it's even cuter how she is completely blissfully unaware of the helpful little needle implanted within her brain.

Illumi almost never smiles around anyone, unless its out of sadism, but his sister is the exception, the usually emotionless assassin is practically beaming whenever his sister snuggles up to him or when she starts crying and clinging to him whenever he leaves her side for longer than a few minutes.

He's especially content when his sister innocently begs for his attention, even wanting to sleep in the same bed as him almost every night, of course Illumi can't say no to his adorable baby sister, so he accepts her into his bed with open arms, as long as she's ready to accept him with open legs.

"Hmm? Oh fine, come here sissy... Your big brother needs some love and attention from his favorite baby sibling tonight..."

He's cold to the touch, both figuratively and literally, so his little sister will have to cling to him as her only source of warmth while he's pounding into her snug pussy, murmuring praises about how she's going to make a perfect Zoldyck assassin straight from her womb for the family.

Illumi isn't very sensitive at all, his sense of both pain and pleasure alike being dulled from a lifetime of torturous assassin training, so it'll take him a long while to climax. His dear sister is the opposite, squirming and whining in pleasure beneath him as she babbles on and on about how good it feels at how much she loves her Nii Nii. To say that he's fucking her dumb would be inaccurate, his sweet sister is already pretty stupid because of him, his dick just makes her even more of a bimbo.

Illumi is as precise with breeding her as he is with killing his targets, wanting to make sure that she's thoroughly impregnated. He'll have her pinned down in the mating press as his cock shoots load after load of his virile sperm into her fertile womb, not letting a single drop spill out and not stopping until he physically can't go on anymore, and being a Zoldyck means he can go for hours.

Another thing Illumi loves about fucking his own innocent sister is how clingy she gets even after he's been brutalizing her womb for the past hours, showering him with affection and praise even in her fucked out state. Illumi is sure to praise her right back, and provide her with as much affection as a deplorable man like himself can muster up.

"Good sissy... You were such a good girl taking all my cum like that. That's just one other reason why I love you so so much..."

And Illumi isn't lying when he says that. He truly and wholly loves his little sister with his entire depraved heart. It's clear to any sane person that his love is twisted and grotesque, but as long as she's a Zoldyck, she'll never get to meet anyone who is sane.

[rpclefairy]

𝐁𝐆𝟑 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

a selection of lines from the various companions' banter quotes (not cut scene dialogues!) from baldur's gate 3. these are generally spoiler free and non context specific so they can apply to different settings and dynamics! feel free to change names and the like to customize the prompts.

“Death can't have me. Not yet…”

“Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.”

“Realmspace is vast. Countless worlds to be mapped, kingdoms to be conquered.”

“I have missed this. The adventure. The danger. The kicking of butts!

“Let me guess - you need something.”

“Such attention.. I never realised I was so popular.”

“Let's cook with fire, baby.”

“Do you intend to vocalise every thought?. Or just the most obvious ones?”

“Wherever we go, ye gods let there be something green.”

“Careful, or I will take your toy away from you.”

“Watch your elders and learn.”

“Perhaps try attacking the enemy?”

“So much we don't know, lingering in the furthest reaches of existence.”

“All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.”

“The shadows are my friend.”

“Yes, yes, have your fun. It isn't you they're trying to kill.”

“Feet planted firmly on Faerûn, please.”

“Admirable stamina, yet terrible priorities.”

“Well you certainly have the 'omnipresent' part down, don't you?”

“I am ready, whatever may come.”

“My faith protects me.”

“Need a throat slitting?”

“Death greets us all - but not today.”

“You need my expertise?”

“Can you feel death's cold grip?”

“So many stars, so many mysteries yet to be discovered.”

“Death comes quietly.”

“And I thought we were going to be friends.”

“Locked tight, but there must be some way to open it.”

“No, you can't die. Get up, damn you!

“You had my attention, now you have my fury.”

“From silence to suffering.”

“So many worlds out there. You'd need a thousand lifetimes to see them all - more.”

“I hope this is important. For your sake.”

“Let them gaze deep into their own abyss, and wonder just what it is they are trying to achieve.”

“I ought to just burn this whole thing down.”

“We have slightly more pressing matters to attend to.”

“You have still have time to surrender.”

“Every kicked buttock, another step on the path.”

“Weave save me. I can't take much more…

“You are right to fear me.”

“Let me look around. Might be something that'll help me crack this thing.”

“Incredible, to think how many worlds exist beyond this tiny speck within a speck I call home.”

“I really wish I could cast a Hold spell on you.”

“I can fawn over my face later.”

“Ready for another round?”

“Keep your blade close.”

“I can't unlock it from here, but there must be a switch or a button somewhere…”

“No, that's not moving. There must be a way to open it somewhere.”

“Battle favours the fearless.”

“Sleep with one eye open, evil. Maybe both.”

“Gotta be something around here to unlock this thing.”

“Why do beautiful people taste better?. It hardly seems fair on the ugly - they have such wonderful personalities.”

“Oh, calm down. I'm happy to see you too.”

“Just go for the Magic Missile and fire away. Never fails.”

“Still standing, no matter what you heard.”

“Enough waiting. I crave blood.”

“Hang on - I won't allow this. You aren't dead, go it?”

“GODS, it's HOT in here!”

“No rest for the wicked, I see.”

“Better to hide than fight, sometimes.”

“Would that I could hide from you, too.”

“Are you feeling lonely, perhaps?”

“There is no right or wrong, only truth.”

“Battle is afoot - you can poke me once we are safe.”

“What good all this ethereal eladrin blood if I can still get pimples?”

“I should've been a drow. They have such stylish armour.”

“I am armed! Armoured! And entirely sick of your foolishness.”

“Let's have some fun.”

“War is an old woman's game.”

“No rest, be you wicked or wise.”

“I'm getting too old for this nonsense.”

“I would poke you back, but I fear that's what you want.”

“You have my attention - now do something with it.”

“You are insistent, are you not?”

“Do what must be done.”

“Your suffering will be spectacular.”

“Lest I sit down for a rest and not rise again.”

“Better to look evil in the eye. Even if it be very small.”

“I'm not built to crouch.”

“I think I could go another round.”

“Always the same old song.”

“Is perfection too much to ask?”

“Eyes on victory, tummy on dinner.”

“So many places to be.. and I chose Baldur's Gate.”

“I'm not opening that. Not from here, at any rate.”

“What is the point, if not victory?”

“Won't last much longer like this.”

“Let's hope the locals are friendly.”

“Let us show them how it's done.”

“Weapons high. Standards higher.”

“Must everyone be so exhausting?”

“What I would not give for a chunk of fresh honeycomb…”

“Which way to the nearest library?”

“Now this is my happy place.”

“Who shall I silence?”

“Stop, or die.”

“Wear your scars proudly.”

[adventuringblind]

Biology Sucks

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Reader has really bad periods and is embarrassed about it. Oscar just wants to help.

Warnings: Really bad periods and everything that comes with them

Notes: To the requester, I feel you on the bad period thing. I hope this brings you the comfort you need to get through your next one!

Side Note: My inbox is open if you wanna come chat with me :)

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It hurts. A familiar hurt, unfortunately, and she's not sure whether that's better or worse yet. Of all the things that could've happened on her date, it had to be this.

She excuses herself from the table. Oscar gives her a concerned look, but she waves it off. "Just need to freshen up." Oscar nods, but he doesn't look convinced.

Eight months, and he already knows how to read her like a book.

She ends up leaving her date early because she already knows how this ends. It'll look like she's gone to war and got stabbed lower than necessary. It also currently feels that way, and she's ready to throw up her guts if that's what it takes to make it stop.

Oscar texts her. Then he calls her. Eventually deciding she probably has fallen asleep if she wasn't feeling well and decides to do something for her in the morning.

The same event had happened last month, and she'd avoided him for the entire week. The brief topic of periods came up because he asked if that was it, and she'd told him they were considerably bad.

The benefit of having sisters is that he at least knows the basics here. He throws on some shoes in the early hours of the morning and heads out the door to the convenience store.

Oscar makes a guess from the information he's gleaned on what kinds of snacks she would like. He also throws a text to his mum to double-check because lord knows if he messes this up, she'll come for his head.

It's just past ten when he arrives at her flat and unlocks the door with the spare key. He questions if this could be considered breaking and entering since he technically didn't know the spare key would be hidden inside the bottom of a fake plant. Things to worry about later, he supposes.

He finds her sprawled out of the bed, a bottle of painkillers open on the side table. He drops his own bags on the grounds softly so he doesn't wake her.

Especially not when she's shivering in her sleep and he can see the sticky red coating the sheets. He determines to let her sleep until he has everything ready to clean her up. There is no point in letting her sit in it while awake for no reason.

He remembers specifically making trips to the store with his mum for bed sheets when his sisters had similar problems. He just wishes she felt comfortable telling him about it. Heaven help is was some bastard making her feel like this is gross and not some natural part of life.

He admits openly to punching one person in his lifetime. The boy who was picking on his sister for bleeding through her shorts while he was home for Christmas one year. He made the boys nose bleed and called him gross for it. Oscar tries not to think about what he would do now that he's bulked up.

He starts the bath, finds her extra clothes, including his own hoodie, and attempts to locate her spare sheets. He feels bad going through all her cupboards, but he doesn't want to wake her up to ask.

When everything is all set up, he sets himself down gently beside and caresses the side of her face until she wakes.

Initially, there is a look of terror on her face until she realizes it's just Oscar and not an intruder. "How'd you get in?"

"Your spare key wasn't hard to find."

She takes a breath to settle her heart. That's when she feels what's underneath her... and beside her... all around her, really. "I-" the tears are pathetic.

"It's okay, really! My sister's had some bad ones as did my mum. Can I touch you?"

The pit in her stomach ends up settling in confusion. She tilts her head. "You're not, like, disgusted?"

"It's biology, isn't it? Natural? I see no reason to be disgusted." It the certainty of which he says it that make the tears start.

Oscar coos at her, waiting until she's calmed down to set about getting her cleaned up. "I ran you a bath already. I figured you'd want it warm and bubbly."

She cries again. Not because she's upset - far from it - but nobody has ever done this for her. "I'm not sure what I did to deserve this."

"To be fair, I don't think you ask to bleed every month."

While she's in the bath, Oscar strips the bed down and recreates it how he thinks it should go. The key word here is thinks. His eye for aesthetics isn't the best, but he makes it work regardless.

Soon, she's out of the bath and in his hoodie. "Feeling any better?"

"A bit... thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, I'm not the best in the kitchen, so this might actually kill you instead."

She hesitate when he sits down on the couch and pats the spot beside him. "Aren't you worried I might bleed on you?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you could bleed on all my clothes and I'd happily purchase new ones if it means you'll come cuddle with me."

She relents and curls up in Oscar's lap. He turns on a movie and they both end up falling asleep to it.

Easy to say it's the best she's ever slept on her period. And when she wakes up to Oscar purchasing a new pair of sweats, he smiles at her. "I figure if it will help you stress less, I will get some extra clothes just in case." No hints of judgment or annoyance. Just Oscar trying to help.

Yeah, maybe periods don't have to be so miserable while he's around.

[peachesofteal]

Maybe Johnny ends up in the hospital.

Maybe he ends up with a spine fracture, broken arm, shattered pelvis, deep tissue burns all over his stomach and chest. Maybe he hemorrhaged, has internal organ damage. It’s bad, bad enough that he needs multiple, complicated surgeries. Bad enough that it’s a struggle to stabilize him, and keep him conscious. Simon is there the entire time, doesn’t leave his side, sleeps sitting straight up in the uncomfortable chair that he’s dragged next to Johnny’s bed. He’s Johnny’s next of kin, and advocates for Johnny when he’s not able to do it himself. It’s grueling, every second feels like a lifetime. Johnny’s in so much pain every time he comes to, and Simon can’t do anything to help him, to take away his pain or make him feel better. All he can do is sit by his bedside and hold his hand. Anytime he’s handled by doctors or aides, nurses or respiratory therapists, Simon watches their every move, ready to shove them away the second he see’s Johnny face crumple in agony. Ready to swoop down and remove them the moment he feels like something’s not right. Hospitals make his skin crawl, make him feel like a big bug under a microscope and he hates it. He doesn’t trust this place, doesn’t trust anyone in here to take care of Johnny.

But then there’s you. You, the ICU nurse that works the floor four nights a week on graves. You, who he notices, checks on Johnny (and Simon) more than the other nurses do. Who takes the time to make sure the lights in the room aren’t too bright, or that Johnny’s blankets are not tucked in too tight across his stomach. You always knock on the sliding glass before coming in, and you’re always smiling at him, and Johnny, even though he’s hardly ever awake to see it. It’s not a forced smile either, it’s something soft. Something precious, something kind. You don’t look away from Simon, even when he scowls at you from above the mask when you wake Johnny in the middle of the night, for some reason or another.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know.” You soothe him, gentle hand on his good forearm before you swab his arm for a blood draw. Simon’s muscles inadvertently tense, because he can’t help, because he hates sitting here, completely helpless, watching Johnny grimace in pain.

“‘s alright, bonnie. Not yer fault.” He assures, eyebrows knitted together, jaw gnashed tight.

“Just need to get some blood, okay?” You intentionally look at Simon, like you’re waiting for his go ahead before you start, and he nods his approval before you push the needle through his partner’s skin. “And then maybe we’ll get you some more pain meds, I’ll make a note for the next shift to let you sleep unless it’s dire.” Simon nods again, gratefully. Maybe Johnny will be able to get some uninterrupted rest this morning. You give Johnny one of your sweet smiles, and then directs it to Simon too. It makes his mouth go dry a little bit, and he’s too entranced by the eye contact, the curve of your lips, to notice Johnny’s eyes flicking back and forth between him, and you.

So maybe he doesn’t mind when its you, in particular. Maybe it’s not so bad, when you slip inside the room with an extra smoothie for Johnny, or when you flick the lights off when you think they’re both sleeping. Maybe he doesn’t mind that when he comes back from the cafeteria, you’re sitting in a different chair, reading from your kindle because Johnny had asked you stay a while between versed doses. He’s enchanted by the way you care for Johnny, the tenderness you show him, the way you’re gentle and sweet with him, to him, the way you take the time explain everything that’s happening with Johnny’s medical care to both of them, patiently answering the questions, even the ones Simon worries are dimwitted. Simon tells himself that it’s your job, you’re just doing your job, but he can’t help but perk up a little bit whenever you linger, or try to engage him in small talk. You ask him about their lives (busy) their job (classified) and how they fell in love (“it’s a long story-“ “it’s really not, LT.”)

He also notices little things about you too. Some nights when you come in, you seem happy, bubbly. Refreshed. And others, you’re dragging a bit, posture slumped, circles under your eyes. He sees the way your scrubs are usually a little wrinkled, the day you wore two mismatching socks, the small little bruise, impacted skin, on the inside of your arm… and it makes him wonder. You take such good care of Johnny, of himself… but is anyone taking care of you?

Simple Math masterlist

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

Do y’all think Gavin ever suddenly gets hit with the weight of ‘forever’ and what that means for him in relation to the people he loves?

Do you think he’s ever sitting on the couch with Freelancer, watching a mindless show, so completely at peace and happy when he’s suddenly struck with the absolute knowledge that this moment, that this life with them is a blink of an eye compared to what’s awaiting him?

Do you think he’s ever at lunch with Damien and Huxley, laughing about some story they’re squabbling over, and he can suddenly picture them at 70, bickering as a real, literal old married couple, and he’ll still look exactly the way that he does in this moment?

Do you think he’s ever laying on Lasko’s couch while Lasko’s humming in the other room doing the dishes, so relaxed and close to sleep, when his gut twists with the absolute fact that when this room, this building, this country, this world this person that he loves is gone, he will still be there?

Do you think he’s ever staring into Freelancer’s eyes, so hungry for the sight of them that he can’t savor it? He’s too wrapped up in trying to memorize every fleck of color in those eyes because he knows that one day, many many years from now, he will forget what color they were.

Do you think he tries to force himself into engulfing himself in a moment, surrounded by his family, soaking in every sound and laugh and smile and touch because he knows that they’ll be gone before he’s ready, because he will never, ever be ready? Do you think he’s ever so focused on trying to take them all in that he misses the conversation entirely?

Do you think he ever wonders which one of them will die first?

Do you think his friends ever notice those moments that he’s… missing? That he’s wrapped up in something bigger than them, bigger than they can even understand?

Do you think Gavin, a very young daemon comparatively, also can’t wrap his mind around ‘forever’ because he hasn’t even lived a single human lifetime yet?

And how long do you think it’ll take him, after all of them are gone, to start forgetting them?

[miley1442111]

hi!!!!! I love your writing so much, and I loved insomniac, and i was wondering if we could get some more aaron and insomniac reader? I just thought it was so cute!!

thank you ml!

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treatment plan (part 1)- a.hotchner

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a/n: thank you so much for requesting, I love this series (as a fellow insomnia girly)

summary: aaron oversteps and it starts a fight.

pairing: aaron hotchner x insomnia! reader

warnings: angst, discussions of insomnia and feeling 'different' because of it, mental health, crying, no happy ending, aaron is an asshole, fighting

part of this au:

insomniac

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Aaron didn’t always know what to do in these situations. He’d never had trouble sleeping, he was lucky like that. He realised very early into your relationship that he was lucky. He didn’t stay up for the simple fact of not being able to sleep often, he wasn’t worrying constantly about whether or not he’d get enough sleep to function the next day, he wasn’t brought to doctor after doctor only to be told the same thing time and again. “Sorry, we can’t help you,” or “No one here specialises in that,” or, his personal least favourite; “You can’t be helped, sorry.”

He knew he was lucky he didn’t have to go through the things you did. He didn’t have to worry about what insomnia would mean for his future health, what not sleeping would do to his body. 

You weren’t lucky. 

Every night was a battle, ever since you were a kid. You’d kick and scream, and even now, often you’d end up in tears. It was awful, and incurable somehow, at least in your case.

Yet, Aaron didn’t want to stop looking for a solution, and that’s how you ended up sleeping at Penelope’s place, your eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and a dumb rom-com on the TV. 

Fuck him. 

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4 hours earlier. 

Aaron walked into your shared home with his briefcase in his hand. You’d gotten off work an hour ago and come home to cook dinner. You were in the kitchen.

“Hey baby,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he walked in. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, then smiled down at you. 

“How are you?” he asked, but everytime he asked, there was another question underneath it, one he’d stopped asking because it would always end in a fight. ‘Did you sleep?’ 

Aaron had left early that morning, and he felt good when he saw you asleep in your bed, and he was as silent as humanly possible while getting ready, so he’d hoped he hadn’t woken you. 

