#≾ don't threaten me with a good time ≿ { crack }

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Steve's half asleep on the couch when Dustin arrives the next day, and Robin lets him in.

“Hearts out,” Dustin demands immediately.

Steve winces. “Not a good idea, bud. My ribs are-”

“It's not your ribs,” Dustin interrupts. “You think I didn't see some blood when you were waving your heart around? Don't treat me like a baby, Steve, come on.”

Robin looks at him, and Steve shrugs.

“Okay,” he says, and Robin takes his heart out from her chest.

It looks better than it did yesterday, but it's still pretty pulpy, and Dustin goes pale.

“Steve,” he whispers, voice cracking.

“It's getting better,” Steve promises.

Dustin frowns, looking between him and Robin. “Are you having trouble breathing again? Why is Robin holding it?”

“It heals better when someone else has it,” Steve says. “Some kind of science thing.”

Dustin's frown deepens, then smooths out, and he holds his hands out to Robin. “My turn.”

“Dustin, I'm not going to ask you to-” Steve starts.

“You can't ask, I'm telling you I'm going to,” Dustin retorts. “I'm the first person who carried it, remember?”

Steve looks at Robin. She shrugs, and he can feel that she's not opposed to it, so he shrugs back. She hands his heart over to Dustin. There's some fumbling as Steve gives Robin's heart back to her and takes Dustin's instead, and then -

Huh.

Dustin is just as stubborn as he's always seemed, but underneath that is a quiet fear and a sense of love deeper than anything Steve's ever felt - other than from Robin.

“Come here.”

Steve gives him a hug - or as much of a hug as he can manage - then leans back on the couch again. “Breakfast's in the kitchen,” he says, already closing his eyes.

—

The next time he opens them, it's to the sound of half a dozen gremlins talking in what's probably supposed to be hushed tones.

“How did you all even get in here?” he asks.

They jump, then Dustin juts his chin out.

“I called them,” he says.

“We are here to help,” El says solemnly.

“Dustin told us what happened,” Lucas says.

Steve grimaces. “Look, you guys don't have to-”

“Will it work?” El asks.

Steve blinks at her. “Will what work?”

“If I try to heal your heart. Dustin says he looked it up, and it works best if it's someone you care about. Am I?”

Oh, that's just cheating. How is he supposed to protest with those eyes looking at him.

“Yeah, Ellie, of course you are. It'll work.”

She holds out her hands determinedly. "I don't have my powers. I couldn't save my - my dad, but I can do this. I can help you."

And that's that.

The next thing he knows, they've scheduled up a rotation along with Robin, and taken over his house, setting themselves up to watch TV or play games or do whatever else.

He finds himself alone with El, and he looks at her for a moment before asking, “Do you like cookies?”

Of course she likes cookies.

Steve can't actually do much work, but he can sit at the kitchen table and give directions, and she determinedly follows all of them as she puts together cookie dough.

He can feel the rough edges of her grief and her hopelessness, and he tries to give back as much support as he can.

She isn't alone.

“May I ask you something?” she asks, when a batch of cookies are in the oven and they're eating cookie dough.

“Sure,” he says.

“Dustin is not your brother.”

That's not a question, but he answers it anyway. “Not the way Mike is Nancy's brother or Will is Jonathan's, no.”

She frowns. “I don't understand,” she admits. “Mike says you are brave. That he likes you better now that you're not Nancy's boyfriend. I thought - you are like Mike.”

Oh, he is definitely remembering that for later. “Like Mike how?”

“Mike stepped off of a cliff for Dustin.”

Steve's brain screeches to a halt. “Mike what?”

“There were mouth breathers - bullies. They threatened to hurt Dustin if Mike didn't jump. He did. I caught him,” she's quick to reassure him, like that's what he's stuck on. “So - I thought you are like Mike. You protect your friends.”

“Like you, too,” Steve says, deciding to table the whole Mike thing for now. “You protect your friends.”

She smiles at him, a tiny, fleeting thing before her face scrunches in confusion. “But Max and Dustin and Lucas were not always your friends. Max says you jumped in front of a demodog the day you met her. I don't understand.”

Yeah, Steve's not sure he really understands either - a feeling she must pick up, because she looks even more confused.

“I just - wanted to help.” It sounds even lamer than it did when he said that about cleaning up the graffiti at the theater, but it's what he's got. “Maybe - we don't have to be like anyone, you know? We can just be like us. We can just want to help.”

Her expression smooths out, and he can feel - she kind of likes that.

“What I like,” she says, which is clearly a call back to something else with the way she's feeling, though he has no idea what.

It's okay. He doesn't really have to know what, he thinks - they understand each other.

And they have cookies.

—

He calls Mrs. Byers, just to make sure she knows where Will and El are.

She does, of course, but he also wants to check on her.

Her voice is unsteady and thick with grief, but she tells him not to worry about her, asks how the kids are doing, how he is.

He doesn't want to worry her, either, but he tells her what the kids’ plan is, how hard they're trying to help him.

How guilty he feels about it.

She's gentle when she tells him to let them help, that they care about him and they want to be able to do something good. He promises he will, and that he'll look after them.

He wishes he could do more.

—

Mike's up next, like he wants to get it over with.

Steve wants to tease him about the whole thinking he's brave thing, but when he's hit with everything Mike feels - worry and love and pride and protectiveness and how can I keep them all safe what am I supposed to do, he finds he doesn't want to give him a hard time.

Mike's angry at him, but he's angry at him because he's scared. Because he doesn't want to like him, doesn't want to trust him, but he does.

Mike likes him a whole lot, actually.

And Steve guesses that Mike can feel his own slightly amused fondness, because the kid scowls at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve replies.

He thinks for a while, while Mike sullenly sits at the kitchen table with him and pretends like Steve doesn't know that he actually has feelings.

Eventually, even though he knows it's going to get him scoffed at, he says, “Do you know why teams have co-captains?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Because they're too stupid to figure out how to play themselves?”

He tamps down on his irritation, though he knows not quickly enough, because Mike looks smug.

“So there's more than one person to make the hard choices. So if one person can't be there, the other can. So no one has to be in two places at once. So one person doesn't have to be everything to everyone,” Steve continues.

Mike scoffs, but Steve can still feel that it resonates with him. “Your stupid sports game is way less important than real life danger.”

“Yeah, sure. But so is your dragons game, and you guys use that all the time.”

He can feel that Mike wants to protest, though he also reluctantly thinks that Steve's right.

“So, what, you think we should pick captains for our Party?” Mike asks.

“Nah. You're already the party leader, right?” Steve asks. He knows that's how Mike sees himself, knows that's the pressure he puts on himself.

Now more than ever.

“But last time and this time, we had to split up, right? And you can't be everywhere.”

“You don't get it,” Mike says. “It's my job to protect them. How am I supposed to do it if I can't look out for everyone?”

“You get some help. Look - that's what I'm here for, all right? Let me help watch out for you guys.”

Mike snorts. “You?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think it's worked out so far.”

Mike glances away. Whatever he's thinking of, there's the faint memory of fear and an unbidden, reluctant wash of relief, of safety.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever, you're in the Party.”

Steve doesn't point out that he's already been in it, according to some of them. He has a feeling that's the most he's going to get out of Mike, for now.

It's enough.

—

It's easy, with Max and Lucas.

Probably easier than it should be.

He and Max swap, and he sits with her angry, confused grief. He can feel her daring him to say something, so - he doesn't.

He opens his arms, and he says, “Come here,” and she's exhausted enough that she does.

He hugs her tight while she cries into his chest, angry with herself for crying and angry with Billy for being so terrible and saving her life anyway. Angry with Steve, too, but that one's too complicated for him to figure out with the echoes of the feelings he gets from her.

“I'm here,” he says after a while, even though it makes her cry harder. “I'm right here.”

He sits with Lucas, after, staring at the door where El and Max have retreated to try to get some sleep.

“I don't know how to help her,” Lucas says.

He doesn't sound lost, but his heart beats in Steve's chest, and he can feel it anyway.

“Me either,” Steve admits, because he knows Lucas can feel it from him, too.

“What am I supposed to do?” Lucas asks.

Steve thinks for a moment. “Be there for her. Don't push her, but make sure she knows you're there. That you're not going anywhere.”

Some of the helplessness fades, and Lucas nods.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

They're quiet for a little bit.

“I want to try out for the basketball team,” Lucas says suddenly, then shoots an almost shy little look over at Steve at his pleased surprise.

“That's awesome, man. You want to get some more practice in after a few weeks?” Steve asks.

Lucas nods, then hesitates. “I don't think that Mike and Dustin and Will are going to like it.”

Steve frowns. “They like me okay.”

“Well, yeah, but that's different. We used to think you were a douchebag.”

It startles a laugh out of Steve. “Wow, thanks, Sinclair.”

Lucas shrugs, unapologetic. “We know you aren't now. But they're going to think I'm abandoning them.”

Steve considers. “Are you?”

“No! I'll still play D&D and stuff with them, we'll still be the Party. I want to prove you can do both. I want - I don't want people to mess with them. I want to do what you did.”

Steve swallows, suddenly a little choked up. He wishes he could blame it on his injuries, but he knows damn well Lucas can feel how touched he is.

“You're gonna be great, man,” he says when he has himself more under control. “You're gonna be way better than I ever was.”

—

When Will's up in the little rotation the gremlins have worked out, he lingers a few steps away, hesitant.

"Hey, man, you don't have to," Steve says awkwardly. "I can tell the other gremlins that you're needed at home."

Will looks at him for a moment. "Do I count?"

"What?" Steve asks.

"You didn't hunt a demodog with me, or barricade a bus in a junkyard, or fight off a bully, or go to the Upside Down tunnels, or invade a Russian bunker. You just let me into movies for free and let me hang out at your house with everyone. Is that enough?" Will's tone had been very matter of fact, but it goes a little bit more tenuous there.

"Yeah," Steve says. "Yeah, it is."

Will comes up to the table, holding his hands out expectantly, and Steve drops his heart into them.

It doesn't hurt, but by now, he doesn't expect it to. Steve's not sure he'll ever be able to thank any of the kids for this, but if Joyce is right, if being able to do something helps them after everything they just went through, then he guesses he's glad for that.

The awkwardness lingers a little after they've exchanged hearts. Probably because now they can feel an echo of each other's feelings. It makes Steve scramble for a topic.

"Mike and Lucas apologize to you yet?" Steve asks.

Will looks at him in confusion. "What for?"

"You think I didn't notice they've been kind of shitty? My money's on Mike being more insensitive about it, but Lucas has been right there with him, you know? Ditching Dustin half the time since he's been back, and before that it was always you playing fifth wheel."

Will looks a little surprised. “How'd you even notice that?”

"Because the same thing happened to me," Steve admits.

"I doubt it," Will mutters.

"It did!" Steve insists. "I had two best friends growing up. Then in middle school, they started dating, and suddenly every time we hung out I was the third wheel. It drove me nuts at first."

Will frowns. "Wait, but. You were always dating girls."

"Well, yeah, because I knew I was supposed to. I did a lot of things because it was what I was supposed to do." Steve'd liked all of them well enough, enjoyed dating them - especially once he started having sex and realized how good at it he could be - but he's not going to pretend like there isn't a reason his relationships didn't last very long.

Nancy'd been the only one he could see a forever with.

The kid's brows furrow, like he's not really sure what to do with that information.

"My point is-” Steve points at him with his spoon. “-don't let them rush you, or make you feel like you have to do something you don't want to do just to fit in with them. They're a lot better friends than mine were; they'll understand."

Will considers that. "Jonathan says I should never like something just because people tell me I should. That it's okay that I'm a freak, because he's a freak, too.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “What'd you say back?”

Will scrunches his nose. “I asked if that was why he didn't have any friends.”

He shouldn't, but Steve gives a little snort of laughter. Oh, no, Will is funny.

“Your brother has friends,” Steve protests, to counter his laughter. “He's got Nancy and me.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Nancy's his girlfriend.”

“Point in your favor,” Steve admits. “Still leaves me. And Robin will be his friend.”

Will toys with an apple from the fruit basket on the island. “Are you and Jonathan even really friends? It's not like you guys hang out.”

“Ouch, Byers, I thought you were the nice one,” Steve says, giving the kid a fond little smile to show he doesn't mean it. “There's different kinds of friends, I guess. Did, uh. Did Jonathan ever tell you how I got involved with all this?”

“Not really.” Will says with a shrug. “Just that you and him and Nancy fought a demogorgon.”

“That's because your brother's a good guy,” Steve tells him, then nudges the chair across from him.

It only moves a handful of inches, making Steve grimace - he'd wanted to kick it all the way out from under the table, but clearly he's not at full kicking strength. Still, it does the job, and Will takes a seat.

“I saw Nancy and Jonathan together on her bed one night, when she and I had just started dating. She couldn't tell me about the Upside Down stuff yet, but I knew she was lying, and I thought they were seeing each other behind my back.”

Will's looking at him, eyes huge, and it makes guilt twist in his stomach at the thought of what he said to Jonathan that day.

“We got in a fight the next day,” Steve admits. “I was really mean to him. So I went to your house later to apologize, and that's when I stumbled in on him and Nancy setting their trap. I gotta tell you, it was a really rude awakening, getting my apology speech interrupted by a demogorgon.”

“Try getting your bike ride home interrupted by one,” Will says dryly.

For a moment, Steve wonders if he should feel guilty bringing it up and potentially traumatizing the kid, but - Will doesn't look like he wants to be tiptoed around, and he can feel the faint trepidation from the kid's heart beating in his chest. The fear that someone's going to treat you different.

So Steve snorts instead. “Okay, you've got me beat,” he concedes. “You win the gold medal of demogorgon attacks.”

“Thanks.” It's just as dry, but Will's smiling at Steve like he said the right thing, so he'll take it. “Do I get an actual medal?”

Steve gives a surprised little laugh. “You know what? Sure. Come on.”

His pace is slow as he heads upstairs, and out of the corner of his eye, he's pretty sure he sees Will's hands twitch like he's debating trying to help him up. Steve resolutely ignores it until they get to his room, and then he unearths his first place medal from the medley swimming relay in eighth grade.

“Hang on, let me-” Steve digs around for some duct tape and a sharpie, then slaps a strip of tape on the back of the medal, pressing it down to get it to stick well. He writes demogorgan attack on the tape, blows on it to get it to dry, then hands it to Will with all the solemnity as if he was actually presenting him with a first place medal.

“Oh my God,” Will says, looking a little gobsmacked. “You're a nerd. You're one of us!”

“Hey! You spread that around, and I'll take your medal back!” Steve threatens.

“No way,” Will retorts. “Come back when you get dragged into the Upside Down by a demogorgon for dinner.”

“No thanks,” Steve says. “It's all yours.”

Will is beaming at him, and Steve kind of hates to ruin the mood - but he also really has to sit down. The downside to having them all on a rotation of heart exchanges is that he can't hide when it gets really bad.

He sits down on his bed while he can still do it without just dropping down onto the mattress. Will watches him for a moment, then carefully sits on the bed too, a foot or so away from him.

“So - that's why you and Jonathan are friends? You apologized and you fought a monster together?” Will asks.

“Yeah, I guess so. Look, there's different kinds of friends, right? There's the friends you have because you share a class together, or the ones you play the same sport - or, uh, hobby with, or the ones you just hang out with sometimes. And then there's the good ones, the ones who know you. Jonathan and I might not hang out outside of school, but I know he's got my back, and I've got his. Any time he needed me, I'd be right there.”

