#(Before everything was owned by a few companies)

[armpirate]

The Vows Between Us || Jungkook

pairing: JK x fem!reader || Arranged marriage

w.c.: 13.6k

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), female masturbation, unprotected sex, teasing, edging (Minors DNI! Refrain from reading if you're not +18, and ignore if you don't like this type of content)

Aprox. time of reading: 40 / 50 minutes

Summary: For Jungkook, marrying you was a calculated move -a necessary step to secure the company that was rightfully his. But also a move to know you'd be his after years of looking at you from afar. For you, it was an escape from the gilded cage your family had locked you in. What neither of you anticipated was the spark that would ignite in the ashes of your arrangement. But in a world where every touch felt like a promise and every whisper hid a secret, falling for him was your first mistake. Because just when you thought his heart might truly be yours, you uncovered the truth. Or so you thought.

MASTERLIST

The air inside Jungkook's office was warm and suffocating despite the minimalistic modern design and large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Berlin's skyline. You stepped inside with measured steps, your heels clicking softly on the marble floor. Jungkook was already there, leaning against the edge of his grand wooden desk with his long tattooed fingers wrapping around the pen that kept swirling on his digits every few seconds, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

"You're early," he said, his voice smooth but laced with something smug.

"I prefer to get unpleasant things over with quickly," you replied, your tone cool and detached as you slipped off your coat. "I assume your father told you why I'm here."

Jungkook chuckled, swirling the pen one last time before putting it down. "Oh, I know. The future Mrs. Jeon wants to 'discuss terms,' right? Sounds like a business merger already." his dark eyes gleamed with interest as he looked you up and down, deliberately slow. "But I'm curious, why did you finally agree? You seemed so determined to avoid me before."

You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Not everything is about you, Jungkook. My reasons are my own."

The smirk faltered for a split second before returning, this time tinged with something bittersweet. "Fair enough," he said, straightening up and taking a step closer, his voice dropping just slightly. "But you'll have to get used to things being about us. At least, that's what everyone else will expect starting next weekend."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to show it. You kept your expression neutral, tilting your head just slightly. "Let's get one thing straight, this marriage may be inevitable, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Jungkook smiled -slow, dangerous, and entirely too pleased. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

That sentence alone had you rolling your eyes, trying to control yourself from slipping your tongue on how disgusted you were by that whole thing.

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the strap of yourbag. "As long as you understand where we stand, this arrangement might work. We'll play the perfect couple for the public. But behind closed doors, we keep our distance until we sign the divorce papers. Simple."

Jungkook stepped closer, closing the space between you just enough to make your breath hitch. His cologne -warm and spicy- wrapped around you like an invisible trap. "Keep our distance?" he repeated, his voice low, almost amused. "Is that what you want? Because that's not what it looked like back at that business gala... when you couldn't stop staring."

As much as you wanted to deny it, your eyes were indeed on him the whole time. He was charming and captivating, it was impossible to move your eyes away from him. But that hypnosis lasted until his family came up with the idea of imposing that marriage on you. He lost all his charm just at that moment.

You narrowed your eyes. "I was staring at the disaster unfolding around me, not at you."

Jungkook smirked, tilting his head. "Right. That's why your eyes followed me the entire night." he leaned in, his lips just a breath away from your ear. "You're good at playing it cold, Y/n. But I wonder how long you can keep that act up once we're married."

You refused to back down, your voice calm despite the spark of irritation in your chest. "I've dealt with men far more intimidating than you, Jungkook. Trust me, keeping you at arm's length won't be a challenge."

A flicker of something darker crossed his eyes -something almost dangerous. For a moment, the air between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

"Good," Jungkook finally said, his voice a whisper. "Keep trying to resist me. It'll make it that much more fun when you fail."

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step back, reclaiming the distance. "You're delusional if you think I'll ever fall for you."

Jungkook raised his eyebrows in amused awe as he took on the challenge. "We'll see, future Mrs. Jeon. We've got a lifetime to test that theory."

You turned on your heel, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected you. But as you walked toward the door, you couldn't shake the feeling that Jungkook was right. The real challenge wasn't staying distant -it was making sure you didn't get burned by the fire between you.

"By the way, you mentioned divorce... didn't you?" your tracks stopped the second he mentioned that detail, hearing his heavy steps behind you as he approached his body.

Slowly, you turned to him, unable to back down on your stance "That's what we agreed on."

"Some deals suffer changes as they have to meet different necessities, don't you think?" the way his eyebrows arched, while his lips pursed on a mocking grin almost had you losing your patience. "Divorce was ever on the plate? Because I don't think it was one of my conditions".

"No, it was one of mine" you spat back. "Either sign those divorce papers on good terms, or I'll drag you from one trial to another" Jungkook loved the challenge, he loved the way your eyes fixed on him to make sure he understood everything you were saying.

"What if I don't want to sign them?"

"Then you'll have to find another dumbass to agree to get married to you" you rolled your eyes, thinking that would be the end of your conversation, but his fingers hooked on your elbow to stop you from walking away.

You weren't sure exactly when he got so close, but you could feel the warm air escaping his nostrils on your cheeks.

"Don't try to throw a fist at me" he stopped you. "You're so used to getting what you want, don't you? You pout a little, you act a little bitchy and daddy gives you all you want. Let me give you a spoiler: that won't work with me. The moment you're my wife, you'll do as I say. And if I say I don't want to get divorced, then you won't get those fucking papers".

Your eyes started to water: rage, sadness, frustration... All those feelings were building up as you realized you got to a no-exit stop. Your plans were crumbling down, all your ideas were getting ruined, and all you could do was tighten your lips and open your eyes as much as possible so tears wouldn't escape with a blink.

Daddy's girl? He had absolutely no idea. If you were living in such a perfect place, you wouldn't have agreed in the first place, but the fact that your parents -or people who gave you shelter when you needed it- agreed on engaging their daughter with a complete stranger for money should've given him enough of a hint of your reality.

"Your choice" you managed to get rid of his grip. "Either sign those papers, or I'll make sure to tell everyone what all of this is about".

"You won't. And you wanna know how I know?" he took one step closer to you. "I'll make your life a living hell if you do".

"With what power?"

Your mocking tone was the last straw before he moved his hand from your elbow to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it and slamming your body against the wide door.

"I don't need any power for that." his eyes were dark, his threat becoming a promise "Even if it's the last thing I do, I'll make you regret ever messing with me. So you better come with a pretty dress and the best of attitudes next weekend". He let go of your throat slowly, calmly placing his shirt properly "I know you'll make the best decision" he finally said.

Your eyes were fixed on him, confused at how easily he let you go. And, somehow, his words were even scarier than his actions, because you could see the threat through them.

The grand hall was filled with muted whispers and expectant gazes, the air thick with anticipation. The soft hum of violins played in the background, their melody delicate but almost haunting. The guests sat in rows beneath an arch of white roses and crystal chandeliers, their eyes flitting between the tall doors at the back of the aisle and Jungkook, who stood at the altar in his perfectly tailored black suit, waiting.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he stole a glance at the watch, sliding the sleeve of his jacket just a bit far up.

Ten minutes late. Then fifteen.

You weren't there.

He told himself you'd show up. You had to. But with each passing second, doubt sank its claws deeper into him. His heart pounded, and the polished facade he wore so well began to crack. Was this your way of backing out? A silent rebellion against a marriage neither of you had chosen? Were you actually telling the truth when you said you wouldn't show up if he didn't promise you a divorce?

The doors remained closed, and Jungkook's jaw tightened. His father, seated in the front row, shot him a warning glance -one that practically screamed "Handle this".

Then, just as his patience teetered on the edge of collapse, the heavy doors finally creaked open.

A hush fell over the crowd.

And there you were.

You stood at the entrance in your wedding dress, the long veil trailing behind you, catching the soft light like a halo. For a moment, the room seemed to blur around you, everything fading except the heavy thud of your heart. You could feel every eye on you, the weight of their expectations pressing down on your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Your feet felt like concrete as you took your first step. Hesitation rooted itself deep inside you, your body caught in a battle between instinct and obligation.

Jungkook watched you with an intensity that bordered on desperation. His dark eyes flickered with a thousand questions. You couldn't miss the way his shoulders tensed or how his lips pressed into a thin line, betraying the fear he was trying so hard to conceal.

Step by step, you made your way down the aisle, but each step felt heavier than the last. Doubt whispered cruelly in your ear. "You don't have to do this" you told yourself.

Your fingers clutched the bouquet so tightly that your knuckles turned white. You forced yourself forward, your gaze fixed ahead, refusing to meet Jungkook's eyes until you stood just a breath away from him.

"Finally," Jungkook muttered under his breath, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

There was relief in his tone, but it was wrapped in a layer of frustration.

The officiant began to speak, his words echoing in the cavernous hall. You barely registered them, your mind a tangled mess of emotions. Jungkook's eyes never left yours. His expression was calm on the surface, but you could see the storm raging just beneath it: fear, frustration, and something dangerously close to longing.

"And now," the officiant said, his voice cutting through the fog in your mind, "if the bride and groom would like to exchange their vows."

Jungkook went first. His voice was steady, but the practiced words carried an unexpected weight, laced with sincerity that caught you off guard.

"I promise to protect you," he said, his gaze locking onto yours. "To stand beside you through whatever comes next. No matter what happens... I'm yours."

There was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes -just a flash- but it was enough to send your heart lurching in your chest.

Then it was your turn. The officiant turned to you expectantly, waiting for your response.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came.

A heavy silence hung in the air. It stretched long enough to make the guests shift uncomfortably in their seats. Even the soft melody of the violins seemed to falter.

Everything you had prepared so mindfully disappeared at the feeling of being so watched, as if you were under watchful eye. You were sure it'd be obvious you weren't feeling either of the words you were pronouncing.

Jungkook's fingers curled slightly at his sides, his eyes searching yours for a sign, for anything.

The officiant cleared his throat. "Do you, Y/n, take Jeon Jungkook to be your lawfully wedded husband?" his tone was insistent, as if he wanted to get any words from you to get all of that over with.

The pause that followed was suffocating. You felt Jungkook's breath catch, his entire body coiled tight, ready to unravel.

Although he hoped you wouldn't humiliate him that way, he saw you completely able to do it.

Finally, you whispered the words.

"...I do."

Your voice was barely audible, a breath more than a declaration. But it was enough.

Jungkook exhaled, his shoulders relaxing, though the tension in his jaw remained. His eyes never left yours, dark and unreadable, as if trying to solve a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

The officiant smiled, oblivious to the war waging between the two of you. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Jungkook hesitated, just for a heartbeat, before leaning in. Your head immediately threw back slightly, enough for him to know you didn't want that kiss and make it seem like a shy move for the rest of the assistants. His hand found your waist -firm but not forceful- as he tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was brief, calculated for the audience, but the heat of it lingered far longer than it should have. Jungkook had been daydreaming way too long about it to waste that chance.

His lips were warm against yours, but there was something else beneath the surface. A question. A challenge.

When he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours once more. He didn't smile. Neither did you.

The applause from the crowd felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely.

As the two of you turned to face the audience, Jungkook leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

"We're just getting started," he whispered, his voice dark with promise.

You kept your face neutral, your expression unreadable, but your pulse betrayed you, thudding wildly in your chest.

The reception was a spectacle of luxury and elegance, just as expected from a merger of two powerful families. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the grand hall, where hundreds of guests mingled, sipping champagne and exchanging polite congratulations.