“Fine,” you nodded, going back to your cooking. “Work was boring, but Lucy’s leaving so we have to go to her farewell party on Friday- if you’re around-”

“You have the sleep test on Friday night honey, we can’t go, remember?” 

You sighed. “I cancelled it. I can always do it another time.”

Aaron was in shock. You’d cancelled the appointment? The appointment that was there to help you, to help you feel better. “Why would you do that Bug?”

“Because Lucy is one of my best friends, plus it’s not like the sleep test is going to work, so it doesn’t matter,” you shrugged and Aaron felt his blood boil. 

In recent months, you’d become what he would call ‘complacent’ with your condition. You saw it as accepting it. After years of being told you were incurable, why should you search for a cure? They were the professionals, and you’d seen more than 60 doctors about this, in your entire lifetime. That didn’t bode well with Aaron. He would fight to the ends of the Earth for you, and he planned on trying to fight this for as long as it took, but that would only work if you were fighting too, which you weren’t. 

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. “We were on that waitlist for a year Y/n.”

“I was on that waitlist for a year, and I decided I don’t want to do it anymore, it’s my health,” you shrugged and served him up his plate. “Now tell me about your day.”

“We still need to talk about this,” he scolded, sitting across from you at your kitchen table. “You just decided to stop treatment?” His eyes were darker than usual, his signature 'negotiating stare’ trying to make you feel small. Not that Aaron himself was trying to make you small, just that you always felt… different when he looked at you like that. Strange. 

“I don’t know why you can’t grasp that I’ve accepted my condition?” You scoffed. “You don’t need to worry anymore, maybe this will be good for me! I’m always so worried, and so are you, even Jack notices it for fuck’s sake! My insomnia has controlled my entire fucking life, and I’m sick of it, so yes Aaron, I decided to stop treatment,” you weren’t exactly shouting, but you weren’t calm and collected. You were at your wits end, completely. You hadn’t slept in two days, you were bordering on exhausted, and you planned to take one of the sleeping pills you had, (even though you’re slightly allergic), an allergy medication, and sleep for 15 hours straight. You were very happy Jack wasn’t meant to be back from his cousin’s house until at least after 4pm tomorrow. 

“That sleep study is the closest we’ve ever been! Why would you cancel it? I understand you’re frustrated-” he started, but you cut him off. 

“You don’t understand Aaron. You don’t understand. How could you? When you go to sleep, it’s simply that, sleep. To me it’s so much more, so much anxiety, so many negative thoughts, so much awful shit, so many shitty sleeples nights since I was a fucking kid! And you don’t understand that, and I'm not asking you to, but I’m asking you to accept my decision over my body Aaron. I can’t deal with this anxiety anymore around something as simple as sleeping. I feel like I have no control anymore, so this is me taking back control Aaron-” You felt yourself welling up with tears. His face was set in stone, silently judging you.

“There’s better ways to take back control of your life Y/n-”

“Tell me!” you shouted. He stayed silent. “Exactly.”

“This isn’t healthy, you’re going to hurt yourself more Y/n,” he cautioned and you scoffed, a sick smile on your face, bred from your frustration and desperation. 

“Aaron, what more damage can I do to myself?-”

“I don’t want to wake up someday and have you not remember me!” He shouted. That was low. You were terrified of memory loss diseases like Alzheimer’s and Dementia. 

You stared at him for a minute, small tears pushing past your ‘emotionless’ exterior. “That was low Aaron.” 

“It’s the truth.” 

“No it’s not, it’s your truth. Don’t mix that up,” you cautioned. 

“Am I not allowed to be worried about my fiance?” he asked, but in that stupid condescending voice that made you want to smack him. 

“Aaron please just stop,” you groaned, looking down into your food. This was going to turn into a lecture. This was going to break you. You were right on the edge, hanging on by a thread. And Aaron cut it clean with his next words. 

“You’re being selfish.” 

You blocked the rest of his speech out. Selfish. You were selfish. Selfish was silently crying so he could sleep. Selfish was indulging every single one of his stupid sleep tests and doctors even if you were in pain and exhausted. Selfish was being poked and prodded by doctor after doctor that he brought you to, in hopes of finding a cure. Selfish was hiding your condition’s worst parts (migraines, mood swings, anxiety, memory loss,and everything else) so he wouldn’t worry.

Right, you were selfish. 

You got up and grabbed your jacket, keys, and phone, and you left the house. You ran into your car, Aaron hot on your heels with his booming voice screaming over you, pushing you further. Your car was cold, thus the pleasures of Washington. You shrugged it off and started driving, Aaron was trying to stop you, you didn’t let him. 

Fuck him, he was the selfish one. 

You drove to Penelope’s without another thought, just letting yourself cry. You couldn’t let this condition define you anymore, and you won’t let it define your relationship either. If Aaron didn’t understand that, maybe he wasn’t the right one. 

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With the shitty rom-com over and Penelope heading for bed, you made your makeshift bed on the couch, and tried as hard as you could to sleep, but you ended up just thinking about it all, all night long. 

What a great Friday night.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

criminal minds taglist :) (message me or comment to be added :))

@princess76179

@khxna

[cozage]

The Moss that Grew in Gloom

Chapter 4: Celebrating the Little Things

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

Summary: As the daughter of the best swordsman in the world, your life has been a lonely one. You've never minded the quiet life, until a mossy-haired swordsman falls to your island and shakes things up. Word Count: 1.3k Characters: female reader x Zoro

You decided to read for another hour before you risked venturing up to the third story. Based on a lifetime with your father, you knew it took him 15 minutes to get ready for bed, then 15 minutes to fall asleep. But you wanted to make sure he was in a deep sleep before you made any noise that might wake him. 

You crept past your fathers door and down the hall to Zoro’s new bedroom. You knocked softly on his door, trying your best not to disturb your father. He was a few rooms down, but he had always been a light sleeper. 

Zoro softly opened the door with a light creak, and you held up two bottles of wine and two glasses. “Celebration time!” You cheered quietly, raising the wine bottles in the air. 

Zoro frowned. “Just two?” he asked, looking at the bottles with disappointment. 

You rolled your eyes and sauntered past him into the room. You waited until his door had shut before you talked more freely. “We’re celebrating,” you hissed. “Not getting drunk off our ass!”

“Boring,” he said, but you could see a teasing smile dance across his lips. 

“Wanna make it a competition?” you asked, holding out a bottle to the swordsman. 

He raised an eyebrow as he took the bottle. “You’ll lose.”

You could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn’t bluffing. You didn’t doubt it either; you had seen him down alcohol at dinner. The substance barely affected him, even after several bottles. If it were a drinking contest, you were certain you’d lose miserably. 

“Not quite what you’re thinking,” you said. “Whoever can cut the cleanest cut across the bottle wins.”

Zoro laughed, turning the bottle over in his hand. He looked at the label, and you watched as his eyes practically popped out of their sockets when he saw the price tag. 

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “You can’t risk wasting such good alcohol for a competition.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “Scared to lose?” you asked innocently. You could see irritation spring up in his expression from your taunting. “We don’t have bottle openers anyway. You’ll have to slice it open.”

“Why the hell don’t you have a bottle opener?!” He demanded, his voice rising.

“Shush!” you hissed. “I don’t want to wake the others! Unless you want to share.”

Zoro frowned, obviously not wanting to lose his celebratory bottle. 

You placed your bottle on the floor and held out Nikko, readying yourself to make the cut. Zoro did the same, looking at the bottle uneasily. 

“If anything, I’m at a disadvantage. The teeth on Nikko could shatter the entire bottle.”

Zoro scoffed. “If you break yours, I’m not sharing.”

You sliced at the bottle without another word, a perfect cut across the neck. You suppressed a smile. Your father had always said there was no point for bottle openers; if you were too sloppy to open a bottle with a sword, you didn’t deserve to drink its contents. 

Zoro went next. There was some slight hesitation in his movement, but he was strong and had a good grip on the sword. The cut was clean, though upon further examination, not perfect. 

You clicked your tongue. “I see an imperfection right here.” You shook your head. “I think that means I won.”

“Oh piss off!” Zoro grabbed his bottle from your critical gaze and took a long swig. 

You grabbed your own bottle and sat down on the floor, savoring the rich flavors of the wine. It had to be at least 20 years old. Your father always picked the best wine when he was away. 

“So, you’re going to be the best swordsman some day?” you asked, trying to make small talk. 

“I am.” He let out a deep sigh. “This is damn good wine.”

“Why do you want to be the best?” you asked, looking at him inquisitively. 

He bit his lip, waiting a moment before he responded. “I made a promise.”

You raised an eyebrow. “To your captain?”

“No.”

The shortness of his answer surprised you. “Then to who?” 

He gritted his teeth. “Can you stop with the questions?”

His irritation made your face burn, and you took a long drink of wine to cover it up. It had been a long time since you had constant interaction with another human being who wasn’t your father. 

Sure, you had gone on small missions, but you had never gotten to know anyone. You were usually killing people or sneaking around, finding the highest bounty pirates you could so you could return home with some money. 

Being with Zoro was nothing like that. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I just don’t like talking about it.”

“That’s okay,” you said quietly, taking another drink.

“What about you?” Zoro asked. “Don’t you want to be the best?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I just want to be good enough to survive in the outside world.”

Zoro gave a dry laugh. “Trust me sweetheart, you’d be one of the best anywhere on the Grand Line.”

His compliment made your face flush again, and a heavy silence fell between you two. You weren’t sure how to tell him that even if you wanted to leave the island, you had nowhere to go. You could survive on the Grand Line, but you weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to do if you left Gloom Island. You had no idea who you wanted to be. 

“Thanks again for today,” Zoro said, finally bringing you back from your thoughts. 

You waved him off. “It was nothing.”

“It was everything,” he said, looking in your eyes. 

You weren’t sure when he had gotten so close to you. You could feel his body heat radiating off of him. You tried to blink a few times to clear your head, but your thoughts grew cloudy again the moment you looked at his slate-gray eyes. The wine must’ve gone to your head faster than you anticipated.

You weren’t sure why, but the alarm bells in your brain were ringing. Dangerous territory. You shouldn’t be here with him. Your father’s enemy. The one who would bring him down. You shouldn’t have come here. And yet all you wanted to do was move closer. 

You finally found the words you were looking for, and they came out in a whisper. “Whenever you need help, just let me know.”

He gave a small smile. “Tomorrow then. You’ll help me infuse the haki into my sword?”

You scowled, pulling back from him and taking a drink of wine. “You’re at least a month away from trying that, Roronoa.”

“I have a good teacher.”

You gave a light chuckle, finishing off the last of your wine and setting the bottle down. “That’s why I gave you a month.”

“Call me Zoro.” He set down his bottle and shook his head. “No need for the honorifics if you’re going to be training me.”

You weren’t sure why it mattered, but you nodded. 

Your body felt heavy, the wine coursing through your bloodstream. You needed to get to bed before you started feeling the negative effects of the alcohol. You stood to your feet, heading for the door, swaying much more than you intended to. 

“Let me walk you back to your room.”

You snorted. “You’d get hopelessly lost if you tried that.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I think I can find my way back to my room.”

“I don’t!” you barked out another laugh, the wine amplifying your giddiness. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You could feel his eyes on you as you opened the door, and you turned back to him one last time. “Goodnight, Roronoa Zoro.”

His eyes bore into your soul as he said, “Goodnight.”

You could feel his gaze on you as you gave him one last smile. You could feel him staring at you, even as you quietly shut his door. And you could’ve sworn his eyes followed you all the way back to your room, until you fell into your bed and promptly fell asleep for the night. 

[cryinginmyroomsposts]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

pairing: Hyunjin x fem!reader

tags: angst, fluff in ending, dancer Hyunjin, non-idol!au, college au, swearing

summary: Being in the coveted dance team of the university was no small feat. After being in the team for a whole year, you find yourself about to participate in a prestigious inter-college competition for Duet performance with none other than the college IT boy and dance team captain- Hyunjin. You'd spent one year suppressing your big fat crush on the charming boy, but now that you find yourself dancing in his arms, he just might paint you golden.

wordcount: 6.4k

Note: This can be read as a one-shot but I was kind of expanding on the universe from the Lee Know oneshot Mr Gorgeous.

masterlist

Let me know your thoughts and feedback.

It was a nice Sunday morning and like every college student, all you wanted to do was sleep in. But unlike every student, you’re part of the university dance team. From the outside looking in, it was the most glamorous group to be a part of. Being a part of the team inherently gave you the highest social status on campus. You got special exemptions from certain tests and even privileges for missing mandatory events.

Little did they know that all the shine comes with a mountain of hard work. Getting into the dance team itself was a major task lasting 5 entire rounds of selections in multiple genres, solo and group showcase. And once you make it, there is no room for complacency. The team did at least three performances a month- in-house and external. So the only constant in your lives was practice sessions, assignments and sleepless nights.

For being the most desired group on campus, the dance team never got the time to do any of the popular kid things, apart from the validation itself. Except for the dance team co-captain, of course. Hwang Hyunjin will not let busy schedules and tiring practices stop him from being the campus IT boy. Nobody, literally nobody, is privy to his charms.

Including you.

Despite a lifetime of training in dance, the primary reason you tried out for the dance team was Hyunjin. You still remember the goosebumps on your skin and the way your jaw was on the floor the entire time he was on stage. On the day of your freshman orientation a year ago, you had joined hundreds gathered in the amphitheatre to see the dance team perform. The then sophomore, Hyunjin along with his friend Lino (Lee Minho), had been the stars of the show. The entire team, including the charming ex-captain- Chris, were immaculate. The performance was so power-packed mixed with equal parts grace and emotions. While the boys had done a hip-hop rendition, the girls had taken a contemporary approach. The two eventually collided to meet in the modern-pop genre for the finale. You decided then to join the dance team, so you did a few months later.

Although you should’ve decided against harbouring a huge crush on said It-boy. In the first two shows after making the team, you were nothing but a blubbering mess. It took all of your conscious energy to not stammer every time he so much as looked at you. Ultimately, you mellowed down, or maybe the reality of seeing Hyunjin woo more than half the campus with his charms and leave a trail of broken hearts got to you.

You still respected him as a dancer, it’s hard not to when he oozes power, grace and sometimes the literal demon while dancing. His on-stage persona was almost entirely different from the idiot who runs around pissing off his Co-captain Minho, or constantly trying to borderline harass the newest and youngest addition to the team- Jeongin.

Your phone alarm starts ringing bringing you back to reality- Sunday morning rehearsal. You silence it before it disturbs your roommates’ precious sleep. Trying your best to tiptoe your way around the dorm room, getting ready and after grabbing a granola bar from your desk, you make your way to the practice room.

On the way you meet your favourite person on the team- Felix (truth be told he’s everyone’s favourite).

“Hii Y/n.” He waves furiously giggling as he walks up to you.

“Hi Felix” you giggle back, simply because it’s impossible not to get affected by his infectious joy.

“How are you so cheerful at 6:30 AM?” You ask as he gives you a side hug. He just shrugs and skips alongside you to the practice room. You let out a little laugh at the little ball of sunshine that is Felix as he starts animatedly telling you random stories.

The practice room is in shambles. You and Felix exchange a flabbergasted look at each other and look around the room again. Everyone is crowded in the centre and talking over one another.

“Y/N! Come here. Fast.” You hear your Sumi, your teammate, call from somewhere amidst the chaos. When the team starts noticing you enter the room, they fall silent. They move back from crowding in the centre and you realise all eyes are switching between you and Sumi who is holding a paper in her hands.

“What’s going on?”

Sumi gulps and hands over the paper to you.

Inter-College Dance Competition Category: Duet Participants: Hyunjin and Y/N

Shit. Holy shit.

“Morning guys.”

The voice startled you. You whip your head to see Hyunjin enter the room, his duffel bag on his shoulder, clothes crumpled, and hair in a messy bun. Yet he looked ethereal.

He looks at you and smiles. “Oh Y/n, you’ve heard the news. Good, we can get down to the details then.”

Details? What details? Oh, right dance.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure.” You finally manage with a nod.

“Alright guys let's start, we’ll do a couple run-throughs till noon, take a break and convene here at 4:30pm to get ready for the show. Finally, we go up there and rock the crowd. Sound like a plan?”

Everyone cheers and you nod, still processing the fact that you had been chosen to dance a duet with Hyunjin. Not just any performance but the biggest inter-college competition in the state. With Hyunjin. A duet. You. And Hyunjin. Good god it’s going to be a ride.

The team goes into a practised routine of rehearsals, chaos, more rehearsals and even more chaos.

At 1 PM you’re glad you can finally rest for a few hours before the performance. The evening rolls in, and you head to the green room. One by one, the girls start getting ready and the green room is already chaotic but becomes a full-blown circus once the boys crowd in.

From your place, you watch as Hyunjin hugs Jeongin so tight that the poor junior looks like he could die. Lino is sitting in his favourite corner (he has one everywhere he goes), cuddled up with his girlfriend- man has been the biggest simp since they got together a month ago. Felix is going around giving everyone motivation and cheering them up- typical Felix. He hugs you so tight and warm, you can feel the nerves physically leave you. Then there’s Yeji and Lia, discussing choreo parts with Sumi and others. The air in here is infectious, everyone is equal parts excited and nervous.

The performance goes by in a whizz, the adrenaline rushing through your entire body as you stand on stage witnessing your friends, classmates, seniors and juniors in the crowds enjoying the performance.

You feel alive.

Afterwards, you change out of the costume into your sweats and meet all your classmates who had come backstage to support you. The gratitude that fills your chest leaves you emotional.

You give Jeongin a tight hug, congratulating him on his official performance as part of the team. Even if he hates the hug, he gracefully accepts it and smiles wide. You were very entirely endeared by his cuteness- everyone was. Specifically his super fan Hyunjin.

Think of the devil and watch as he walks to where you and Jeongin are. Even though you squished down your tiny crush, you've always felt nervous around him- simply because he is Hwang Hyunjin. Now the impending performance and the sheer idea of having to spend weeks practising with Hyunjin- one on one, is doing no help to your nerves.

"Jeonginahhhhh," he squeals and you step back as he hugs the younger member. Jeongin tries his best to smile and endure it but fails, making you crack up.

"Hi Y/N," Hyunjin says, finally letting the younger one go free finally and turning to you.

"Hey, Hyunjin. Amazing performance." You manage to say, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

"Thanks. You did well too." He flashes his smile, his fringe falling to his face and his eye twinkling as his cheeks light up.

There goes any attempt of calming your nerves.

Hyunjin continues to shower Jeongin with compliments, rightfully so, and you watch how he looks carefree and young as the latter is glowing in pride and embarrassment.