His feelings about Jonathan are - complicated, but that's the truth. Whatever else, Steve cares about the guy a hell of a lot, trusts him like he trusts very few others.

Steve's not sure what Will can pick up from him, but it must be enough to convince him that Steve's sincere, because he just quietly says, “Oh.”

“That goes for you, too,” Steve tells him. “Okay? You need me, I'm there.”

Will's cheeks go just a little pink, and there's a faint flutter of some kind in his heart, but Steve can't really tell what it is. “Okay.”

They're quiet for a moment, but it's not really awkward anymore - or at least, not beyond Steve trying to figure out how long before he's going to be able to get himself back downstairs without leaning on anyone.

“Did you date Nancy because you were supposed to?” Will asks after a while.

“Nancy's different,” Steve replies automatically, hearing an echo of himself saying the same thing to Dustin the day they were looking for Dart, and knowing it's just as true now as it was then, even if he's over her now - or as over her as he thinks he'll ever be.

Will mulls that over. “So - I might find a girl one day that's different, even if I've never liked girls before?”

There's something about the way that Will says it that sends him back into the Starcourt bathroom with Robin, watching her stare at him as he said but Tammy Thompson's a girl, waiting for it to click into place for him, and -

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit, he thinks he's accidentally implied something he didn't really mean to imply here. He thinks about trying to stutter out a clarification, that when Steve said he did it because he was supposed to, he didn't mean that he didn't like girls - he loves girls, girls are fantastic -

But.

But there's Eddie.

Will's voice had been so small, and whatever he can feel from Steve's heart in his chest is making his eyes go wide and scared, and it -

“Maybe,” Steve finds himself saying before he really knows what he's talking about. “But maybe not. And that's - that's okay. Whoever you like, or don't like, whoever you want to date or not date, it's okay.”

Steve pauses, feels like that isn't enough, and scrunches his face up. “Unless they're like, objectively terrible. If you get a crush on some little asshole, I can and will make fun of you.”

There's a ghost of a smile there. “Like Dustin and Suzie?” he asks.

“Way worse than Dustin and Suzie,” Steve says. “I had to be nice about Suzie, because everyone thought Dustin was making her up. I'm talking no holds barred here.”

—

"Do you think that guy's dead?"

Steve doesn't have to ask what guy Dustin means. He grimaces a little, because even if he wanted to, there's no way he can lie with their hearts in each other's chests. "We blew up their lab, man, I think most of them are dead."

Dustin frowns, looking like he's not sure if he thinks that's a good enough answer.

"I guess," he says finally. Then, so quietly Steve can barely hear it, Dustin asks, "Am I a bad person?"

"What?" Steve asks, thrown. "You've saved the world how many times now?"

Dustin gives him a look. "The same amount of times that you have."

Steve bumps Dustin's shoulder with the back of his knuckles. "Saved Nancy and Jonathan, maybe, but not sure how much world saving I did the first time. You got one up on me."

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Basically the same."

"All right, all right," Steve says. "We've saved the world a few times. Bad people don't usually do that."

Dustin fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "Billy did. Kind of. He helped, at the end. Does that make him a good person?"

Shit, Steve is way too concussed for this.

"No," he says after a little while. "I don't think so. Maybe if he had more time, but I don't think one good thing that he did while he was already dying makes up for all the other bad things he did."

Dustin screws up his face in concentration, then nods. "Me too."

Steve'd really like to just end the conversation there, but he's pretty sure Dustin needs him to keep going, and, well.

He's always going to be there when Dustin needs him.

"What makes you think you're a bad person?" he asks.

Dustin stares at his hands for a little while. "I don't feel bad."

Steve tries to make sense of that for a moment, then gives up. "You lost me."

"I killed that guy," Dustin says, looking back up at him almost defiantly. "And I don't feel bad. I'm not sorry he's dead."

Guilt stabs through him so strongly that he knows Dustin must feel some of it, and he grimaces a little when Dustin frowns at him.

"What was that?" Dustin asks.

"I'm sorry that you had to do that," Steve says. "It's not fair."

Dustin scoffs. "None of this is fair."

All right, yeah, Dustin's got a point. Okay, new tactic.

"Look at me, Dust," Steve says softly.

Dustin pulls a face. "I am looking at you."

"Ugh, no, I mean look at me." Steve waves a hand at himself.

"You look like shit," Dustin tells him.

"Exactly," Steve agrees. "You know why I look like shit?"

There's an echo of something remarkably similar to the guilt Steve just felt.

"Because of me," Dustin says, voice small.

Shit.

"What? No! How is this your fault?" Steve asks.

"I pushed the Russian message thing. You only looked into it because I wanted to," Dustin says.

"That's not - I looked into it for the same reason I helped you look for Dart, okay? Because I'm in this, and we're in this together, and if there's something out there, it's going to find us. That's not your fault."

Dustin doesn't look convinced.

"There is nothing that's going to keep me away from being in this with you, okay? Even if you didn't push me. Even if you didn't even tell me. I'd find out, and then I'd be mad." He pauses. "Like, really mad. Like telling your mom you ditched me and got in trouble so she doesn't let you leave the house for a year mad."

"Okay, okay," Dustin says, but he looks happier. "So what was your point, then?"

His point?

Right, his point.

"I look like shit because of the dead guy and his buddies." Part of Steve thinks he should hedge around this, try to sugarcoat it a little, but - treating Dustin like he's a kid who can't handle this isn't going to do anything. "You saw my heart, Dustin. You think the guys who did that were just going to let me walk out of there?"

Dustin looks at him, eyes big. "No," he admits quietly.

"The only reason I'm still standing here is because of you. I mean it, man - I'd be dead without you. And it sucks that you had to do that, and I wish I could have been faster or better, saved you from being the one that had to, but I'm not sorry that he's dead, either. Maybe that makes me a bad person. Maybe I'm a bad person because I would do the same thing, because I'd have killed all of them to protect you and I wouldn't feel bad at all."

Dustin's lip quivers a little. "You're not a bad person, Steve."

"Neither are you," Steve tells him.

The kid's eyes look suspiciously wet. Steve shifts, straightening up a little and lifting his arms.

"Come here."

Dustin drops down onto the couch, squished into his side. Steve drapes his arm over his shoulder, gingerly hugging him, and pretending that he can't hear Dustin's quiet sniffles or feel the shake of his shoulders.

"You're like the best person I know," Steve says softly.

"You too," Dustin replies, voice a little wet. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna be fine."

His heart might not ever be the same, but with all of them trying so hard to keep it together and help it heal - it makes him feel pathetic, but he kind of thinks he might be even better.

It seems a good enough response for Dustin, who stays tucked in against his side, eyes slipping shut like he's going to fall asleep right there.

Steve wants to bitch about it, but he also doesn't want to move, so he just lets it happen.

"I used to be so jealous of Mike and Will," Dustin mutters sleepily after a while.

"Yeah?" Steve asks absently.

"All this sucks, and they had Nancy and Jonathan," Dustin says.

"Mmm," Steve agrees, feeling pretty close to sleep himself.

"I'm not anymore though."

"No?" Steve asks.

"Nah," Dustin mumbles. "You're way better than Nancy and Jonathan."

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

----

Part 8

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @cryptid-system @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @persnicketysquares @samsoble @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse @breealtair @shunna @xtraordinarally @thatdamnfan @justalittledrainbamage @strangerfolks @disrespectedgoatman @amber-ambience @anxietyfulloption @thepossummoldypasta

[silverskyeline]

I've recently lost a pet, my cat, and greiving quite a bit. i was wondering if you could do a super fluffy wolverine fic of him just saying everythings gonna be ok, it sounds silly now im typing this lol <3

I love your fics btw!!!! :3

hey anon <3 i am so so sorry for your loss, i've been there and i know how hard it is. it's not silly at all!! i hope this fic is okay for you, ily and i hope you're looking after yourself! please take care!

ੈ♡˳ 'grief' - logan howlett x gn!reader

summary: logan wants to help comfort you, the way that you often comfort him. (930 words) tags: logan comforts you, fluffy, chaste kisses, gentle touches, very brief mention of grief, very brief mention of loss, established relationship.

logan's eyes flutter open, almost on instinct. when he glances to the side, his suspicions are confirmed - you've been awake for a while. he can tell by the way your eyes scan the ceiling above you, tracing patterns and cracks in the paint like they're highways you're speeding down to escape the thoughts in your head. he knows that look because he too often finds himself speeding down those same highways.

he turns, wrapping a thick arm around your waist to pull you closer, nuzzling his stubble into the base of your neck. he takes a deep breath, encouraging you to do the same. when your chest rises with his, he exhales deeply, pressing a soft kiss to your skin in praise.

"mornin', bub," he whispers, his voice soft, a tone he reserves only for you, even more so on days like these.

you rest your head upon the top of his in a silent reply, cheek nestling against his fluffy hair. you breathe in his scent, relishing in the way it's so familiar and grounding to you.

his arm squeezes around you, eyes flitting up to your face, taking in your weathered expression. he wishes he could take away those dark thoughts in your head, the feelings that weigh you down - but he knows it ain't that simple, been there himself way too many times to foolishly believe otherwise. logan thinks of all the times you've held him, your gentle reassurances, how easy it seems to come to you to offer that comfort.

he wants to do the same for you.

"it's gonna be okay," he hums, punctuating his words with delicate, chaste kisses to your neck, "i know it. . . it hurts right now, darlin', i know it does. it's. . . alright to hurt."

logan curses himself internally, he wasn't good at this shit - wanted to be as good as you were, saw how the words came naturally to you. meanwhile, he's flipping through every single word he's ever known and nothing feels right.

"you don't need to hurt alone, though," he continues, swallowing the doubt he holds in his abilities, "you know i'm here. . ." lifting his head, he looks into your eyes, "you know i got you."

your eyes meet and you can tell he means it, really means it. he's trying hard, trying so hard. an honest crooked smile curls on his lips, one that's all logan, and it threatens a smile on your lips too.

you take a moment to feel him beside you, to get lost in the peacefulness that his company allows so naturally. his heartbeat is calm yet firm against your arm that finds itself pressed against his chest, the gentle 'thump thump' lulling you.

"that grief you got in your chest," he presses a large palm against your torso as though he can feel it - and in a way he can, you're connected enough emotionally that he can often tell what you're really feeling before you know it yourself, finding clues in the way your shoulders tense or the subtle tremble in your hands, "you can share it with me, y'know."

the palm on your chest travels upwards to cup your cheek, brushing a calloused thumb across your soft skin, "listen to me, everythin' is gonna be okay, you hear me?" his tone turns firm, but still loving, "i've lost enough people to know how fuckin' hard it is, it eats away at you, feels like you're chokin' on words unspoken or things you coulda' done or things you didn't do but. . . in the end, you loved 'em. they knew that."

the words hit you, emphasised by the delicate tone of his voice. you bask in the comfort he provides.

logan leans down to press a tender kiss to your forehead, lingering there a moment in the hopes that somehow it helps his words sink in. "i know i ain't good at this kinda thing, darlin' - but. . ." he pulls back, vulnerability etched on his face as his eyes link with yours, "i just. . . i guess what i'm tryin' to say is i'm. . . here for you."

and you know he is, sometimes it's hard to believe. logan, the wolverine, a man who once kept everyone at arm's length and vowed never to let anyone in again is here now, in bed, with you, comforting you with thoughtful words and soft touches.

you know he means what he says, because displaying softness is not something that comes easy to him, it's not something he allows himself to be around others. but with you? it's different.

"let's make you some breakfast, huh?" he peppers soothing kisses across your face, over your forehead, down along the slope of your nose, across your cheeks. . . hoping to elicit a smile, something that tells him he's breaking through that tough exterior you've built to keep yourself in that dark place.

and it works, because a ghost of a smile tugs at your lips.

logan smiles in silent victory, finally pressing a kiss to your lips before sitting up, taking your hand in his, "c'mon, let me spoil you today."

you reluctantly ease out of bed, following him - because you know he's right, everything will be okay. the fog will clear, little by little, navigating your way to sunny skies in time. and though the grief remains, it morphs. instead of reminding you of what you've lost, it reminds you of the good it gifted you, and the good that you too, shared with them.

[sugawhaaa]

🕯LEE KNOW ONE-SHOT🕯

🗡The birth of a demon🗡

Warnings::MENTIONS OF RELIGION If you are faithful I highly recommend not reading this and if you do I do not take religious criticism. PTSD and war description.

Genre:: ANGSSSTTT, fantasy, ✨️mystical creatures ✨️, AU, slow burn

Pairing:: demon!Minho x fem!angel!reader

A/N:: this one is angsty as hell but what can you expect from the lord of wrath? But like the endings got me giggling

Taglist:: @velvetmoonlght @lattyjiji

🎧::

As Minhos sturdy form stood before you, you found yourself thinking about Felix's warning.

"Never be alone around Minho," Felix's tone was sincere but heavy. Moments after your conversation with Felix you found yourself in front of Lee know, alone.

There was this aura surrounding Minho that made your body shiver but you had no real reason to point it out. You caught yourself staring at him before looking down.

"Sorry, I didn't notice you," you apologize but Minho doesn't respond. He stares at you for a moment before nodding.

"Do you fear me?" He asks softly with a tilt of his head. His question didn't seem threatening but more genuine.

"Uhm...I'm not really sure," you answer honestly and Minho smirks.

"Good to know," he nods before walking off, his cape gently drifting as he walks. That energy surrounding him wasn't just that of negativity but it lingered of something stronger. Being the lord of wrath there's no surprise he's drowning in negative energy. The day goes on as usual, you spend time in your room, eat dinner with the demons, and try to learn more about them. While sauntering around the building you stumbled upon a dimly lit room filled with paintings, scultpers and books.

You scanned the hallway before making your way into the room. As you examined the room you realized the paintings were clawed at, the canvas tattered. The sculptures were cracked and also had claw marks through them, mostly faces. You went over to the bookshelf next to a grand clock that ticked back and forth.

You then felt an uneasy presents behind you.

"Get out," Lee know growled before roughly grabbing your arm. As your skin made contact images flashed through your head of what seemed to be Minhos memories. You roughly shoved you away with a hiss. "Stupid angels, I forgot you could do that," he puts a hand to his head.

The cries of terror echoed through your ears as you looked into minhos burning eyes. You know you shouldn't press further but you couldn't help it.

"was that...you?" You ask softly and he scoffs.

"I don't have to tell you shit," he pushes you back again before grabbing your wrist, dragging you to the door. You pull against his grasp but he's too strong. The images roll through both of your heads again but Minho is used to the flashbacks, they don't scare him, however he doesn't want you being all up in his business.

Just as he gets to the doorframe you find a memory hidden deep in his soul. Lee know had been crying, his vision blurred with tears, and his mom lay in front of him. He cried out for her but she didn't respond, then he was roughly picked up and dragged away. You gasp softly as you witness the scene. Minho lets go of you and his head falls.

"Minho, it was an accident I'm sorry," you put a hand to his chest and you expected him to slap it away but he just stood there. "So...you were..."

"I was born from human war," he explains. "That technically wasn't my experience. It was a young boy named Dean. That scene you saw, that glimpse of a memory was..." Minhos voice croaks as he tries to speak. "That was his last memory," Minho sighs and you find yourself shaken up at his words. "You should leave," he turns away from you.