You smiled and nodded your way through countless conversations, always keeping one eye on Jungkook. He was never far, and every time you saw him start toward you, you slipped between groups of guests or ducked behind another table.

You had managed to avoid him all night. At the cake-cutting ceremony, his hand had hovered near yours on the knife, holding tighter over your skin as you threatened to let the long sword slide from your fingers to his throat. And for a fleeting moment, you thought he might say something, yet he only smirked and moved closer to you. You were quick to turn away, disappearing into the crowd the moment the applause broke, trying to get away from him.

Jungkook, however, was nothing if not persistent.

The moment you saw him again, his dark eyes locked onto yours from across the dance floor. This time, there was no escape. The crowd parted just enough for him to make his way toward you, his strides deliberate and confident.

"Running from me again?" he said when he reached you, his voice low, a challenge glinting in his eyes.

You lifted your chin, forcing your expression to stay composed. "I wasn't running. I was... mingling with the guests."

His lips curled into a smirk. "Right. Mingling." he offered his hand, palm open and waiting. "Well, it's time for the first dance, Mrs. Jeon. You wouldn't want to disappoint our guests, would you?"

Your stomach tightened at the weight of his words. There was no getting out of this. Not without causing a scene.

With a quiet sigh, you slipped your hand into his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm, and you couldn't help but notice how easily they fit together.

The lights dimmed, and the soft melody of "You Are the Reason" by Calum Scott filled the air. A sweet, tender song -one that felt far too intimate for the situation, as if it was meant for two people who loved each other.

Jungkook led you to the center of the dance floor, his hand resting gently on your waist, pulling you just close enough to make your pulse stutter.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up today," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the music. His eyes searched yours, the teasing edge gone now, replaced by something far more serious. "You made me worried."

You swallowed, your gaze dropping for a split second before meeting his again. "I was... thinking things through."

His hand tightened slightly on your waist. "Did you change your mind at the last minute?"

For a moment, you didn't answer. The question hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. The song swelled around you, the lyrics wrapping around your heart like a bittersweet lullaby.

You knew hell would be nothing compared to your life if you didn't show up to the wedding. Not because of Jungkook or his family though, but your adoptive parents. The moment you twisted all of their plans, there would be no escape from it.

At least with Jungkook you wouldn't owe anyone anything. Instead, you'd be the one they owe something to.

Jungkook's eyes softened, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "If you had, I would've waited. I would've found another way."

Your breath hitched. His words caught you off guard -unexpected and disarming. For the first time that night, the wall you had so carefully built around yourself began to crack.

He seemed so genuine, so caring.

"I'm here now," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "That's all that matters."

His gaze lingered on you for a long moment before he nodded. "Yeah. You're here."

The music continued, the world around you fading as you moved together in perfect synchrony. His touch was light yet grounding, his eyes never leaving yours.

For a fleeting second, you forgot about the crowd, the expectations, the tangled mess of your circumstances. It was just the two of you, swaying gently beneath the chandeliers, the lyrics of the song weaving a story neither of you was ready to admit aloud.

As the final notes faded, Jungkook leaned in just slightly, his voice a soft murmur against your ear.

"You can keep running all you want," he said, his breath warm on your skin. "But sooner or later, you'll stop. And when you do... I'll be right here, waiting."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. There was no smirk, no mask, just him.

The applause from the crowd broke the spell, and you quickly stepped back, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. Jungkook let you go, but his eyes stayed on you, dark and unreadable, as if daring you to run again.

And maybe you would. But for the first time, a small part of you wondered if running was really what you wanted. No, you stayed by his side, answering to his challenge with the same power he was showing off.

The party blurred into a collection of clinking glasses, polite congratulations, and watchful eyes. Despite the sea of guests surrounding you, you felt like you were holding your breath the entire time. So when Jungkook leaned close and whispered, "Let's get out of here," you didn't argue. If he hadn't said it, you probably would've escaped by yourself.

Now, the two of you sat in the back of a sleek black car, the hum of the city filling the silence between you. The driver navigated the streets with ease, the warm glow of streetlights flashing across the car's interior.

Jungkook sat beside you, his posture relaxed, but his eyes kept drifting toward your hand -the wedding ring glinting softly on your finger. He didn't bother hiding the fact that he was staring.

You caught him once, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, something unreadable flashed across his face. "No," he said quietly. "Just getting used to the sight."

You turned your hand slightly, the light catching on the diamond. The ring was beautiful, of course -a complex design that was probably picked out by your parents and Jungkook's father rather than by either of you. It felt foreign on your finger, a constant reminder of the deal you'd made.

Jungkook's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It suits you," he said, his voice soft, almost contemplative.

You said nothing, turning your head to watch the city rush by through the window. Jungkook simply smirked, knowing that your silence was better than a sassy response from you.

When the car finally pulled up to the luxury hotel, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The driver opened the door, and you stepped out, feeling the cool night air brush against your skin. Jungkook followed close behind, his hand hovering near the small of your back but never quite touching.

The suite was exactly what you expected -grand and luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the Brandenburg Gate. A bottle of champagne and a tray of chocolates waited on the marble table, while a large king-sized bed sat at the center of the room, draped in crisp white linens.

You set your bag down and turned to Jungkook, folding your arms across your chest. "I'll take the bed. You can sleep on the couch."

His eyebrows lifted slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "The couch?"

"It's comfortable enough," you said, nodding toward the plush, oversized sofa near the window. "Plenty of space."

Jungkook took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "We're married now, remember? Sharing the bed won't kill us."

You scoffed lightly, crossing the room to stand by the couch. "Not happening." You glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow. "Fine. You take the bed. I'll sleep here." you rushed to say, feeling your energy consumed by the small talk you made with all the guests.

"No." his response was immediate, his tone firm. "You're not sleeping on the couch."

"Then am I sleeping on the floor?" you arched an eyebrow "Because I won't sleep with you in the same bed".

You stared at him, daring him to argue further. But to your surprise, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Alright. I'll sleep on the couch."

His sudden surrender caught you off guard. "Just like that?"

He smirked faintly, tossing his jacket onto a chair. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

You watched him for a moment, suspicious of how easily he gave in, but ultimately decided not to push it. "Good. I'll get ready for bed."

As you disappeared into the bathroom, Jungkook sank onto the couch, leaning his head back against the cushions. He glanced at the wedding ring on his own hand, turning it slowly between his fingers. For all his confidence and charm, there was something strangely grounding about the weight of the band.

As much as that wasn't the way he wanted you to be by his side, it somehow made him feel good.

When you returned, dressed in something far more comfortable than your wedding gown, Jungkook was already stretched out on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes.

"Comfortable?" you asked, standing by the bed.

He peeked at you from beneath his arm, his lips quivering into a faint smile. "I've had worse."

You rolled your eyes and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up around you. For a few moments, silence filled the room, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside the windows.

Just as your eyes started to drift closed, you heard Jungkook's voice -quiet but clear in the darkness.

"Goodnight, Y/n."

You hesitated before responding, your voice soft. "Goodnight, Jungkook."

Neither of you said anything after that, but sleep didn't come easily. You lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, painfully aware of his presence just a few feet away.

The distance between you felt both vast and dangerously fragile. And as the minutes stretched into hours, you couldn't help but wonder how long it would stay that way.

The morning started quietly -too quietly. You woke up, blinking against the soft morning light spilling into the room, only to find Jungkook already sitting on the couch, his phone in hand. His jacket was gone, and his dress shirt, slightly wrinkled from the night before, was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked far too relaxed for someone who had spent the night on a couch after your wedding.

"Good morning," he said, his eyes flicking to yours the second you stirred. His voice was calm, but there was something smug lurking just beneath the surface, as if he was already one step ahead of you.

You rubbed your eyes, forcing yourself to sound composed. "Morning."

A few beats of silence passed, too long to be comfortable.

"You were tossing and turning last night," Jungkook said casually, stretching his arms behind his head. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I slept just fine," you lied, standing and heading for your bag. You could feel his eyes on your every move, sharp and assessing.

"You sure? You sounded restless." his voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You froze, giving him a flat look. "Were you listening to me sleep?"

He grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "It's hard not to when someone mutters 'This is a mistake' at 2 a.m."

Your face heated. "I did not..."

"You did." his smirk widened. "I thought about waking you up to ask what you meant, but I figured I'd let you dream about it instead."

You crossed your arms, your patience wearing thin. "Thanks for your consideration, Jungkook."

"Anything for you, love," he said, drawing out the word with deliberate sarcasm.

"You've really mastered being annoying, haven't you?" you shot back, heading toward the closet.

"Years of practice," he said, standing up and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. "You'll get used to it."

You rolled your eyes, yanking open your suitcase with unnecessary force. "God forbid."

Jungkook chuckled under his breath, walking over to lean casually against the wall beside you. "You can deny it all you want, but deep down, you like this."

You turned to glare at him. "Like what?"

"This," he said, gesturing between the two of you. "The bickering. The back-and-forth. Admit it, it's fun."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "Jungkook, not everything is a game. And if you think this -whatever this is- counts as fun, then we're going to have a very long, very difficult marriage."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "A long marriage... Sounds like you're planning to stick around. It does sound really good to me."

"Oh my god," you muttered, turning on your heel. "I can't do this right now."

You stalked toward the bathroom, determined to get a moment's peace.

"You're already giving up?" he called after you. "We've been married for less than 24 hours, Y/n!"

"I'm not giving up. I'm taking a shower," you snapped, slamming the bathroom door shut.

The water was a relief, washing away some of the tension, but your frustration lingered like a storm cloud. And then, halfway through shampooing your hair, you realized something.

You forgot to bring clothes.

You let out a frustrated groan, rinsing the shampoo quickly before wrapping yourself in a towel. The last thing you wanted was to ask Jungkook for help, so you cracked the door open and peeked out.

He was still there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, clearly waiting for your return like some smug predator.

Of course.

You squared your shoulders and stepped out, keeping your head high as you made your way toward the bag.

Jungkook's eyes found you immediately, sweeping over your damp hair and the towel wrapped tightly around you. He didn't even try to hide it.

"Forgot something?" his voice was low and teasing.

"Not a word," you warned, grabbing your clothes.

But before you could escape back to the bathroom, his hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His fingers were warm, firm, and far too steady for someone who was enjoying this way too much.

"Why bother going back?" he said softly, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone that always made your pulse race. "You're already here."

You tightened your grip on your towel. "Let me go, Jungkook."

His eyes darkened, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a slow, deliberate motion. "Why? What's the big deal? We're married now, remember?"

Your breath caught, but you forced your voice to stay steady. "I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're thinking."

He leaned in just slightly, his lips curving into a smirk. "Then prove it. Get changed right here." His gaze dropped for a split second before meeting yours again, his voice barely a whisper. "Unless you're shy."

Your heart thundered in your chest, heat rushing to your face. "I'm not shy."

You weren't shy, but you didn't like the way your body was reacting to his voice, to his petition and his proximity. And you certainly didn't want him to see it so clearly either.

"Then go ahead," he said, his voice practically daring you.

You glared at him, yanking your wrist free. "Turn around."

"I'm not turning around" he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What's the fun of it if I can't see you?"

He was trying to intimidate you, challenge you to do something he thought you wouldn't dare to do, so he could then tease you about it.

Two could play that game.

You placed the clothes on the bed, next to where he was. Taking one step back, your hands were placed on both edges of the towel, slowly undoing the knot to let it pool at your feet. Jungkook gulped thick at the sight, not expecting you to actually get naked in front of him, and even less that way, and it gave you a pinch of pride at how nervous he looked for a second.