Right as you turn to take your leave, Hyujin calls your name.

"Yeah?"

"We need to discuss the performance, when can we meet about that?"

The frown on your face turns up before you realise it and he laughs.

"I get it. I need a break too. Maybe we can meet on Friday evening?"

"Yeah, sure. That works for me."

"It's a date."

A what?

But before you can mull over what he meant, your friends drag you out of the green room to celebrate. You were glad for the welcome distraction. Especially watching Seungmin and Yumi constantly fight over everything as you and Jisung sit there laughing at their antics.

----------

"Y/n, You can do this! It is just dancing. You've been doing this your whole life. Well, not dancing with Hyunjin, but the semantics don't matter. You can still do this. It is just called a duet, maybe the two of you will not even be on stage at the same time. Hyunjin is a busy guy, he might just ask you to do your own choreo for your part. Y/n, I know you're gonna sla-"

"Y/n, I will MURDER you if you don't get out of the bathroom right fucking now."

Yumi's voice breaks you out of the pep-talk you were giving yourself in the bathroom mirror. You give yourself one final thumbs up and head out to see a fuming Yumi standing on the other side.

She grunts like a wounded dog and you giggle as you hug her in apology.

"Sorry. Anyways, I'm heading out now. Haffun." You pick up your bags and start walking toward the dorm room door.

"I will. All the best for your meeting. And Y/n?" You hum looking at her.

"It'll be alright, don't stress out too much." You nod appreciatively and wave as you head out.

The whole way to the practice room, you keep repeating the pep-talk to yourself. You've spent a good amount of time in the last four days telling yourself that the date comment is just a habit for the pro-charmer Hyunjin and it means nothing. You might've also spent a good few hours warning yourself not to develop any embarrassing feelings for him.

When you enter the practice room, you see Hyunjin, Yeji and Minho sitting in a corner discussing something. As the only seniors in the group, they make all the logistical and creative decisions for the team. Minho spots you first, smiling politely and Yeji follows suit. Hyunjin nods in your direction as the three of them start to pack up.

Yeji and Minho make small talk with you before leaving and you're left alone with Hyunjin. He sits down in the centre of the room, in front of the full-length mirror, and ties his shoes as you walk toward him. He's in his usual sweats and hair tied in a half-up bun.

"Hi." You mutter as you sit down next to him.

"Hello. Had a nice break?" He smiles and you nod.

"Yeah, slept like a pig. What about you?"

"Meh, I mean I got a break from the dancing but still... senior year you know. I'm just perpetually tired." He does look tired and you nod sympathetically.

"Well, I'm sure you'll fare better than me as a senior next year." He says with a smile, sounding sincere and it takes everything in you not to blush.

So much for no embarrassing feelings.

"Oh, sure. Don't downplay your achievements. No one could lead this team the way you do." You were speaking the facts but seeing him smile wide and bright made your stomach flip.

"Aye you don't need to butter me up anymore, you got the part in the biggest competition now."

"Hey, I wasn't trying to butter you up." You feign mock offence.

"Okay, I believe you. Anyway, let's start with the concept."

Please say anything except sexy or love.

"So the concept is love- more like finding your way back to love. So I thought we would do something where estranged exes find their way back to each other kind of."

Big time fuck.

You nod and smile as you process his words and what this might mean for said embarrassing feelings (which you will not harbour). You decide to be a professional and only focus on dancing.

"Yeah, that sounds cool. Do you have any choreo already planned?"

"Yeah." He pulls up his laptop from his bag and shows a video. Hyunjin and Yeji are dancing in the video, the dance is… touchy to say the least. You refuse to acknowledge the churning in your stomach as you see the two of them dance closely.

The dance is split into three parts- starting with solos expressing the regret and anger that both parties have, proceeding to a mirroring sequence where their anguish aligns and finally, the slow dance symbolising the happy ending.

Once the dance ends you stare at the blank screen for a minute before turning to see that Hyunjin is expectantly staring at you.

“So?” He asks with raised eyebrows and a small smile playing on his lips.

“Umm it’s amazing. As usual.” He smiles and waves away the compliment.

“I have one doubt though, why didn’t Yeji and you perform this?” Your voice comes out low and quiet. A part of you hopes your question doesn't make him rethink and choose Yeji instead- for dance, of course.

He shakes his head sidewise, a shy smile on his face. "It didn't feel right."

"Oh."

"Alright, so I can start teaching you the common parts and we can modify according to our needs as we go. I'll leave the solo to you. Okay?"

"Yeah cool."

Lord knows how this is going to end.

----------

"Hyunjin, let's do this once more and then we'll move on to the next part." You reprimand a whining Hyunjin, lying face-first on the practice room floor. It's the fourth day of practice sessions and both of you are running out of fuel quickly.

"Y/n, you're doing good. Let's just take a break and start with the slow dance part." He whines turning to face you with a pout.

You want to give in to his antics but you hold your stand. Partly because it is a mirroring dance and you desperately want to be completely in sync with Hyunjin (the man dances like he is the god of dance). Another part because you wanted to delay the thought of starting the next section of the performance because the thought of being close to Hyunjin and doing the slow-contemporary dance section made your legs turn to slime.

"No. I just want to perfect this. Just onceeee. Then we can take a break, and start the- the other part." You flash him your best puppy-dog face and he sighs as he gets up from the floor.

"Alright let's do this but I don't know what you are worrying about, you're perfect already."

Cue embarrassing butterflies and feelings you definitely do not feel.

And like clockwork, the two of you start moving according to the beat. You had watched Hyunjin's every minuscule movement and so had he. Now you are in so much sync that the perfectionist in both of you is almost entirely satiated.

"Okay... that was brilliant Y/n. Please let's take a break and start learning the next part." He says taking deep breaths and chugging water. You can barely nod as you catch your breath.

The next hour is spent eating the dinner you ordered a while back, reviewing the latest run and the choreography video.

"What are you thinking for the solo part?" He asks between bites and you have to admit he looks cute with his cheeks filled as he chews and frowns as he enjoys the food.

"I'm thinking of sticking to my roots- just contemporary."

"Oh that's good. You're good at contemporary."

"I- Thanks." He smiles.

"You should do something similar to your audition performance."

You nod involuntarily and then his words sink in. "You remember that?"

"Yeah, I do. It was an amazing performance Y/N. I'm sure everyone remembers it." You scoff and he raises an eyebrow.

"Minho asked me if I am new, last month."

He laughs. "No no, that's just his messed up humour sense. But anyways, I speak for myself when I say it's hard to forget such a good performance. And you."

You end up swallowing a big bite of your burger and start to choke as he just smiles and hands you the water bottle. Before you can say anything, he is up for the next part.

It starts fine, the two of you slowly moving toward each other with each step- from mirroring each other to reaching out. Then comes the trickier part. It starts with your hands brushing, the two of you circling around the other, looking into each other. Obviously, you look anywhere but his face. Because staring into those eyes will not do anything good for you. He doesn't say anything if he notices the little flinches or lack of eye contact.

The two of you keep practising the moves over and over until both of you are satisfied with the flow. Now it is becoming increasingly hard for you to focus on these details. Especially considering how your heart is beating in your ears with every step the two of you take.

He needs to hold your hand and move it in a curve while his other hand is on your hip. And it gets worse, as the following step requires you to turn and face him, your hands on his neck, his on your hips as you bend away and come back to his embrace. He suggests going over each movement slowly and it worsens your plight. You hear his voice from a distance as you do your best not to stare at his lips that are inches away. You can see that he is saying something and you find yourself nodding along. You do the step according to his counts and return to his embrace.

This is when you do the mistake of looking up at his face, he is staring down at you too. You see the black fringes that have escaped the bun, sticking to the corners of his face. His forehead is lined with beads of sweat, thin darkened eyes, and plump lips slightly apart. The clock ticks somewhere but neither of you seems to realise, until eventually, you snap back into sense- the inherent panic of feelings stirring in your stomach.

You step back and look at your feet, he stays still and starts fidgeting with his hands.

"I- Um... It's almost 10. I- I should head back." You stammer, slowly looking at him. He looks at you for a second and nods. You nod and start collecting your things.

"Do you want me to walk you back?" And thud goes your water bottle, slipping from your hands- entirely due to your clumsiness and nothing to do with butterflies, of course.

"Uh no not necessary. It's just a 5 min walk." You hope he looks disappointed but hope is a dangerous game for a fool trying to live in denial.

"Ok. Bye." He turns to his bag before you can say your bye and that's that.

------

"Two days. That's all we have for the performance! And this is when Hyunjin decides he can just go galivanting about and not show up to practice." You groan to yourself, standing in front of the full-length mirror in the practice room.

The last two weeks of practice have been a lot less eventful compared to the first. After the first day of doing the slow dance, things shifted between Hyunjin and you. Both of you became more distant and closer, at the same time. Some days you bickered like childhood besties, and on others, both of you walked around each other on eggshells. He often showed up to morning practice with crumpled clothes and messed up hair and your heart would drop to your stomach realising he must've spent the night with someone else. You would immediately reprimand yourself for making assumptions just to get your feelings in check.

And yet here you were, mind running in a million different directions as you figure he could be with anybody right now, while you sit in the musty old practice room at 7pm on a Saturday evening. These thoughts never helped, so you resort to your comfort zone- dancing.

And for the third time that evening, you go over your solo part and the rest of the dance. You are tired of dancing the same things so you start freestyling to your favourite tracks. Dancing always made you feel good, especially when you poured all your emotions out through your body. You lost yourself to the song, letting the beat and your body carry you away.

That's how you fail to notice Hyunjin's arrival until you get startled by the loud claps coming from the door. You whip your head around to see him standing with his go-to sweatshirt, duffel bag and hair in a bun. He is smiling wide, the kind that made his eyes small and cheeks full.

"Y/N, that was sooo goood. I've never seen you move like that till now. That was amazing, really!"

This boy made it so hard to live in denial with his charm, kind words and that smile. And that's why you can do nothing but smile and giggle like a little girl as you mutter a small thanks.

"Sorry, I got caught up in work. Have you been waiting long?" You watch as he puts his bag down and starts stretching and you see that his sweatshirt is inside out, and his hair is messier than you've ever seen. Here's the thing about this boy- he goes around breaking hearts without intending to. And here's the thing about unrequited crushes- you become somewhat of an Agatha Christie, just connecting all the randomest dots just to make up reasons to let your heart down again, it's almost a masochistic need. Logically, you knew better than to assume messy clothes meant anything of significance. But as a woman on a mission to prevent herself from falling deeper, you would grip onto anything that provides an anchor for your heart- even if it means you end up breaking your heart anyway.

And which is why you blurt out, "Why do you care if I wait... I'm sure you have better people to attend to anyway."

The piercing tone of your voice makes Hyunjin stop in his tracks and look at you through the mirror. The room is dead silent as you pick apart the skin in your cuticles in an attempt to keep the tears from falling and your heart from breaking further. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the all too familiar feeling of heartache that comes with unrequited love, but the shell you had so carefully maintained had come crashing down.

"Wha- What are you saying?" His voice comes soft and nervous. You do the mistake of looking up, through the mirror. You scoff and swallow the tears back, "No, nothing. I just- forget it. Let's practice."

"Are you sure? You just said something abou-"

"Can we just practice once and get over with this. I'm exhausted." You snap.

He just nods and proceeds to start the music. You don't look at him, not even during the mirroring sequence, he huffs a little too loudly at that. The run-through itself goes smoothly, until the last sequence. It's hard to do a romantic slow dance when you refuse to meet his eyes and keep flinching every time he touches you. Still, both of you push through. You get out of his clutches the second the song ends and start to pack your things.

"Y/N, why are you already packing?"

This boy makes it very hard not to get unreasonably angry at him because he doesn't let you hate him.

"It's almost 9 pm Hyunijn. I have been here since 6, I'm tired." He just nods and stays silent. You gather your things, throw your bag on your shoulder and leave. If he realises that this is the first time in two weeks you didn't wave or say bye enthusiastically like you usually do, he doesn't show it. If he realises that this is the first time in two weeks that he hasn't asked to walk you back to your dorm and you refused the offer like you usually do, he doesn't show it. The walk back to the dorm feels a lot heavier for the first time.

The next day is nothing short of a struggle, your eyes burning due to the incessant crying from the previous night, mind spinning everywhere and body weak. You were ashamed to have let your feelings mess you up so bad. Usually, you'd be extra careful to eat more and rest well during practice and performance times. This is probably the first time that you show up to the dress rehearsal with big bags beneath your eyes and feeling like a mess. It's not your first unrequited heartbreak, just the first time it feels this heavy and lonely.

The rehearsal is sullen- neither you nor Hyunjin makes any effort to talk. The tension in the air gets to the audiences for the day- Minho, Felix and Yeji. They exchange looks and try their best to engage both of you in some kind of conversation- it doesn't work. You put on the outfit and it makes you look decent despite your haggard state. The salt in the wound is how gorgeous Hyunjin looks in his outfit- not surprising, but still annoying considering he walked in looking downright homeless and sleep-deprived. The outfit doesn't hide the state of his face, yet he looks gorgeous. A week earlier both of you had been so excited to see the outfits, you even had hopes of Hyunjin finally seeing what is in front of his eyes. Yeah, stupid embarrassing feelings.

There are two full run-throughs, and the emotions until the last part is so enthralling to the audience. The three watching can see the tension flash as the two of you do your best to avoid each other's eyes and finish the dance. They don't press much, you're thankful for that. Getting out of the outfit, ready to head back to the dorm, you step out of the door only to find Hyunjin standing there- back in his oversized sweatshirt, messy hair and sullen expression. He always looked a lot younger and innocent when he wasn't performing, and you liked that about him- until now.

"Y/N, can I walk you to your dorm?" His voice quivers and he looks like an actual wounded puppy.

"Not needed." You avoid his gaze to evade giving in and walk away before he can retaliate. You always refused his offer knowing it was just another steep step right into disaster- as if the one already caused wasn't enough. You've also seen him pull the same gentlemanly moves with girls and boys across the campus and watch the poor suckers fall for him only to get burnt. Even after trying your best, you got burnt, you didn't need more reason.

------

"Y/N, can we just talk once before going on stage please," Hyunjin begs from the driver's seat. He is driving the two of you to the competition and the minute you sit down he says this.

"Let's just go. I have a headache." It wasn't a lie, but it felt bad rejecting him that way. The rest of the drive is silent, save for the faint music coming from the radio- which was annoyingly filled with love songs. After an hour's drive, you both arrive at the location. the entire place is filled with students from multiple universities across the state, all excited and dressed up, except for the two of you. You hate yourself for making this hard for both of you, especially when he did nothing actually wrong.

Stupid feelings.

"Stop fidgeting with your nails." Hyunjin snaps at you. He is sitting next to you in the green room- looking ethereal with makeup and costume on.

"I'm trying." You grunt back. There are ten minutes left for the performance and both of you are getting increasingly agitated.

"I'll help," is all he says before taking your hand in his and caging it there as looks toward the side of the stage. You try to protest but he clutches your hand pretty firmly.

"I won't burn you, stop squirming." His words effectively shut you up. You try to numb the feelings arising from his touch. You almost manage to do it until you realise he is rubbing circles around your palm. You're simultaneously calming down and getting more worked up. But he does manage to distract you till it's go-time. He gives you a small genuine smile and you nod, almost letting the tears fall. His face deflates but he immediately collects himself and goes into performance mode.

The music begins, you look out into the crowd, the nerves turn to excitement, and you feel alive. Hyunjin's solo leaves the crowd in awe. The audience goes wild during the mirroring sequence. But all the sound starts draining out as you move closer to him. You look at him, he looks at you, and your hands intertwine. The both of you move according to the beat- the only thing that exists right now is the music, Hyunjin and you. For the next minute he's yours and you're his. No one needs to know, the world could divide you later but for now, this was your sacred oasis.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and he reaches to brush it off in sync with the beat. His eyes sparkle, and there are a million emotions behind them. You want to hold on, you want to dance with him as long as you can. Both of you are in the tightest embrace you've ever been in, with shallow breaths, wet eyes and a big lump in your throat. The applause makes you break and look at the audience.

Neither of you speaks as you wait backstage for the last performance. You look everywhere but at him, trying to be as discreet as possible while rubbing the tears off your face. Eventually, all contestants are called up on stage. Hyunjin and you stand shoulder to shoulder, his palm brushing against yours but never reaching to hold on. The third and second places have been announced, the room is pulsing with tension and yet all you can think about is the man on your right.

You faintly hear your name, along with Hyunjin's, and it takes two seconds to realize that you've won the competition. What should've been the highest of highs of your life feels anti-climatic. You look up at him, both of you are smiling wide with teary eyes. You bear tears of fear and heartache, while he is probably teary-eyed on achieving this prestigious prize. The two of you collect the prize, congratulate fellow participants, and socialise with the other people there with practised smiles.

After an exhausting hour, the two of you are back in Hyunjin's car, still in outfits and makeup. He drives silently and you close your eyes fearing the tears will fall down otherwise. The car halts a while later as you've reached the campus. Both of you collect your things, take the cup and medal you won to the practice room and change out of the costumes.

Just as you turn to leave the room and head back to the dorms, he stops you with a hand on his wrist. You turn to question him but he doesn't look at you. He's locking the door with one hand as he holds on to you with the other. You roll your eyes.

"Hyunjin let me go."

He turns, now done with the lock, and starts walking forward as he drags you with him.

"Let me go, Hyunjin. I'm serious." He keeps walking, and you follow, until you've reached a room that looks like a storage room. He stops in front of the door and still doesn't let go of your hand. You're too confused to say anything although your head is buzzing with a million questions.

"When someone asks to walk you back, you should let them."

"Huh?" He turns to look at you, eyes dark and serious. He hasn't taken his makeup yet and he looks positively dangerous if not enthralling.

"I said, stop refusing when I ask to walk you back." His words are sharp and his voice is low.

"Why? What does that change?" The sting in your eye returns, you can't bare to look at him so you turn away.

But he holds your chin in his palm, the one that isn't holding your hand, and turns you to face him. "Y/N, I don't understand what I did wrong. Just please tell me, I'll do anything to make you happy."

"Why? Why do you want to make me happy? So that you can break my heart like you break everyone else's?" He looks shocked and the tears are now flowing desperately from your eyes.

"What are you even saying?"

"Hyunjin stop pretending... everyone knows that you just charm people and sleep around. Actually, it's not even your fault. I'm the idiot who knew all this and still let myself fall for you." You can feel your heart disintegrate and sincerely wish he'd let you go so that you can go hide in the comfort of your bed.