"I can't now, not after I dug up something like that," you try to get through to him and you see his jaw clench before relaxing.

"Please Y/N," his voice is laced with desperation and you look down. You turn to leave and grab the door handle.

"I'm sorry," you apologize again and close the door. After taking a few steps you hear a cry from his room and the sound of shattering pottery. There goes another statute....

Bangchan comes running from the sound before seeing you.

"What did you do?" He asks worriedly with a hint of anger.

"I...I accidentally brought up some past trauma," you explain and chan sighs.

"Let me talk to him," he puts a hand to your shoulder. "This isn't your fault okay? Don't blame yourself for minhos emotions," Bangchan looks into your eyes and you nod. You wait at the corner of the hall and listen in on their conversation again. Lee know sounded like a whole other person but when you listened carefully you could hear multiple people's voices were in his.

In the room minho throws a painting at Chan to which Chan catches it, gently setting it down. You can't see what's going on but you can bangchan has done this before. "I know you're in there Minho, you need to wake up. You're being weak," Chan states coldly and the room falls silent. You hear one last hiss from Minho before silence.

You decide this is a good time to leave. Minho has calmed down and Chan will probably make his leave soon, you don't him to know you were listening.

《Minho ending》

"I want to hate her," Lee know hisses as he goes over to the book shelf wear a skull rests, a candle inside it. "But..."

"You can't?" Chan smiles softly and Minho punches the wall. "You usually handle your emotions so well. She's got you...conflicted. doesn't she?" Bangchan leaves that note with Minho before leaving the room. Minho sighs and looks at the dent in the wall. He laughs to himself.

"How can you hate an angel?" He finds tears running down his cheeks as he laughs. "I hate this feeling...I'm not used to it," he caressed the skull softly on the cheek.

Demon skz masterlist

[zepskies]

Oh God, here we go...

Your mind, moonstruck and lunatic, spun complicated cobwebs. Your feeble body and fragile bones threatened to crumble and crack underneath the devastating weight of the truth.

Wow, this bit of description struck me right away. What a lovely and devastatingly poetic way of conveying this...

Because as soon as he would acknowledge it, he’d lose you. How could he live with that?

Oh Barlen, pls. 😭 I just knew he'd be feeling this way. My heart is breaking for both of them really. 💙💙 But of course they're both blaming themselves (perhaps Beau even more so than her). His admission that he wasn't ready to see them together again broke my heart for the 15th time, dear God. 🥲🥲

He knew it was over. You’d never pick him. He wasn’t the love of your life. He wasn’t your once in a lifetime. He wasn’t true love. He was your second choice. The one you were stuck with. Your rebound.

Oh dude, something tells me he couldn't be more wrong about her and how she feels... Or at least, I hope he's wrong? 🫠

As you stood there, feet calcified in front of his bed, a set of familiar whiskey-colored eyes found you.

"Calcified" just really hit me in this moment. Along with "whiskey-colored" -- you're so very good at painting a vivid picture through your word choice.

In a way, her and Randy are so sweet together. It feels calm and warm and familiar, but maybe not quite right anymore? At least for her? As opposed to when she goes to Beau in the scene right after--them two together are just sparks flying off the stove. With them, there's actual passion.

But backing up to the Randy scene -- I really like how you played it and his accepting personality. Like, I know it's been a few years and you've probably moved on already. I guess we're not married anymore? But we could just get married again? loll Poor guy. As if surviving what he went through wasn't enough, now he's going to have to deal with the fact that his wife is head over heels in love with his best friend now. ❤️‍🩹

She's really not the same. Not only because of Beau, but because she's been through too much after Randy's "death."

“Wow, congrats, man. You deserve it,” Randy said with a genuinely happy grin. He seemed like a kid who was catching up with all his friends on the first day of school after summer break. Beau gave him a tight smile that said he didn’t think he deserved it. But only you could read that one. “Uhm, thanks, bud. I see you tomorrow, okay?”

“It’s okay. I get it. Trust me. I do. He’s your husband, and I’m just… Well, I’m nothin’,” he said, his voice laden with heartbreak. “Just don’t come closer, ‘cause if you do, I don’t know if I can hold myself back, alright? ‘Cause all I wanna do right now is kiss you and love you, even it’s the last time. I can’t do that to him. You understand?”

Goddamn it, Beau!! Can you give her, like, a minute to adjust before you already decide you're "nothin'" and she's not gonna pick you? For God's sake. 😭��� (But totally on brand for him. Great characterization. Sigh.)

“Not the ring I thought I’d give you…”

Just keep pummeling my heart, that's fine. 🙃

He replayed the clips of the hospital in his mind over and over again. How Randy held your hand. How he touched your cheek. How he kissed you. How he looked at you when he first saw you – like he had finally found the piece of his heart again that he lost years ago, the same love in his brown eyes that had been there since day one.

Okay, but he was so focused on Randy's reactions, he didn't bother to watch her reactions, her struggle, and her reluctance.

“You ain’t nothing.”

What a romcom movie moment, I love it!!!

I can't go back to the way things were. I know you think me and Randy are some great love story, but so are you and I.

I'm with Beau on this one--please let her really, truly mean this and not change her mind and leave him later, because I don't think my heart could take it. 😭😭

“I want you,” you assured him, your mouth trailing a path of featherlight kisses along his jaw and down to his throat, his groan vibrating against your soft lips.

“I want you,” you assured him, your mouth trailing a path of featherlight kisses along his jaw and down to his throat, his groan vibrating against your soft lips.

How I love these little moments of softness and tenderness in between the amazingly hot ones. ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 And I feel like Beau probably really needs that right now--that reassurance.

Your heart was the North Star, and your heart had led you to him.

Ahh I love a callback to the title! 🥹✨

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips and nodded. “I’m not going anywhere, corazón.”

Ugh, God, my Latina heart sang on that last bit! 😭 But girl, you outdid yourself on this chapter. I can honestly say that was some of the most stellar romantic smut I've ever read. 👌🏽😮‍💨❤️‍🔥

Aaaaand now I'm both excited and scared to see how Randy handles this news. 😬 Something tells me he's not going to take this news as well as the other stuff...

Polaris – Chapter 9

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, ramp up the angst, guilt trips all around, hospitals, bits of fluff in all the chaos, smut (with a heavy dose of more angst)

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: Well, there was no way this wasn't going to be angsty af. Enjoy the ride, loves! 😘

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 9: Marooned

The cool, breezy autumn air whipped you across your face, a sharp, frigid sting in your lungs that burned right through to your heart. Each breath you desperately clutched was a fight for life.

Your mind, moonstruck and lunatic, spun complicated cobwebs. Your feeble body and fragile bones threatened to crumble and crack underneath the devastating weight of the truth. You crouched down on the parking lot asphalt, head heavy in your shaking hands.

“Hey, hey, just breathe…” Beau’s deep voice and warm hand on your back were a short-lived comfort before the first sob broke through you.

He knelt down in front of you, large hands cupping your head when your own grew too tired to hold it. He rested his forehead against yours, green eyes leveling with you. His thumbs wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“Maybe it’s not him,” Beau bargained, his voice a soft whisper. His disavowing mind refused to accept what his breaking heart knew to be true.

However, there was no doubt in yours. “No, I’m sure it’s him.”

“It still might not be true… It could be one of those CGI deep-fakes. You know, they’ve gotten crazy good… She just wants to mess with us,” Beau tried to reason, every bone in his body fighting to accept the truth. Because as soon as he would acknowledge it, he’d lose you. How could he live with that?

Your eyes lifted from the ground, your gaze boring into his. “You really believe that?” Your voice was harsh enough to break through the solid brick barrier he had erected over his heart, your words a wrecking ball. A jittery and hesitant lick of his lips was his abdication. He lowered his head in resignation. “How’s that even possible? You saw him die, right?

Beau’s mouth opened without an answer, his eyes flickered alive with memories. Panic rose with realization and poisoned the pumping blood that coursed through his heart. “I-I saw him get dragged away… I heard the shot.”

He was sure. He was so, so, so sure. And then, it all fell apart. What had he done?

You straightened up, slipping out of his grasp, and clasped your mouth, turning your back to him as your body rattled with shock. “Oh my God… Oh God…”

Beau rose to his feet behind you and swallowed harshly as the realization hit him like a freight train. He wanted to reach out and touch you, needing you now more than ever, but he didn’t know if he still could. His mind raced a mile a minute with questions he couldn’t find an answer to.

How was Randy still alive? Had the cartel kept him all this time? How did Diane find out? And how the hell did she get a hold of him?

“Y/N, I-… I don’t know what to say.” His voice trembled. He could feel you drift further and further away from him till you were just a dot out on the vast ocean. He didn’t want to lose you but didn’t know how to stop it, either. He thought all he needed was for you to just look at him, and it would all be right again. But when you did, it shattered his heart into a million pieces.

“All this time he was alive and God knows where. I-I could’ve looked for him. I could’ve helped him…”

“You didn’t know,” Beau said softly, pushing your blame onto himself. He could’ve known. He should’ve known. He felt helpless, lost, adrift. “Y/N, what d’you want me to do?”

You needed a moment to clear your head enough to think straight. If it wasn’t Randy but any other victim, what would you do next?

“We need to find that bunker. Get him outta there,” you concluded. “You think he’s still alive? You think she’d kill him?”

Recalling the snippet of the video, you remembered the timeline only read an hour instead of the usual forty-eight. It wasn’t about making you suffer through his death because you’d already done that. Diane just wanted you to see.

Beau knew there were only two possible options. Either Diane caught Randy only to show he was still alive and then kill him, or she brought him back into your life to wreak havoc. But the hows and whys didn’t really matter. Both options would cause a rift between you two wider than the Grand Canyon. If Randy was back, dead or alive, Beau’s relationship with you wouldn’t survive it.

He knew it was over. You’d never pick him. He wasn’t the love of your life. He wasn’t your once in a lifetime. He wasn’t true love.

He was your second choice. The one you were stuck with. Your rebound.

“I don’t know,” Beau replied and forced some oxygen into his lungs. He didn’t know for how long he had held his breath. For a minute there, he had forgotten how to breathe at all – and he didn’t even care.

The ringing of your phone broke both of you out of your haze and fatal fantasies. You fished it out of your pocket and stared at the screen with a furrowed brow.

“Who is it?”

“Unknown caller,” you replied before you answered the phone, pinning it between your shoulder and ear. “Hello? Yes, this her…”

Beau watched as your eyes widened, how your brow rose, how your mouth fell open, how your heart stopped. As you hung up, he could see you swallow before you found his eyes. He waited with bated breath for news he already knew.

“That was the hospital here. They said someone brought in my husband.”

The stone silent ten-minute drive to the hospital felt like an eternity. Beau drove, his grip stiff and knuckle-white around the steering wheel. The heat of the old Jeep had barely kicked in by the time you arrived, your hot breaths coming out in vaporizing clouds as you bit your nails bloody and down to their beds on the passenger’s seat. Neither of you spoke a word, too terrified it would cut the last string between you that still tied you to each other.

As the bright sign of the hospital came into view, your heart thudded in your ears, so loudly you could barely hear the world around you anymore. Everything was subdued and distorted as if someone was holding your head underwater. All you wanted was air, but your lungs flooded with water.

Beau killed the engine in the parking lot. Both of you sat there in silence and petrified in time, two fossils buried deep in the earth and uncovered by archeologists with fine brushes millions of years later.

His gaze drifted up to the star-filled sky, green eyes locked on the North Star. He wished he could rewind the tape to that night, all the way back to the start where the two of you were still alive. His eyes then swerved to your hand that lay there untouched on the edge of your seat, his own palm twitching to hold it in his.

“You want me to come in with you?” Beau asked carefully.

It was the first time since you’d left the Sheriff’s Department that you looked at him again. Your eyes were pleading. “Of course I do. Please don’t go. Don’t let me do this alone.”

Then, you saw it – the flicker of relief that flashed through him. You recognized the insecurity and apprehension in his eyes. Your heart dropped. You had been so consumed by the news, you hadn’t noticed how he had spiraled. You clasped his hand tightly in yours. He squeezed it desperately back. He was drowning, and your touch was the lifeline he had been waiting for.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to see him. I don’t know if I’m ready to see you with him,” Beau confessed. He had endangered his best friend, deserted him, and left him to die. And that wasn’t even the worst he’d done. The worst was you.

“Me neither,” you admitted and interlaced your fingers with his. “We’ll take it step by step, okay?”

He nodded.

As the nurse sent you down the hallway to your believed-to-be-dead but actually only-long-lost husband, you didn’t know what to expect as your hand lingered on the door handle.

Beau could not only feel the tension in your body but physically see it. The stiffness in your neck and shoulders, the tremble in your hands, and the twitch in your eyes were a dead giveaway.

As you felt Beau behind you with a hesitant palm resting on your lower back, you wondered if you should tell Randy. You supposed you had to at some point. And suddenly, you felt overwhelmed.

You had been so focused on what awaited you in that room, you hadn’t thought about what your husband expected. Or was it ex? Did he know you had moved on? Were you still allowed to? Would he be happy for you? Would he let you go? Would he hate you for it? He probably would, considering who you ended up with. Or maybe you had it all wrong, and he would be relieved it was someone he loved, too. Wouldn’t you be if the roles were reversed?

His death had severed your ties, but now that he was back, were your vows, too? Did he even know everyone thought he was dead? Had you cheated? Was that what Diane had been trying to tell you? That you had sinned? That you were a liar? That you were awful? That you were a whore?

“Should I-, uhm…”

“No,” Beau answered your dangling question as if he could read your mind. He dropped his hand from your back and ceased all contact, even going as far as taking a step back. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought you were radioactive. That should’ve been answer enough. “Not yet, at least.”

“Okay.” The rejection hurt, but you understood. This was hard for him, too. Maybe even harder. You had to weather the storm alone, ship-wrecked and marooned on a desolate island.

“You wanna go in alone first?”

“No.” You shook your head and pushed down the handle, suddenly feeling more courageous and determined than before.

You barged in. Not gentle. Not slow. The urge to see him, face to face within the same four walls – after all these years, after all the tears – washed over you like heavy rainfall. You didn’t want to weather the storm – you wanted to be it. It felt safer than to seek shelter under driftwood.

Then, your heartbeats halted. The world around you paused. No murmurs in the hallway, no beeping machines or bustling footsteps. It felt like you were standing in the eye of the hurricane, everything else flying fast around you, but the center was calm.

As you stood there, feet calcified in front of his bed, a set of familiar whiskey-colored eyes found you. The slightly furrowed brow above them softened, his lips parted in awe. He still looked the same, only slightly aged by the years and what he’d been through.

“Randy?” Your voice was a quiet tremble but still filled the entire room.

A smile flickered alive on his face. “Hey,” he said, his own voice raspy and dry as if he hadn’t had water in several days. Deserted like he had been. His hazel eyes lit up, full of love and adoration. It was the same look he had always worn when he gazed at you. For a second, it felt like nothing had changed. It saturated your frozen heart with warmth and your gray and bleak vision with technicolor.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered with a thick swallow.

Randy snorted a bit. “Now, you know how I always felt,” he quipped, blinking the tears in his eyes away. He’d always been a ray of sunshine. He was light and sweet and good down to his bones. A part of you had expected that light to fade, though, considering what he must’ve experienced the last few years. But it hadn’t. He was still shining as bright as ever, his spirit untouched by the darkness that had tried to swallow him. “Are you just gonna stand there like a moron?”