You didn't need to do anything, just that stare and the sight of your body alone was enough to awaken the most primal needs. His body responded to you, even if it had been just a second he saw you. Your humid skin, the way some drops fell from your hair and rolled down the curve of your breast to get to your hardened nipple. His mouth was watering just with the need of tasting you.

Jungkook blinked, confused at the way your hand was stretched out for him, "The panties" you mentioned as if it were obvious.

His hand moved to his left, grabbing the fabric to hand it out to you. You put them on torturously slow, covering your lower half to snap your fingers and asking him for your bra. Placing the strips on your shoulders, you turned to him, your body fitting perfectly in between his semi-parted legs as you silently asked him to tie the clasp.

Shivers ran through your body at the contact of the reverse of his fingers on your skin, his touch holding on longer than necessary, just because he liked the way you felt as he touched you a little bit too much.

You didn't need to ask, because Jungkook moved to the next item the moment you stepped away.

He should've seen it coming for him when he saw you lifting your feet, placing it on his thigh -way too close to a place where he needed you like crazy. Your fingers moved calmly, sliding the tight over your leg, up the curve of your knee, moving it past your thigh. Yet Jungkook could only focus on how your warmth spread over his skin like wildfire, making him feel you were touching him in places you were not.

When you finally stepped back to put on the other side of the tight, and the rest of clothes, Jungkook felt like he could breathe again, his control coming back to him when he was able to think straight -which also happened when you were fully clothed again.

You thought he'd hesitate or act shy, but instead his cocky attitude came back as he stood up, the height difference becoming obvious again as he towered over you.

"See how it isn't that difficult to be a good girl?" he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You'd have thrown a shoe at him if he hadn't hidden inside the bathroom immediately after airing out that response.

He was insufferable.

The car ride to Jungkook's house was quiet, tense, and far too long for your liking. The morning sun bathed the streets in gold, but it did nothing to lighten the atmosphere inside the vehicle. Jungkook sat beside you, one arm draped lazily across the back of the seat, his eyes occasionally drifting toward you as you stared resolutely out the window.

He had been surprisingly well-behaved since the towel incident, keeping his teasing remarks to a minimum -though his occasional glances were enough to keep you on edge.

When the car finally pulled up in front of his house, your eyes widened slightly. House was an understatement. It was a sprawling modern estate with sleek glass panels, sharp architectural lines, and an air of quiet luxury.

"Home sweet home," Jungkook said, stepping out of the car and holding the door open for you with a half-smirk.

You stepped out, clutching your overnight bag tightly. "Big enough so we won't have to see each other for a whole day"

"Thanks for noticing," he quipped. "Come on. I'll give you the grand tour."

You followed him up the steps, trying not to be too impressed as you took in the pristine interior-marble floors, minimalist décor, and massive windows that flooded the space with light.

"Kitchen's over there," Jungkook said, gesturing toward an open-concept area with gleaming countertops. "Dining room, living room... you know, standard rich-guy stuff."

"Right," you said dryly. "Because this is completely normal."

He glanced back at you with a grin. "You'll get used to it." the mockery on his tone, knowing damn too well you were used to all that luxury and more, shouldn't have been as funny as it seemed for you.

You rolled your eyes, walking a little faster to avoid his gaze. The tension from earlier was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but it was muted now, replaced by an odd sense of anticipation.

"Upstairs," Jungkook said, leading you to the second floor. You followed him down a hallway lined with modern artwork and huge windows, your footsteps echoing softly on the hardwood floors.

He stopped in front of a door near the end of the hallway and turned to you. "This is your room."

You blinked, caught off guard. "My... room?"

Jungkook nodded, his expression unreadable. "I figured you'd want your own space."

Your hand tightened around the strap of your bag. For a moment, you didn't know what to say. You had fully expected him to make some smug comment about sharing a bed -or worse, insist on it. But there he was, offering you something you hadn't dared to hope for: distance.

"Thanks," you said quietly, stepping into the room. It was beautiful -spacious, with a king-sized bed, soft cream-colored walls, and a large window that overlooked the shared garden of the building. There was even an en-suite bathroom with a walk-in shower and a deep soaking tub.

You indeed wouldn't need to get out there, except to eat.

"Your things are in the closet" he started. "You didn't bring a lot of things, so I guess you'll bring the rest later?"

"No, that's it" you whispered.

Jungkook stopped for a second, shocked about the fact that you only brought a medium suitcase and the bag you were carrying to pack up all of your things. It wasn't like he was expecting a full suitcase display from you, but certainly not something so minimal.

"I'll be down the hall if you need anything," Jungkook said, lingering in the doorway. His eyes softened, his earlier bravado fading just a little. "Seriously. Anything."

For a brief second, the air between you shifted. He wasn't teasing or smug. He just looked... sincere.

You hesitated, feeling the strange urge to say something more, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you gave him a small nod. "I'll be fine."

He smiled faintly, stepping back. "Alright. Settle in. I'll see you downstairs."

As he walked away, you closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

But then again, with Jungkook, nothing ever stayed calm for long.

The first month of marriage was nothing short of a battlefield.

It didn't take long for every small interaction to turn into a heated argument. Jungkook always had something to say -sharp and sarcastic, ready to push your buttons at every opportunity. You were no better, meeting his smug remarks with icy glares and curt responses. It became a game, a war of words and wills, with neither of you willing to surrender.

There were good moments, but they were fleeting. It started with you finding out Jungkook filled up your closet with different clothes and accessories, adding up to the small suitcase you first brought. And it slowly evolved into a laugh shared over breakfast when Jungkook nearly burned his toast. A surprisingly comfortable evening spent watching a movie in silence, where the tension seemed to ease just a little. But those moments were always overshadowed by the endless tug-of-war that followed.

It was exhausting, that constant dance of hostility and fleeting truce.

Every day felt like a test of who could push the other further without breaking. The house, despite its size, felt stifling. His presence lingered in every room -a constant reminder that your marriage was nothing more than a cage disguised as luxury.

And today, you'd had enough.

The argument started in the kitchen that morning, over something as trivial as a set of misplaced car keys. It escalated far too quickly, voices rising, accusations flying.

"You always think you can control everything," you snapped, crossing your arms.

Jungkook leaned against the counter, his jaw tightening. "Control? I'm trying to help you, but you treat everything I say like it's some personal attack."

"Because it always is!" you threw up your hands in frustration. "You don't know how to back off, Jungkook! You just keep pushing and pushing... Fuck, you don't let me breathe!"

"Maybe because you keep running away instead of facing things!" his voice dropped, low and sharp. "You're so obsessed with shutting me out that you can't even see when someone's trying to meet you halfway."

You stared at him, chest heaving, words caught in your throat. For a second, neither of you moved. The silence felt heavier than the argument itself.

Then, without a word, you turned on your heel and stormed upstairs. You needed air, space, anything to escape that suffocating cycle.

In your room, you grabbed a coat and your purse, your hands trembling with frustration. Your eyes caught on your wedding ring, glinting in the sunlight. The sight of it only fueled the fire burning in your chest.

You slipped it off, the cool metal unfamiliar without the warmth of your skin beneath it. For a moment, you stared at the ring in your palm, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of emotions.

Then you set it on the dresser and walked out of the room, not bothering to look back.

Jungkook was still in the kitchen when you came back down, his back to you. You didn't say a word as you grabbed your keys from the counter and headed for the front door.

The sound of your footsteps must have caught his attention because he turned around, his eyes narrowing. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you said shortly, not slowing down.

"Without your ring?" his voice was calm, too calm. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You paused, hand on the door handle, refusing to turn around. "I need some time alone."

"And you think taking off your ring is the way to do that?" his footsteps echoed behind you, slow and deliberate. "Is this your idea of freedom?"

You finally turned to face him, meeting his eyes head-on. "What does it matter? It's not like this marriage is real anyway."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

For the first time in weeks, Jungkook didn't have a quick response. He just looked at you, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite place -hurt, maybe, or anger, or both.

"If you walk out that door without it," he said quietly, "don't expect me to come looking for you."

The threat was clear, but it only made your resolve stronger.

"Good," you said, voice steady. "That's exactly what I want."

And with that, you opened the door and stepped outside, the cool air hitting your face like a slap.

As you walked toward your car, your heart pounded in your chest. Part of you expected him to follow, to stop you. But when you glanced back, the door was already closed.

Maybe he didn't care enough to stop you after all. Although you wouldn't think too much about it. The more he ignored you, the more freedom you'd have.

The bar was harmonized with a low hum of conversation and soft music filling the air. You had no plan when you walked in -just an overwhelming need to be anywhere but at that house. You found a spot at the bar, ordering a drink and savoring the temporary escape it promised.

The alcohol warmed your throat and dulled the frustration swirling in your chest. One drink turned into two, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

"You look like you could use some company."

You glanced up to see a man standing beside you, his smile easy and confident. His eyes lingered on you just a little too long.

"Not really," you said, turning back to your drink.

"Come on, don't be like that," he said, leaning in closer. "It's just a conversation. You shouldn't be alone in a place like this."

"I'm fine," you insisted, but he didn't seem to get the hint.

The air shifted before you could say anything else, a new presence filling the space behind you.

"She's not alone."

You froze at the familiar voice, low and commanding. Turning slightly, you found yourself face-to-face with Jungkook. His dark eyes were locked on the man, his jaw tight, his entire body radiating quiet danger.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And who are you?"

Jungkook's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Her husband."

The word hung in the air like a gunshot, silencing everything around you.

The man's eyes flicked between the two of you, suddenly less confident. "Right... well, my mistake." he backed away with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.

Your heart was pounding, though you weren't sure if it was from the alcohol or the way Jungkook's eyes hadn't left you once.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, trying to sound unaffected.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his voice calm but laced with barely restrained frustration. "But I guess taking off your ring and disappearing without a word answers that for me."

"I needed space," you said, crossing your arms. "You don't own me, Jungkook."

His eyes darkened. "You're right. I don't. But I'm still your husband. If you disappear in the middle of the night, I'll come looking for you. And if some creep thinks he can hit on you, then I'm going to do something about it."

You rolled your eyes, the alcohol emboldening you. "So this is about your ego?"

He took a step closer, the tension crackling between you. "No. It's about the fact that I care, whether you want to believe it or not."

His words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

"Let's go," he said, his tone softening just a fraction. "It's late."

"I'm not going anywhere," you said stubbornly, turning back toward the bar.

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Fine. You want to be difficult? Have it your way."

Before you could react, his arm looped around your waist, and in one swift motion, he threw you over his shoulder like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Jungkook!" you gasped, pounding your fists against his back. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he muttered, already weaving his way through the crowd. Heads turned, curious eyes following the scene as you squirmed in his grip. "You brought this on yourself."

"Jungkook, I swear to God..."

"You can yell all you want," he said calmly. "We're leaving."

Once outside, the cool night air hit you like a slap, but it did little to cool the heat rising in your cheeks -from anger or embarrassment, you weren't sure. Jungkook carried you all the way to his car, finally setting you down beside it.

"You're insane," you snapped, your breath coming fast as you straightened your clothes.

"Maybe," he said, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I thought you'd have learned to love it by now."

For a moment, you stood there, caught in a standoff.

"Get in the car," he said softly, but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice.

Your pride told you to refuse, to stand your ground and make this even more difficult. But something about the intensity in his eyes made you falter.

Wordlessly, you opened the car door and got in, your pulse still racing.