"What the fuck Y/N? Just 'cuz people say something doesn't make it true. I don't just go around flirting and sleeping with people." He's angry and you can hear it. You know he has the right to be but can't help your emotions. He is still holding your hand despite his anger, you note.

"Then where do you disappear off to every night? And why do you always show up in dishevelled clothes and messed up hair?" You sound stupid, now that the words are out of your mouth, but then no fool in love ever remains sane.

He sighs and throws his head back in frustration.

"You idiot. That- that's not because I'm fucking someone every night. It's- I go to.."

"To what Hyunjin?" Your patience is running low and he looks nervous.

He sighs. Letting your hand go, he opens the door to the storage room and turns the light on. It is an art studio, filled with paintings upon paintings. You turn to Hyunjin, more confused than before.

"This is my makeshift studio. A gallery owner has signed me on as the artist for their upcoming exhibition. I'm trying to get stuff done for that. It's next week. That's why I am always late to practice and why I look 'dishevelled'." He says quietly, with air quotes and a desperate tone in his voice.

"What?" To say you're surprised would be an understatement. You know he is an art major and that he paints, but all of this is new information. You look around the room once more, there are various kinds of paintings- places, flowers and even people.

"Yeah. I've been trying to show you my work for weeks now, that's why I keep asking to walk you back. I have always wanted to show you my work but didn't get the courage to talk to you personally till the practice." He looks nervous and his mouth forms into a pout. You just let out a laugh as more tears roll down your cheeks at the relief. "Why are you still crying?" He asks slowly as he wipes the tears away and you just laugh.

"So... you're not with someone else?"

He smiles now and shakes his head. "But I want to be..." Your eyes widen and the lump in your throat that was finally starting to dissolve comes back in full force. Seeing your face he starts to laugh.

He faces you, letting go of your hand to hold your face in both of his hands and leaning toward you. Your heart is beating in your chest.

"Dummy, it is you I like. Don't know how or when, but yeah..."

It appears that the act of having someone reciprocate our feelings can be perceived as rather endearing rather than embarrassing.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks slowly, his voice dangerously low.

"How are you so sure I like you back?"

He smirks at you and rolls his tongue in his inner cheek.

"Hmm... let's see how. You just acted like a crazy idiot for a week and told me it is because you thought I was fucking other people." Your face burns up in embarrassment as his smirk turns into a full smile. "Also, you get so extremely flustered every time I come close to you and your face is all red and cute, just like right now."

You close your eyes shut tight at his words, ready to combust.

"I didn't do a good job keeping my crush in control at all huh." You manage to say, slowly opening your eyes to see him smiling brightly.

"Absolutely not." The both of you laugh, he pulls your face closer and you hold onto his waist for balance. The lump of anxiety in your throat has turned into a plethora of butterflies.

"So can I kiss you or do you just want to keep staring at my lips like you do every time we dance."

"Oh shut up, Hyunjin."

He laughs and leans in but pulls back at the last minute. You let out a whine in protest.

"I- I just wanted to confirm, I like you and want to date you. Only you. Is that clear?" You just nod, breaking into a smile so big your jaw hurts.

"Also you might be the muse of my paintings."

"What? How many?"

He looks shy. "One?" You raise your eyebrows. "Okay, five."

"Hyunjin wha-"

You never get to finish the sentence as he takes your mouth in his and you've never loved rude interruptions before. Seems like wouldn't mind anything as long as you get to hold and be held by Hyunjin and dance with him through a thousand storms.

[katsutora]

— HOMESICK

ft. isagi yoichi ; itoshi rin ; nagi seishiro ; bachira meguru ; chigiri hyōma ; itoshi sae

summary: them picking you up after a trip

note: i’d like to be everyone’s weekly teeth rotting fluff provider but then i remembered i dont have it in me to serve content every week LMFAO i lack prompts besties

⚘ ISAGI YOICHI

ㅤㅤhas a relatively normal reaction as he sees you approaching him, but is actually trying his best not to freak out. he smiles at you softly as if he didn’t almost explode from all the excitement. once you’re in the car, he doesn’t let go of your hand the entire trip home. can’t stop staring at you too (a huge simp, good for you) because it’s been a while since he last saw you in person and it’s still kind of surreal to him. hmm, what was that? hands on the wheels, eyes on the road? yoichi, seriously, pay attention oh my god. you better promise you’ve tried everything and that this really is the last resort. “kaiser is in the middle of the street.” oh? oh. oh shit. “i'll run him over.” i mean... you gotta do what you gotta do to snap him out of it, right? (no)

⚘ ITOSHI RIN

ㅤㅤhe’s definitely in a sour mood. seething. most likely scared every single person who passed by him. the fact that he’s rapidly gaining fame doesn’t help at all (prayer circle for that one poor kid who only wanted to ask him for his autograph). he’s leaning against the wall, looking super annoyed. the root of the problem? not the fact that he has to be there of course, more like why the hell haven't you arrived at the gate yet (calm down rin it’s only been like ten minutes lmao). misses you as hell but won’t tell? that rhymes. immediately wraps you in his coat as an excuse to hug you tightly. “t’s not that cold, rin.” refuses to let you go. he’s clinging onto you for dear life as if he’s finally found you after a lifetime. “i know. just a little longer.” his grip only tightens when he notices people looking at you two. gee, they’re just trying to get to the exit gate, stop blocking it smh.

⚘ NAGI SEISHIRO

ㅤㅤit’s almost comical how he suddenly turned into a lighthouse as soon as he spotted you. people are putting on their sunglasses indoors, someone help. mandatory bear hug (but there’s a 50% chance that you’ll both fall to the ground because he can be clumsy like that). “that was so cringe.” “you love it, though.” “i love you.” ugh sappy. if somehow you survived that acrobatic act, he’ll bend his 190cm ass after putting you down so you can kiss the top of his head! if you don’t, well, he's not gonna stand up any time soon because it’s “comfy” and definitely not because getting up is a hassle. gets super chatty all the way home. “did you know shidou decked rin again today?” “barou planted his face on the ground yesterday, king who?” “i told choki to watch the food in the oven btw.” says it in the most casual manner; you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “mhm. wait WHAT?”

⚘ BACHIRA MEGURU

ㅤㅤa pinball. will not hesitate to break through a crowd, bumping into everyone and everything. should be classified as a hazard to society. no jk. but he did almost tackle a kid when he was running towards you. has his arms wide open and ready to tackle you too embrace you. “you’re back! welcome home!” “i’m home!” “welcome home!” “i’m home!” don’t you have anything else to say besides that lmfao (it really went on for a solid five minutes). falls asleep on your lap in the car since he already spent all his energy on that whole “embodying a golden retriever” thing back there. looks so peaceful and angelic like that. also sleep-talks. “y’re hmm”. you didn’t expect him to remain this quiet but it’s the best nap he’s had in a while so uhh “karaoke night?” karaoke night he said. good luck to your poor neighbors tonight.

⚘ CHIGIRI HYŌMA

ㅤㅤladies and gentlemen, him. a runway model. is he picking someone up or is he going somewhere? with looks like that, no one will ever know. forget the elegant saunter; the moment he saw you, he full on sprinted. the type that brings you flowers and your favorite snacks. seems like someone who knows what he’s doing right? but when you pat his head in response to his warm welcome, he short-circuited because you just stole his line. “i’ve missed you.” immediately softens and melts in your embrace. you think it’s all calm and that until his sister arrives out of nowhere, calling out both of your names and the next thing you know, she’s taking pictures of you as if this is your graduation day. “lookie over here, you two!” you’ve never seen someone speedrunning five stages of grief in record time.

⚘ ITOSHI SAE

ㅤㅤmans turning the airport into a red carpet premiere smh; cameras flashing everywhere, people eager to ask him questions, etc. he’s learning that looking down on his phone isn’t a good enough disguise, and that his bored face isn’t scary enough to fend off his fans. oh finally, he thought as he spotted you amidst the crowd. “over here, sae!” “oh my, it’s itoshi sae!” but he has his gaze fixated on you and only you. don’t worry, of course he’ll notice if you grow uncomfortable with all the attention and will immediately wrap his arm around your figure. !! breaking news: itoshi sae quits the world of football and is now becoming a personal bodyguard. navigates through the crowd while mumbling “fall under my spell.” boy what they’re not shidou (narrator: they did, in fact, fell under his spell). “give me your number!” uhh? “move in with me!” wow it’s not your sae, huh? it’s everyone’s sae.

© 2022 katsutora ; do not repost and/or translate and/or claim my works

[zalrb]

Saint {elena/stefan/katherine pt. 7}

It's long and hopefully messy af. Hope you enjoy! The gif limit pisses me off, lololol.

Link to part 1: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/707929608286240768/toxic-elenastefankatherine-fic

Link to part 2: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/709460774203064320/valentines-day-elenastefankatherine-fic-pt-2

Link to part 3: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/709838031967879168/choices-elenastefankatherine-fic-pt-3

Link to part 4: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/710274615200628736/blood-elenastefankatherine-fic-pt-4

Link to part 5: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/710584105290579968/boundaries-elenastefankatherine-fic-pt-5

Link to part 6: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/733086688201654273/kill-elenastefankatherine-fic-part-6

Stefan Salvatore was walking. Haunting the night. Skulking the shadows. The way a vampire should, he supposed.

All of Mystic Falls seemed to be sleeping or at the very least, shut away in their homes, leaving him the freedom to brood in the open air. He had to have walked the entire town at least once by now. It felt that way, anyway. But he couldn't stop moving, walking, running. Couldn't stop trying to outstrip his own thoughts.

Really, he was ready to be bored. To evolve. He was ready to just be done. Over the years, when he’d come across other men who had fallen prey to Katherine Pierce – tomb vampires, Elijah, Mason — he had pitied them, having had been a victim to her once himself but no longer a fool to her sway. It was all in the past. Even when they’d slept together years after she'd returned to his life, he hadn’t been twisted up or lovesick. It had been a contained moment. He had evolved from her then. So, he didn’t know why he felt like this now. Why she had her claws in him now. Why he couldn’t seem to get enough now.

He didn’t love her. That much he knew. Not after everything she’d done to him, the lies and the deceit, the violence, the manipulation; she’d stolen his human life and had done her utmost to ruin his vampire one so that he only had her to rely on. But more than that, he couldn’t love her. That was the important part. He couldn’t love her after knowing what true love felt like, not after knowing what Elena felt like, her blood, her touch, her kiss, her voice. For all the lifetimes he lived and would live, he knew that nothing could or would ever eclipse that. Loving Katherine wasn’t the problem.

And yet. She had been gone for fourteen days and he felt those fourteen days in his skin. He wanted to forget her --- his mind, his heart, his conscience all wanted to forget her, but his body was in a tragic, despicable need. His lust, his anger, his resentment, his ego, they all fed off the poison in his interactions with her and they were, waiting, in frenzy, for another hit before he was swallowed with shame for the feelings that came out when he was with her.

He drew some dark, vicious satisfaction from the fact that Katherine had to be more of a mess than him. He may have been craving her but he knew that she was fiending for him. In an attempt to punish him, she was torturing herself and thinking of her, tormented in her self-appointed denial of him, only served to arouse him.  He hated that. God, he hated her. Above all, he hated himself. His craving was tinged by disgust, his yearning accented by hate, he was in a repulsive, unsavoury state of being, that left him wired and strung out and even mired in all of this, missing Elena.

He’d been avoiding her. Avoiding hurting her. Avoiding scaring her. She had seen him at his lowest and he had told her about the worst parts of himself, she had seen his worst parts, his capacity for danger, for cruelty, the things about himself that brought him the most shame and remorse, and she’d never judged him. No, she’d understood, offered sympathy, gave him grace, gave him her love and that was why he couldn’t bear to see her when he was sick with another woman. The woman who had cursed him with her love. It was an insult. 

Suddenly, Stefan stopped walking.  He heard ... it sounded like ... those words ... that tone ... In the distance, he could see a cross perched above a steeple. It ... what he heard ... he couldn't block it out ... it was coming from that direction.

He heard it again.

His heartbeat quickened with dreadful anticipation. He wanted nothing less than to see who that voice belonged to and yet the promise of a reunion stoked in him a furious lust or lustful fury, he wasn't sure which. He should be smart. He should be strong. He should --- 

But his feet took him to the church. 

The sanctuary was only lit by candles so it was dark and quiet. The sound of his footsteps was the only thing he could hear until ---

A voice, breathy and whiny with need. "But the thing is, Father, I haven’t seen him in … weeks …” “And I’m just so … so hor --- tightly wound. For him. But I just …” Quickened breathing. “I just need some kind of relief. Please. Do you think you can help me? Do you think you can help a child in need? Please?”

It was an instinct he would do anything to curb, but Stefan sped over to the confessional and wrenched open the door. He didn't know what he expected to see. If there'd be a priest in a compromising position or dead or compelled or ... he didn’t know, he just knew he had to see. There was no one inside.  Suddenly, Katherine was behind him in a black dress accented by a long rosary draped around her neck in layers, and a smirk on her face. 

"Fancy seeing you here," she said.

Stefan grabbed her then turned and pushed Katherine hard against the carved, ornate wall of the confessional. 

"Stop messing with me!"

"Were you angry that you thought I was corrupting a man of God or were you jealous because you thought I was with another man at all?"

Neither. Both. She was toying with him and he was in no mood. And yet he was. Stefan could feel his fangs itch. His blood boil.

"Who did you want to kill, me or him?"

His jaw clenched. She always asked that question. He never answered. He would not give her the satisfaction of admitting anything. 

“God, you’re just revving to go, aren’t you?” 

“That why you disappeared, huh?” he asked. “Again?”

His anger sounded desperate even to his own ears. God, he wanted to kill this feeling.

“Sometimes it’s good to remind you that you want this as much as I do,” said Katherine. “That you go feral when you don’t have access to me.” 

"So then, how did you know I'd be out? How did you know I'd come here?"

Katherine looked at him with mock sympathy. "Stefan, Stefan, Stefan," she said. "I lured you here. All those late night walks you take."

He blinked at her. Her expression was smug and satisfied --- it was the face of triumph, of a winner, and yet she did nothing to move from his grip on her throat. As ever, he didn’t know if that meant he was in control or if it was her. Stefan let her go and backed away.

She walked toward him, slowly unravelling the rosary twirled around her neck. "You really think I would've left you alone for two weeks?" She pulled a face. "You think I wouldn't want to see my handiwork? All that tension, all that need?” She shivered at the anticipation of Stefan unleashing all of that on her. “I've been watching you this entire time."

He wanted to seize her and break her and kiss her and lay her bare.

Stefan looked at  the rosary, now hanging loose around her neck. "Little theatrical don't you think?" he said, glancing around the church, at the confessional, the candles, the stained glass windows.

"I like making an impression. This is the perfect place for you. All that guilt?" She put a hand on his cheek and he tensed. "Want to add a little more?"

"What game are you playing?"

"Doesn't matter." She ran a finger across his lips. "I know you want to play with me. Maybe that can be your first confession. What's it going to be, saint or sinner?" 

He caught her finger between his teeth, and Katherine nearly convulsed. It took all the control she had to keep from launching herself at him, to keep from begging him to relieve the frustration she'd been suffering from for fourteen days.

It had been a persistent ache that had driven her to the point of humiliating neediness, where she did everything she could, used everything she could think of to rid herself of the pulsing desire that could only be satiated by the man in front of her. And he was going to completely undo her with a simple act.

Stefan closed his eyes. What was he doing? How was this his life? Why couldn't he stop? He needed to stop. He --

"There's nothing I'd ever confess to you," he said.

Katherine draped the rosary around Stefan as well. "I'd expect nothing less than you wanting me on my knees, begging you for absolution." She pulled the rosary tight around his neck, choking him, using it to pull him forward, to pull him toward her, so they were a breath away from each other, so close her lips brushed against his when she spoke.

"Shall we begin?" She gestured to the confessional.

Stefan didn't answer. He didn't move. He just stayed where he was, letting the beads dig into his skin. The moment he thought he heard her voice on the wind, he knew that he would succumb to whatever was going to happen next. He would fight and battle, and he would hate himself for it, but ultimately he would succumb. He knew that. She knew that. He wondered, then, if it would give him peace, even momentarily, if he did more than succumb for the night but if he actually gave in. If he admitted what this did to him, that it excited him. Would that soothe something in him, would that give him the relief, the release, he needed to be set free? Could he move on, could he sleep, could he face himself, could he face Elena, could he tear away from the intoxication of toxicity if he just ... ... confessed?

“I’m not a saint.” He glared at her before freeing himself from her beaded prison and stepping into the side of the confessional for the and closing the curtain behind him. 

Katherine flushed. “Oh, I do love a surprise,” she said, before stepping into the box herself and closing the door behind her. 

*

Elena just made it onto campus and felt glad that Bonnie and Caroline had refrained from moving back because she didn’t know if she was going to scream or if she was going to cry when she got to her room, and she wanted to be alone to figure it out. 

She was barely inside her dorm before she heard, "Do you want to know what's so perfect?”

Elena turned on the light and saw Damon sitting on her bed, a drink in hand. The books and grimoires she went to sleep reading and re-reading to find that one overlooked line or detail about how to permanently kill Katherine Pierce so that she was gone gone, not other-dimension gone, were on the floor. She threw her head back.  

“I thought you outgrew this, Damon.” 

“Uh…” Damon shook his head, trying to find words. “Let’s say alcohol makes me emotionally regress.” 

Elena closed the door behind her. “Right.”

“I’m surprised you’re here actually. I thought you’d be out stalking your ex boyfriend.” 

“I know exactly where he is,” said Elena quietly. “I know exactly who he’s with.” 

The church. Doing God knows what with her. It was a bit of a sick joke. Elena had been keeping tabs on Katherine who had been keeping tabs on Stefan, which meant that Elena had been following him too, skulking after him the way Katherine did, the way she had always done. He’d told her about how she’d checked in on him over the years and even at the time he’d told her, when they’d been together, Elena understood how and why Katherine would do that, how and why she’d just need a glimpse of him to see how he was doing. It was Stefan after all. Not knowing where he was or how he was doing her summer before college had weighed on Elena like a pebble lodged in her mind. And now she was in a place where she couldn’t help but check in on him. For two weeks, Stefan had avoided her. Avoided everyone. And she had allowed him his privacy only because she’d known where he was. 

Damon chuckled. “Perfect transition. So, again, do you know what’s so perfect?”

“What, Damon? What’s so perfect?”

"You and Stefan, the great love story, the great romance, and your love is never enough."

Elena closed her eyes and sighed. “I really don’t feel like playing this game tonight.” 

"No, but just think about it.” He put his glass on the bedside table and then put his hands behind his head. “He loved you and yet he left you to save me. You loved him, you chose him, but ended up with me. Why do you think that is? You two just love each other too much to be together permanently? You always have to leave?”