A small laugh escaped you as tears began to sting your eyes when he spoke those same words you once had said to him. You wanted to cry when you heard them. What sliver of doubt remained in your mind that it wasn’t truly him vanished upon his words. Your feet wanted to move forward, but your heart tugged you back.

You glanced back over your shoulder and found Beau, standing with lovelorn patience by the door as he watched the exchange between you two. The muscle in your chest then stung, like someone had dropped it into a pit full of cacti. You felt torn in two, pulled into opposite directions.

Randy followed your gaze and finally noticed his second visitor, his brow shooting up in surprise. For a second, Beau felt nervous as he awaited a reaction. He expected resentment, hatred, blame, and anger. What he got, however, was a rising smile.

“Hey, man.” Randy seemed happy to see him, not an ounce of animosity detectable. “You two realize you’re staring, right?”

“‘S good to see you, Randy,” Beau managed to say and forced a quivering smile to his lips. And it wasn’t a lie. A big part of him was elated to have his best friend, his old partner, his brother back. But he couldn’t ignore the gnashing, lethal wound in the shape of you that Randy’s return caused.

Carefully, you stepped closer and let out a nervous breath as you sat down at the edge of his bed. He reached out and tenderly caressed your cheeks, brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear. A smile curved his lips as soon as he touched you again. It felt like he was holding a miracle while you looked at him like he was a ghost.

“You look good, sweetheart,” he said. His hand then slid down your arm to hold yours, fingers brushing over the one. His gaze dropped when he couldn’t feel what he was looking for, the tan line of the missing item around your ring finger still visible. Pensively, he licked his lips. “They told me everyone thought I was dead.”

“Yeah, uhm, that’s kinda my fault. I’m sorry, buddy,” Beau said and swallowed harshly. The sight in front of him almost took him out. Even though it was a familiar picture, one he had seen a million times before, seeing it now was a different story. After everything he knew, you in someone else’s arms that weren’t his felt like a bullet piercing through his chest. His heart was bleeding. “I thought you got shot.”

“It’s okay. Don’t blame yourself, man. It was crazy in there. It could’ve happened to anybody. I did get shot. Only the slug went straight through the shoulder,” Randy explained. “Cartel then took me to Mexico. Juárez.”

Your wide eyes wandered to Beau, the two of you sharing a horrified look. Randy had been right underneath your noses this entire time. You could’ve saved him.

“You were in Juárez? We were there, too,” you muttered in shocked realization.

“Oh, I know,” Randy said, surprising you both. Your heart beat faster, accelerating to lightning speed and close to jumping out of your chest. Did he already know about you and his best friend? But he answered your question before you could ask it. “Cartel talked about a task force moving in on them. I overheard them once. Said my old partner and wife were looking for me. When y’all got too close, though, they moved me further south. There’s nothin’ you coulda done.”

“What did they do to you? How are you still alive?” you asked and didn’t want to sound ungrateful for it, but you were completely baffled. You had too many questions racing through your mind.

Randy chuckled a little at your line of questioning. “You’re still the same.” He smiled and tore your heart apart, because you knew you weren’t. Not really. “I think they thought they could keep me for leverage. Trade me at some point? They held me in a basement at first till they moved me south. Kept me at farm of some cartel member. It wasn’t highly guarded, but even when I had opportunity to flee, I didn’t know where I was or where to go. I thought they’d either kill me or give me back at some point, but then months… years passed. I gave up hope they’d ever let me go. And then, one night they threw a bag over my head and I woke up in some weird bunker… in Montana. Apparently. Anyone wanna explain what I’m doing here? How did you guys get here so fast? They only brought me here a few hours ago. Had to convince them a little to find and call you since they thought I was dead.”

“I was already here for a case. There’s a crazy serial killer lady who took you. That’s who locked you into that bunker,” you explained and watched his brow crease.

“Huh.”

“I work Major Crimes now. It’s a long story,” you added quickly. You didn’t even know where to start. How could you recap three years?

“Really?” His smile was back. This time, it was a proud one. “That’s good. You always wanted that.”

“Yeah.” You blushed a little and gave him a small smile in return.

He squeezed your hand, his gaze flickering to your missing ring on your finger once more. “So, uhm… since everyone thought I was dead, I guess we’re not married anymore, huh?”

Your heart exploded like he had just deposited a grenade inside of it. You averted your gaze to your joined hands. “Uh, Randy…”

“No, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he quickly soothed and chuckled to lift your worries, and you weren’t sure if it was a real smile or just one for your sake. “I’m just trying to catch up, you know? Get up to speed. ‘Sides, if we’re not married anymore, we could have a second wedding. Might be fun, right?”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you tried to smile through the pain. “Uh, yeah.” You nodded and hoped he couldn’t see your reluctance.

Randy then stretched his neck and pulled you closer, his lips meeting yours in a slow and chaste kiss that felt like your first. Tears of happiness mixed with sadness as they rolled down your cheeks. When Beau softly cleared his throat, you broke away from Randy, your cracked heart shattering into sharp daggers that sliced through your skin. What were you supposed to do, though? Reject the man you married because it would break the heart of the one you currently loved?

“I-, uh, I should go. Let you two catch up,” Beau said uncomfortably. The crestfallen look on his face destroyed you. “I’ll keep the press away from this for as long as I can. Lord knows they love a good back-from-the-dead story.”

“You can do that?” Randy arched a curious brow.

Beau pulled his jacket back a little and tapped the badge on his belt. “Kinda the sheriff here.”

“Wow, congrats, man. You deserve it,” Randy said with a genuinely happy grin. He seemed like a kid who was catching up with all his friends on the first day of school after summer break.

Beau gave him a tight smile that said he didn’t think he deserved it. But only you could read that one. “Uhm, thanks, bud. I see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Beau, wait–”

But he had rushed out of that room so fast, he couldn’t even hear you as the door fell shut behind him. You offered Randy the same tight-lipped smile and stroked his cheek. Your emotions were a mangled mess. A part of you was hauled back to the past, old feelings that you had buried deep coming back alive, while new ones reminded you that it wasn’t the same anymore.

“Give me a sec, okay? I’ll go talk to your doctor. See when we can get you outta here,” you said and waited for Randy’s nod of confirmation before you darted out of the room.

Your heart thrummed in your ribcage as you raced down the hospital’s corridors all the way to the parking lot where you finally caught up with Beau. He was on a fast-paced escape to his car before he stopped when you called his name.

“Beau, wait!”

As he spun around, he dragged a palm over his face in an attempt to wipe away the tears. But the evidence was still visible, his eyes red and distraught. “You should go back, Y/N. He needs you.”

The heart in your throat caused you to choke. “So do you. I’m so sorry,” you said, sniffling as tears flowed down your cheeks. But as you stepped forward to hold him, he took a step back.

“It’s okay. I get it. Trust me. I do. He’s your husband, and I’m just… Well, I’m nothin’,” he said, his voice laden with heartbreak. “Just don’t come closer, ‘cause if you do, I don’t know if I can hold myself back, alright? ‘Cause all I wanna do right now is kiss you and love you, even it’s the last time. I can’t do that to him. You understand?”

Everything in you wanted to break through the fence he had set up, full-throttle with a lead foot on the gas, but you thought it was best to respect his wishes for now. You didn’t even know where your head was and wanted to avoid hurting him more.

“Here, uhm, you should have this back.” He fished out your wedding ring from his back pocket and dropped it into your palm, the quick brush of his skin tearing you apart even more. The golden band suddenly felt heavier than it ever had. You didn’t even know when he had grabbed it from his desk drawer, but the foresight scared you. He let out a humorless chuckle as the sadness brimmed in his green eyes. “Not the ring I thought I’d give you…”

Your lips parted, your brow lifting in realization. Whatever dusted remnants were left of your heart plummeted. “Beau…”

“Don’t. ‘S okay,” he wrung out with a doleful smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Call if you need somethin’.”

With a passive nod, he jumped into his Jeep. You clutched the ring in your hand so tightly it almost burned through your skin as you watched him drive off.

Beau uncapped his third beer of the night (plus two tumblers of whiskey and a shot of his old friend Don Julio) as he sat on the bed in his trailer. A pile of your clothes still lay on the floor to his right, your favorite coffee mug stood in the kitchen sink, and your shampoo was stored in the shower. It felt like you hadn’t left, even though you had.

He replayed the clips of the hospital in his mind over and over again. How Randy held your hand. How he touched your cheek. How he kissed you. How he looked at you when he first saw you – like he had finally found the piece of his heart again that he lost years ago, the same love in his brown eyes that had been there since day one. And Beau understood, because he had felt the same way once, too, when you walked into his office – back into his life.

He told himself it was the torture he deserved for all of his sins. And he swallowed it all down – the hurt, the heartbreak, the jealousy, the possessiveness. He had no right to feel those things. Not anymore. You weren’t his. You never were.

How long did he have with you this time around? Five weeks?

Suddenly, he regretted leaving Houston, regretted leaving you. He wasted a whole year that he could’ve spent loving you. He always thought, in the end, he'd have more time. Eternity, even. How fucking foolish was that?

The headlights and sounds of a car in front of his home drew his attention to the window, shadows and lights dancing along the walls of his trailer. He couldn’t see his visitor, but considering it was in the middle of the night, he assumed it was either Jenny or Cassie checking up on him. He had texted them to let them know what was going on. But as he opened the door, the sight left him speechless.

“Y/N…” Your name fell from his lips like you were an angel he had prayed for. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if his eyes were seeing things right, or if you were a booze- and depression-induced hallucination. You wouldn’t be the first ghost that came back to haunt him, after all.

“You ain’t nothing.”

With those words still floating in the night air, you cupped his neck and crashed your lips against his, kissing him fervently with everything you had as tears streamed down your cheeks. He returned the kiss just as passionately, although you could feel a part of him fighting against it. But his large hands grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against him, the kiss lasting till both of you were bluer than the sky. You didn’t let go of him, though, hands holding onto his shirt, too scared he would slip through the cracks of your fingers if you did.

“Y/N, I can’t…”

“I love you,” you interjected his hesitance with firmness and gripped him tighter, your gaze drilling into him like you hoped your words would. “You think I’d just forget? You think my feelings for you just vanish into thin air? It doesn’t work that way. I can’t just snap my fingers and stop loving you. I can't go back to the way things were. I know you think me and Randy are some great love story, but so are you and I. Look, when he died, I grieved that loss and it felt like I was dying, too. I never thought life would be... exciting... and fun... and happy... and so full of love again. And then… I-I fell in love with you, and my life somehow started again. And I know this whole situation is fucked up and confusing and impossible. And I don’t know what to do… I don't know what the right thing is here. But I do know you feel right, and I can’t just pretend you and me and everything good that came with it never existed. I don’t want to. Please, just… I need you, Beau. You said you wouldn't leave again. You're not making things better by walking away...”

With a stretch of your toes, your nose grazed his before you gently claimed his plump, soft lips once more. Your tear-stained cheeks met the roughness of his beard. The kiss started ginger and careful, giving him time to withdraw if he wanted to. But he didn’t. His tongue slipped inside your mouth and stoked the flames of the fire that burned for him deep within your soul. Inhibitions were set ablaze as the kiss turned searing. He hoisted you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his middle as he carried you inside.

The trailer’s peaceful silence was disturbed by panting breaths, a pathway of clothes leading from the entrance to the bed. You peeled off his shirt, and he slid off yours over your head. You unclasped your bra and tore it off, pressing your tits against his bare chest as your lips tried to remain connected to each other through it all. By the time he sat down on the edge of the mattress with you on top, only two naked bodies seeking friction remained.

You wanted to feel him everywhere, wanted him to fill you and make you whole again until you stopped feeling like you were breaking apart at the seams. Hands roamed and explored as tongues mingled and savored tastes. As you straddled his muscular thighs, his arms wound around your middle and kept you firmly pressed against him, his hold on you strong as his fingers dented your flesh. You hoped it was enough to leave bruises behind. You never wanted to forget him, wishing his marks would be permanent ink on your skin.

“I need you,” you murmured against his thoroughly kiss-swollen lips, his cock rubbing against your soaking core as you gently rocked your hips.

“I want you,” you assured him, your mouth trailing a path of featherlight kisses along his jaw and down to his throat, his groan vibrating against your soft lips. One hand steadied itself on his broad shoulder as your other one fisted his hard, throbbing length and positioned it at your entrance, his cockhead gliding through your slick and teasing you till you shuddered with wanton need to feel him inside of you.

“I love you,” you whispered and gasped as you sank down, sheathing his thick cock in your warmth as your velvety walls welcomed him. With a needy and yet tender kiss, you soothed his grunt when he was fully inside you and prodded at your cervix. “Wanna make you feel good, okay?”

He nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck, Y/N, don’t do this to me if you’re gonna leave,” he pleaded, his gravelly voice laced with desperation and pain. His hand softly caressed your face as he rested his forehead against yours. His love for you radiated in his green eyes like kryptonite.

You cupped his bearded cheeks and forced him to look at you, lifting his chin to find your eyes. “I’m not leaving you, okay?”

“But–”

You kissed him before he could bring forth all the reasons why you should, but you didn’t care. Your heart was the North Star, and your heart had led you to him. When you left the hospital, there was nowhere else you wanted to go, no one you wanted to see more. Your heart had only ached for him.

You were finally home, and now that you were back in the arms where you belonged, you kissed him so hard till his mind quieted down to a soft lullaby. You kissed him so hungrily till his cock twitched inside of you because you were the only one he wanted, too. You kissed him so passionately he felt your love for him seep into his own heart.

As you began to roll your hips, he met you thrust by thrust as he pounded up into you. His massive hands and sinful mouth roamed every inch of your body. Palms groped your tits and fingers tickled your spine. Lips kissed your throat and tongue massaged your nipples. Teeth grazed your flesh and beard burned your skin.

Your nails dug into the thick muscles on his shoulders and scraped his scalp as his cock split you open with each pump. His girth tore you apart, each time you eased back down a new pleasurable burn coursing through you as your walls stretched to accommodate all of him.

Your pace rose with the tides of your hips, your thighs flexing as your cunt stroked his cock and came closer to the finish line. Beau buried his head in the crook of your neck, writhing and groaning underneath you. His fingers bit into your flesh, surely leaving bruises behind this time. Your tits rubbed against his chest, and you could feel his muscles tensing and straining underneath your fingertips with each bounce. He was barely holding on.

“Come for me, baby,” you beckoned him, feeling your own orgasm approach. The fuse was sparked and burned a path right to your explosive core. “I love you…”

“Fuck!” Beau cried out and spilled into you, his body trembling in your grasp. Those words were all it took to tip him over the edge.

You came with a thundering moan. His release triggered your own, your pussy pulsing violently around him and milking his cock for all he’d got. His cum mixed with your arousal and gushed out of you, trickling down your thighs and coating even his balls. Your thighs shook with exhaustion as you let yourself fall down on him, his arms catching you and holding you close.

Still panting, his mouth found yours in the dark. His thumbs stroked your flushed cheeks, the rest of his fingers dangling in your hair, the grip soft turned bruising as he kept you lip-tied to him, the kiss tender turned rough.

His nose brushed yours as he looked deeply at you. You could see the despair drowning in his pine green eyes, his emotions overtaking him.

“Pick me. Don’t go,” he begged in a harsh whisper, your flushed face in his warm palms.

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips and nodded. “I’m not going anywhere, corazón.”