Jungkook slid into the driver's seat, starting the car without another word. The ride home was silent, the air between you charged with tension. You could feel his occasional glances, the way his hands tightened around the steering wheel every time your bare finger caught the light.

The ride home was silent. He didn't speak, and neither did you. But the weight of everything unsaid filled the car, pressing down on you both.

When you pulled up in front of the building, Jungkook finally broke the silence.

"I'm not going to pretend I know what you're thinking," he said, his voice low. "But if you want to leave, really leave, just say it. I'll let you go."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his eyes. It was the first time you'd seen him drop his guard like this.

But instead of answering, you opened the door and stepped out, your heart pounding in your chest.

Jungkook stayed in the car for a moment before following you inside. Neither of you said a word as you climbed the stairs, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

When you reached your room, you paused in the doorway, glancing back at him.

"Goodnight," you said softly, your voice barely audible.

For once, Jungkook didn't have a clever comeback. He just nodded, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than they should have.

"Goodnight," he echoed, his voice rough around the edges.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you -something neither of you was ready to admit yet.

The tension between you and Jungkook had been palpable since that night. Every word, every glance, felt like a battle -a silent war that neither of you was willing to lose. And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, you found yourself trapped at one of his company's lavish parties, drowning in champagne and meaningless small talk.

It wasn't your kind of crowd. Polished executives and their equally polished partners swirled around you, exchanging pleasantries and hollow laughs. Being the accessory of the main character of the party wasn't your thing at all. You stood near the bar, sipping your drink, counting down the minutes until you could escape.

That's when you saw him, Jungkook, standing at the center of a group of people, commanding their attention with ease. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, his hair perfectly styled, exuding the kind of confidence that made it impossible to look away.

And then you noticed her.

She was standing beside him, too close, her hand resting lightly on his arm as she laughed at something he said. A striking woman in a sleek red dress, her eyes sparkled with something far more than professional interest.

Your grip on your glass tightened as you watched her lean in, whispering something into his ear. To your horror, Jungkook didn't pull away. Instead, he turned toward her with a slow smile, his eyes dropping deliberately to her lips before meeting hers again.

It was a calculated move -one meant for your benefit. You knew it. He knew it.

Your stomach twisted, a mix of anger and something far more dangerous bubbling in your chest. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

You turned your back to him, willing yourself to focus on the conversation happening nearby. It was meaningless chatter, something about stock prices, but you latched onto it, pretending you didn't notice the way your pulse was racing.

"Jealous, love?"

The voice was low and teasing, right behind you. You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Hardly," you said, taking a sip of your drink without looking at him. "Do what you want. I couldn't care less."

"Is that so?" Jungkook stepped into your line of vision, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Because it looked like you were about two seconds away from throwing your drink at her."

"More like two seconds away from smacking this glass on your head" you finally sentenced.

"That does sound like someone who's jealous"

You forced a smile, meeting his gaze head-on. "Please. If I wanted to make a scene, you'd know it."

Jungkook chuckled, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. "Careful, Y/n. You might give me the wrong idea: that you actually care about me and what I do."

Your pulse jumped, but you refused to let him win. "Trust me, I don't." you narrowed your eyes while looking at him "Just be careful of how you behave in front of everyone. We're still married. In private, do whatever the fuck you please".

His smile was slow, almost predatory. "Good. Because I'd hate for you to get hurt playing a game you can't win."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless and furious.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. You couldn't stop watching him: laughing, smiling, always with her by his side. Each glance felt like a deliberate push, a challenge to see how far you'd let him go.

By the time the party started winding down, you'd had enough. You grabbed your purse and made your way toward the exit, your steps quick and determined.

But before you could leave, a hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"Running away again?" Jungkook's voice was calm, but his grip was firm.

"Let go," you said, your voice low and dangerous.

"Not until you admit it." His eyes locked onto yours, the amusement gone, replaced by something far more serious.

"Admit what?"

"That you care," he said simply.

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes burning with fury. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet, here you are," Jungkook said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Still standing in front of me". You didn't know when he stepped so close that your chests were pressed together and your breaths were mixing between you two "I'm only yours, love. You just need to ask me, and I'll declare to you my love without thinking twice".

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, the party noise a distant hum. You hated how close he was, how easily he could get under your skin.

But you refused to give him what he wanted. Not tonight.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, ignoring the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

The car ride back was suffocatingly quiet. The air between you felt like a loaded gun, ready to go off at the slightest provocation. Jungkook's hands rested on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the window in stubborn silence.

The tires crunched on the gravel as the car came to a stop in front of the building. You didn't wait for him to say anything -didn't even glance his way as you pushed the door open and strode toward the front entrance.

But the sound of his footsteps trailing behind you, steady and deliberate, made your pulse quicken.

You barely made it inside when Jungkook's voice cut through the silence.

"Care to explain what that little stunt at the party was all about?" his tone was deceptively calm, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.

You spun around, glaring at him. "Are you seriously accusing me of something after what you pulled tonight? Flirting with her right in front of me?"

Jungkook smirked, stepping closer. "You noticed."

"Of course I noticed!" you snapped, your voice rising. "You made sure I would."

He shrugged, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "Maybe. But you didn't have to leave the party like that, running off again like you always do. It's getting old, Y/n."

"Maybe it's because I can't stand being around you," you shot back, your voice trembling slightly with the force of your anger. "Did you think of that?"

Jungkook tilted his head, studying you. "No," he said quietly, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between you. "I think you left because it bothered you. Because for once, you didn't have control, and it drove you crazy."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "You think too highly of yourself."

"Do I?" his voice was a whisper now, low and deliberate, each word wrapping around you like a challenge. "Then why are you shaking?"

You hated him for being right. Hated how easily he could strip away every layer of defense you had built.

"I'm not..."

"You are," he interrupted, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "And it's not because you're angry. It's because you feel something."

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out.

His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before locking onto yours again. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll back off," he said softly. "Tell me you don't feel anything, and I'll stop."

You stared at him, your heart pounding so hard it was almost painful.

But you couldn't say it.

The words wouldn't come.

Jungkook's smile was slow and triumphant. "That's what I thought."

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless and furious, your skin still burning from his touch.

"You're insufferable," you called after him, but your voice wavered, the heat of your frustration blending with something far more dangerous.

Jungkook stopped mid-step, his back still to you. For a split second, you thought he'd ignore you, that he'd let you stew in your own whirlwind of emotions.

But then he turned, slow and deliberate, his dark eyes locking onto yours like a predator sizing up its prey. His steps were measured, each one bringing him closer, the air between you thick with electricity.

"You know what's really insufferable?" his voice was low, almost a growl. "The way you keep running. The way you keep fighting me when we both know exactly how this will end."

Your breath caught in your throat as he came to a stop just inches from you, his body radiating warmth, his presence overwhelming.

"I'm not running," you said, though it sounded more like a whisper than the firm declaration you intended.

His hand reached out, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. His touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of heat racing through you.

The space between you disappeared in a heartbeat. His lips crashed against yours, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The kiss was anything but gentle -wild, desperate, and filled with every bit of frustration and desire that had built up between you.

Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing grounding you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, his grip possessive and unrelenting.

It felt better than anything neither of you could've ever imagined. It wasn't just a kiss -it was a battle, a collision of everything you didn't say, everything you'd tried to ignore.

His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before deepening the kiss. You gasped when he sank his tongue in your mouth, quickly meeting yours at the same time he cornered you on the wall next to the door, his hand gently cupping the back of your head before moving it back to your neck.

You hated him for making you feel this way, for always knowing how to push you to the edge and catch you before you fell.

But at that moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths were ragged, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

"Say it," Jungkook whispered, his voice rough and breathless. "Say you don't feel anything."

You stayed silent, your lips still tingling from his kiss.

But the way your hands lingered on his chest, the way your body leaned into his, spoke louder than any words ever could.

He took your silence as the perfect answer, smirking to himself before he linked your lips together again. His fingers sank in your hair at the back of your head, twirling them on some locks to pull from them and throw your head to the side as he kissed you down your neck.

"You're absolutely everything I've ever fucking dreamed of" he heavily whispered on your skin. "I want to admire you, worship your body and make love to you so you'd meet a devotion you had never seen in your life. But hell... when you look at me that way..." his thumb brushed over your cheekbone "I want to ruin you so bad, show you no one will fuck you so good to make your ears beep so loud you won't be hearing your own pleas when you ask me to stop".

Your kiss grew more passionate, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, when he kissed you again. His hands began to wander, tracing the curve of your back, the swell of your hips. You could feel the hardness of his body against yours, and it sent a thrill through you, craving for something you didn't know you were desperate for. You moaned softly into his mouth, pressing yourself against him, at the same time his hands held your hips to keep your body glued to him.

Jungkook broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck again, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You arched my back, a soft sigh escaping your lips, when his fingers brushed against the little skin that was shown off through the cleavage of your dress. It frustrated you, but it also felt so good the way your body responded to his touch without a resistance, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your bra, your entrance clenching around nothing as you kept waiting to feel him inside you.

When he looked down at you once again, his hands moved down to the zip of your dress, his thumb brushing on your skin while his other fingers slid the material down. He didn't need to ask you, he didn't need to tell you, you helped him take off your dress.

His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his breath hitching. You were definitely better than he could've ever imagined. No light pajamas would ever compare to the vision in front of him.

You reached for the hem of his black shirt, pulling from the buttons to reveal his toned chest. Jungkook had to hold back the growl in his throat when you ran your fingers over the muscles, feeling the heat of his skin, making him sure your fingerprints were burning every inch you were moving through.

He wasn't going to let you take control so easily though.

He lowered his head all of a sudden, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth through the lace of your bra. You gasped, your hands fisting in his hair as a way to control your own self. He teased and suckled, his other hand cupping your breast before he dragged his fingers down with the fabric, exposing the flesh, his thumb rubbing against your nipple before he pinched it with his index. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body aching for more.

Jungkook slipped the straps of your bra off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He took his time, exploring every inch of your body with his mouth and hands. He made you squirm beneath him, he filled your head with pleas you never thought would ever be aimed at him, your body was on fire for him.

You reached for his belt, unbuckling it slowly. He lifted his hips to help you, his jeans and boxers coming off in one swift motion. You looked down at him, your eyes widening at the sight of his hard length. He was thick and long, the tip glistening with pre-cum. You licked your lips when a sudden urge to taste him overwhelmed you. Was it how sexy he actually was? Or how bad you wanted him to beg for you and finally accept you were in control? Maybe both?

You leaned down on your knees, not wasting a moment before taking him into your mouth. He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair as your tongue swirled around him. You sucked and licked, your head bobbing up and down at a tortuous speed. You could feel him getting harder, his hips thrusting gently. You took him deeper when he pushed you lower, your nose brushing against his skin to look up to him.

And hell, if that image wasn't the best sight ever...

He pulled you up with one swift motion, your lips still parted to the size of his length when he crashed his lips against yours again. Your back slammed against the door, and your head banged against it the moment he pulled your panties down and slid two fingers in you. His thumb brushed over your clit gently, slowly, which was opposite to the way his curved digits moved and rubbed against your walls.

He earned another moan from you, and his cock twitched in the air against your body once more.

"Who do you belong to, Y/n? Who owns you now?" his voice was thick and raspy as he whispered. His voice was a mix of cockiness and need to prove you always belonged to him.

The moment you tried to move your head forward to rest on his shoulder, his fingers wrapped around your throat and stuck your head against the wood to keep your eyes fixed on him.