“But I never really did leave him, did I?”

Damon did nothing but glare.

Elena leaned against a dresser. “I never left him,” she said again. “And he never really left me. Even when it hurt. Even when we tried.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “Why else would we still be in each other’s lives? Don’t you think I know how desperate this looks, how pathetic I must look to everyone? After hearing them, after seeing them? Don’t you think I know anyone else would’ve walked away? But it’s still the same, I can’t give up. And neither could he.”

“He didn’t fight for you. Not when you chose me.” 

“He respected my choice,” said Elena. “But he never left me,” she said, shaking her head. “So, why do you think that is?” 

Damon scoffed. “Feels like he finally is giving up.”

“This is a phase. Some kind of revenge.” 

Damon raised his eyebrows. "You think he's sleeping with her to hurt you back?"

"Stefan doesn't do that. He isn't---"

"What? Me?" Damon grinned. "That's the problem."

Elena muttered beneath her breath. "Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said? That's what you want the problem to be."

Damon put his hand to his chest. "Ouch."

Elena sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Damon, this really isn't---"

"You've said a lot of things over the years that have hurt me," he said, swirling the whisky in his glass.

Elena blinked temporarily wrong-footed. "I..." She took a breath. "I'm sorry."

"Stefan's never experienced that."

"You just asked me if I thought he was with Katherine," she could barely say her name, "to hurt me back. How can you also think I've never hurt him? Especially after everything between the three of us?"

"Doesn't count. Extraordinary circumstances."

Elena furrowed her eyebrows. "What other reason would there possibly be for me to hurt him?"

"What reasons were there for you to hurt me?" Damon took a sip of his drink. "You've been casually cruel, you've manipulated me. You couldn't stand to do that to Stefan," he said in a tone that was somewhere between smug and bitter. "You can't bear to see him in pain and that's the beauty in all of this."

Elena looked at him, incredulous. "Damon, I don't---"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you? You can't save Stefan from this. You can't keep him from Katherine."

"You're wrong," she said simply.

"You love him too much," Damon said. "He loves you too much. It's too pure."

She shook her head. "That's ridiculous."

Damon laughed humourlessly. "Stefan isn't a saint and you've never been able to accept that."

"No, no,” she said, walking up to him, her index finger pointed. “I've always known that Stefan has a dark side, OK? I've seen it. I've faced it," she insisted. "I just think that he's more than the worst thing he ever did! So does he!"

Damon gestured triumphantly. "And that's exactly why you're losing. You two always bettering each other, pushing each other, protecting each other." He took on a mocking tone. "Trying to find the rainbows and the puppies and the silver lining." He rolled his eyes. "He's revelling with Katherine in the parts of himself he hates, that he tries to ignore or tries to better. You two could never do that."

"And what makes you so sure?"

"Because you revelled with me. You tasted blood with me. You killed because of me."

"Because of the sire bond."

"Which part?"

Elena brushed her hair away from her face but said nothing. Damon nodded.

"Casually cruel even in your silence. You have no problem hurting me. You have no problem hating me. The truth is, you know how addictive it is, what Stefan is doing." 

Elena narrowed her. "I was never addicted to you."

"The sex dreams you've had about me beg to differ."

She scoffed. "That was different than what's happening to Stefan now."

"Because it's Stefan. He doesn't half-ass anything, my brother, he goes full throttle. All or nothing. He's not just addicted to Katherine, he's obsessed with her."

Elena winced.

"And that fucking torments you, right?" said Damon.  "But you still can't hate him for it. You still can't want to kill him for that. You can't give him what he---"

"That isn't what he needs," said Elena sharply

"But it's what he wants," said Damon. "He wants to be feral and savage. He wants to be a vampire. And you can't give him what he wants this time." He drained his glass. "Call it karma."

“I don’t believe that,” said Elena. 

Damon looked at her, a vindictive grin on his face. “Then why did you leave the church?”

Elena furrowed her eyebrows. “How did you know that’s where they were?”

“The question is, do you want to go back?”

***

Katherine had never been more exhilarated. She heard Stefan on the other side, heard the unbuckling of his belt, heard his zipper, heard him shift; when she’d moaned and whimpered, he’d pressed himself against the wall, she was sure of it, and that made her flush with arousal.  She could hear the faint whispers under his breath, his self-admonishments, his curses of pleasure, his need for release that sickened him and she encouraged his tortured desire with unadulterated excitement as she let him know she couldn’t help herself, that she never could. Through the grate she could see that deliciously anguished expression as he reacted to her words, her noises. She sighed loudly. He responded in kind. 

“Confess. Do you like hearing me?” 

“Yes.” 

She smiled. “Because you want me?” “Yes.” 

“And that kills you?” 

“Yes.” 

“But you want me anyway?” He was leaning his forehead against the grate and gripping onto the wall, splintering the wood. “Yes. Yes.”

Katherine threw her head back. His words were drugging, enough to bring her to the brink. She’d yearned for his yeses for weeks, for decades, for a century and now he was giving them to her in a choked voice tortured with want. 

“You crave me?”

“I’d give anything to stop.” 

She made an urgent noise and caressed the grate in a feeble effort to feel his skin through the gaps. 

“Tell me. Confess. Confess.”

“I haven’t had my fill of you.” 

“Yes,’ said Katherine.

“I want -- fuck.”

She was undulating, racing to finish.  This was … this was … but, she couldn’t ignore it. The twinge in her chest, the nagging feeling that always served to remind her that even with all of his lust and pain and conflict, that even with his acquiescence, even with his obsession,  he didn’t love her. He didn’t have her in his heart. None of his confessions --- I hate it but I can’t stop and I hated you for showing up tonight but I hated you for leaving two weeks ago and yes, it’s taking everything in me not to break down this wall and come for you --- were about his undying passion or eternal love for her. He belonged to her even when, even if, she stopped claiming him, even when he refused her claim, he would never, could never pull away from her. Katherine felt a flare of rage amidst her desire that then turned to a resolve of sorts, as it always did. This was all familiar and yet never old, she, and they, could never get old. 

Katherine got up and ripped open the curtain. Stefan was already leaving his side of the booth to get to her. She pushed him back inside, sitting him down so that she straddled him. She’d never get his love, fine, she would just have to do what she always did --- bring Stefan lower, deeper into her, entangle him in the messy web that was their relationship. Take it all from him. She took a kiss from him, ravishing him, dug her fingernails into his shoulders, whimpered into his mouth when he grabbed her by the neck.

He moved them out of the booth, back into the nave, and slammed against a pillar, making the building shake. The impact was near-hazardous and the idea of his lust for her being so great it’d bring down an entire church inflamed Katherine beyond reason.

“No,” she whispered in his ear. “I want you now. Now.” 

He lifted off her dress in a single motion and suddenly there was clattering on the floor. Something had fallen out of her pocket. A lot of somethings. Stefan moved away slightly to inspect, making Katherine groan with impatience and frustration at the absence of him against her, between her. She took a step forward to close the gap between them but Stefan pushed her back against the pillar, holding there, his quiet domination making her moan. Candied chestnuts had fallen from her dress. One landed in Katherine’s bra. Stefan’s eyes stayed on it for a few moments and then he quirked an eyebrow, looking at her to explain.

“Come on, Stefan, you know your history,” she said breathlessly. “I was alive at the time, after all.” 

After a beat, he realized. “This is a poor substitute for the Vatican.” 

“But it’ll do.” 

“Mm.” 

He closed the gap between them -- finally -- and buried his face in her chest, taking the chestnut out with his teeth before kissing and palming her breasts. Katherine sighed and gripped his hair, gripped his back, pushing him deeper into her so she could feel him once again between her legs.

Stefan teased her with a graze of his fangs and she shivered then left her again, to pick up her dress. He found a few more chestnuts, and backed farther away from her as he chewed the one in his mouth. 

“If I remember that contested piece of history correctly…” His expression was becoming more devilish. “The courtesans were stripped bare, weren’t they?”

Katherine steadied her trembling body against the pillar, trying to exude control instead of melting into a begging mess. “They danced first.”

Stefan nodded.

“Is that what you want me to do?”

His gaze was focused. “I just want you naked.”

And God, that was what he’d get. Katherine left her spot on the pillar and followed Stefan into the aisle. She reached behind her back then stopped, and then looked at him. “That’s what you want?” She wanted him to say it twice. “Me, naked, on my hands and knees?”

“Yes.”

It was a command and with that voice and that look, she would do anything for him. 

“You know it was here,” she said, unclasping her bra. “This exact spot.” She let it fall to the floor. She wanted him wild and inflamed and as drunk on her as she was on him. “Before I was dragged to hell.” She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear. “Where I vowed that only I could have you.” She was wearing nothing but the rosary and it switched something in Stefan’s brain. 

“Only pick up what I drop,” he said.

And she did. Stefan took his time, walking backwards, step by step, toward the sanctuary, leisurely dropping chestnuts on the floor, keeping Katherine’s gaze as she crawled toward him, collecting what he scattered.

The way she moved, feline, almost serpentine, a seductive display just for him

inflated something in Stefan that made him want to twist the rosary around her neck around his hand and pull her to him.

He could do anything. He could have her like this, on her hands and knees, for hours. One word and she’d do what he told her to. She had centuries on him, more strength than he could fathom, and she’d let him stake her for his pleasure, torture her for his knowledge, she’d let him bind her and leave her for his own amusement. She never said no. And he never had to compel her to say yes. Never had to use the tricks on her that she’d used on him. The power he had over her, the control he held, he alone had that and did that, he could make her plead, make her pay, make her yield to him in a way he could never and would never yield to her and every time he remembered that, every time she reminded him of that, he wanted to test the limits, see how far she was willing to go, how far he could go. 

She had chestnuts in her hands, in her mouth, she’d picked them up in ways he wouldn’t have been able to imagine. The more she prowled, the more her movements seemed to change, seemed to shift into something… dangerous, as if suddenly, Stefan was prey, as if he was something to be consumed. That same smug expression was on her face now but with sultry, seductive eyes, like she had him right where she wanted him, like she would devour him completely. And the closer she got to him, the faster his heart raced; he could hear its beat in his ears, feel a tremor throughout his body, and Stefan felt something like excited trepidation mixed with resentful frustration that she had seized back the power he’d been enjoying. But this was what she wanted, the struggle for the upper-hand. She wanted him battling himself, battling her, the fight, his better nature, is what tangled him in her with no thought of escape. He had to give in tonight. He had to. Remember?

Suddenly, they were against the altar and Katherine was feeding him chestnuts, transferring one into his mouth with a kiss that made him greedy, that made him want to steal her breath, steal her soul, that made him want to leave her a gasping husk. And then he was on his knees in front of her as she picked up a chalice half-full with wine and poured it down her throat so it spilled down her chest, her stomach. He drank the red rivulets off her skin, licking and lapping and sucking so that she giggled and moaned and clutched him to her

and then he was piercing her skin and drinking from her skin, her blood on his tongue, the wine on his lips, her nails digging into his shirt, raking his back, his grunt and her moans reverberating off the walls and echoing throughout the church. Stefan turned his attention lower so that her body arched and she fell back onto the altar, her back bowing off the surface, her arms spread out so she could grip the edges, her moans turning to sobs of pleasure and calls of Stefan’s name. He had her at his mercy. 

Before he knew it, positions changed. The candlesticks and the chalice and the cross clattered to the floor and he was lying flat on the altar in their stead. Somehow, she had tied him to her with the rosary, bound his body to hers with complicated knots and layers, entangling him, snaring him. He was still fully clothed and she sat astride him, completely bare, her hand on his throat, as she teased him, using him to pleasure herself, daring him to grab her and take her, spurring him to grip her waist tighter and tighter and tighter because the harder he held her, the closer his grip came to grinding her bones, the more control he had to exert over his desire and Katherine wanted him to falter and crack and completely break apart beneath her so that he could utterly destroy her with his prowess.

She didn’t stop until he begged, until he admitted to wanting her so badly he couldn’t stand it, to wanting her to ride him to oblivion, until he confessed that he didn’t know how or when he would be able to liberate himself from their game, and Stefan hated each word he groaned while she laughed and basked and rewarded him with her hands, her mouth, her gyrating body. Lust so close to blood lust, desire so close a murderous rage toward Katherine and all she’d done to him, all she would do to him, could do to him, and toward himself for wanting to exact his revenge in this way. And then they were clawing at each other, biting each other, the candlelight illuminating how they writhed in delicious agony, tearing each other apart with their carnal appetites. 

Even without her vampiric ability to eavesdrop from miles away, Elena was sure she would’ve been able to hear the screams of pleasure coming from the church. As it were, she was with Damon a few yards away, asking herself over and over why she chose to come back, why she would torment herself this way. Out of everything she’d heard over the past few months -- and she’d heard more than she’d ever cared to -- this was the worst of it. 

Elena glanced at Damon by her side. He was near-catatonic --- in so much pain that he looked to be in the process of disassociating. 

“Oh my God,” she said. “We’re here because you’re jealous.” 

He shook his head, snapping himself out of his horrified reverie, and looked at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. 

Elena glared at him. “You wanted to hear them because of some sick need to punish yourself or measure yourself or something.”

“Yeah, well.” Damon shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of practice listening to Stefan screw your brains out in the house.” 

“This is unbelievable.” Elena shook her head. “You hate the thought of him in there with her.”

“Yeah, I do. And you know what? I hate the thought of you hating the thought of them in there too.”

Elena threw up her hands. “What do you expect me to say to that? That I’m flattered?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

“No!” said Elena. 

She stalked off. Vaguely, she wanted to go back to campus but she didn’t even know if she was going in the right direction, she just knew she wanted to get as far away from Stefan and Katherine as possible.  

Damon followed her. “Then why are you so mad that I’m jealous about what’s going on in there?”

“I’m mad that I let you talk me into coming here because you’re just playing into her hands! This is what she wants, this is what she likes!”

“So, no part of you likes that I can’t stand how much this hurts you? Because I still want you?”

Elena stopped short and opened and closed her hands in frustration.  “No, I just feel bad. I don’t want you in pain, Damon, but your pain over our breakup isn’t a compliment and your jealousy over my feelings for Stefan isn’t a turn on!” Elena buried her head in her hands. “And I would probably feel worse about what this is doing to you if I had the room but I can’t get everything I just heard out of my head. I can’t---” Stefan’s confessions made her hold her stomach.  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to go crazy.” She rubbed her eyes and felt the tears she couldn’t help wet her fingertips. “Why would you convince me to come back here?” “Why did you let me?

“Because I’m an idiot.”

“It’s because you want to fall out of love with him,” said Damon. 

Elena sighed, suddenly exhausted. “No.”

“You’re lying to yourself.”

“That’s not it.”

“You want me to convince you---”

“I love him, Damon.”

He stared at her. 

“I’m not playing games. I’m not in denial. I just love him. And…” she bit her lip. “I came because I want to understand this as much as I can.” As she said the words, she realized it was true. Even now, even in this, she wanted to know Stefan, wanted to be close to him. “I want to be there for him when this finally ends, but…” But right now she wanted to scream. She started to walk again to keep herself from doing it.  

Damon grabbed Elena by the arm, pulling her to him. She glared at him. “WHAT?” 

“Don’t get sad,” he said. “Get even.”

“Let go of me.” 

“You want to save him?” said Damon. “You want to understand him? You want him back? Sink to the level he’s at.” 

Elena took a deep breath. 

***

“So, Katherine was stalking Stefan. You were stalking Katherine. And Damon was stalking you?” said Bonnie, sipping from her coffee.

“We were all stalking Stefan,” said Elena. 

“Why would you go back?”  said Caroline, adjusting the knapsack with the candles and the books and the grimoire on her shoulder.

She, Elena and Bonnie were trekking through the woods, on their way to the witch burial site. Caroline had called for a coffee date/catch up and Bonnie suggested combining it with a field trip to search for answers about their “Katherine problem”, and for the entire morning, Elena barely heard what either of them said and mostly walked around with a loud ringing in her ears.

“I don’t know,” said Elena because she knew they wouldn’t understand if she’d admitted it was to be close to him.

“Yeah, this whole thing sounds so healthy,” said Caroline. 

Bonnie shot her a look. “Was that really necessary?”

“Well, I’m sorry but this is insane! Our group has survived a lot of cross…” Caroline shook her head, trying to find the right words. “Couplings, I don’t know! But Katherine is breaking us. Bonnie and I are displaced from our home---”

“It’s bad but let’s not be dramatic,” said Bonnie, as they made their way into the dilapidated cottage. 

“No, the dorm is our home for the next few years and we can’t even stay there for long periods of time. We are displaced!” said Caroline, as she and Elena helped Bonnie set up the candles around the cottage. “Stefan is off the deep end.” Elena closed her eyes at the pain of that. “Damon is getting there and who knows how many people that will put in danger, including us! Matt is,” Caroline gestured. “I don’t even know what’s going on with him, I just know ever since Katherine decided he was a key player in her weird psychosexual whatever, he hasn’t been the same.” 

Bonnie laid out a blanket for the three of them to sit on. “I mean, she’s right. I had to use my magic on you. I hated that.” 

“Exactly!” Caroline gestured. “It’s mayhem!” 

Elena didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like she could disagree. Katherine’s preoccupation with Stefan had brought out a side of Elena she didn’t recognize, made her consider things, do things, think of things she would never otherwise. 

“And we haven’t found anything about, you know, killing, really killing a vampire and it’s been months!”

“That’s why we’re here. I want to see if they,” said Bonnie, gesturing around the cottage, “have any insight. If they’ll even help us.” 

“Even if they did, are we even sure that’s going to work?” Elena said it in a voice so quiet, Caroline and Bonnie barely heard her. 

They stared at her with furrowed brows and Elena looked up at them, already wiping away tears. “He chose this. He’s choosing this. Before, with the blood, you know, I … I did that to him. I made him drink from me. And Klaus … that was for Damon. Everything that happened after that, the way he pushed me away … that was to protect me. But with her, I don't …” Elena’s voice cracked. “I'm starting to wonder if he just doesn't want to stop and that scares the hell out of me, the thought of letting him go, I can’t do that but even thinking about trying scares the hell out of me. But I …I just …” 

The breakdown Elena had been delaying for weeks poured out of her and Bonnie held her just as she cracked so that she was crying into her shoulder. Caroline shifted over to hug her.

“I just don’t understand how she’s able to do this,” said Elena. 

“Elena,” said Bonnie. “If you don’t want to---”

“No,” she said, sniffling. “I’m not giving up. We still have to do this. We still have to try. It just … it hurts.” 