Chapter 10: It Matters – DECEMBER 06

Phew, writing that hospital scene nearly killed me 😮‍💨 Next up, we have even more drama as the awkward throuple reaches a boiling point...

Join the TAG LIST here! 🌌 Wanna sponsor my caffeine addiction? ☕️

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@thebiggerbear

Everything Beau Arlen: @snowayumi

Polaris Series: @corruptedcruiser

[averlym]

lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon skirt (but i make these high heels work)

[epicqtefail]

read ur latest post, im sorry to say but it looks like you have a rare case of "holy shit" and are gonna die in three days 🤗🤗

thanks doc. what is "holy shit" will i suffer holy damage and shit out my soul or something

[gentlemansalamander]

Updated tag dump

[humming-fly]

ough all this good good mir falspar art is faaaantastic - also looking at that image where he's covering his wounded arm with his other hand, is there any risk in doing something like that for long? Like if he (or anyone else) puts their hand over those scratches does it risk shredding them, or is it more just an affect on something attached to that part of his silhouette? loving the growing intrigue into figuring out What's Wrong with Mir Falspar!

The only things that seems to be affected are those that are attached to his silhouette on or close to his left shoulder, so his right hand has remained un-shredded, and isn't at any risk. Other reflections are unaffected as well—the damage appears to be contained only to Mir Falspar. (In fact, the list of those who know there's some kind of crack beneath his clothing causing his armor to deteriorate, and that it's not a fashion statement, is incredibly short to begin with)

[majinbangus]

continuing my big simon x single!mom reader bullshit :P

-> more here

There's a frantic knock on his door.

It's insistent. A peculiar sound to hear near the end of his day during the late evening. Visitors are a rare occurrence, and if he does get them, he usually knows they're coming.

The knocks persistent. Audacious. Bold. Demanding. He approaches the door, not overly concerned with who it may be, but with a healthy dose of caution. Knowing his history, he brings along a small glock.

When he unlocks the door and cracks it open- this complex doesn't have peepholes- his gaze drops down, and he moves to tuck his gun into the back of his jeans, widening the door.

It's your boy, his little name twin. Alone. Scared. On the verge of tears. Like another little boy he knew in another life. A boy he once was. He drops down to one knee, placing a hand on the lad's shoulder.

Little Simon is trembling. He scans the hallway behind his young visitor. Empty. Void of life except for this child in front of him, clearly seeking his help. A tiny storm about to break in this ostensibly lifeless building. The neighbors wouldn't even know it. Then, he cracks. A warning before the lightning strikes.

"S-Simon-"

He cuts the lad off before he can get anything else out. Before he breaks. "Where's your mum? What happened?"

The tears fall and your boy throws himself into his chest.

"Mama won't wake up!"

-

He carried you from the couch to your bed.

You're sick. Really sick, but Simon doesn't think you need to go to the hospital. Not yet. He places a hand on your forehead. Still hot.

He checked your temperature once he got you settled. Thirty-eight degrees. Simon's no medic, but he'll continue to monitor your status throughout the night. Make sure you don't overheat. Take you to the hospital if you need it. He can do that much. A simple mission compared to anything else he's faced.

There's a creak from your bedroom door, and he drops his hand from your forehead, looking up at the little prowler.

"Simon," he greets and the lad curls in on himself, hesitating before edging closer in the room, walking up to where Simon stands. He stares at you with eyes too haunted a kid his age should have.

"Will Mama be okay?"

His voice is hoarse and his eyes are red. A puffy mess from crying earlier. Simon doesn't shame the boy for it, and he won't lie about your condition, but...

"I'll make sure she is," he promises.

Your boy turns to him then, eyes suddenly sharp. Protective. A cub ready to fight for his incapacitated mother. The resemblance almost makes Simon pause. Makes him think back to when he wore a similar look a few times when he grew up, though your Simon wears the look a lot younger than he ever did. Is braver than he ever was as a child. His own words echo in his ears.

A good lad.

Your boy holds out his little finger, and Simon stares. His little name twin glares at Simon with something akin to judgement. A test. "Pinky promise?"

It's no question what he does next.

Simon reaches out and curls his own pinky around the lad's. "Pinky promise."

A smile breaks out on your boy's face.

Test passed.

-

It's 03:03 when you wake up.

Simon is ready and attentive. He's been taking a nap beside your bedside every other hour in a chair he brought from your kitchen table. Not the worst place he's ever slept and not the worst sleep he's ever had. He's certainly thankful you have cushions for your chairs.

You're groggy. Shivering a little, but Simon knows your fever has gone down slightly since he got here. He's been changing out the cool, wet towel on your forehead every time he woke up, keeping you elevated, making sure you can breathe.

You panic a little when you see him, scrambling to create some space between each other,

"What the-?!"

He turns on the lamp on your nightstand, holding up his hands in a non-threatening manner. "It's just me. Simon came and got me when you wouldn't wake up. I've been keeping an eye on you."

You stare at him, the aghast in your eyes still there, but slowly calming down as you get your bearings. "You're- you're-"

"Big Simon." He cracks a wry smirk, lowering his hands again, giving a lazy bow of his head. "At your service."

He doesn't hold back his snort when you squeak, adorably indignant for someone so sick. "You're not gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"'Course not," Simon drawls and it goes silent for a few seconds as you take him in, studying him with eyes that look just like your boy's did when he made him pinky promise, except your eyes hold a certain level of caution the lad should learn. You shift in your nest of blankets, adjusting them around your body when a particularly harsh shiver runs through you.

"Simon got you, you said?" You finally speak up, voice scratchy. Tired but guarded.

He nods. "Told me he tried to wake you up after that movie you were watching together."

"And you brought me here?"

"Made sure you didn't choke on your snot, too."

The offended squawk that escapes you is hilarious, as if you truly had a high opinion about your runny mucus. Maybe it's because you see Simon as a brute who has no room to talk. Maybe it's because you're embarrassed at being seen at a weak state.

You have no rebuttal, choosing to huff instead, looking down at the blankets covering you, sobering in contemplation. Simon waits for you to speak again.

"You really did that?" You eventually ask, voice quiet, not looking him in the eyes.

"Yes," he answers bluntly, and you look up, trying to get a read on him, but Simon gives you nothing, staring back with a blank look.

You break first, breathing out a slow, wheezy sigh. A yawn escapes you next as you sag onto your elevated pillows. "... Thank you, Simon. Not just for tonight, but also for last time. For being kind to him. Simon wouldn't shut up about you the whole time we were shopping."

He snorts. "Made quite the impression on him, did I?"

You give your own small noise of amusement. "Think it's because you share the same name."

"Like I told your lad before: it's a fine name, innit?"

You bark out a laugh, a few coughs slipping in here and there, but you nod your head. "It is. I wouldn't have named my son that if it wasn't."

A smug smirk stretches across his face, and you grin back, falling into a comfortable silence, staring at each other. The peace and quiet of the night settling in the air. A special kind of tranquility being shared between two people who are still practically strangers. It goes undisturbed until you yawn again, and Simon shifts, getting up to refresh your towel and grab water and the medicine your boy showed him where to find earlier.

He comes back and hands them to you. When you're finished taking the medicine, he offers, "I can leave right now if that would make you more comfortable, although I'd recommend you call someone to look after you if you don't think you need the hospital."

You take a slow slip of your water, keeping your face carefully blank. Thinking. Contemplating. Then, you place the water on your nightstand and shake your head. "No... um, stay. Please. I... you..."

You can't finish your sentence, breaking off with a tired exhale, but you don't need to. He understands.

"Sleep." Simon turns off the lamp and leans back into his chair, getting comfortable once more. "I'll watch over you tonight."

You say something back.

He almost misses it in the darkness of the room, but the words linger, permeating the air. He doesn't think the words are entirely for him. They almost sound like a secret. Like it was meant for someone else. Shared with him only because he happened to overhear.

It doesn't offend him. He wasn't the only one who helped you tonight.

Thank you, Simon.

[stsgooo]

Look at Him.

✩࿐ summary: your attempts at reentering the dating scene is foiled by your ex-husband.

warning(s): past relationship, clingy!gojo, ex-husband!gojo, co-parenting situation, crack fic. wc; 1.6k

pairing(s): gojo satoru x fem!reader

a/n: this is purely just a goof fic because i've put nothing but angst out there so far sooo have a laugh. hope yall enjoy :3

“So, what do you do for a living?”

"A teacher."

"Oh, wow! What grade, subject?"

"Uh, highschoolers and the subject kinda varies on the day."

"Like a substitute teacher?"

"Um....sure, yeah! Substitute teacher."

"That's awesome. Mad respect, kids can be demons."

You were quickly discovering that the dating field had changed in the five years that you had been married. An endless back and forth about what someone did, what's their favorite color, what's their hobbies. Boring questions that you would ask your students on the first day was used in over the table date conversation. Until, until, they got to that question they so desperately wanted to ask.

Would you want to take this back to my—

There was a vibration against your thigh as your date started to go onto a monologue about how much he disliked kids. In all honesty, you couldn't really remember his name. The introductions had been awkward and a little nerve wracking— you were almost sure he had no idea who you were either.

You tugged your phone out of your pocket and resisted the audible sigh that threatened to leave you when you saw the notification.

Satoru please tell me why my beautiful, radiant, amazing, intelligent daughter just said her mommy is on a date. feeling sick to my stomach, don't tell me this is true.

You rolled your eyes. Your ex-husband had always been so overdramatic. His main focus was always on the bit that could come from a situation. However, this was a quality you do used to admire about him. His ability to make any situation seem like it was a funny happenstance that you'd never encounter again.

Now, it was nothing more than a nuisance.

Satoru oh my god, you left me on read. it's true. it's true. i hope you know i just threw up. i threw up everywhere. i might die. at least, tell me he's ugly. please god let him to be ugly.

A sigh, you typed out the quickest message you could without your date asking what's wrong.

You I hope you're not ignoring said daughter to ask me about some date. I'll be home later, please refrain from texting me.

You were about to set your phone down when another text came through. This one appeared to more distraught than the last.

Satoru o h your tone. it's over. it's really over. i might just kill myself this is the worst night of my life. y/n, i'm genuinely feeling sick. please, is he ugly? he must be boring because you're texting back.

You were almost inclined to remind Satoru you both had been divorced for a year already. That this was bound to happen and you two had, in fact, spoken about it months into the divorce. You had played with some 'what if's and there was a mutual agreement that the other wouldn't get jealous and be dramatic about the other getting in a relationship whenever the time comes. It was a surprisingly adult conversation.

You should've known better when Satoru proudly proclaimed he didn't care who you got involved with.

You Satoru, we talked about this. We're adults and we're divorced. Please bother someone else, like Suguru.

Satoru i don't wanna talk to suguru. i wanna talk to youuu (;﹏;) i can't believe you've done this. ten years. ten years of loyalty. im sick to my stomach.

You You asked for the divorce.

"Is everything okay?"

You eyes snapped up from your phone and towards your date. He had the good grace to be wearing a relatively concerned expression, eyeing you wearily.

You quickly tucked your phone back into your pocket, ignoring the insistent vibrations it gave to smile apologetically. "I'm sorry, my daughter had an accident and I had to, you know, send a quick text to her babysitter." It was easier to explain away a daughter than it was a clingy ex-husband who was well in his dissent into insanity. Really, you were doing this guy a favor keeping him in the dark.

However, his face still paled and he straightened. "You have a kidI'm so, so sorry. I just went on a two minute rant about how much kids are equivalent to demons." He seemed to spiral as he pressed his hands against his face, uttering curses to himself. "I get so nervous with these dates. I truly meant nothing by it."

You smiled in amusement, "It's no problem, really. I'm not exactly disagreeing." He peeked from between his fingers and blinked at you dumbly. "Just because I'm a parent doesn't mean I don't agree. I mean, my kid can be a bit much sometimes. I love her, but she's a lot like her dad in that way."

It always made your chest blossom. The way Saori was a carbon copy of Satoru. From the rambunctious personality, to the piercing blue eyes, and white hair. Your genes hadn't won in the battle, but you were almost grateful. Satoru tried to tell you that she had your smile and your wit, but you weren't entirely convinced. She was Satoru and Satoru was her.

You were extremely lucky that he was a good dad.

"Oh? Do you mind me asking if her dad's still around?" His tone was indication enough: a daughter and an ex of some kind was pushing it for him.

You tensed up, feeling deep regret already. "Uh, yeah." His eyes shifted away and you reached forward, taking his hand. "But, he's not, like, crazy or anything! He's just a good dad."

Your date chuckled nervously. "I-I just don't want to get involved in some, um, some family dynamic."

You thought it was a little presumptuous of him to think this would go that far, or he'd get in the way. But you were too focused on defusing the situation.

"Oh, no, it's not like that! We've got a healthy balance, y'know? He does his piece, I do mine— that's it!"

He scrunched his face. "So... an open relationship?"

"No!" You press your hands against your face with a huff. "No, we're not together anymore. We just co-parent."

He opened his mouth to further question you when your phone vibrated very audibly. His eyebrows raising. "Your daughter?"

You sighed. "Please give me one moment."

With jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket. The assortment of messages that came where spread over the ten minutes you decided to ignore him.

Satoru okay, you've got me there. but my big heart is breaking. i hope he's ugly and he smells. okay, i spoke with suguru and he said i'm an idiot who should apologize. in my defense, i'm a little itty bitty drunk. and no, saori is not awake. papa put her to bed before bringing out the whiskey. im so sorry my beautiful deity. that not ugly, not smelly man is so lucky to be in your presence and i hope you have a good date. also i hope he gets hit my a car. (＾▽＾)

You I'm going to kill you with my bare hands. Genuinely, count your days, Gojo Satoru.

Satoru hot, hot, hot!!! (●´□`)♡ did he actually get hit by a car?

You Is there something you want?

Satoru him dead. and you home :((((

You You don't want me home. I swear to god, if you're on my couch, drinking when I get home, I will ruin your life.

Satoru promise??? ╰(✿´⌣`✿)╯♡ but, actually, i wanted to ask your opinion on something

You For real?

Satoru for realsies. [Image Attachment]

Completely blinded by your irritation, you don't even hesitate to open the picture as it loads. Although you regret it the moment it does.

It's a picture of Satoru. He's at what seems to be the beach (must've been the fun activity him and Saori were going to join Suguru for), his sunglasses were on the top of his head, and he was grinning at the picture. One hand was resting against his pectoral and the veins in his hand was prominent. An obvious attempt at being charming and flirtatious. It was working too.

If it weren't for the fact that you knew him and were his ex, you might've just swooned.

"Oh, my god, is that him?" Your date was staring at your phone with wide eyes. His face even more pale than before. He started to shake his head as he stood, snatching his jacket from the back of his chair. "No way. I am not getting involved! I'm sorry, you're a nice woman, but I know when I'm not winning. And I'm definitely not winning against that."

Your eyes widened considerably, "What? No! Please don't leave. He's an idiot, I swear there's nothing—"

"He is... a hunk. I am not. In no shape or form am I at all comparable to that. Look—" He reached forward, grabbing your phone and holding the picture up to be beside his face. "Look at the difference! Model who has won Japan's hottest man at least eight times before he's 30 to me— Look at him!"

"It's not even like that!" You snatched your phone back and stared at him in frustration. "He's my ex, I do not want him!"