You didn't know what to do with your arms, how to keep yourself on your feet, but you did know you had to keep your eyes fixed on him.

"My love" he almost sang when he felt the way your walls clenched around him and your clit throbbing "I've only been yours" his digits squeezed your throat tighter, unaware of how that dragged you closer to your orgasm.

Your body squirmed and folded under his grip when that hurricane hit you, yet he didn't stop. His movements were more delicate and slower, but he fingered you through your orgasm until he felt your breathing settling again.

Your lips were parted when his wet fingers slid through them, and you blindly obeyed, closing your mouth around his digits to lick every drop of his work of art. Jungkook barely gave you time to let go of them before his lips crashed against yours again, his tongue looking out for yours to taste you directly on it.

You were so addictive.

Jungkook picked you up effortlessly, humming at your legs wrapping around his waist, as he made his way to his bedroom.

When he let you down on his mattress, he couldn't help but admire the way your naked skin stood out so clearly while lying over his sheets, dying to twirl his fingers on those locks spread over his pillow. You brought in him a feral attitude he didn't know was so strong.

You looked up to him, eager for what was to come, your body ready to jump as he kneeled on the bed and crawled to you. His hands parted your legs easily, resting your calves on his thighs when he redirected his length to you.

He rubbed the head of his cock against your clit, making your moan. "You're so wet," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Will you let me fill you up? Hmm?" he looked up to you while still rubbing himself against you "Let me mark you now that you've finally accepted that you're mine".

His words, the idea, the look in his eyes... all of them influenced you to finally nod.

He slid into you slowly, his eyes locked on yours. You gasped, your body stretching to accommodate him. He felt big, bigger than you could've guessed when you took him in your mouth. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, until your hips met and you both moaned with relief.

You stayed like that for a few seconds, giving the two of you time to get used to each other before he began to move, his hips thrusting against yours. The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, your moans and gasps echoing around you. You could feel every inch of him, the sensation overwhelming.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his forehead resting against yours. "So tight and wet." he rubbed his nose on yours. "It was really worth it to wait for you".

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back. "Harder," you whispered, your body aching for more.

He obliged, his thrusts becoming faster and deeper. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the room. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing in anticipation.

He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit at the same time his lips found your mouth. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, sending you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He continued to move, his own body tensing as he chased his own release. You felt him getting harder, his thrusts becoming more erratic. With a final thrust, he groaned, his body shaking as he came deep inside you, his load hitting a deep spot.

You lay there for a moment, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths ragged. He rolled off you, pulling you into his arms. And as much as that feeling felt foreign, you didn't push it away. Instead, you snuggled closer to him.

The weeks after that night were nothing like the stormy start of your marriage. Slowly, without even realizing it, you began to lower your defenses. Jungkook softened in his own way, his sharp-edged words losing their sting, replaced by warm glances and lingering touches.

It wasn't love -at least, that's what you told yourself- but it was something dangerously close. You found comfort in his presence, in the late-night conversations you shared after you agreed on sharing bed with him, the stolen moments of laughter, and the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.

The night he was officially named the head of the company, the entire building was alive with celebration. People congratulated him left and right, raising glasses in his honor, praising his charm, his brilliance, and his unstoppable rise to power. You stood by his side, smiling softly as he greeted his investors and thanked his board.

But despite the glamour, something felt off. Jungkook was different -detached, colder than usual, like the man you first met. He didn't seem to notice your growing unease.

Later that evening, after slipping away for a moment to get some air, you made your way down a quieter hallway in the building. As you rounded a corner, voices stopped you in your tracks.

It was Jungkook's.

"You're really settling into this husband role, huh?" the voice was familiar -Eunwoo's, you realized after a second.

His tone was light and teasing, but it was what came next that made your blood run cold.

Jungkook let out a low chuckle. "Don't get carried away. This marriage means nothing. It was a deal, plain and simple. I finally got what I wanted"

There was a pause, followed by the sound of a glass clinking.

"And the rest?" Eunwoo asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Sleeping with her?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering painfully in your chest.

"That's just part of the game," Jungkook said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Keeping her close keeps everything in control. She's predictable now. She's exactly where I need her."

Your vision blurred, your mind racing to process what you'd just heard. Every moment you'd spent with him, every touch, every whispered word in the dark -it had all been a lie. A calculated move in a game you didn't even know you were playing.

The sound of their laughter echoed down the hallway, cutting into you like a blade.

You turned and walked away before they could notice you, your steps quick and unsteady. Your chest ached, a painful mix of anger and heartbreak constricting your lungs.

By the time you reached the main hall, the noise of the party felt like a distant hum, your surroundings spinning as you tried to catch your breath.

You thought you had started to know him. You thought maybe, just maybe, there was something real between you.

But you were wrong.

You were nothing more than a pawn in his game -a game you never agreed to play.

The rest of the night at the party, you avoided him like the plague, your attitude a huge contrast to how you behaved when the night had started. Whenever Jungkook tried to approach you, you found an excuse to step away -chatting with guests, refreshing your drink, even pretending to admire the floral arrangements like they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Y/n" his voice caught you off guard as you lingered near the exit, your hand brushing the stem of an untouched champagne flute. Jungkook's dark eyes studied you, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's going on? You've been distant all night."

"I'm just tired," you said flatly, forcing a tight smile. "It's been a long day."

His frown deepened, but he didn't press further. Not yet.

The ride home was quiet -tense in a way that made the air between you feel suffocating. Jungkook sat beside you, his eyes occasionally flicking toward you, as if waiting for you to explain what was wrong. But you kept your gaze fixed out the window, your thoughts swirling in chaos.

Once you were back home, you made a beeline for the stairs, wanting nothing more than to put distance between you as you closed yourself back in your room.

"Y/n" his voice was sharp now, demanding. You stopped halfway up the stairs, your hand gripping the banister tightly. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

You turned slowly, meeting his gaze. The man you had once started to trust, the one who had held you so tenderly just nights ago, now felt like a stranger.

"I want a divorce."

The words fell from your lips with a finality that hung heavy in the air.

Jungkook froze, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing dangerously. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," you said, your voice calm despite the storm raging inside you. "You finally got what you wanted. You're head of the company now. There's no need to keep up this farce anymore."

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Is that what you think? That this was all just some business arrangement, and now it's over?"

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising. "You've gotten everything you wanted, Jungkook. There's no point in pretending anymore."

"You're unbelievable," he growled, stepping closer. "You want to throw everything away just like that? After everything we've been through?"

You laughed bitterly. "What exactly have we been through, Jungkook? Lies? Manipulation? This marriage was never real. It was just a means to an end for you."

His eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "And what if it wasn't?"

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him sway you. "It doesn't matter. I'm done."

"You're not done," he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "You don't get to decide that impulsively."

"It's not an impulse," you snapped. "This was part of our deal since the beginning. I've made up my mind."

Jungkook's eyes burned with fury, but beneath it, there was something else -something raw and unguarded. "And when exactly did you make up your mind about it, huh?" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I think it's better for both of us," you said, ignoring the way your heart clenched at the look in his eyes.

But Jungkook wasn't having it. His hand gripped the banister beside you, his body blocking your path. "No," he said firmly. "We're not done. Not until I say we are. And you're not leaving," Jungkook said, his voice steady but barely restrained, his body now fully blocking your path. His gaze locked onto yours, fierce and unrelenting.

"Move, Jungkook," you said through gritted teeth, trying to push past him. "I'm done having this conversation."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist -not hard, but firm enough to keep you from walking away. "No. We're going to finish this right here"

You glared at him, your pulse racing. "What's the point? You made it clear I was just a means to an end. Now that you're head of the company, what reason is there for us to stay married?"

"Because this isn't just about the company!" Jungkook snapped, his voice rising, frustration boiling over. His chest heaved with each breath, and for the first time, he looked genuinely unhinged, like he was losing control of everything he'd carefully built.

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes burning with unshed tears. "Then what is it about? What part of this marriage was real to you? Tell me!"

His silence was deafening. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching your face for something -anything. But no words came.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, and you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "Exactly. You can't even answer that."

Jungkook's eyes darkened, his frustration tipping into something dangerously possessive. "You really want to know what's real?" he said, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between you. "You." his voice was low, his eyes burning into yours. "Every damn second with you was real"

But for some reason, those words that night felt like the most painful stab at your chest. If there was something clear to you that night, it was that Jungkook never really cared for you, but his own control over you. That idea alone made your head spin, trying to decipher if all of his words in that moment were part of the act as well.

His proximity sent a jolt of heat through you, but you refused to back down. "Words mean nothing, Jungkook. Actions do."

"Then watch me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could say another word, his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that stole your breath. It wasn't soft or sweet -it was raw and consuming, a war between his frustration and desire. His hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you in place as his lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin.

You tried to fight it, to remind yourself of everything you'd just overheard, but your body betrayed you. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer even as your mind screamed at you to push him away.

His tongue swept across your bottom lip, coaxing a soft gasp from you, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. It felt like drowning, like falling too fast and too far, and you hated how easily he could unravel you.

When he finally pulled back, your hand slapped across his face, making it turn. He stayed in that position for a few seconds, until he finally moved his head back up, his eyes searching yours, dark and unreadable. "You think I don't care?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You're wrong."

Your heart thundered in your chest, and for a fleeting moment, you believed him. You believed every word, every touch. But the sting of his earlier betrayal still lingered, refusing to let go.

"I can't do this," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Not like this".

Not when you couldn't trust him, or know what he was saying was real or not. Not knowing when he was playing with you or showing off his feelings.

It was too much.

Jungkook's grip on you tightened, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Yes, you can. You're not leaving."

"I don't want to be near you" you let go of his grip once again. "You disgust me. I can't even stand being near you right now. Who knows? Maybe it had always been like that and now that the reason that kept us together is gone I can be honest with the two of us. Be honest with yourself, too".

The next afternoon, sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow across the marble countertops. You sat at the kitchen island, quietly picking at your lunch, your mind still tangled in the events of the previous night. Sleep had been elusive -every word, every touch, every kiss replaying in your head on an endless loop.

You were lost in thought when the sound of the front door slamming snapped you back to reality. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, growing louder until Jungkook appeared in the doorway, his expression dark and unreadable.

Without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a stack of papers. He strode over to you and threw them onto the counter in front of you, the crisp white pages fanning out across the surface.

Your heart stopped for a second as you glanced down at them: "Divorce Agreement". Signed.

"You wanted this, right?" Jungkook said, his voice cold and biting. "There. You've got it. Congratulations, you're free."

You looked up at him, stunned into silence, your fork frozen in mid-air. His eyes were like shards of ice, his usual warmth completely gone. He looked almost... victorious, but underneath it, you could sense something else, some of his vulnerability was still obvious in his eyes.

"Jungkook, I..."

"You don't need to say anything" he interrupted, his voice dangerously calm. "You made it clear last night that this marriage means nothing to you. So, I'm giving you what you want. No more pretending. No more games."

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you struggled to find your voice. "You think this is what I want?" you finally said, your voice trembling.

"Isn't it?" he shot back, his eyes narrowing. "You were the one who asked for the divorce. I'm just making it easy for you."

You swallowed hard, your throat burning. "You're unbelievable."

Jungkook crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a bitter smirk. "No, what's unbelievable is that you think you can just walk in and out of my life whenever you want. You're the one who pushed me away, Y/n. I'm just giving you the freedom you begged for."