***

For the first time in weeks, Stefan was still. Sitting in the library. Brooding. Stewing. Sitting with himself, with the wreckage he wrought, the decisions he made, the life he’d led, the one he didn’t get to, he was sombre and melancholic and felt the familiar sourness of shame.  He was still for hours and then he heard her. She was hovering in the doorway. He knew she knew that he sensed that she was there.

“You can come in.” 

Elena took a few steps into the library. "Katherine left,” she said.

"Yeah."

Elena continued to walk until she could see Stefan’s face. "Bonnie said you were the one that made her go."

Stefan didn't respond. He should’ve known Bonnie wouldn’t keep it to herself. He hadn’t told her so Elena could know, he’d told her in the hopes that Bonnie could work her magic and do something like spell the town to keep Katherine from ever coming back. 

“Well, is it true?” Elena insisted.

Stefan simply nodded. He'd had the conversation with Katherine the night before. It hadn’t been planned. There wasn’t a big speech. He had walked into her apartment and without any preamble told her it was time to leave.

"Get on a bus,” he told her. “A train. Steal a car, take mine, I don't care, just leave. It's done. You're done here."

Katherine had looked at him. The grin on her face had slowly disappeared when she’d realized that this wasn’t a game, this wasn’t an empty request. It wasn’t a request at all. 

"Something's changed,” she’d said. 

"I've let it go,” said Stefan. “I'm..." he sighed. “This isn’t what I want.” 

“Bullshit! You wanted this! You wanted me! Don’t deny it, you know that you did!”

“I did,” he said openly. “And now it’s over.”

Panic was all over Katherine's face. He was serious. She knew it. "She got to you," she said.

"Katherine..."

“No, no.” She started pacing. "How does she always ...? How could you do this?"

"Don't go after her.” Stefan’s tone was weary and Katherine’s eyes darkened with rage when she saw that his eyes were emotionless. 

"I've already killed you twice,” he said. “I can do it again. Do not go near her. I will stake you." 

“You've made that threat before," she said, uncertainty a tremor in her tone.

"I will behead you," he said matter-of-fact. "I will set you on fire. I will let the sun burn you, Katherine, if you touch her."

Still, a shred of hope flickered in her chest. She could still turn this into a game, make it into a power play.. She just had to get under his skin in the exact right way.  "So much anger,” she said with a hint of a seductive grin. She trailed a finger down his chest. “I bet you’d love to bury your stake in me.”

"No," he said dispassionately. He didn't even bother to move her hand away. "No enjoyment, no rage, it will just be because you hurt her. It will just be for her."

Katherine’s eyes reddened. She gritted her teeth.

“I should rip you to fucking shreds.”

“How long did you think I could keep doing this?”

“STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE I’M A STRANGER. I AM NOT A STRANGER TO YOU.”

“Oh no, we are intimately acquainted,” Stefan agreed. “That’s why I know it needs to be done like this.”

“I never knew that loving Elena made you cruel,” said Katherine waspishly.

Stefan sighed. “What, you want me to hold your hand? Shed a tear for you? Go through all the darkness, all the trauma that got you to this point, that got me to this point? Tell you I understand, tell you it’s not your fault? That’s what you want?” He said, raising his eyebrows. “Because I think I did that already, Katherine---”

“OK---”

“--- and then you threw it back in my fucking face and jumped into Elena’s body.”

Katherine grinned. “There’s that anger.”

“It’s not what you think,” he said. “I’m just making a point.”

“And now let me make mine. I won't let you do this to me. You understand that, right? You understand that I will not let you go. I never have.”

"I’m not doing this with you. Leave, Katherine. Peacefully," said Stefan, heading toward the door. "Today."

She’d screamed after him. "I will fucking kill you before I let you leave me!” 

Stefan stopped in the doorway and hung his head. He turned back around, his expression dejected. 

"Do what you need to do," he said. "Just don't touch her. And don’t think you can kill me and then hurt her because, if you do, I will come back from whatever hell you send me to. Leave her out of this."

And then he’d left.

Stefan looked at Elena and cleared his throat. “It was time.” 

Elena rubbed her eyes in disbelief. There had to be more, there had to be a reason. "You were in so deep. You---"

"Elena, do we really have to..."

"How did you...why did you..."

"I saw you ..." He closed his eyes. And he saw Elena in the cottage with Bonnie and Caroline, sobbing into their arms, devastated and heartbroken. He hadn’t meant to see it. 

But he’d been out in the woods himself, running, hunting, doing anything he occupy his mind, and he’d heard her from a distance. He reacted before he could think and in a manner of seconds, he was outside the old cottage.

He would never forget that like he would never forget the way she looked at him, teary-eyed and completely undone, that night on Wickery Bridge; expressions that would haunt him for his eternity. It clarified him in a way that nothing else had.

"You were in hell," he said. "I couldn't just..." His voice choked and he sighed, bending his head. "You were in hell," he said again, more firmly, as he stood up.

Elena watched Stefan walk away and was oddly overcome with emotion. The gratitude she felt toward him, the love that she felt for him because he loved her enough to let Katherine go, because he loved her enough, because he had always loved her enough to do anything for her only served to underscore that he’d given up something he’d wanted, something he’d wanted terribly; something he shared with Katherine. The thought of her in his head, in his heart, the thought of her as a sacrifice dizzied Elena with a disorienting jealousy and an aching indignation that Katherine possibly gave him something their relationship never did.

"I slept with Damon!” she blurted out.

Stefan stopped walking. He turned back around. When Elena came to the Boarding House, she didn’t know if she was going to tell him that, she didn’t know what she was going to say beyond questioning him about Katherine and her impulsivity made her look at him defiantly. 

He cleared his throat. "You two are back together?"

She shook her head. "No. I just felt like it."

He nodded. "OK, well, that's not really---"

"We woke up my entire dorm,” she continued conversationally. “We were so loud we didn't even hear the pounding on the door."

Stefan was quiet. Still. He looked to be focused on something Elena couldn't see. She wondered if he was breathing. When he got like this, he reminded her of sculpted marble. She pushed further.

"I rode him so hard into the mattress, it broke the be---" 

"Why are you doing this?"

He was looking directly at her now with no accusation in his eyes, just sheer pain. It made her want to go to him, put consoling hands on him. She folded her arms. She was hurting him back.

"Well, we're telling each other about our sex lives now---"

"No," said Stefan, shaking his head. "I never wanted to tell you what happened between me and---"

"I thought you should know about the headache I have because I kept knocking into the headboard. Well," she said. "Before we broke it."

Stefan nodded then continued to walk, which caused anger to swell in Elena's chest. Anger that made her walk after him.

Anger that  pushed her over the emotional edge she'd been teetering on for weeks. 

"You're just going to walk away?" She accused. "Is that all you do?"

He stopped short then turned around. "What does that mean?"

"After your summer with Klaus, when you came back, I told you I kissed Damon and you walked away. You found out we spent the night in a motel room and you didn't ask any questions." 

Stefan took a deep breath and started to walk away again, faster this time. Elena shadowed him into the living room. 

"I chose him---" She grabbed him by the arm and turned him around so he could look at her, so he could see her furious, determined face.

"I chose him after you gave me the cure and you just left town.” It was cruel of her to say that here, in front of the fireplace she’d made that choice. She didn’t care. “You just told me that you made Katherine go and I respond by telling you that I fucked Damon's brains out---" Stefan flinched, exhaled sharply, and broke free from Elena's grasp then continued to walk. "And you run away!" She screamed. "You're running away!"

Of course he was running away when he had --- "I have no right to feel anything, Elena."

Elena put her hands to her head and then picked up a lamp and threw it against the wall, making Stefan stop and turn to look at the damage.

"I don't give a fuck about what you have the right to feel, Stefan. How do you feel?"

No, she wasn’t hurting him back. She was pushing him. Testing him. Seeing if he loved her too much to show her what he showed Katherine, to feel with her what he felt with … … her. Her desperation to know was making Elena blunt and messy with her emotions. It had been making her messy with everything.

Stefan clenched his jaw, holding onto his composure. "You have every right---"

"Yes, of course. 'I have every right'. Always so patient!" She upturned a table, making his eyes widen. "God, you're so understanding, doesn't it ever get tiring? Don't you get tired?"

"What do you want from me? You want the fight?"

"Yes!"

"You want me to ask you if you did this just to hurt me?”

“Why not?”

“You want me to say that that isn't you? That you would never do that? Why?"

"Is that how you feel?"

"I feel like I don't get a say in what you do!"

"So you're not angry? You're just never angry with me?" Elena took a few steps forward. "The things that we've been through over the years, the things that you had to hear, that you had to see, it doesn’t affect you because you’re such a fucking saint?"

"Elena---"

"It has to. You have to be. Stefan, you must be so angry at me. How much anger do you have that you don't let me see?"

"That's not---"

"Hate me!" she yelled.

He blinked at her, a picture of confusion. "No," he said simply.

She was in front of him now, pushing him so that he staggered backwards. "You're a ripper, right?" She pushed him again. "Let in the rage." And again. Into a wall. Causing a dent. "Let it in."

"Stop it." 

"Why? It wouldn't be anything I hadn't heard before!"

He put his hand over hers when she moved to push him again, as if she wanted to push him through wood and brick, and he was suddenly looming over her. 

"I didn't mean any of that and you know that. You have to know that," he said, pained at the memory of every cruel lie he spat in her face when he'd been detoxing.

He wasn't angry. He was earnest and passionate and Elena loved him for it, she could never hate him for it, but in this moment, she could kill him for it.

"Why can't you get angry at me?" she yelled. "Katherine---"

"SHE'S GONE. None of this matters!"

"She enrages you."

Stefan gritted his teeth, thinking about the church, the blood, the lust, the shame, the regret. The sick hateful feeling in his stomach he had the morning after. All of the mornings after. The intoxication in that was corrosive. 

"You're not Katherine." He said firmly. "I have never linked you to Katherine. You've never made me feel what she has! She's out of my life. She's out of our lives! We don't have to do this!"

Elena glared at him, a mixture of fury and pain. She felt something shift, tilting her off-balance, stripping away more and more of her composure. 

“You still want her, don’t you?"

“What?” 

“You didn’t send her away because you wanted to---”

“Elena---”

“I heard you in that church! Yeah, I was there! All of your confessions, all of your desires!”

“That’s not---”

“God, you still want her! More than you have ever wanted me.”

Stefan looked sharply at her. The sentiment was too incomprehensible for a simple denial, it didn’t deserve any kind of acknowledgement. 

Elena was adamant. "I thought I was the one you didn't hide from but it's her. You don't hide that part of yourself from her."

Katherine had done everything in her power to destroy him, and Elena had done everything in hers to help him was never, could never, be that. She knew that. She had to know that.

"Don't do this."

"You relish that side of you with her."

Stefan was beside himself. "There's only that side of me with her!"

"Then give that to me!' She was inconsolable. "You owe that to me!"

No, this was enough. Stefan put his hands on either side of her face and she inhaled sharply the feel of it. 

"Elena? Elena! Look at me. Look at me." His tone was frenzied and anguished. "I could never hate you."

And her doing her best to make him try was painful in a way he would never be able to truly articulate. "I could never feel---"

Elena was trembling. She couldn't feel his touch. She moved away. "I'm telling you to."

"No," he said flatly.

"I want you to."

"No."  

He started to walk out of the living room, but Elena grabbed his arm, keeping him in place and it caused a tormented sob in his chest. He was overwhelmed by her refusal to give up, let go.

"What did you do with her that you couldn't do with me?" 

Something turned in her expression. Why was she goading him? Why was she so insistent on this? "Not this." His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"You want me on my knees like her?"

"Stop it." He closed his eyes.

"You want me to beg like her?"

"Elena, stop."

"It wasn't enough for you. We weren't enough for you." She was more than angry, she was near-crazed. It scared him. "You want to be savage with me like you were with her?"

"Please." 

"Own me like her?"

"Please stop."

Without warning, she took his hand and put it on her neck. "If you were to put a hand around my throat the way you did with her ---"

Stefan erupted with horror and desperation. "STOP IT." He held her by the arms. "JUST STOP! STOP." 

"If this is because you actually do love her---"

His mouth was on hers before she could finish her sentence and she whimpered from the shock of it.

Stefan pinned her against the wall, kissing her with a furious, desperate passion. He was clutching her, gripping her. His hands found the dips and shallows of her body, massaging her, feeling her. He was kissing her cheek, her neck, her eye, her forehead, so that she gasped and quaked and each of his touches asked again and again, Does it feel like I love her? Elena, tell me. Does it feel like I love her?

And when she moaned in response to his wordless question, when she bowed to him, sank into him, making helpless, needy noises, he moved to leave, confident that he’d made the depth of his point, of his feelings clear, but Elena kept him to her, refusing his departure and desperate for more.

She could get lost, oh God, she would've gotten lost in him if it weren't for this feral urgency and impatience clawing at her.

She didn't know if it was the vampirism, if it was the weeks of torment, but she had this need that was territorial and possessive and primal and raw. She bit his lower lip then sucked and Stefan put his hand on the small of her back, bringing her forward, pressing her into him and she felt the evidence of his desire. Had he done this with Katherine? Bring her to him so he could feel her body against his, so his arousal, his lust for her could drive her crazy? Had that driven him wild? The thought of that ---

Veins darkened Elena's face. Suddenly, she bit him, sinking her fangs into his neck, making him call out and convulse. He pressed her even tighter to him then pressed her back against the wall, leaving no room for escape, He grinded into her as she drank, as she clutched the back of his head, gripping his hair. She fumbled with his shirt, scrambling to rid him of it. She wanted it off. Off. And then her hands were all over him rough and greedy and jealous. Katherine had touched him here, kissed him everywhere, and if it were the last thing she did, she was going to rewrite the history of his body with touches and kisses of her own. She skated her lips across his chest, nipping him, biting him, marking him so he pleaded with strangled sounds, but she wanted him to regret everything, everything that had happened in the past couple of months.

Stefan was torn between the pleasure of Elena’s lips claiming his body and the impatience to once more feel them against his, and he brought her back up to him with reverent, rough hands so that he could kiss her again, moaning into her mouth, as they made their way, clumsy and drunk, to the couch. Suddenly, he wrenched away from her, his expression aroused and raw and pained.

“It’s too soon.” He was shaking his head frantically. “This is too soon.” 

“What are you talking about?” said Elena, breathlessly. She crossed her hands at the hem of her shirt and peeled it off in haste, and what little resolve there was in Stefan’s expression crumpled at the sight of her. “It’s been a lifetime.” 

He didn’t move when she walked up to him. She slipped her hand beneath his waistband so that he squeezed his eyes shut and stuttered when he spoke.

“It’s -- It’s too much,” he said. 

And Elena understood. He hadn’t forgiven himself for the arguments they had, the things she’d pushed him to say.

 “Stefan,” she said, as she continued to feel him and please him, her touch an indication of her forgiveness, of the fact that there was nothing to forgive.  “Come home.” 

He exhaled sharply and then he was kissing her everywhere, feeling her everywhere, embracing her so tightly, pressing her into him so firmly, as though he wanted them to physically meld. He lifted her onto him and sat on the couch so that they were entwined. His face was buried in her and he whispered against her skin, “I’ve missed you.”  

Elena shivered and sighed dreamily. “I---”

Fire. Sudden fire. Spreading everywhere. Fast. Impossibly fast. From nowhere, from everywhere. Quickly, Stefan and Elena disentangled, terrified and confused. Flames engulfing the carpet, the tables, the walls. 

“Run! RUN!”

Stefan took Elena by the hand and they sped out of the room. 

Katherine heard the yelling from within the Salvatore Boarding House and she smiled grimly at the panic, the fear. Stefan could not be surprised. She’d warned him. Repeatedly. And yet, she knew he thought she was making empty threats. Time and time again, he and Elena, and Damon, and everyone, they’d underestimated her. Time and time again, they’d forgotten her reach, the friends she’d made, the people she’d had in her debt. They’d forgotten that she’d been alive for centuries. If she wanted a witch, she’d find one. If she wanted vengeance, she’d get it. If she wanted Stefan, she’d have him.

It took him a day to get to Mystic Falls but the witch she’d once spent the night with, the witch who had pledged to be there for her always, no matter what, had come when she’d called in a favour. And now he was here. Next to her. He spelled all the exits shut. He brought the fire to life. He helped her with her vengeance. 

“It’s like I said, Stefan,” she spoke, knowing that even with all of the commotion, he’d be able to hear her. “If I can’t have you, no one will.”

[dadvans]

Pls tell us more about pregnant Buck and baby daddy Tommy 🙏🏼

Oh, GLADLY. I spent my entire commute home thinking about this after I got this ask.

Okay, here’s everything you must know about Buckley-Kinard Baby Begins:

Buck is shitscared fucking terrified to tell Tommy when he finds out he’s pregnant, because while he knows that there are men out there who can get pregnant, Buck didn’t think or know he was one of those men. And they’ve been dating for six months, and at the four month mark they had their first ever fight, because Buck decided to say “I Love You” for the first time in the same conversation where he was asking Tommy if they could stop using condoms. They haven’t even talked about kids. Tommy, Buck reflects hysterically, is gonna think Buck is babytrapping him.

He lets himself into Tommy’s place after the doctor’s appointment. Tommy is in bed, napping off a shift, and he’s big and warm like the best desert rock that Buck’s lizard brain wants to curl up on. He crawls into bed with Tommy in a way that feels so final, because when Tommy wakes up for good and Buck lays out the news that there is a baby—and more importantly, that the second Buck found out that there was a baby he knew he wanted to keep it—he’s probably gonna ask Buck for his spare key back, block his number, and ready himself for eighteen years of child support payments.

Tommy shifts, mostly still asleep, eyes impossibly closed under the sun seeping between his bedroom window slats. He’s known Buck’s been feeling like shit the past few weeks, and would have offered to take Buck to his appointment if it weren’t for aforementioned shift. “Howwuz doctor’s?”

“Fine,” Buck says. “Tell you more when you get up.”

Which is Tommy’s cue to pass the fuck back out, which he does.

And Buck watches him sleep, and the most horrible part is that he has this fledgling hope that he’ll tell Tommy about the baby and Tommy won’t think he’s a crazy babytrapping monster and won’t kick him out and will say, you know what, yeah, let’s do this.

Buck knows what it’s like to be crushed and this hope is crushing him. He can’t fall asleep under its weight. Maybe another hour passes before Tommy wakes up, but it feels like a lifetime buried under this tiny hope.

So, he’s a fucking mess when Tommy does wake up, when Tommy says, “So, did they figure out what’s going on?” and all Buck can say is, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” He’s pregnant, he didn’t know, he didn’t think, he would’ve been smarter, he wouldn’t have asked, he’s so sorry, and he wants to have this kid, he doesn’t expect anything from Tommy, he’s sorry.