He waved his hands in front of your face. "I know how this will go. You think you like me and then your super hot and super sexy ex-whatever makes you realize the familiarity is good. Then I get dumped." He straightened, latching his hands onto the lapels of his jacket. "I just realized I am a side character. In my own life. Goddammit."

He barely glanced at you as he paid for the dinner, then left as quickly as he could. Still, you didn't even know his name.

Satoru oooo taking you awhile to respondddd still in love with me? (人◕ω◕)

[daisymbin]

look at me! - choi seungcheol

warnings: alcohol, mild menace jeonghan

pairing: seungcheol x reader

genre: friends to lovers, drunken confession

wc: 2.5k

a/n: i've decided to do a drunken confession series for seventeen sooooo let's start with cheol!

read part2 here!

drunken confessions masterlist

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

“oh my god he's lost his fucking mind….” seungkwan mumbles to no one but himself. your panic ridden voice rang over the loud music blasting from the tons and dozens of speakers littered in each and every corner of this club. “ya! choi seungcheol! what are you doing standing on that table! get down here!”

jeonghan steps right next to you as he whips out his phone to start recording his friend, “dont stop him now! this is just getting good! he's standing on a table in a club, throwing a fucking drunken tantrum! this is 100% blackmail material, please.”

“are you out of your mind? he's on a table, DRUNK jeonghan! he's gonna hurt himself!” you shouted over the loud music.

“choi seungcheol did you not hear me? get down here!” now your anger and anxiety has reached new heights, how did he even get up there? “choi seungcheol? why are you calling me by my full name? & no! i wont get down!” seungcheol retorted back firmly, his arms akimbo as he stomped his left foot on the table, “not until you stop dancing with random dudes & start paying attention to me! what about me? why don’t you ever look at me?” the sight of his furrowed eyebrows and pouted lips are all too familiar to you, if it isn't the signature choi seungcheol look.

“what the hell are you talking about? I do look at you! I look at you a lot.” you whispered that last part to no one but yourself only.

“you don't look at me the way I look at you!”

giggles. you heard giggles….from your left. yoon jeonghan… “& now im about to have even more embarrassing blackmail material. sweet future mrs choi, what would I ever do without you & all this blackmail material that you've presented me the opportunity of having?” you rolled your eyes & shake your head disapprovingly, too tired to argue with him.

this time, its seungcheol who is giggling, clearly enjoying the choice of words jeonghan used, “future mrs. choi, huh?" seungcheol wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, making you glare in his direction as you let out a heavy sigh.

you continue keeping your eyes on seungcheol, who's now swaying dangerously on the table. his eyes are glossy, yet somehow focused on you, and your heart does an unsettling flip. his words; slurred and loud, echoing in your head.

“cheol-ah, please get down!” you plead, stepping closer. “you’re going to fall and break your neck!” maybe breaking his neck was an over exaggerating but stil…

your words only seem to frustrate seungcheol even more as he shakes his head, stumbling a little as he shifts his weight, his previous playful demeanor vanishing, “not until… until you… you tell me why!” his voice cracks, frustration dripping from his tone & his eyes threatening to spill tears. “why don’t you see me?”

your breath catches in your throat as you realise, he’s serious. despite the alcohol coursing through his system, this isn’t a joke or just another tantrum. the raw vulnerability in his voice, the weight of the question, hits you harder than the loud bass of the music.

“I do see you,” you mutter under your breath, unsure if he can even hear you through the blaring music and his drunken haze.

seungcheol wobbles on his feet again, his balance precarious. panic seizes your chest. you’re torn between your worry for his safety and the confusion over what he’s saying. why is he suddenly acting like this?

almost as if he could read your mind, seungcheol answers you unknowingly, “I don’t want to just be your friend,” he blurts out suddenly, his voice almost drowned by the music but not enough for you to miss it. “I can’t- i love you…I love you…” he says as he drops his head & fidgets his fingers.

there it is. the confession that shatters the space between you, that suddenly turns the wild, chaotic night into something much heavier. jeonghan, who was still recording, lets out a low whistle.

“well, damn,” he mutters.

your eyes widen at his confession, frozen on the spot as seungcheol stands there, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling with the weight of his admission. everything else in the club; the music, the people, the lights…it all feels like it fades into the background. It's just you and him.

“cheol-ah..” you start, but the words die in your throat as he stumbles forward again, nearly toppling off the table.

“shit!” you and jeonghan rush to catch him before he takes a nasty fall.

you and jeonghan both rush forward, arms outstretched just as seungcheol loses his balance. you barely manage to catch him, his weight collapsing onto you. his strong frame nearly knocks the breath out of your lungs, and it takes all your strength just to keep him upright.

"seungcheol-ah!" you grunt, trying to steady him as his head lolls against your shoulder. he's mumbling incoherently now, his earlier bravado disappearing into drunken exhaustion.

jeonghan, on the other hand, is laughing so hard he has to clutch his stomach. "oh this is gold," he wheezes, quickly tucking his phone away to help you with seungcheol. "guess we should probably get him out of here before he does something even more embarrassing, huh?"

you nod wordlessly, the weight of seungcheol’s confession still hanging heavy between you. you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, but your mind is scrambling to make sense of everything.

“I love you….I love you…”

his words loop in your head, over and over, louder than the music around you. How long had he been feeling this way? how long had you been blind to it?

jeonghan helps you guide seungcheol towards the exit, his drunken body leaning heavily into yours. “careful, future mrs. choi.” jeonghan teases again, though there’s a hint of softness in his voice now. jeonghan is so not gonna let you live this down, you thought to yourself as you look back at the drunken boy.

you shot jeonghan a look, not quite in the mood for more of his jokes. "not helping, jeonghan."

as you make your way outside, the cool night air hits seungcheol’s face, and he groans, blinking slowly as he tries to make sense of his surroundings. he glances up at you, his eyes a little clearer now but very much still hazy from the alcohol.

"why did you dance with them?" he murmurs softly, the hurt still lingering in his voice. his hand grabs weakly at your arm, as if afraid you'll slip away. "you never look at me…you never look my way…you've never looked at me like that….”your chest tightens again, and for a moment, you can’t find your voice. you didn’t think your casual dancing would mean anything to him.

jeonghan, sensing the shift, gives you both a gentle nudge toward the car. "come on, let’s get him home before he passes out right here."

as you help seungcheol into the backseat, your mind is racing. you sit beside him in the car, his head resting on your shoulder as he starts to drift into a state between dozing off & trying to stay awake. his hand, still loosely holding onto yours, sending a blast of warmth through your body. jeonghan drives in silence, glancing at you occasionally through the rearview mirror, as if waiting to see what you'll do next.

silence envelops the car as you think back on seungcheol's words, they twists in your chest because that couldn’t be further from the truth. you look at him all the time, just never long enough for him to catch you. you can’t bear to.

seungcheol’s hand is still holding yours, his body heavy against your own, “I always look at you,” you mutter under your breath in a soft sigh, though it’s meant for no one but yourself. jeonghan catches it though, he glances at you, eyebrows raised, but doesn’t comment.

seungcheol's alcohol ridden voice only stabs at your heart, because it only makes him sound even more….sad. he leans his head further into your shoulder, his voice quieter now but no less insistent. "you don’t look at me," he slurs, his fingers gripping your arm a little tighter, as if trying to make you understand. "not like you look at them…"

your chest tightens once again, his words hitting you hard. he doesn’t know, does he? he’s never realized that you don’t look at him because it hurts too much, because every time you catch his eye, the feelings you’ve been burying inside of you for so long threaten to spill over.

“I do look at you,” you say, louder this time, though your voice still wavers. you glance over at jeonghan, who’s watching you both intently now through the rearview mirror, jeonghan thinks to himself: do they not realise we’ve reached?

seungcheol pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression muddled by alcohol but the hurt still there, clear as day. “you don’t,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “you never do…I would have known if you did…I'm always looking at you…”

your heart aches at the sight of him; his pouted lips which you've always found so adorable now looks so vulnerable and raw, and suddenly the weight of all the years you’ve spent hiding your feelings feels suffocating. you’ve loved him for so long, much longer than you’d care to admit but you were always too scared to let it show, too scared that if you looked at him the way you wanted to, he’d see it and never feel the same.

“I don’t look at you because I can’t,” you finally admit, the words spilling out before you can stop them. you bite the back of your lower lip, fighting back the lump in your throat. “every time I look at you, it hurts. It hurts because I-” you stop yourself, your hands trembling as you try to steady yourself.

seungcheol blinks slowly in confusion, trying to process what you’re saying. “hurts? why would it…?” his voice trails off, and for a split second, it’s like the pieces are clicking into place in his foggy mind.

you shake your head, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “i’ve always looked at you, seungcheol. but i couldn’t let you see me do it. not the way i wanted to.”

for a moment, everything stands still. the low hum of the engine, the aircon blasting, the soft music from the car radio, they seem to go silent, the world outside seems to blur, and all that exists is the space between you and him. you can see the confusion in his eyes slowly being replaced by something else, something softer; more vulnerable & fragile. hope, perhaps?

he leans in closer, his forehead almost resting against yours yet not touching, his breath warm on your skin. “then why?” he whispers, his voice barely audible, “why didn’t you just… tell me?”

you swallow hard, your throat tightening as you try to find the right words. “because I didn’t think you felt the same,” you say, your voice shaky. “and now i-”

seungcheol’s hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he cuts you off. “i’ve been waiting for you to look at me,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly clearer, more sober. “i’ve been waiting for so long.”

your heart skips a beat at his touch, the tenderness in his eyes almost too much to bear. you feel the warmth of his hand against your skin, and it makes you realize just how long you’ve wanted this; wanted him.

jeonghan clears his throat from behind you, his voice breaking the moment. “as much as I love this dramatic confession, we really should get him inside before he passes out for real, plus im tired.” he says with a smirk, though there’s a softness in his tone now. he knows what this moment means.

jeonghan gives a small, knowing smile but keeps quiet & doesn't move still. for once, he doesn’t crack a joke, and you’re grateful for that. you’re not sure how to process everything yet, and the last thing you need is his usual teasing.

seungcheol stirs slightly, his fingers twitching in yours. His head tilts upward, eyes fluttering open, still clouded with drunkenness but more aware than before. “are you…still here?” he mumbles, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“I’m here,” you say softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

he lets out a small, relieved sigh, shifting closer as if seeking more of your warmth. “good,” he mutters, his voice barely a whisper. “don’t leave me.”

your heart leaps at his words. you’ve always been by his side but now, the meaning behind them feels so much heavier. you wonder how long he’s been carrying these feelings, thinking you didn’t care, while you were hiding your own all along.

“alright, lovebirds, let’s get you both inside.” jeonghan says as he shatters the quiet.

you help jeonghan guide seungcheol out of the car, his arm draped over your shoulder again as you half-carry him toward the door. he mumbles something incoherent, his head dipping low against your neck, and you feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at the close proximity.

inside, you carefully lead him to his bed, helping him lie down. his grip on your hand loosens but doesn’t let go entirely, even as his body sinks into the mattress. you sit down beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face, your heart still pounding in your chest.

as you pull the blanket up over him, seungcheol’s eyes crack open again, just barely. his voice is soft, almost too quiet to hear, but the words make your breath catch. “I meant what I said…earlier,” he whispers, his gaze searching yours, even in his drowsy state. “I love you…”

you swallow hard, your throat tightening as the weight of his confession presses down on you again. you don’t know what to say, your mind swirling with everything you’ve kept hidden for so long.

but instead of words, you lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering for a moment. “we’ll talk about this when you’re sober,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “but I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

seungcheol smiles faintly, his hand finally releasing yours as he drifts off to sleep, his breathing deep and steady. you sit there for a while, watching him, your heart full of everything left unsaid.

and for the first time in a forever, you don’t look away.

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - The Forgotten Princess

Summary - Abandoned and exploited by those who promised her safety, she finds herself thrust into a brothel where her lineage becomes a lucrative spectacle. The prince offers her a way out but his intentions blur the lines between salvation and manipulation.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x Targ/Royce reader

Warnings - Strong language

Word count - 2212

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

It was certainly true that wealthy men would pay handsomely for the chance to fuck a woman with silver hair.

I was discovered on the streets at a young age. Although I knew my parentage, it did me no good. 

Petyr, the brothel owner who found me, took me in under false pretences. His deceitful smile and hollow promises of a safe haven were all part of his scheme.

From the moment he took me in, he was playing the long game, waiting for me to grow into a young woman ripe for exploitation.

The decision to put me to work was sparked by one of the brothel's regular patrons who casually remarked, "pay double the coin to fuck the silver-haired one."

"She ain't for sale... yet," Petyr grunted, his slender fingers methodically counting the coins from the patron's pouch. 

I swept the floor in the background, my eyes glued to the wooden boards as I tried to drown out the sounds around me.

The brothel reeked of stale oils and despair. Dim lanterns flickered, casting long, ominous shadows on the worn wooden floors. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and desperation, making it hard to breathe. 

Through a cracked window, I could see the faint glow of the city lights, a cruel reminder of the world just beyond my reach.

"Who's bastard is she?" the man asked, his curiosity piqued.

"The rogue prince and his first lady wife, Rhea Royce," Petyr answered, his eyes flickering towards me.

"That makes her legitimate. Ain't he kill her, though?" the man pressed further.

"Exactly. That's why his firstborn daughter works as a maid in a brothel instead of living as a coddled princess," Petyr retorted, tossing the man his change with a cynical smirk.

"Put her on show and she'll double your coin in no time," the man suggested, sweeping his remaining coins into his hands before exiting the brothel.

Petyr's fingers drummed on the large wooden chest in front of him, his mind racing with schemes to benefit from me.

"Fuck it, she's old enough," he muttered to himself before striding briskly towards me.

"Oy, Silver, with me," Petyr ordered, cocking his head to the side. I stopped sweeping, hesitantly following him through the brothel towards the dreaded room I had always prayed to avoid.

"Put this on and go outside," he commanded, throwing a skimpy dress at me.

"What?" My voice cracked, eyes meeting his cold gaze. "You said I wouldn't have to," I protested, my hands trembling as the fabric slipped through my fingers.

"Times change. You're gonna go out there and earn me some good coin, understand?" His tone left no room for argument.

"Please," I whispered, looking up at him, but his expression remained unyielding.

"Go on out, princess. Don't blame me, blame your father who abandoned you," he sneered, running a hand through my silver hair.

"Don't you wish your mommy was alive now?" he taunted as hot tears streamed down my cheeks. "Hurry, before I drag you out myself," he threatened, walking out of the room.

I stood there, clutching the dress, the weight of my fate pressing down on me. 

With a deep breath, I resigned myself to the inevitable, knowing that any resistance would only bring more suffering. The world outside that door awaited, a world that had no mercy for a girl like me.

Stepping back onto the main floor, I tried to make myself as small as possible, my hands wrapping around myself in a futile attempt to preserve what little dignity I had left.

"Gods, this was the best decision I've ever made," Petyr said, approaching me with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Only been a couple of minutes, and Prince Aemond himself has requested you." 

He roughly pulled my arms to my sides, exposing me fully to the room.

"Do exactly what he says and do not protest," he warned, grabbing my arm and forcing me to look up at him by clutching my face. 

"For fuck's sake, stop crying. No one wants to see that," he continued, harshly wiping my tears away as I squinted against his rough touch.

He shoved me towards the curtain-covered room, the one reserved for the wealthiest and most merciless guests.

"Oh, my darling," Sylvi said, pushing through the curtain. 