"Don't you dare act like you're some kind of victim here," you snapped, rising to your feet. "You lied to me, acting like you cared, like you were into me. You said you were after me long before all of this happened... Bullshit! You used me for your business, just like you admitted to Eunwoo. But I was dumb as fuck to believe we were more than that".

His eyes flickered with something -surprise, perhaps, or regret- but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same infuriating calm. "So, that's what this is about," he muttered. "You overhear one conversation, twist it in your head, and suddenly I'm the villain?"

"I didn't twist anything," you said, your voice shaking. "I heard exactly what you said. That I'm just a pawn in your game. That sleeping with me was just part of your plan. Hope you enjoyed the bit of control you had while you fucked me."

Jungkook laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. "You really think that's all you are to me?"

"Isn't it?" you challenged, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. "Tell me I'm wrong."

The silence that followed was deafening. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, he stepped back, his expression hardening.

"You already made up your mind," he said quietly. "So what's the point in convincing you otherwise?"

Your breath caught in your throat, tears stinging your eyes. You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to tear down the walls he had so carefully built around himself in less than a few days. But instead, all you could do was stand there, your heart breaking all over again.

"Fine," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "If that's how you want it."

He nodded once, his face devoid of emotion. "It's what you wanted, remember?"

Annoyed, you reached for a pen, signing up the papers next to him, slamming it against the table before getting up and walking away, leaving the papers on the counter in front of him. The sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house, and for the first time since the start of your marriage, you felt truly alone.

[777bae]

WITH YOU JACK HUGHES

Summary :: After a brutal injury, you’re left to navigate recovery on your own. But Jack, despite the distance, becomes your lifeline—calling every day, offering comfort, and doing everything he can to be there. When he finally returns, his unwavering love and support help you heal, proving that together, you can overcome anything.

Warnings :: description of injury

Word count :: 5.6k

It all started at an NHL-run community skate event. You’d been invited along with a few other women’s league players to skate alongside the NHL stars, giving young fans a chance to meet their idols in a laid-back, personal setting. You didn’t expect much from the event—just another community outreach, another day to interact with fans and grow the game you loved. But that was before you met him.

Jack Hughes had been one of the NHL’s rising stars for a while, and despite the buzz around him, he was surprisingly down-to-earth. Tall, with his bright blue eyes and easy smile, he was exactly as you’d imagined him—charismatic, charming, and somehow completely approachable.

As you laced up your skates, adjusting the blades on your boots, you’d heard his laugh first, a genuine, warm sound that made it hard not to smile. You hadn’t even looked up when you realized he was skating toward you until you felt the brush of a glove on your shoulder.

“You here to show us how it’s done?” Jack’s voice was playful, but there was a hint of curiosity behind his words. You glanced up, met his gaze, and for a moment, both of you seemed to just… stop. He wasn’t towering over you, but there was a light in his eyes that made you feel like you were suddenly the center of attention.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re the one who’s been stealing all the spotlight. I just came to get some practice in. You know, to make sure I don’t show you up.”

He laughed again, this time shaking his head as he lowered himself into a comfortable skating stance. “I’m not worried. I’ve seen how fast some of the girls on your team can skate.” He leaned in a little, his voice a touch quieter. “But I have to admit, I’m hoping I’ll learn something today.”

It was all playful banter, but somehow, there was a connection that flickered between you in that brief exchange. Something about his easy confidence mixed with a genuine curiosity about the women’s game. It wasn’t like the typical interactions you had with male players; there was no condescension, no weird power dynamic. Just a guy who appreciated the game and the players—regardless of their gender.

The rest of the skate went by in a blur of friendly competition and shared laughter, with Jack occasionally pulling you into a race around the rink. You couldn’t deny that his speed on the ice matched his charm off it. It was fun—refreshing, really—especially since you were used to competing against men who sometimes didn’t seem to understand the level of skill and commitment women brought to the game. But Jack, he didn’t seem like that at all. If anything, he seemed eager to learn, to listen.

Afterward, while most of the other players were heading off to grab something to eat, Jack caught up to you again as you were packing your gear away.

“Hey, you wanna grab some dinner?” he asked, his voice casual but with that little spark of hopefulness. “I promise I won’t make it weird—just thought it’d be nice to hang out, talk about the game… maybe see if you’re as competitive off the ice as you are on it.”

It was a little unexpected, but something about the offer felt right. You’d spent so many years in a world of competition, sometimes too focused on the next game, the next practice. The thought of having a simple, easy evening, talking about something other than hockey, sounded like a refreshing change.

“Sure,” you agreed, trying to hide the small smile creeping onto your face. “I could use the company.”

That first dinner was nothing extraordinary—just a low-key meal at a local diner, where you both dug into greasy comfort food and swapped stories about your respective teams. But the conversation never lagged. Jack talked about his early days in hockey, his family, his goals, and somehow, you found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing things you usually kept locked behind a barrier of professionalism. It felt natural, easy, like you’d known him much longer than just a few hours.

By the time you were leaving the diner, you felt something click. It wasn’t just the conversation. It was the way Jack made you feel seen, valued. He didn’t view you as just a player; he saw you as someone who belonged in the same conversation as the men he idolized.

That night, as he walked you to your car, he hesitated before speaking.

“Do you think we could do this again?” His tone was soft, uncertain—nothing like the cocky attitude you sometimes saw from athletes. There was a real vulnerability in his question, an openness that you hadn’t expected from someone with so much attention on him.

You smiled, already knowing the answer before you even said it. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The following months passed in a whirlwind. The connection you’d felt that night only deepened as you found yourselves spending more time together, whether it was over quick dinners after games or stolen moments between practices. The distance between your homes had been a challenge at first, but Jack made it work. His busy NHL schedule and your packed NWHL calendar had their limitations, but you made it a priority. Phone calls, FaceTime, and text messages became lifelines, bridging the gap when you couldn’t be in the same place.

And then came the moment when it all felt a little more real. One night, after a game where you’d scored the game-winning goal, Jack called you to congratulate you. As you chatted about the game, the conversation shifted.

“So, I was thinking…” Jack’s voice dropped a little, a teasing edge creeping in. “What if we make this official? You know, like, ‘dating’ officially. I mean, we’ve spent enough time together at this point, and I’m kind of starting to like you.”

You’d laughed at first, but when you heard the sincerity in his voice, you felt that flutter in your chest.

“I think I could be okay with that,” you’d said softly, feeling something in your heart shift.

And just like that, what had started as a casual meeting at a community skate turned into something real, something deep. The spark between you two grew into a full-blown flame, one that, despite the distance and the challenges ahead, seemed unstoppable.

That was how it all began. From a community skate to something much bigger. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t just fighting for your place in the game—you were fighting for something real, with someone who understood and shared your passion for both hockey and life.

It had been a few months since you and Jack had officially started dating, and even though the connection between you two had only deepened over time, the long-distance nature of your relationship had taken its toll. Jack was a rising star in the NHL, and your team’s season in the Women’s Hockey League was just as intense, if not more so. So, when Jack had to leave for a week-long stretch of West Coast games, the distance felt particularly harsh. But you both had your routines, and you had become experts at making the most of what time you had together.

The first night Jack was gone, you walked through your shared apartment, the silence of the space more apparent than usual. You had been here before, used to being away from each other for stretches of time, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier. Still, you had your own games to focus on, so you pushed aside the feeling and settled into your familiar routine of stretching, preparing, and strategizing for your upcoming match.

That week, your team was on a roll. You managed to secure comfortable victories in your first two games, and no matter the late hours or time zone difference, you made sure to FaceTime Jack after each of your games. His voice was always a small anchor that pulled you back into a sense of normalcy. His tired face would appear on the screen, grinning with excitement or offering words of encouragement as you recapped your performances. The calls were a lifeline, a reminder that even though the miles between you stretched across the country, you weren’t alone in this. You’d FaceTime on his days off, too, taking solace in the familiarity of his presence, even if it was only a screen away.

But it was that third game that shook everything.

You had been feeling sharp and focused, your team’s momentum riding high. You were confident going into the match, your movements on the ice instinctively flowing with each pass and play. The puck was on your stick as you skated into the offensive zone, eyes locked on the net ahead, the crowd’s roars swelling around you. But just as you prepared to make your move, you felt a brutal shove from your side. The force was unanticipated, and before you could brace yourself, you were sent spiraling off balance.

The hit slammed into your leg, pain shooting through your entire body like a bolt of electricity. Your vision flashed white for a moment, the rink around you spinning as you crumpled to the ice, unable to register anything other than the excruciating ache in your lower body. You could hear voices, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the raw agony. Your leg felt like it was on fire, every inch of it screaming at you in ways you didn’t think possible.

The next few moments were a blur. You were helped off the ice, each movement sending shocks of pain through your leg as your teammates rushed to your side. You were placed in an ice bath to try to numb the swelling, but it was clear from the first glance—the leg wasn’t just bruised. It was broken.

At the hospital, the diagnosis hit like a hammer to the chest. You had multiple fractures in your leg—some clean breaks, some more complicated. Surgery was the only option, and it needed to be done as soon as possible. You were too overwhelmed to process anything. The pain was all-consuming, and the physical shock of it was enough to dull your thoughts. The one thing that kept repeating in your mind, though, was that you hadn’t messaged Jack. You had forgotten. You had promised him you’d let him know if anything happened, but now, you couldn’t even remember if you had the energy to tell him.

You were rushed into surgery, the doctors prepping you quickly for the procedure, but you couldn’t shake the guilt of not reaching out to him. When you fell unconscious from the anesthesia, your thoughts faded, but that nagging feeling remained.

Meanwhile, in California, Jack had just finished his game. He had played well—scoring a goal and getting an assist—but his mind was elsewhere. His phone buzzed as he walked into the locker room to cool down. As he picked it up, his heart stopped for a second. It was a video message from one of his friends, a clip from the game he had just missed. It was you.

The footage was grainy, taken from the stands. He saw the hit happen in real-time, the moment when your body was slammed to the ice. And then, the terrible sight of you crumpling, unable to move as pain clearly overtook you. His breath caught in his throat, and panic surged through his chest.

Without thinking, he immediately called your number, but it went straight to voicemail. His hands were shaking now, his mind racing with worry. Why hasn’t she answered? He called again, and again, his anxiety growing with each unanswered ring.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself, growing frantic. He tried texting you, then calling your teammates and coaches, but no one picked up. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he dialed number after number, panic creeping up his spine.

Finally, one of your coaches picked up. The calm, steady voice on the other end didn’t help to alleviate Jack’s mounting panic.

“Coach, what happened to her?” Jack’s voice was tight, strained. “Is she okay? Why isn’t she answering? What happened? I saw the hit—she looked… she looked like she was in so much pain!”

Your coach’s voice was reassuring but firm. “Jack, calm down. She’s in surgery right now. She fractured her leg pretty badly. The doctors are taking care of her. They’re going to monitor her recovery closely. But she’s going to be okay.”

He froze, his heart still pounding. “Surgery? Is she awake? Can I talk to her? I need to talk to her.”

“She’s still under, Jack. They’re finishing up. She’ll be okay. You can’t be here right now, and I know that’s hard. But she’s in good hands.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. “How long is she going to be in the hospital?”

“At least a couple weeks. They’ll want to monitor her closely to make sure everything heals properly.”

The words barely registered at first, but Jack’s mind finally began to slow, even as frustration and helplessness gnawed at him. He had a whole week of games ahead. There was no way he could be by her side—he would have to wait. And the thought of being this far away from her, with nothing but the distance and his uncertainty, felt unbearable.