Miracle of miracles Tommy just holds him through it.

The thing is, Tommy knows he’s not a natural with kids like Buck is. It’s not that he particularly wants or doesn’t want them, but until recently he’d kind of resigned to it not being an option, never willing to tie himself to someone else like that when he was so deep in the closet, and now in his mid-forties with no real biological clock ticking it hasn't been a priority. No, he and Buck haven’t talked about kids, but he knows Buck doesn’t have a malicious or insidious bone in his body, and being with Buck has made him realize there’s this well of love inside him that goes far deeper than he’s ever known it to.

And maybe it won’t work out, Tommy is the first to admit. Maybe it is too soon for them to think this is something their relationship can survive so early in, but it’s not something he’s ready to say no to either. So maybe they carry the burden of hope together, for this life they’re making together, and they give it their best shot.

(The sex they have after this conversation is so off-the-wall bonkers crazy intense that if Buck weren’t already pregnant, well.)

Later, when Buck’s had time to process that Tommy’s not going to leave him over this, that they’re going to try and make this work, that Tommy wants to make this work as bad as he does, does Buck address the second problem that’s bothering him: Buck wants to keep working as long as he can. He can’t be side-lined again. He tells Tommy much more about the lawsuit than Tommy previously knew, the parts that Buck is embarrassed about still years later. How he can’t go back to that, or won’t, how even though they’ve finally ousted Gerrard and Bobby’s back at the helm of the 118, he’s afraid that Bobby won’t trust him and that no matter how much has changed, he’s still replaceable to the people he considers family (not healthy, Tommy doesn’t say, but he gets it).

So, Tommy’s like: let’s take a week. Let’s look into this. He’s known pregnant people in the field before, there are proper channels to consider and protections to be made before Buck has his second pregnancy-related breakdown. They support each other through the next step, and it feels auspicious and good for this whole thing working out.

Telling Bobby for real still doesn’t come as well as Buck would like it to. He babbles. He starts out by mentioning he’s done his research, and there are lawsuits (he’d like to avoid) and more recent case studies on all these accommodations that say barring complications he’d be suited to some duty through his second trimester, and—

“Wait, you’re pregnant?” Bobby asks.

Buck stammers out, “Uh yeah. It’s not—we didn’t know I was even a carrier, so it’s a surprise. That said, it’s still, you know, we know it’s early—it’s really, really early, but Tommy and I talked about it. And we want it, you know, even if he and I don’t work out at the end of the day. It’s not unwanted.”

(And there’s something to be said there about both Buck and Tommy, two men who grew up feeling unwanted suddenly bringing a new life into the world, and knowing above all else that no matter how things work out between them, they’re going to make this kid know how wanted it is.)

“Congratulations, Buck, that’s amazing,” Bobby says. Smiling in a way that Buck knows he means it, in a way that makes Buck think, is he proud of me? I think he’s proud of me. In a way that he knows that despite all his fears and their past history, Bobby trusts him on this one, will work with him, will provide the support he needs now that he knows how to ask for it.

Buck gets to go to Tommy's (home) after his shift, and when Tommy asks, Buck says, "Bobby's having me refitted for PPE in a few weeks, we're all good to go" (all three of us)

[ironwoman359]

Sonata in Morning

Summary: it’s been weeks since Gotham City flooded, and Alfred has returned to Wayne Tower to continue recovering from his injuries. One morning over breakfast, Bruce opens up to Alfred about his feelings after nearly losing the man who raised him for 20 years.

Content: emotional hurt/comfort through the roof, with some mild suicide ideation. This is Battinson canon-compliant, taking place only a few weeks after the end of the movie.

Word count: 1,487

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

Authors notes at the end.

——————

“Alfred.”

Alfred looked up at the sound of Bruce’s voice. His young charge stood in the doorframe, his oversized t-shirt dwarfing his frame and bringing to mind the days when a child had refused to sleep in anything other than his father’s old clothes.

“Yes, Master Bruce?”

Bruce hesitated for a moment, then slowly came to join Alfred where he sat at the kitchen table. Alfred wordlessly poured Bruce a cup of coffee from the pot that sat waiting, and Bruce took it, his knuckles white as he gripped the mug.

“I…” he began, then paused, a slight crease forming on his forehead.

His shoulders were hunched, and he didn’t quite meet Alfred’s eyes as he spoke. Alfred was used to seeing Bruce clam up in this way, though it had been some time since he had been on the direct receiving end. Something was clearly bothering him; the question was what could it be?

It had been a stressful few weeks following the attack on the sea walls, but Gotham had reached a tentative equilibrium. Bruce still went on patrol most nights, though he also wore the cowl during the day now, helping civilians with transport, first aid, and evacuation.

Alfred himself had been one of the first evacuated from the city, along with the other patients at the hospital, but had come right back home to Wayne tower where he belonged as soon as he was discharged. He’d had to switch from using a cane to using a wheelchair, but his physical therapist said that it may only be a temporary measure. His daily exercises were already having a positive effect, though who knew if he’d ever be able to spar with Bruce again.

Alfred didn’t speak as all this ran through his mind, he merely gave Bruce the space to gather his thoughts. He’d learned a long time ago that there was no forcing anything out of the boy before he was ready, as much as he still found himself trying on hard days.

“I’m sorry, Alfred,” Bruce finally said, and Alfred blinked.

Of all the potential things that could have come out of Bruce’s mouth, that was one he’d not expected.

“Whatever for, Master Bruce?” he asked, and Bruce grimaced, cringing further in on himself.

“These past few years, I’ve been so…focused. Devoted entirely to this cause, this idea that if I just fight hard enough…” he shook his head. “I let vengeance become the only thing that mattered to me. And I didn’t think…I wasn’t allowing myself to think of anything else.”

His grip tightened on the mug of coffee, and Alfred could hear the lump in his throat when he spoke.

“Or anyone else.”

He looked up then, and as their eyes met, Alfred was shocked to see that Bruce’s were glassy with unshed tears.

“I almost lost you, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear that,” he whispered.

The words were like a lance through Alfred’s heart, but he forced himself to smile encouragingly.

“You can’t lose me that easily, Master Bruce,” he said, but Bruce shook his head.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you,” he reiterated. “But I wasn’t thinking about how…how every night, for the past two years, I was forcing you to go through the same thing.”

Alfred had taken more than his fair share of punches over his lifetime. In recent years many of them had been from Bruce himself, as the two trained and sparred together. But if you asked him in that exact moment, he’d be hard pressed to recall a time when the wind had been so completely knocked out of him.

“I didn’t care about what happened to me,” Bruce continued, looking down again. His words came out in a rush, as though now that he’d started speaking, he wasn’t able to stop himself. “Not just my name, or my money, or the company, me. And if I’m honest…I think a part of me still doesn’t. I…I’m not sure I know any other way to be.”

“Bruce…” Alfred said, tears of his own welling in his eyes.

“But that kind of thinking wasn’t fair to you,” Bruce continued. “It shouldn’t have taken…all of this, for me to see just how much I must have worried you. And I’m sorry that I let you down.”

“Oh, Bruce,” Alfred said, leaning forward. “I won’t lie and say I haven’t worried…that I haven’t been scared to death some nights that you wouldn’t come home, that they’d find you bleeding in some alley in the morning. But you haven’t let me down. You’ve stood up every single night and fought for what you believe is right, and so many people owe you their lives. How could I be anything but proud of you?”

Bruce didn’t answer, and Alfred knew from experience that meant that he didn’t quite believe him.

“I am proud of you,” he insisted. Then, pretending he hadn’t noticed Bruce’s hitch of breath, added, “And I know your parents would be too.”

Bruce nodded stiffly, wiping surreptitiously at his eyes, which Alfred also pretended not to notice.

“You were right,” Bruce said softly, once he’d composed himself. “About their legacy. I still believe…” he paused, swallowing. “I have to believe that the Batman can work. But it needs to evolve. It has to stand for something other than vengeance. It has to be capable of bringing hope to people, or all I’ve done is become another monster in the dark. If I really want to save Gotham…if I want to change it, I have to be more than the Batman.”

His voice was hesitant, uncertain, something that Alfred hadn’t seen in the boy in a long time. For years, Bruce had been driven by his single-minded determination that he would personally save the city from itself. He’d been pushing so hard for so long, and never once in all that time had he shown any doubt about the fact that he was doing what needed to be done.

Seeing him now, adrift and unmoored from his sense of purpose, it reminded Alfred of that child from so long ago who had looked up at him with wide, tearful eyes and asked “what do I do now?”

Alfred had done his best, provided what little guidance he could while struggling through his own grief, and not a day went by where he didn’t wonder whether he’d done it right, whether he’d made some horrible mistake. “Don’t be sorry, Alfred,” Bruce had told him back at the hospital. Such easy words to say, yet so hard to really, truly hear.

“I have to be more than the Batman,” Bruce repeated. “But I don’t think I can be. Not alone.”

He finally looked up again, and Alfred found himself looking into those familiar eyes, eyes that held both the past and the future in equal measure. Eyes that looked so much like his father’s.

Alfred wordlessly wheeled his chair around the table and took Bruce’s hands in his. Bruce startled at the touch, but Alfred just tightened his grip.

“One thing you never have to worry about, Master Bruce,” he said firmly, “is being alone.”

Bruce’s tears spilled over his cheeks, and Alfred pulled him forward into a tight embrace. Bruce moved hesitantly at first, placing feather-light arms around him, and Alfred snorted quietly.

“I’m not going to shatter, Bruce. I’m well on my way to recovery.”

Finally, Bruce sank fully into the hug, burying his face in Alfred’s shoulder like he’d done when he was a child. He let out a shuddering breath and Alfred squeezed even tighter, trying to convey everything that they’d failed to say with words over the years through the simple touch.

Later, they would clumsily disentangle from the hug, and Bruce would fret over him as they dried their tears. They would discuss the company, the money, the ways that Bruce Wayne could work alongside the Batman to bring change to the city.

Alfred would eventually help him write and practice a speech that announced the new Wayne Foundation, a charitable organization that Bruce would establish to address the misuse of the Renewal Fund and provide real aid to Gotham and its citizens.

And every night, the Batman would return to the streets, and Alfred would have an emergency comms channel on standby that Bruce could use if he found himself in a situation that he wasn’t able to get out of on his own. It would never completely erase Alfred’s worry, nothing could ever do that. But it gave him one more opportunity to protect the boy who had become a man who fought with his every breath to save the city, just as his father had.

All of that would come later.

For now, as the morning light streamed through the arched windows and signaled a new day, Alfred simply held his child, and hoped that would be enough.

————————

Authors Notes: yeah so I rewatched this movie with @mug-of-beans this weekend and have a lot of feelings about this version of Bruce and Alfred’s relationship. I decided to look for fic that featured their dynamic, but then surprise! AO3 was down, so like a normal person, I coped by just writing my own. Honestly, I had a lot of fun, so if you have any other Battinson stuff you’d like my take on, let me know. Thanks for reading!

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

~ Bonded by a Ring | JJK

Pairing: CEO!husband!Jungkook x writer!fem!wife!Reader

Warnings: arranged marriage, fluff, a bit of angst. (This is a light chapter tbh, I can't think of anymore triggering content. Let me know if I missed anything!)

Summary: We take a look at your life as Mrs. Jeon, wife of the rich heir to Jeon Enterprises, Jungkook. He was a handsome gentleman who you were able to call your husband yet the relationship between you both was entirely political and civil. Could feelings begin to sparkle between the cracks of marriage?

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: This was supposed to come out yesterday on Kook's birthday but I was busy and I couldn't edit it but here it is! I'll continue writing this small drabble series when I find the time while also working on other fics I hope to be able to publish soon.

Let me know your thoughts on this one in the comments, please! Drabbles are open for this au in case you want to request something my inbox is open!!💜

It was dark outside. Dusk had settled a while ago and your husband was still not home. You worried for him, for his health. He worked so much and rested too little.

You were sitting on the couch, your laptop rested atop your folded legs. Glancing at the clock you noticed how it was nearly midnight. You sighed. This was not new for you. For Jungkook to always come home late, seldom were those times in which he dined with you.

Rarely did you ever go to bed together as you often found yourself curled in the large mattress without him to keep you warm during the night.

You and Jungkook have been married for some months now. A marriage that was arranged by his parents. A marriage that was of advantage to you both for he needed to have a wife and an heir to inherit his family's company and you, well you needed his name.

As an author who had published her first novel, you became really popular in the world of words and books and you could thank it all to your husband's marketing team.

There was no love between you two. But you didn't hate him either. The relationship between you and Jungkook was a polite one, he was ever the gentleman with you and in exchange he obtained your respect.

You cared for him to a certain extent. You always made sure he never left for work on an empty stomach and had ready some light dinner for when he came home late. You always made sure his shirts were ironed and his shoes polished.

And in return, Jungkook always gave you anything you could possibly need. Do you have an appointment with your editor? He'd make sure his chauffeur would drive you there. Do you need some new clothes? You could always use his credit card. Do you want to get Bam a new toy? He’d made sure to bring you the best catalogues he could find for you to choose what to buy for the spoiled dog who had earned your heart too quickly.

It was a balanced relationship. He respected you, you respected him. Jungkook had his life, you had yours. But to the public, you both were a happily married couple. While inside closed doors, you treated each other as an old acquaintance of another lifetime.

Your attention got stolen by the sound of the electronic lock as the front door opened and in came Jungkook. Even from where you sat, you could see the tiredness in his body. The exhaustion.

You put the laptop aside before standing up and walking towards him. You took his coat from his hands and presented his slippers to him.

If Jungkook hadn't been that tired at that moment he'd have thanked you with a soft smile.

"I'm glad you're home, do you want to eat something? I can heat you up some dinner if you'd like?"

He let out a sigh, the stress, problems and frustration from work were getting on his nerves. And to even think that he had to go back tomorrow...

"No, I'm fine, (y/n). I just want to sleep."

You nodded, placing his coat in the hanger while putting his shoes in its place. The scent of his cologne invaded your senses and your touch lingered on the heavy robe he previously wore for longer than needed.

Your eyes followed his figure as he disappeared in one of the hallways and into the bedroom you both shared. You have never minded sharing a room with him, let alone the bed. The other two rooms in the large flat were transformed in your study while the other was his personal gym.

Walking back into the living room, you saved the draft of the story you had been working on for some time now before you powered off your laptop.

For a moment, your eyes lingered on the city lights. They looked so close yet so far at the same time. The large glass windows that reached from the floor up to the ceiling allowed you to see such a beautiful view.

You felt a sudden sense of loneliness wash over you. Something that felt strange in you, something you couldn't describe, let alone place its source.

With a sigh you turned around, your arms were hugging your figure as you approached the couch once more. You placed the laptop on the coffee table before walking towards the bedroom, turning the lights off on your way.

Jungkook was already lying down on his side of the bed, his back facing you. With quick and silent movements you approached the other side of the bed and sat down before getting yourself under the covers.

You assumed your husband was already asleep as deep breaths could be heard in the quietness of the place. You turned on your right side, facing his back as you shut your tired eyes after having been in front of a screen for too long.

"Goodnight, (y/n)."

Those whispered words reached you before you fell into your deep slumber. You mumbled the words back as you succumbed to the tiredness in your body.

"Goodnight, Jungkook."

Little were you aware of the fluttering in your husband's heart at your words. Of the small smile that graced his lips at the little attentions you always gave him. By the way you were slowly entering his heart without you having the slightest idea.

Jungkook was woken up by his noisy alarm and he cursed under his breath before turning the frustrating noise off. With a sigh he sat up, one of his hands ruffled his hair before he stood up and went to the bathroom as he needed to get ready to go to the company yet again.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, Jungkook stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft noise that nearly echoed in the overly silent apartment.

"Bam, stop it. You already had breakfast."

He heard your voice from somewhere in his large home as the smell of coffee suddenly hit him. His feet carried him over the hallway and across the living room until he entered the kitchen that faced the dining area.

Jungkook saw how you had prepared a plate filled with fruit and some yoghurt as well as a cup of coffee. He couldn't help the smile that grew on his face, the moment itself was precious as if gotten out of one of the dramas he had caught you watching from time to time when you needed inspiration to write or to simply pass the time.

His stomach fluttered when you lifted your gaze from the large yet cute dog who stole your attention to look at your husband. A smile on your own was painted over your lips.

Time seemed to stop when your eyes met his, Jungkook didn't know for how long the both of you stayed like that. As if trapped in a loop of time of perfection. Almost like a real married couple did.

He broke eye contact and cleared his throat, as if snapping himself from some kind of spell. A spell only you conjure over me. The thought crossed his mind before he could stop it. Your smile disappeared from your face as you looked aside, your cheeks heating.

"Did... did you sleep well?"

You asked after a moment or two of silence. Even Bam stopped moving by your side as if somehow the canine felt the subtle tension rising in the kitchen.

"Yes, thank you."

Then it was awkward again. You didn't know what to say. He wasn't moving, neither were you. He didn't seem to want to lift his gaze as it was placed on the white floor beneath his feet. As if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"I made you some breakfast. It is not healthy for you to leave on an empty stomach, Jungkook."

He hummed, walking toward the stool before sitting down, his breakfast resting on the marble counter.

"I'm going to take a shower."

You excused yourself and left the kitchen, not allowing your husband to say anything as the next second you were already walking down the hallway.

A sigh left your lips as you leaned on the closed door of your shared bedroom. What just happened? You thought to yourself while pressing the back of your hands up to your cheeks to try and cool down the skin that felt suddenly too hot.

You decided a cold shower would help you clear your mind so you didn't waste another minute to grab your clothes and hop into the shower, allowing the cool water to run down your body and refresh your mind.

Jungkook sat at the stool, spoon in hand as he ate the last of his yoghurt. His cup of coffee was already half empty when you emerged from the bedroom, your hair was wet and you were wearing fresh clothes.

The scent of your shampoo hit him and there it was, the fluttering in his heart, the soft churning of his stomach.

He emptied the bowl with his breakfast and downed the remnants of his coffee before he stood up.

"I have to leave now."

Your hands picked up his bowl and cup as you placed them on the sink.

"Have a nice day, Jungkook."

He didn't know what was happening. Everyday you woke up and prepared some breakfast for him, sometimes he ate it at the flat other times he took it with him to eat it at the office.

Why was he feeling so strange right now when what you were doing was completely normal?

You turned to look at him with a warm smile over your lips, ignoring the way your heart sped up a little by the mere sight of him or the way you felt your palms begin to sweat due to the nerves of being with him in the same room.