She gently grasped my face in her hands, a contrast to Petyr's roughness. She had always been kind to me, almost like a mother, but even she knew my fate was inevitable.

"I don't want to," I whispered, my voice trembling. Her eyes softened as she pulled me into a quick embrace.

"I know, sweet girl," she said, pulling away. "He isn't the worst of them," she added, glancing towards the figure behind the curtain. 

"It is uncommon for him to request someone, though. Perhaps he will be... tolerable," she whispered, trying to offer some semblance of comfort.

Taking a deep breath, I watched her finally leave, ushering me through the thin curtain.

There he sat, seemingly uninterested until I entered. My breath hitched in my throat as his gaze fell upon me, studying me intently.

"I have not seen you before," he remarked, leaning back as I stood frozen in the corner.

"It is my first day," I choked out, readjusting my dress nervously.

"It is uncommon to see someone like you working in these particular streets," he said, his stare lingering on my silver hair.

I remained silent, unsure of what to say, my eyes fixed on the floor.

"What of your parentage?" he asked. 

My eyes flickered up to meet his, hesitation and fear warring within me. I opened my mouth to speak but closed it again, unsure of how to answer. His lips curled into a knowing grin.

"Do not fret, I already know," he said, piecing it together. "Perhaps the fact that my uncle remains in Dragonstone with his third wife explains why you are left alone here," he mused, his mind working through the implications.

I stood there, silent and trembling, as he continued to study me, the weight of my situation pressing down on me like a crushing burden.

"A forgotten princess cast aside and hidden away in a brothel. How poetic," he mused, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Despite my whole body protesting, a lone tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. He stopped speaking, his expression shifting to one of confusion.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. In his mind, he thought I had chosen this life, that I was here of my own volition.

"I don't want to be here. I don't want to do this. This is not what he promised. He swore I would never be touched if I went with him," I rushed out desperately, my voice trembling with fear and frustration. 

"He swore that I would be offered a quiet life," I continued, my words tumbling out in a frantic plea for understanding.

As the tears continued to roll down my cheeks, the strain on my face laid bare the turmoil within me. My raw vulnerability seemed to agitate him. His initial curiosity shifted into something more complex, a mix of frustration and protectiveness.

The reason he had requested me was clear and simple in his mind, I was the most breathtaking person he had ever seen, an image of beauty and trepidation combined. 

My regal demeanour, even in such dire circumstances, made him wonder if the gods were toying with his emotions.

A feeling of protectiveness overcame him, a disparity to the initial detachment. He stood up abruptly, the sudden movement making me step back involuntarily, trying to decipher his intentions.

"Are you telling me that you were brought here against your will?" he asked, his voice now edged with cold fury.

"Yes," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I was promised safety, not this. He lied to me."

He took a deep breath, his demeanour darkening as he processed my words. The softening in his gaze was replaced by a cold, steely resolve. 

"Please, my prince," I whispered, my voice pleading. "Get me out of here. I will go far away."

Aemond's eyes darkened, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. "But it amuses me to see Daemon Targaryen's daughter working as a brothel whore," he said, his words dripping with malice.

My heart sank, and my mind raced, thinking he was as cruel as Petyr. I could hardly breathe, my hope slipping away but then, something in his gaze shifted, a flicker of conflict. 

His smirk faltered, and he looked away as if struggling with his own emotions.

Aemond's mind raced. He had sought me out for revenge, to toy with Daemon's bloodline, but now, as he looked at me, trembling and vulnerable, something shifted within him. His resolve wavered, torn between the cruelty that had driven him here and a burgeoning sense of protectiveness.

"You truly wish to leave?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the cold facade cracking ever so slightly.

"Yes," I said, desperation lacing my words. "I never wanted this life. Please, just let me go."

For a moment, he was silent, his eyes locked onto mine. I saw the struggle within him, the pull between his desire for wicked satisfaction and a burgeoning sense of clemency. 

Finally, he exhaled heavily, the rigidity in his posture easing.

"Very well," he said, his voice now softer, though still imbued with an air of command.

"You come with me," he continued, his tone firm but not unkind. My face fell as I absorbed his words. "To the keep," he added, clarifying.

I hesitated, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "I do not think that wise, my prince," I said, my voice trembling slightly as uncertainty clouded my judgment.

Aemond's gaze hardened once more, a steely resolve underlying his words. "You come with me, or you stay here surrounded by men who would leap at the chance to bed a Targaryen princess."

His words struck a nerve, and I couldn't hide my distress. "You do not want me, you want the chance to spite your uncle, my father," I said, my voice laced with fear.

Aemond's lips curled into a wry smile as he stepped closer, his presence imposing. He trailed a finger down my cheek, his touch both unsettling and oddly intimate. 

"You, my darling, have no idea what I want," he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of something inscrutable.

The warmth of his touch contrasted sharply with the coldness of his earlier demeanour, and I found myself momentarily disarmed. His smile, though enigmatic, was not devoid of genuine emotion. 

There was a flicker of something, perhaps concern or even affection beneath his icy exterior.

His voice dropped to a softer, more contemplative tone. "What I want is more complicated than mere revenge. It involves a sense of justice, and... perhaps something more personal."

He studied me with a gaze that seemed to pierce through the facade I had been maintaining. "But if you refuse my offer, you condemn yourself to a fate far worse than anything I could impose. You will remain here, at the mercy of those who see you as nothing more than a prize to be won."

I swallowed hard, grappling with the implications of his words. His offer was a double-edged sword, an escape from immediate danger but also a step into a world I was not sure I was ready to face.

Finally, I nodded, my resolve solidifying in the face of his undeniable determination. "I will come with you," I said, my voice steadying as I accepted the offer that both terrified and relieved me.

Aemond's expression softened slightly, though his demeanour remained commanding. "Good. Then let us leave this place. We have much to discuss."

As he turned to lead me out, I hesitated, my mind racing with unspoken fears. The weight of the decision I had made began to settle heavily on my shoulders. 

"What will you do with me?" I asked the question clawing at my insides and pushing its way to the forefront of my mind, despite the dread of the potential answers.

Aemond glanced back at me, a cold, calculating gleam in his eye. "Nothing you will not ask for," he replied simply.

His words, intended to reassure, did little to calm my nerves. His tone carried an undercurrent that seemed almost challenging, as though he was daring me to confront him, to question the true nature of his intentions. 

The statement implied a complex power dynamic, suggesting that while he would not force me into anything, the boundaries of what I might ask or desire were far from clear. 

"You speak in riddles," I said, trying to mask my unease. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Aemond smiled one that spoke of a deeper understanding, and perhaps, a touch of arrogance. "It means that while I will not impose myself upon you, you will find it difficult to remain distant. There is a fascinating pull between us, one that neither of us can easily ignore."

His words were both a promise and a challenge, hinting at a future where the lines of power and desire would be blurred. 

He was making it clear that while he would not force me into anything, the dynamic between us would be complex, and I would be hard-pressed to stay unaffected by his presence.

I couldn't tell if I was stepping out of one nightmare and into another. 

A/n - Darling I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream x

Aemond tag list - @darylandbethfanforever9 @lessdepressy

[ddejavvu]

What about spencer with a reader who is normally so independent and does everything for herself but she’s so soft for spencer and lets him dote on her and take care of her and the team is like :o bc they can’t believe she is letting someone do things for her

"I'm not a tyrant," Spencer's voice is inexhaustibly patient, and his fingers are slightly awkward as he holds them around his phone, angling it awkwardly so that you can see his upper half on face-time while he sits at his desk, "I just want you to take your medicine so that you can get better."

"I am better," You insist, your voice a far cry from its usual drawl. It's more ragged and weak, and you definitely have a stuffy nose, which indicates how untruthful your words are. Everyone knows it, most of the bullpen can hear your insistent griping, and they're beginning to feel bad for Spencer. They can't imagine how he'd gotten you to stay home today, but they're shooting each other knowing grins each time you push back against his gentle insistence.

"No, angel, you're not." Spencer croons, "You're on the mend, but you're not recovered yet. And you'll get worse if you don't take your meds. I put them on the nightstand for you, and some water. All you have to do is take them, and go back to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep!" You insist, and it's a whine- a whine! Emily's mouth splits in an incredulous grin, and a laugh threatens to tremble Derek's broad shoulders at how juvenile your attempts at protest have become. They're used to your biting words, your forceful demeanor, your inability to surrender any control, but Spencer's got you tucked into the covers begging for a kiss on the forehead.

"I've been sleeping all day, and I slept all day yesterday, and the day before that. I'm tired of sleeping. Just let me fill out some paperwork! Anything, Spence, please."

He chews on the inside of his cheek, ignoring the way that JJ giggles suspiciously with Penelope, who's leaning against the side of her desk, drawn out of her office for the spectacle.

"You can read," He relents, "And you can watch tv but only if you do it on your computer with the night light setting turned on," He narrows his eyes, taking on your rather rough persona to ensure that his orders are obeyed, "Promise?"

"Promise," You rasp, and the team can hear the smile in your voice, "Thanks, Spencer."

"Use the night light setting," He warns instead of accepting your thanks, "I'll check later to see if it's turned on!"

"Okay!" You laugh, and Spencer winces lightly as the sound morphs into a thick cough, "Okay, I'll- ah, I'll see you later, baby."

"See you later," He concedes with a fond smile, waving in addition to his verbal goodbyes, "Love you."

"Love you too," You promise, then end the call. Spencer feels the weight of everyone else's stares on him as he sets his seldom-used phone down and resumes working, refusing to acknowledge them unless they prod at him first.

"Good job, Spence," JJ congratulates, "I didn't think she'd ever take a sick day."

"I know," Emily gushes with bright eyes and a wild smile, "If I tried to tuck her in she'd probably bite me."

"Well, that's 'cause you don't have Pretty Boy's charm," Derek cracks, though the smile that he flashes Prentiss is reassurance that he's teasing Spencer more than he's teasing her, "Congrats on wearing the pants today, Reid. Enjoy it while it lasts, 'cause as soon as she's out of bed, she's taking the wheel again."

Spencer takes great pleasure in levelling Derek with a meaningful, "Shut up," because he's more than happy to be your passenger princess any day.

[reignpage]

Hi!! If you have the time- how would the jjk guys react to the reader giving them the silent treatment?

I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Gojo:

Would try to make you laugh at first When that doesn't work and he notices you're just getting more irritated, he'd start bribing you Buys you flowers, handbags, dresses, jewellery you name it If you're still silent, then he'll go deadly serious Would confront you in the dark, sitting on the sofa like he's been waiting for hours 'Is there nothing I can do? Are we done for good? Are you leaving me too?'

Geto:

Gets snarky Two can play that game He's not the calm and patient guy everyone thinks he is He just reacts in subtle ways Makes passive-aggressive comments But eventually will get tired, sighs and just asks you straight up what he did wrong 'Alright, what happened? Let me inside that head of yours.'

Choso:

Keeps asking you what's wrong Gets really sad and depressed Very much kicked puppy vibes Just follows you around everywhere Until you crack 'I didn't know what I did but I'm sorry. Please talk to me? I'm scared'

Toji:

LOL LMFAO ROFL This man would be soooo annoying He'd be smug as hell at first Says shit like 'It's nice to have peace and quiet here' 'You should get mad at me more often ma' BUT eventually realising you're not gonna crack He'll start to get nervous Starts cleaning up after himself Double checks to make sure the trash is out, he hasn't left any dishes in the sink, didn't miss any appointments or anniversaries etc etc Would send Megumi in to get a feel for your mood 'make yourself extra cute kid' 'ask her why she isn't speaking to me. no don't tell her I told you to. whose side are you on?'

Nanami:

Would ask you immediately if there's something wrong Is so mature and healthy it's irritating 'please communicate with me, darling. I can't apologise and fix whatever I ruined if you don't talk to me.' Eventually, he'll give you space But then you'll start feeling really bad because he'll assume that you hate him or something Like, he'll start buying sandwiches to take to work cause he thinks you won't make lunch for him like normal or sleeps on the couch eats dinner and watches shows by himself so you cave first and the smile he gives you is so worth it

Sukuna:

Doesn't notice a thing at first He isn't the type to be clingy, he's not the affectionate one, he mostly returns it So there'll just be a period of silence Until he begins to feel your absence in which case he'll seek you out and then becomes the clingy one 'it is a pleasant day out, would you care to join me for a stroll? gets sooo offended if you don't say anything 'no? would you prefer to stroll with someone else? tell me who and they will be killed. in fact, continue to remain in silence and everyone will be killed.'

Yuji:

Confused :0 asks Nobara for advice 'you're a girl, she's a girl. so tell me what's going on' 'is it the time of the month?' uses loads of different tricks to make you break performs dances and skits gets Gojo involved tries to get Megumi involved (no chance) he's so stupid you just have to cave and explain he's an idiot and he'll nod happily

Megumi:

yeahhhhhh you'll be having a silent off for days and weeks you'll both continue to co-exist in silence it's just not smart

Inumaki:

annoying as hell texts you shit like: 'when she copies you' 'ho is u good?' 'can you be original at least?' when that doesn't work he'll break into your social media or gaming accounts right in front of you and threatens to release a post pretending to be you like 'you know, hitler wasn't that bad' or an ugly picture of you then you'll have to cave and he gets so caught up in the victory, he'll accidentally post it yep, he's a dead man walking

[evilminji]

Okay, as I have mentioned, I'm Ace AF. And you know that plot line in kids cartoons where the alien or foreign Warrior Royalty just sort of *violently kicks down door in full armor* "We Will Marry."? I?? Always said:

"Sure!" (#OhThankFUCK!)

Like what do you mean "No"? The powerful, attractive, monarch that is very into you has travel a great distance JUST to marry you! Now you don't have to date! They seem nice! You can skip the whole "trying to find a life partner" awkwardness.

So, Sudden New Fiancee(tm) how we doing this? Blended customs? Two weddings? One in your peoples traditions, one in mine? Should we invite your family? Tell me more about yourself.

God, this solves just... SO MUCH for me? No having to make small talk. No "do they like me?" Or "am I reading the signs here right?" No failed dates! It's positively ideal! AND they announced why they were qualified, in a VERY impressive show of power and prestige, when they arrived! Good lineage AND accomplished!! Very nice.

Don't get why everyone's so upset.

Sure the "we leave at once" thing that usually follows would have to be discussed, but that's what you DO as spouses. Really guys, it's like you think I'm incapable of common sense here.

And you know who probably agrees with me? Damian Wayne.

Hell is other people, INDEED. You expect him to just... randomly go up to people and try Courting them? What do you MEAN it's "creepy" to compile portfolios on eligible individuals of worthy bloodlines? How ELSE is he supposed to know if they are worth attempting to talk too?!

There are BILLIONS of humans on this gods forsaken rock, Richard! Is he supposed to just GUESS? Gamble and hope for LUCK? This is a MARRIAGE not a "best friends club"!

Then? Danny showes up.

Gotham heard her baby talking. Heard her KING being harassed by clearly plotting Observants and power hungry ghosts MANY times his age. Connected some dots. Formed themselves a new OTP.

Danny says "Fuck It". Worst he can say is No. According to Gotham, he is neither Shy not the meek obedient sort. Is in fact, VERY stabby. So if he's not interested he'll no doubt be BRUTALLY clear about that.

So? Danny gets Fright Knight. Go get him a horse. Someone fetch Cujo some armor. He's been told the guy like weapons and animals.