After the call ended, Jack sat in silence for a long moment, trying to collect himself. He wasn’t sure how he would make it through the next few days, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. He would call her every day. He would check in, even if it was through a screen, and he would make sure she knew he was there for her, even if he couldn’t be there physically.

Hours after the surgery, you began to stir, the soft beeping of machines pulling you from the thick haze of anesthesia. Your body felt heavy, your head foggy, and the ache in your leg was muted but persistent, a constant reminder of what had happened. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, you slowly registered your surroundings—the sterile white hospital room, the IV taped to your arm, and the faint murmur of voices outside the door. Everything felt surreal, like you were caught between waking and dreaming.

The door creaked open, and your coach stepped inside. She offered a soft smile, her familiar presence grounding you amidst the disorientation. “Welcome back, kid,” she said gently, pulling up a chair beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a croak. “Like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s about right,” your coach replied, crossing her arms. “But the surgery went well. They said you’ll be back on your feet eventually—it’s just going to take some time.”

You nodded slowly, letting the information sink in. The details of the injury and the hit felt blurry, distant, as if they belonged to someone else. What you did remember, however, was the pressing need to call Jack. You opened your mouth to ask about him, but your coach beat you to it.

“Your boyfriend,” she said with a knowing smirk, “has been losing his mind. He’s been calling non-stop since he found out. I had to take one of his calls during your surgery just to calm him down. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone freak out that much in my life.”

Despite the lingering grogginess, you chuckled softly, though the motion tugged at your sore muscles. “Did I… Did I at least tell him I’m okay before I went under?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head. “You were out cold before you could even grab your phone. But don’t worry—he knows you made it through the surgery. Barely, though. The poor guy sounded like he was about to hop on a plane mid-road trip.”

You smiled faintly at the image of Jack pacing in some hotel room, his phone glued to his ear as he pestered anyone who would answer. Your heart ached at the thought of how worried he must have been. You motioned weakly toward the bedside table, where your phone sat, its screen dark but promising missed calls and messages. “Can you hand me that?” you asked.

Your coach retrieved the phone and placed it in your trembling hands. As you fumbled with the screen, your fingers clumsy and unsteady, you saw the barrage of missed calls and texts from Jack. Over a dozen calls, countless messages—all timestamped from the moment he must have seen the hit. Swallowing hard, you tapped his name and brought the phone to your ear.

It barely rang once before his voice burst through the line. “Hey!” Jack’s tone was frantic, a mix of relief and worry. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Is there someone there with you? Do you need something? God, I should’ve been there—I should’ve been with you—”

“Jack,” you interrupted softly, but he didn’t stop.

“I saw the clip. I saw it. That hit—it looked so bad. You just went down, and I—God, I felt like my heart stopped. I’ve been calling everyone, and no one was picking up, and then your coach finally called me back and said you were in surgery. Surgery! I should’ve been there—”

“Jack,” you said again, more firmly this time, though your voice was still weak. His words slowed, but the panic in his tone was still evident. “I’m okay,” you assured him, even as your own voice wavered. “The surgery went well. I’m sore, but I’ll be alright. I promise.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, the silence filled with his uneven breathing. “You’re sure?” he asked finally, his voice quieter but still laced with worry. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your lips curling into a faint smile. “They said I’ll make a full recovery. It’s going to take a while, but I’m okay, Jack. You don’t have to worry.”

His sigh of relief was audible, but it was short-lived. “How could I not worry?” he said, his voice rising again. “I saw the hit, and then I didn’t hear from you, and I was stuck here, a thousand miles away, with no idea if you were okay or if you were—” He stopped himself, his voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate that I’m not there with you.”

The raw frustration in his voice was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “It’s just hockey,” you said softly, trying to reassure him. “Stuff like this happens. It’s part of the game.”

“Not to you,” he snapped, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. “It can happen to anyone else, but not you. You’re the last person I want to see getting hurt, and now you’re stuck in a hospital bed, and I can’t even be there to hold your hand.”

“Jack,” you whispered, but he was on a roll now, his frustration spilling over.

“I can’t believe this stupid schedule,” he muttered. “I should be on the next flight home. Screw the games. They can deal without me for one night—”

“You can’t do that,” you said quickly, your voice firmer this time. “Jack, I need you to focus on your games. I’ll be fine. You’ll see me soon enough.”

He sighed again, the sound heavy with reluctance. “I just… I feel so helpless,” he admitted. “You’re hurt, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you told him gently. “Just hearing your voice right now is enough.”

The conversation eventually calmed, though Jack’s worry never fully faded. He promised to call every day—and he did. Over the next week, he became your lifeline.

The first night after your surgery, Jack called you just as he promised he would. The moment your phone buzzed with his name on the screen, a sense of comfort washed over you. You answered immediately, his face appearing on the screen before you could even get out a greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but still edged with worry. His hair was damp from a post-game shower, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admitted, shifting slightly against the pillows propping you up. Your leg throbbed dully beneath the cast, but seeing Jack’s face helped dull the ache. “Sore, but okay.”

“You look pale,” he noted, his brows furrowing as his eyes scanned the screen, like he could physically assess you through it. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you been eating? What about water—have you been drinking enough?”

“Jack,” you interrupted gently, your lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m fine. They’ve been taking care of me here, and the doctors said the surgery went well. You don’t have to worry so much.”

His sigh was audible even through the small speaker of your phone. “How can I not worry? I hate that I’m stuck here while you’re dealing with all of this alone.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re doing your job,” you reminded him. “And I’m not alone. My team’s been in and out, and the nurses here are great.”

“It’s not the same,” he muttered, his tone low. “I should be there.”

You reached up and adjusted the angle of your phone, so he could see your reassuring smile. “You’re here, Jack. Maybe not physically, but this? These calls? They help more than you know.”

His face softened slightly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you said firmly. “Now, tell me about your game. How’d it go?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, but when you raised an expectant eyebrow, he relented. “It went alright. We won, but it was closer than it should’ve been. I missed an open net in the second period, and the guys gave me hell for it.”

“Missed an open net?” you teased, your tone light. “Wow, Jack Hughes is human after all.”

He groaned, though you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll make up for it next game.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with a grin. “You always do.”

The conversation shifted after that, Jack asking about your day in the hospital. He wanted to know everything—what you ate, what the doctors said, how much pain you were in. His questions were relentless, but you didn’t mind. If anything, it warmed your heart to know how much he cared. By the time the call ended, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but the lingering sound of Jack’s voice in your mind made falling asleep a little easier.

The calls became your anchor over the next week. Every night, without fail, Jack would call you after his game, no matter how late it was. Some nights, he’d FaceTime you, propping his phone up on a stack of pillows in his hotel room while he lounged on the bed in sweats and a hoodie. Other nights, he’d call you during his downtime at the rink, his voice echoing faintly in the empty locker room as he checked in on you.

On the third night, after another win for his team, Jack’s call came through just after midnight. You answered groggily, your phone resting on your chest as you blinked sleepily at his face.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.

“No, it’s okay,” you murmured, shifting slightly to prop yourself up against the pillows. “How was the game?”

“Good,” he said, though his expression was a little sheepish. “I scored a goal, but I got into it with a guy on the other team. He cross-checked me, and I might’ve, uh, shoved him a little.”

“Jack,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You can’t get yourself hurt. One of us in the hospital is enough.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Don’t worry, I can take a hit. But seriously, how are you feeling? Is the pain manageable? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

You shook your head, smiling at his endless concern. “I’m fine, Jack. They’ve got me on some good meds, so I’m not feeling much pain right now.”

“Good,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if trying to detect any hidden discomfort. “Tell me if that changes, okay? If you need anything—anything at all—you call me.”

“Jack, you’re on the other side of the country,” you pointed out, your tone teasing. “What could you possibly do from there?”

“Plenty,” he said stubbornly. “I could call your coach. Or your doctor. Or the president, if I have to.”

You laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “I don’t think the president can help with a broken leg, Jack.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can,” he shot back, grinning. “I’m serious, though. Just tell me if you need anything.”

“All I need is for you to win some games,” you teased, your voice light. “That’s all the help I need.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but you could see the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. “But you love me anyway.”

By the end of the week, the calls felt like second nature. Jack would update you on his games, sharing every detail with the enthusiasm of someone desperate to distract himself from his own worries. In turn, you’d tell him about the progress you were making in the hospital, even if it was slow. You joked about how the nurses were starting to recognize him just from the sound of his voice, and he teased you about how bossy you were getting with your requests for snacks and drinks.

Through it all, Jack’s constant presence—whether through a screen or a phone call—was what kept you going. And even though he couldn’t be there in person, he made you feel as though he was never truly far away.

Finally, after what felt like the longest week of your life, the day finally arrived when Jack’s West Coast road trip came to an end. He had called you every day, just like he’d promised, but it wasn’t the same as having him by your side. Through the screen, you could see the worry etched into his face and hear it in the tone of his voice. He hated being so far away from you, and every conversation ended with him muttering how much he wished he could teleport home.

The waiting had been agonizing for both of you. Jack barely slept, the guilt of not being able to be there gnawing at him, and you had spent your days in the hospital, frustrated by your immobility and longing for his comforting presence. So when you finally got the text that he had landed and was on his way, the anticipation became almost unbearable.

You sat up in the hospital bed, your leg propped up in a brace and wrapped in layers of bandages, staring at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner to return. You heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway, and then the door swung open.

“Jack,” you breathed, and there he was.

He looked exhausted. His hair was messy from the flight, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, but the relief on his face was so palpable it nearly brought tears to your eyes. He crossed the room in three long strides, not even bothering to set his bag down before he wrapped you in the gentlest hug he could manage. His arms circled you carefully, mindful of your injuries, but the embrace was so full of love that it made your chest ache.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands. “God, I was so scared. Watching that hit… hearing you were in surgery… I didn’t know what to do. I felt so useless.”

You could see the guilt swimming in his eyes, and you shook your head, resting your hand on top of his. “Jack, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I hate that I wasn’t here when you needed me most.”

“Stop,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “You did everything you could. You called, you checked in—Jack, I knew you were with me, even if you weren’t here physically.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his emotions flickering across his face like a storm. Then he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m here now,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud made it more real. “And I’m not leaving until you’re back on your feet.”

The first day of Jack’s visit was spent catching up—he pulled a chair close to your bed, his fingers intertwined with yours as he asked about every detail of the surgery and recovery process. He flinched when you described the pain of the initial hit and visibly winced when you told him about waking up after the surgery. His worry was written all over him, and it didn’t fade even when you assured him that you were healing.

But he didn’t just stop at sitting by your side. By the next day, Jack had transformed into a one-man care team. He brought you your favorite coffee every morning, carefully maneuvering around the hospital room as though he’d been doing it for years. He kept your water bottle full, adjusted your pillows to make sure you were comfortable, and even insisted on helping you wash your hair when you mentioned you felt gross from lying in bed for so long.

“Jack, you don’t have to do all this,” you said one evening as he helped you shift positions, your leg still immobilized in the brace. “You just got back from a road trip. You should be resting, not waiting on me hand and foot.”

He scoffed, his hands steady as he fluffed your pillows. “Resting? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t here taking care of you?”

“A tired one?” you offered, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, but his expression softened as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Don’t fight me on this—I’m taking care of you whether you like it or not.”

And he meant it. Jack spent every moment he wasn’t at practice by your side, helping you with the little things that had become impossible with your injury. When you were finally discharged and sent home, Jack took charge of setting up the apartment to accommodate your limited mobility. He rearranged furniture, set up a cozy corner on the couch where you could elevate your leg, and made sure your favorite snacks were within reach.