He mirrored your smile and you swore you had seen Heaven. You loved his smile. You had always found it pretty. It suited him. Not that you had ever told him that but it was a thought you had had since you first met.

"Don't forget to have breakfast, (y/n). I'll try to come back a bit earlier today."

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the thought of him coming home at a decent hour from work.

"Oh, that's good. Have a nice day, then."

You mentally face-palmed yourself. You already wished him a good day, idiot! But he chuckled, walking away from the kitchen and toward the front door. You watched him like every other day, you watched him put his coat on as well as his shoes.

Jungkook turned around and smiled at you before he was out of the door, the soft click of the lock echoed so loudly in the now nearly empty flat.

You sighed, going back to the kitchen to prepare something to eat for yourself. Just like Jungkook told you. The promise of his early arrival set a smile on your lips once more. Wanting to be with him again, even when he had just left not even five minutes ago.

The reason for this new feeling? You didn't know. But you couldn't say you didn't like it either. Jungkook was your husband after all, it was only natural to want to be close and spend time with the person one marries, right?

"Jungkook, are you listening?"

His head turned to look at the side only to spot Jimin, one of his close friends and co-workers already looking at him with an expectant and curious expression over his delicate features.

"Sorry, what?"

Jimin sighed, a hand running through his blond hair.

"I was saying that we need to close the deal with Mr. Cha as soon as possible. It will help us increase our sales."

Jungkook let out a deep breath as his thumb kept clicking and clicking the pen that was in his grasp.

"I know. I'm sorry, hyung. I have a lot on my mind right now."

Jimin clicked his tongue as he put some files aside.

"Yeah, I figured. I'll ask Hoseok to look into this and bring you the contract for you to sign."

"Thanks, Jimin-ssi."

The latter smiled, more than smirked and said, his hands tangling in front of him over the table.

"Now tell me, what is bothering you?"

Jungkook knew his friend was going to ask that question sooner or later. He leaned back on his chair and said, fidgeting with the pen in between his fingers.

"It's (y/n)."

If Jungkook had been looking at his friend, he'd have seen how Jimin's eyes widened at the mention of your name. He had met you on a couple of occasions, one of them being your wedding with his younger friend, that's why he grew surprised when you were the centre of Jungkook's current state of mind.

"What happened? Did you two fight or something?"

The doe-eyed man shook his head, placing his pen on the table before his eyes locked with the curious gaze of one of his closest friends.

"What? No, I don't think I could ever fight with her."

Jimin hummed, allowing him to continue.

"It's just that... man I don't know. I can't sleep, I can barely eat. My mind is always racing with the mere idea of her. This morning I saw her smile and... I just thought of how beautiful she looked while smiling. I want to make her smile like that, you know? I want her to be happy and to smile at me like that everyday, Jimin."

There was a moment of silence between the two men. Seconds tickled by, the silence stretched. Nearly swallowing the younger man with his own thoughts and racing heart.

"What? Don't you have something to say, Jimin-ah? You are always teasing me and when I tell you something serious you stay quiet."

The blond haired man seemed to snap out of his own mind. The only thought in his head was the one of Finally!

"You like her."

Stated Jimin. There existed no ounce of hesitation in those three words.

"What?!"

Jimin rolled his eyes, if anyone had seen the scene they would have thought it to be comical.

"Shhh, don't shout like that. I simply said that you like her. You like (y/n), Kook."

Jungkook swallowed. The possibility hadn't even crossed his mind. Did he- did he truly have feelings for you?

"But how?"

Jimin refrained himself from smacking Jungkook on the back of his head. Perhaps they were both speaking as friends right now but the blond man had to remind himself that Jungkook was technically his boss too. At least his future boss.

"Jungkook, it's completely normal. She is your wife, she's been living with you for months now. It actually surprises me that this hadn't happened before considering your one year anniversary is in two weeks."

The heir to Jeon Enterprises was too stunned to speak. Jimin had revealed a reality his heart already knew but his mind rejected to accept for he couldn't deny his friend's statement. He liked you, he really did. And now, he saw his situation with way more clarity than before.

"What do I do now, Jimin? Should I tell her how I feel?"

The older man laughed a bit. His eyes closed with the motion.

"See? You didn't deny it! You really like her, huh?"

Jungkook rolled his eyes, not liking the teasing from his friend.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Aish, you are totally clueless when it comes to romance, aren't you? Listen, Kook, first you have to know if she likes you back. Don't just open your heart where there could be a field of thorns, gift her things and see her reaction, do things for her and pay attention to her words, if she gets flustered or not. And if she doesn't show any signs, well then you have to win her heart."

Jungkook still had so many questions, so many things he wanted to know in order to act on the feelings his heart was treasuring. You were his wife, wasn't a marriage supposed to be sweet?

What he had with you wasn't bitter, but he found himself craving as of lately that sweet love of the heart.

He wished to be with you like a husband loves his wife, not only bounded by a ring but by sentiment too. To be tangled in the web of feelings that threatened to blossom in his heart with every thought of you, every single memory of you.

And he was going to do just that. To fight for your love. To win your heart or claim it if his name was already written in your soul for him to live in such a sacred place.

Bonded by rings, destined by fate. Claimed by society, yearning for a life by your side.

~Masterpost

Sept/02/2023

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

[twstjam]

Have you ever thought about swapping bodies with your blorbo???? me neither but when your lives are so DIFFERENT it seems like it would be so, so interesting. Basically: Soulmates???? au where you and Malleus occasionally swap bodies. Have you seen Your Name/Kimi No Nawa??? Yeah like That. Might write and post a part 2 in the morning. It is currently 2 am

You wake up in the most comfortable bed you've ever slept on in your life.

That should have been the first clue to tell you that something was Off, but as a college student who can only sleep on the best mattresses someone in crippling debt can afford (read: not at all) the unexpected luxury felt like Heaven and who would you be if you didn't indulge in it for as long as you could? Your exhausted bones begged for it anyway.

You really would have slept the entire day away if it weren't for the knock at your door. You grumble, irritated at being disturbed, but you know that you need to get up at some point anyway to scuffle down breakfast and get ready for morning classes. You should count your blessings that your roommate had bothered to try waking you up.

"Lord Malleus?" calls an unfamiliar, slightly muffled voice. "Have you awakened, my liege?"

You rub the sleepiness out of your eyes as you flop onto your back with a groan. You spread your arms out over the silky sheets of your bed like a disgruntled starfish.

Wait… silky?

You grope the surface of your sheets again. Confused, you open your eyes to look at what's beneath your hands, only to be even more confused at the canopy over your bed.

You blink, just to make sure you're not imagining it, and slowly sit up.

If you weren't feeling out of sorts already, you do now, now that you've gotten a good look at the bed— no, platform? Doesn't matter what you want to call it, the bed you're in is so much bigger than anyone has any right to own with way more space than you could possibly occupy. It was something you never thought you'd have the luxury of experiencing in your lifetime, let alone your dreams.

Dreams. Are you dreaming?

You're startled out of your thoughts when another knock comes from the door.

"Lord Malleus?" the voice sounds meeker this time. "Would you like your breakfast?"

You don't know where the Hell you are, let alone who the fuck "Lord Malleus" is, so for a long minute all you do is gape cluelessly at the— good God.— massive double doors of this… bedroom? Just like the bed and the door, the space you're in is much more expansive than it has any right to be.

You hear the shuffling of feet. Whoever is waiting out there is getting even more anxious the longer they go without a reply from "Lord Malleus".

You glance around just to make sure, but aside from the decor that makes you feel like you're living a Goth's dream you don't see anyone else in the room aside from you.

"Who—"

You jump, stunned. You try again.

"Who— Who's there?"

Startled, your hands fly to your throat, unsettled by the unfamiliar sound it makes when you open your mouth. Your voice had come out deep and smooth and, most notably, not your own.

Immediately afterwards you notice how long your nails are. Sharp, like claws, and polished black, poking into your skin where you hold your hands over your neck. The fingers they're on are long, slender, pale, and most definitely not yours.

Neither is the sleek black… nightgown? That hangs loosely from your body. Your eyes draw up from your hands, following your arm up to your (broad?!) shoulder before tracing the neckline that dips low, exposing a toned chest that you are very, very sure has never belonged to you.

Your hands fly to your face and upon the unfamiliar contours of defined cheekbones and a strong jaw, you scramble out of the bed— Getting tangled in the sheets that are equally as massive as the bed as you do— and stumble as you're thrown off by how unexpectedly far the floor is. You grab the bedpost for support as you regain your bearings before waddling like a newborn foal on unsteady long legs.

Is it just you, or are you suddenly much, much taller?!

Alright, it most definitely isn't just you if your hands and voice are anything to go by, and if that didn't convince you, the long, silky black hair that falls over your shoulders and frames your face should and— holy shit why is your head so heavy. If you don't find a mirror right this second—

"I… I have come to bring you your breakfast, your highness," squeaks the person outside the door as you make your way across the room. Somehow, you're still able to hear them incredibly clearly despite your increasing distance from the door.

You almost trip over your feet getting to the full-length mirror in the room, but when you finally actually see yourself, you might as well have fallen anyway for how violent the air is knocked out of you at the sight of your reflection.

Or… not your reflection. At least you don't think???

You blink. Blink again, and the stranger's reflection gapes at you with the exact amount of bewilderment that you feel.

You're looking at a mirror. That's your reflection. You wave your hands and the image repeats the movement seamlessy but, you're pretty sure though, positive, that you're not a 7 feet tall, inhumanly gorgeous horned man.

Your reflection and your body don't care what you think though, and the green-eyed stranger in the mirror stares back at you in confused horror.

[babydollmarauders]

VANCOUVER — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem! platonic! reader

pt 2 to Babe

summary: in which Quinn comforts y/n after she and Jack break up.

warnings: mentions of cheating, ex boyfriend Jack, light profanity

notes: if you like this, you should check out @jackhues Mockingbird AU! Naqia has an entire AU (that you can send requests for) based around being Jack’s girlfriend that has Quinn as a big brother figure and it’s AMAZING!

the eight hour flight to Vancouver felt like a lifetime, but when i felt the plane land on the runway, i feel more relieved than ever. i didn’t want look like the crazy person, crying on the plane, so i held it all in while i was in the air. mostly. there were a few times that i had some lone tears escape, but for the most part, i was just glad i didn’t have anyone sat next to me.

i follow the single file line off the plane, and make my way to baggage claim, where i caught sight of Quinn waiting for me. he spots me and sends me a pitiful smile, meeting me halfway, and that’s all it takes for me to breakdown, finally letting my tears fall. i fall into his open arms, letting him hold me in the middle of the airport.

“shhh. that’s it, let it out, y/n/n.” he shushes me, whispering comforting words in my ear. “it’ll be okay. you’re gonna be okay. i promise.”

we stand there for a few minutes, him holding me as i cry into his shirt. in Jack and i’s three year relationship, i grew quite close to Quinn. having never had any siblings of my own, and having parents who were more strict than comforting and protective, the Hughes became almost like a replacement family for me. but Quinn is who i’ve been closest with, him taking me under his wing and giving me advice when i need it. so it’s reassuring to know that i’ll still have him to lean on even though jack and i are no longer together.

once the baggage carousel starts moving, i’m easily able to spot my suitcase as one of the first few and Quinn grabs it for me. slinging an arm over my shoulder protectively, he leads me out to the parking garage. finding his car quickly, he puts my suitcase in his trunk and opens the passenger door for me before jogging around the vehicle to his drivers seat.

“let’s go back to mine and i’ll show you to your room. then you can talk to me if you want, but i’m not gonna push you to open up to me if you aren’t ready.” he says, switching the car into reverse and looking over his shoulder to back out of the parking space. i just nod in response.

the drive to Quinn’s isn’t too long, but my tired state makes it feel longer than the twenty minutes that it actually is. i wasn’t able to sleep on the plane, too busy thinking, and the fact that i left abruptly at night means it’s been way too long since i’ve actually slept. Quinn walks me into his apartment, leading straight to his guest bedroom.

“thank you, Quinn. you don’t understand how much this means to me. i don’t have anyone else in Jersey and i- i didn’t know where else to go.” my voice breaks and i stutter over my words as i turn to look at him in the doorway.

“i’m always here for you, you don’t need to thank me. you can stay here for as long as you want, y/n/n.” he pushes off from his spot leaned against the door jamb. “i’ll let you unpack and get settled.”

he closes his door on the way out and i turn back to my suitcase that sits on the bed, unzipping it and pulling out clothes and various other things i packed in my rush away from Jack. once i finish unpacking, i lay on my side on the bed, on top of the covers. i’ll just close my eyes for a second, then i’ll go talk to Quinn.

**

i wake up with a startle, my face wet with tears and my mouth dry. i don’t even remember falling asleep. my dream was a montage of fictional moments, imagery of Jack sleeping with faceless women and then coming home to me, cuddling up to me and telling me he loves me, all while i was aware it was happening but unable to leave him. i guess not all of it was fictional, because the last part did happen, i just wasn’t aware of his secret rendezvous.

i drag myself up from the bed, looking around for a moment in confusion before i remember where i am. Quinn. i leave the room, padding down the hallway to the living room, finding Quinn sprawled across his couch, watching tv. at the sound of my footsteps, he looks towards me and sits up.

“hey. i checked on you a few hours ago but you were asleep. i figured i’d let you get some rest.” he tells me.

“thanks.” my voice is raspy from my sleep and my eyes are still adjusting to the light shining in from his open windows.

“how ya feelin’?” he asks, getting up from the couch and walking over to the kitchen. i follow him and watch as he gets a cup down from a cabinet and fills it with water from a brita pitcher in the fridge.

“like i just found out my boyfriend cheated on me multiple times throughout our relationship and then took an eight hour plane ride to another country.” i shrug. Quinn looks over at me with wide eyes, and in the absence of his sight, the water overfills and spills over the side of the cup, running over his hand.

“shit.” he puts the pitcher down, pouring a little bit of the water from the cup down the sink and using a dish towel to dry the outside of the cup before handing it to me and then drying off the counter. “multiple times? i thought it was just the once? which, obviously is still bad but… multiple times?”

“i thought so too. but he confessed before i left. he said it wasn’t the first time he’s gotten with someone else.” i take a sip of the water and then sigh as fresh tears cling to my lashes. “god, what is wrong with me, Q? why has every guy i’ve ever been with, cheated on me? am i not good enough? do i not satisfy them? am i not pretty? i don’t understand.”

Quinn sets the towel down and steps in front of me, placing my cup on the counter and taking a hold of my face, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“there is nothing wrong with you, y/n. i don’t ever want you to think that this is your fault and not the man’s. he’s the one who fucked up. not you. you were loyal, you’re kind, you were supportive, Jack is the one who took advantage of you. and you’re gorgeous, so i don’t want to hear that you ever think that was the problem. the problem is him.” his tone is harsh and assertive, contradictory to his sweet words. “do you understand?”

i nod and he lets go of my face, pulling me into his chest for a tight hug. my tears wet his shirt as i sob into his chest for the second time in the past twenty-four hours.

“i know you’re hurting, and it doesn’t feel like it now but, you’ll be okay. i promise. and one day you’re gonna find someone who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. do i wish that could’ve been my brother for you? yes. but, unfortunately it wasn’t. and i just want you to remember that just because he wasn’t your endgame, doesn’t mean i care about you any less. you’re my little sister now. blood, legally, or honorary, you’re my sister and i’m here for you.”

his kind words only serve to switch my tears from sad ones to grateful ones. when Jack and i started dating, i had no expectations to grow close with his family. it had never happened with any of my previous boyfriends families. but the Hughes family members have always been so kind and supportive; letting me stay with them when my own parents kicked me out the day after my eighteenth birthday, throwing me a birthday party each year, Ellen teaching me how to sew, Luke coming to me for girl advice. it makes me look at Jack and i’s relationship in a new light. instead of wishing i had never met him, i’m grateful i had, because if it weren’t for him, i wouldn’t have his family. and more importantly, i wouldn’t have Quinn. my honorary big brother.

“thank you.” i sniffle as my tears finally come to an end twenty minutes later. by now we’ve moved to the couch and Quinn holds a box of tissues in his hands.

“you don’t need to thank me. it’s what i’m here for.” he smiles softly. his phone starts buzzing on the side table next to me and i reach for it, meaning to hand it to him, but i freeze up when i see Jack’s name on the screen, his contact picture being on of the two of us at the lake house. Quinn gently takes the phone from my grasp and i watch as his face slowly morphs into one of anger when he sees who’s calling him. before i can ask him not to take the call right now, he taps his finger over the ‘accept’ button.

“what the fuck do you want?” he asks sharply, holding the phone up to his ear. i can’t hear what Jack says but Quinn quickly shakes his head. “no.”

i give him a confused look and he holds up a finger, signaling to give him a minute. i sink back into the couch and curl my legs up to my chest as i watch him speak to my ex.

“no. Jack, i said no. you’re not talking to her. i don’t even know how you know she’s here, but if she isn’t answering your calls then you should take that as a fucking sign: she doesn’t want to speak to you.”

calls? what calls?

i pat my pockets for my phone, but realize i must’ve left it in the guest room. i rise to my feet and Quinn looks at me with a raised brow.

“be right back.” i mouth. i walk to the guest room, finding my phone laying on the bedside table, still plugged in from before i laid down a few hours ago. i pick it up and the screen comes to life, showing multiple unread texts from Jack and several missed calls. i swipe the calls away and skim through the texts, all being some variation of ‘i’m sorry’ and ‘can we please just talk?’. opening the instagram app, i take a few moments to delete every picture i have of or with him from my profile, including the post from yesterday. unplugging my phone and slipping it into my pocket, i walk back out to the living room.

“you’re not fucking listening to me. i don’t care how sorry you are, i won’t even let her think about getting back together with you. you fucked up, Jack. i’m done talking about this.” Quinn hangs up the phone as i walk back in, taking my seat back on the couch.

“i know you keep telling me to stop saying thank you but seriously, thank you, Quinny. you didn’t have to do that.” i say my words quietly, and he remains quiet for a second before he finally speaks up.

“any time, y/n/n. i mean it.” he smiles softly and then nudges my shoulder. “how about we order some take out and watch John Tucker Must Die? what do ya say?”

“i say…” i leave him hanging for a second before smiling back. “chinese food or pizza?”

“that’s my girl.” he slings an arm around me, tugging me into his side. he grabs the remote, switching over to a streaming service, and i pull out my phone to send one quick text before powering it off.

—

To: Jack 🤍

we’re not getting back together. but i’m grateful for your family and i don’t want to lose them just because we’re no longer dating, so i’m willing to be civil with you, if you’ll accept that.