TIME TO BE IMPRESSIVE.

He goes FULL Regalia. Armor of solid night sky. Cape of frost and stardust. Crown like crack in reality itself, through which the cosmos gleam and shift. He gets a horse from the far frozen. They're wooly and carnivorous. Gets THE most impressive sword he can find to wear.

It's gonna be a gift, since he doesn't need it.

He does the whole "rend the skies open" thing. Fan fair and knights. Every title he's ever been given, no matter how embarrassing he find them in reality. And announces his intentions. Declares that ONLY Damian Wayne, aka. Robin, is WORTHY to Marry Him. And (in the traditional Ghost proposal of "either accept or tell me to fuck off" /w violence) Demands Damian accept his offer of Marriage.

Right there.

IN THE WATCHTOWER.

In front of EVERYBODY. And yes, ESPECIALLY the Bats. Who are making glitching, vaguely threatening DEMONIC NOISES. Because? You... you THREATEN the BABY? Death. Ten thousand years DEATH.

People are :O ing and backing away from the visible heatwave of unadulterated FURY being put off by Batman. Danny is nano-second from every bone his ANCESTORS had being reduced to a fine paste.

Then? Damian consider him... considers the sword being thrust in his direction, still held aloft in a steady and armored hand... contemplates those titles for a second...

And goes: "Acceptable. Very well, but I have demands."

N..... Nani the FUCK? Says local Bat-Dad. No??? You are NOT GETTING MARRIED.

Try to stop him. He very obviously IS, according to Damian, the man brought him a kick ass sword and has a giant green dog. Is the king of an ENTIRE REALITY. Yes, he realizes he probably COULD do better... but frankly? This one's cute. But if it upset you so... extended engagement. There. Happy?

NO! Because the JLA Dark are LOSING THEIR SHIT. Damian is still UNDERAGE. We don't even know how OLD this being is! NO MARRIAGE.

Damian is unimpressed. A whole six months? That he's likely already LIVED thanks to various timeloops, temporal shenanigans, and reality warping bits of fuckery? You're reaching.

Just? Marriage Meet Cute.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

[muntitled]

CATCH | L. JENO

Lycan!Jeno x afab!reader

➛ Summary: Perhaps making your uncontrollable boyfriend chase you was a bad idea after all

➛ Warnings: Language, Paranormal!au, Fluff, Established Relationship, Possessiveness, Doggy Traits, Ownership Kink (he owns you in his mind) Lycan!Jeno, Cat and Mouse game, Smut +18 (mdni), Mating Press, Rutting, Primal Kink, Praise Kink, Dry Humping, Neediness, Scent Kink, Dom!Jeno, Sub!Reader, Whimpering, Breeding Kink, PIV

<3 happy spooky season

"I mean…" There's a quiet, stunned sound that leaves his lips as Jeno forces both his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He gazes at you through his hooded eyelids. "Are you sure?" You weren't sure of anything, to be completely honest and neither was he. You explain this to him with a quirk of your lips as your fingers weaved through your laces, knotting them with a quickness before your game commenced...

"It's just," he releases more distraught, more nervous habits unconsciously overcoming his body in irregular and jarring spurts. You gazed up at him from bended knee, now preoccupied by tying Jeno's laces too, and you chuckled. "It's just what, Big Boy?"

There was a chuckle that broke across the once painfully serious cracks of his visage, his smile even brighter with the elation across his face. "You know it is... probably not smart to do this. You know I'm not going to be able to-” his ears perk up. “Tighter," he asks distractedly, "-could you tie the left one just a little tighter," Jeno stomped his left foot in indication, the shriveled leaves crunching ever so slightly under the leather soles of his sneakers.

You had never quite believed in the societal construct of a soulmate until you had met Jeno. Upon your union, it all seemed to fall so surreptitiously into place that a life before him had seemed utterly bland, and so completely... boring. There was warmth that seized the man's entire countenance and you put it all to very good use. Not a single tear was shed without Jeno curling into you, quite forcefully stuffing his large, masculine frame under your armpit under a very, very strict comfort policy.

And that was before you found out about his little… biological quirk.

He didn't really know where it came from, thethats that lived inside him. It had just always been there. Jeno kept the beast restrained on most occasions but that came with some dire repercussions: finding some bits of your furniture chewed up. Jeno promising to replace. His overt and unflinching loyalty was another facet of his quirk.

You could not show if anyone at work bothered you without Jeno tapping his foot anxiously against the floorboards of your shared apartment, chewing on the ends of his nails while the rest of him was seized in restlessness. "I'm not going to leave until you tell me," He would say, pushing the door of your bedroom open every time it threatened to close shut.

"Boundaries," You would yell, "Boundaries, Jeno! You don't have to know about every detail of my life!"

"I am respecting your Boundaries," he would say, sneering his nose up at that crude dirty word.

The word that wanted you to be away from him. The word that saw you two occasionally (frustratingly) separated.

Boundaries.

"I am respecting your boundaries," he would say from the doorways. "I haven't even set foot over the line once, even though you are very clearly upset." His sweet, slightly feral obliviousness would usually aid in washing away water grievances you had acquired from your work life or outside friendships, your life untouched by Jeno. Even his flaws held a nauseating dose of happiness. His forgetfulness, his altruism, his overthinking, his restlessness. There was not a single part of your Jeno that you did not drink up in admiration. You were lucky to have him.

"I don't really see what the problem is, Jeno." You continue, "It's not like- still, Jeno, could you keep your leg still? That's why I can't tie the knot too well," You pat down his jittery leg in what you hope acts as a sedative for his nerves. It works momentarily, truthfully he just loves having your natural body heat in such close range with his. He could feel it all radiating off your palm, through his slacks no problem. He zeroed in on that particular activity far too much and it illicited a wayward shiver that wracked through his body. "It's not like you're going to hurt me," You say, tugging on the bows you had fashioned out of his laces one final time before rising from the forest floor. You dust a layer of sticks and dead leaves from your exposed knee while Jeno continues his nervous tirade. "You dont know-"

"I do know. I know that you're capable of controlling yourself, Jeno. I know that you're in love with me. I know that you'd never, ever do anything to hurt me." Eye contact. If there was a single force in the entire known (and unknown), the whole goddamn multiverse included, that could rile Jeno up with the amount of pressure stored in an atomic bomb, it was the eye contact. You gaze up at him with nothing but trust blazing in your eyes as you sunk your grip into his hoodie. A hoodie he was particularly fond of, even hesitant to part with even though he knew it was a full moon.

"I don't like losing," He admits gravely as he lifts the hoodie over his shoulders, discarding it on the forest floor. You watch with slight excitement as your boyfriend's bare skin is illuminated by the moonlight. Leaving him in nothing but his grey basketball shorts and his sneakers

"It's too close to a full moon," His lips are but a mere inch away from you. You can hear his ragged breath. It's a sound that flows in sync with the natural cacophony of the woods, the hum of the fireflies and drum of the crickets, all hidden away, singing for the couple, perched under the waning moon.

"That's part of the fun though, isn't it?" You finally break eye contact but your periphery reveals a keen-eared, frozen-solid Jeno, still watching you with the transfixed gaze of a hawk. He's starkly aware of every single thing around you, his senses being at their most potent especially when he found himself in his natural habitat.

"You're not going to run away?" You nearly chuckle at that but you hold it in, quite enjoying the charged air that is buzzing between the two of you.

"Running away's the entire point, Baby," there is a richness in your vibrato that completely does him in. A sharp, distressing growl reverberates from his chest. It bleeds into a squeaky whine when you bury your fingers into his overgrown and rugged head of hair.

"Running from me. I mean, you're not gonna end up... running away from me... forever..." he all but slurs, eyes fluttering shut as you scratch the side of his head in a way that elicited a warmth in his very bones, the need to soothe that delicious itch in his very being was unparalleled. He craved more of your touch, he craved more of you-

"You get the rest when you get me." You state firmly, much to Jeno's dismay who releases another growl, much to the shame of his almost-human- non-human self.

"It'll be fun." You reassure the man as you begin to bounce lightly on the balls of your feet. You fill your lungs with the fresh and dewey air of the woodland fencing the both of you and you ready your limbs. Jeno begins to shake his head slowly, then much more furiously as he sees you beginning to break away.

"N-No, don't-" He clamps a large hand over his mouth but the growl is heard all the same. It has your eyes wideneing in glee as you move even farther away, breaking into a slight jump before speeding off into the thickness of the wood. A wave of nausea paired with excitement zings through his entire body at the sight of your whizzing frame and his legs move on their own accord.

You're fighting to dodge brambles and branches of every kind. Trees and their obnoxious arms crisscrossing overriding one another, causing you to bend at odd and athletic angles as you sprinted through the night-veiled wood. There was an eerieness to the open space, the vastness of it, yet the density that was bestowed by the clumping, plentiful trees. You knew, had you been caught under any orher circumstances, you might have been seized bu fear. Fear was so common to you, it might as well have lived in your bloodstream. It marred itself across tue scenes of your childhood, manifesting in odd, grim drawings, the inability to sleep in the dark and a bed-wetting era you had grown out of at an embarrassingly late edge. Fear was your companion and it might have destroyed you in this very moment, when you were dodging passed tall, crooked silhouettes of pine trees... were it not for the entity- no, man- that is sending loud enough growls for you to hear on your aggressive getaway.

Butterflies soar in your stomach as your feet beat down on the uneven forest floor. You fight to keep your gaze locked on the nature-crafted obstacle coarse ahead of you, choosing to ignore the hurried lunges sounding behind you. Squirrels scatter in your wake and the owls hoot from their post. The animals watch in anticipation as your energy depletes and your breathing becomes far more ragged and spent.

An unforeseeable ache blossoms in your upper arms first as the butterflies in your bleeds into a sharp, afflicting stitch that has you veering off course. Your thighs lunge the rest of yoir heavy body forward with vigor and determination, using up all the energy you have stored inside. Soon, the world begins to tilt and you're met with the sharp end of a branch that had gone undetected by you. A small scrape slashes across your arm and yet you still keep running.

Another, final growl is sent into the air and for a brief, quiet moment you find yourself gazing up at the waning moon. This was the final evening you got to spend with your lover before the full moon took him away from you, wanting him all to herself like a selfish, immortal bitch.

It is then when you find yourself slowing down. A fire is raging in your esophagus and just as your lungs begin their reduced intake of fresh air, youre yelping as yoire being tackled to the ground with a force that knocks your air out.

"FUCK-" You curse as he rolls the both of you onto the mossy, forest floor. Somehow, he made provisions for you, making sure to lock his arm around your head as the two of you tumbled to the ground in a messy heap. The sound of rapid panting right in your ear.

When you open your arms, you are claimed underneath him. His hands resting against the sides of your head, caging you in with the promise of never letting you go again. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. As if you were a restless baby bird that he might lose again. He gazes down at you with wild eyes brimming with intensity and satisfaction from the chase you had given to him. Both of your uneven ragged breathing fill the space between you until-

"I've... I've got a cut," You whisper in between your loud breathing, "You wouldn't have caught me so soon if I hadn't-"

"Please, just shut up," He murmurs robotically before colliding his lips with yours in a furious and fiery kiss that seems to last for ages. His hands find their way at your sides, sinking his fingers into the soft skin that would otherwise be painful, but what is incredibly erotic.

You try to break away, to try and breathe but he only forces his kiss even deeper. Jeno is unsure if it's a distraught moan or a cry that bubbles up from your chest and it's the not knowing, the possibility of it being both, that has Jeno's cock aching against his pants. He experimentally ruts into your leg once and it's enough to break the kiss and have him groaning into the forest air. "Oh God," he moans in utter delight, and you watch him rut helplessly against your leg while firmly encircling a large hand around your throat. Jeno does not anticipate the strength in his grip, but he is too far gone, completely locked away in a world of pleasure as he murmurs with his hooded eyes: "Never. You never, never, never leave me like that again-"

You motion as if to respond but it's completely drowned out when he pulls down your shorts in quick, delirious movements. You steeple your legs and watch on perched elbows as Jeno kneels before you, head twitching in anticipation of your exposed heat. He can smell how excited you are, how completely helpless that one small exercise had made you for him and it drives him into an early.

You watch with intent as Jeno pulls your panties down- he nearly rips it in half, the need to mount you and spill his seed inside you was just far too great. But, Jeno remembers how badly you scolded him the last time he tore off your clothes. This time he was careful.

"Fuck, you’re gonna have my pups," He admits as he stares down at your naked body. You are bathed in moonlight, and your arousal shone prettily against your inner thighs. The string of beads around your waist shine prettily in the moonlight.

"Youre gonna to need you fuck me then, Jeno.” That tone, that goddamn tone has his eyes latching onto yours in a fraction of a second, his head nodding furiously as your words of affirmation filled him with so much zeal it felt as if he might die.

"I can do that," he says, lining his cock up with your glistening entrance, "I can be good for you. I can do that."

The confidence that had once consumed you, completely washes away as Jeno rams his length into you. By the very first thrust, he's latching onto the ends of unbuttoned shirt with one hand, while he melt to the forest floor, supported by the other.

"No, no, no, look at me, please," His command has your cunt clenching around him, illiciting a deep and painful growl from within him. Jeno's face is mere inches away from yours, as his charged and incessant 'hah, hah, hah's spill out of him with every deliciously thrust. He watches you writer underneath him. Pride and attraction dances a great dance in the confines of his heart as you lift your shaky hands to glide over his exposed chest. He was quite literally fucking you into the ground, it was unlike anything any man had ever administered. Your head moved above you with the force of his thrusts and your voice was clogged with the pressure of your oncoming orgasm.

Jeno was so thoroughly focused on cumming inside you that it overtook his entire brain. He gazed down at you with the satisfaction of claiming you, that you were his and nothing else. His scent was going to be mixed with yours and that's all that matters.

"I'm going to cum inside you," he says, rutting into you at an even wilder pace, “Gonna g-give you my seed, pretty girl- Fuck-”

You mindlessly nod as you feel your cunt begin to tighten around his cock once more. He's so deep and so quick, it's a struggle to concentrate on speaking at all.

"Tell me, please! I need you to tell me. Tell I'm a good boy for you! Tell me I can spill my seed inside you, baby please-"

Behind his huffing and fervent frame, the sky is speckled with gorgeous stars. There are stars in his hooded, pleading words and stars in his voice. He's so close to ecstasy and he needs you to reassure him. "Cum for me, baby," You bring a hand to the side of his face, causing him to lean into it with closed eyes. "You're such a good boy, Jeno. Please, cum for me." Your pussy tightening around him a singke time as him cumming on the spot. His cum, hot and heady floods your insides. It's so much. You're being so completely filled. Your hand twitches om his cheek and your back arches as your own oegasm washes over you. A glorious, heavenly ecstasy overtakes your entire being and Jeno buries his head in the crook of your neck. His cock still thrusts into you as you ride the high, your mouth open in a silent cry as your arms lock around his head.

"My beautiful girl," He mutters as you float back down to earth, "My gorgeous, beautiful girl." The kisses you're met with is endless as your shoulder slump and you're transported, once again, to the real world.

The biggest smile you have ever had the pleasure of witnessing is stitched onto his face as Jeno peers up at you from laying his head on your chest. "Again," he says, causing you to laugh in completely disbelief. "We go again. This time I'll give you a head start-"

"Down boy," you say, keeping your head wrapped around his head, "Let me catch my breath first."