At night, when the pain was at its worst and sleep felt impossible, Jack was there. He’d sit beside you, his hand resting on your arm as he talked you through the discomfort. Sometimes he’d read to you, his voice low and soothing, and other times he’d just sit quietly, his presence enough to calm your racing thoughts.

One evening, as you lay curled up on the couch with your leg propped up on a stack of pillows, Jack sat beside you with a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant. The smell of your favorite dish filled the room, and you smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” you said, watching as he carefully plated the food for you.

He looked up, his face flushing slightly. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“Not everyone would fly across the country after an exhausting road trip and spend every waking moment taking care of their injured girlfriend,” you pointed out. “You’ve been… incredible, Jack. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this without you.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips lingering against yours as though he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “You don’t have to go through anything alone,” he murmured. “Not as long as I’m here.”

In the weeks that followed, Jack became your rock. He helped you through the frustration of physical therapy, cheered you on as you regained strength, and reminded you every day that you were stronger than you thought. And though the road to recovery was long and grueling, the love and support Jack gave you made it feel a little less daunting.

As you sat together one evening, your head resting on his shoulder and your cast resting across his lap, you realized something profound: this injury, as difficult as it had been, had only brought you closer. Jack’s unwavering dedication had proven, without a doubt, that he was in this for the long haul. And with him by your side, you knew you could face anything.

[f1girliefics]

From Monaco, With Love

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: A solo vacation to Monaco turns into something unexpected when you meet Lando Norris at a bar.

The bar in Monaco was exactly what you needed, dimly lit, atmospheric, the kind of place where you could sit back with a drink and simply exist. 

A vacation for yourself, a way to celebrate how far you’ve come. 

No obligations, no expectations. Just you, the warm Mediterranean air, and the luxury surrounding you.

But then you saw him.

Lando Norris sat across the bar, effortlessly confident, dressed in a way that told you he knew exactly how good he looked. 

Sharp suit, slightly loosened tie, hair styled with just the right amount of carelessness. 

It was impossible not to notice him.

You weren’t here for this. 

You weren’t supposed to entertain any romantic ideas, but as he caught your gaze and started approaching you, you thought, why not? 

A little fun wouldn’t hurt.

“Drinking alone?” His voice was smooth, carrying something playful as he settled into the seat beside you.

“For now,” you replied, sipping your cocktail. “But something tells me that’s about to change.”

Lando grinned, a boyish charm to his smirk. “Smart and beautiful. I like that.”

That was the beginning of something you never expected.

---

The next few days felt like a dream.

Lando took you on long drives through winding roads overlooking the ocean, you felt the way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking. 

He showed you his yacht, laughing as you teased him about the sheer extravagance of it all, only to pull you onto the deck and wrap an arm around your waist as if you belonged there.

“You live like this all the time?” you asked, watching the sunset.

He shrugged. “It’s better with company.”

Shopping in Monaco was another adventure, Lando insisted on picking out things for you, draping luxurious fabrics over your shoulders, and holding up pairs of sunglasses to your face with a critical expression.

“You’re going to have to carry all of this,” you warned, laughing as he handed another bag to an already overwhelmed store assistant.

“I don’t mind,” he said, with a casual shrug. “If it means I get to see you wear all of it. And take it off of you later.”

Each moment with him was effortless, a beautiful distraction from the reality waiting for you back home. 

But reality couldn’t be ignored forever.

---

“It was fun,” you admitted as you stood by the docks on your final evening, the night breeze warm against your skin. “Spending the last few days with you.”

Lando’s brow furrowed slightly. “Last few days?”

You gave him a small smile, trying not to let your own emotions get the best of you. “I don’t live here, Lando. I was just… visiting.”

“You’re leaving?” his tone was a bit panicked. 

You nodded. “Tomorrow.”

He was quiet for a moment, jaw tightening slightly. “Where’s home?”

You hesitated, but eventually gave him the name of your city. 

He didn’t say anything else. He just nodded, giving you one last long look before pulling you into a kiss that felt like goodbye.

---

You didn’t expect to see him again.

You certainly didn’t expect him to show up at your doorstep days later, standing there with an enormous bouquet of flowers and that same determined look on his face.

“You can’t just show up here,” you breathed, completely taken aback. "How did you even find where I live?!"

“I can show up,” he countered. “And I found you my own way.”

“Lando-”

“I don’t care if we come from different worlds,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “I don’t care about any of that. I just know that I don’t want what we had in Monaco to be the end of us.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed, your heart pounding in your chest. “You’re really here.”

He smirked. “Took a flight and everything.”

You shook your head, letting out a small laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “But I know what I want. And I want you.”

You allowed him into your home, as he kissed you. 

There were still doubts, still questions, but in that moment, as you looked into his eyes, you realised none of them mattered.

Because he was here. And so were you.

And that was enough.

[wedriftlikelonelyplanets]

18. "You look like hell" "I feel like it." Landoscar

From this prompt list (still accepting prompts)

OKAY SO THIS IS UH...not super angsty but it's sick-fic-y. ANYHOW here have a present. Amorphous Landoscar relationship (they're totally dating but neither of them know it yet)

Oscar’s buried under the covers, can’t stop himself from sniffling pathetically, blowing his nose into a tissue, before he adds to the pile that’s already building up on the bedside table. It doesn’t do anything to abate the congestion headache pounding in his temples, the pressure behind his eyes, and he lets out a mournful little sound into the silence of his bedroom, the fractured light sneaking in from under the blinds making everything just a little worse. 

He pulls the blanket over his head again when he hears his phone vibrate once, twice, three times, before it stops. It vibrates once more, a few moments later. It’s just his iPhone reminding him that someone’s sent him a handful of text messages. He blindly reaches his hand out for his phone, trying to find out where he tossed it amongst his sheets when he hears a knock at the door. He lets out a garbled groan, wrapping the blanket more tightly around himself. If he ignores it, maybe they’ll go away, and he can maybe talk himself into going back to sleep for a long enough time that he can take more cold medicine when he wakes up. 

So he shifts under the covers, onto his stomach, side of his face pressed into the pillow, in hopes that the position will help his overstuffed nose drain while he’s attempting to go back to sleep. Every movement sends a sharp jolt of pain through his skull, and he flexes his jaw, tries to unplug his ears to try and relieve just a bit of the pressure. It doesn’t work, and apparently, neither is ignoring the knocking. Because he hears it again, persistent, too loud, fracturing the silence, and any idyllic attempt he had at sleeping. 

“Oscar, answer the bloody door, mate,” 

It’s Lando. Because of course it’s Lando. And Oscar still hasn’t found his phone, buried in the covers to see if they’d had plans today. 

And honestly, he can’t be arsed to care anyways, because he hardly has the energy to drag himself out of bed. He wouldn’t have bothered to have made plans if he’d known that he’d be incapacitated like this, pathetic and ill, with this fucking headache. 

He doesn’t even know if he has the energy to let Lando into his space, because sometimes it feels like Lando is just perpetual motion and sound. As much as he likes Lando’s company, right now it feels like it’s just going to worsen the throbbing behind his eyes. 

“Oi, Osc, I know you’re in there,” the longer he leaves Lando out there, the more annoyed he sounds, and Oscar truly doesn’t think he’s going to go away. “Fuck off, mate,” he grumbles, as he drags himself out of bed, keeps the duvet tightly wrapped around himself, because the air feels too-cold against his skin. Shambles his way to the door, twists the deadbolt and opens the door as Lando’s raising his fist to knock again. 

“Christ, Oscar, you look like hell,” they’re the first words out of Lando’s mouth, and Oscar can feel his own lips tug downwards in a frown, brows furrowed. He knows he looks like shit, in three days old sweats and a t-shirt that’s clinging to him with sweat. He’s fever-flushed and he knows his hair’s probably a greasy rat’s nest. But he also hadn’t asked Lando to visit. 

“No shit,” he says, voice hoarse and garbled from the congestion, “I feel it, too.” The words are uttered flatly, and he’s forced to step out of the way as Lando pushes his way into Oscar’s apartment. And once again, Oscar still doesn’t know why he’s here. They’re not dating, they’re not really anything yet, and he doesn’t really want Lando to see him like this, pathetic and tragic. “Th’ fuck do you want,” he mumbles, as he locks the door behind Lando. 

“You didn’t answer any of my texts,” is Lando’s simple justification, as he eyes Oscar from a safe distance. “Could’ve just told me you were sick or something, would’ve left you well enough alone. You’re looking proper gross.” 

It lacks any form of reassurance, and Oscar just rolls his eyes, shuffling his way back to bed. “Thanks for the observation, Lando. If that’s all you’re here for, you can leave,” he can’t help the sharpness that bleeds into his tone. “Not really feeling up to company, mate,” and there’s a sharp flicker of something devastated that bleeds into Lando’s face for a moment, before he presses his lips together. 

“Tried a hot shower?” He asks, when Oscar’s halfway back to his bedroom, and Oscar has to expel a long breath before he says something sharper than he means it to be. “Head’s hurt too much to move around a lot,” it’s a little more transparent than he wants to be. When he’s feeling like shit, he prefers to just be left alone to take care of himself, instead of forcing his grumpy attitude on others. Lando’s no exception. 

“Hm,” Lando says, catching his lower lip between his bottom teeth before he approaches Oscar cautiously, reaching out to push messy brown hair off his forehead. He can barely hide the grimace when he pulls his fingers back, like it’s too disgusting to have touched Oscar’s greasy hair. “You feel like you’ve got a proper fever, yeah?” 

“C’mon, go back to bed, I’ll start the shower for you, yeah?” it’s an offer he’s not expecting, can’t hide the surprise written into his features. “What?” Oscar blinks at Lando, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“You’re proper pathetic, Oscar, let me help,” 

So he listens, stumbles back to bed and falls into it face first, listens to Lando putter around his flat, as he closes his eyes. It’s a weird sort of intimacy, hearing Lando crashing about, the squeak of the tap in his bathroom, the sound of running water. 

“Oi, you really don’t have anything nice to put in a bath?” Lando’s shouting from the bathroom, still too loud, the sound like a dagger to his head. Oscar buries his face further into the pillow with a groan. Wants to snap at Lando because does he? Does he have a bathroom full of bubble baths and luxurious soaps? Doesn’t feel like either of their styles, but he might be wrong. 

“Reckon you wanna shut the fuck up, mate,” Oscar mutters into his pillows, quiet enough that Lando’s not going to fucking hear it. 

He hears Lando again, footsteps heavy as he makes his way back to Oscar’s bedroom. When Oscar twists his head out of the pillows, Lando’s leaning against his doorframe, dissatisfied look on his face. “Reckon it would kill you to be a little quieter?” He asks, tone once again sharper than he means it to be, and Lando just snorts out a soft laugh, lips quirking up at the corners. “Would it kill you to have at least a singular essential oil in your bathroom, mate?” Lando’s voice is teasing, light, though it sounds a little more forced than it should. “Wanted to draw you a bath instead of a damn shower,” and Oscar appreciates the sentiment. 

“S’not going to make a difference,” Oscar says, miserable, moves to bury his face back into his pillow. It’s too much, the presence of Lando in his flat, ever-large. The fact that Lando’s trying to take care of him. All of it, coupled with the fact that he feels like shit has tears welling, tightness in the back of his throat. “It’s fine, whatever, I’ll just go back to bed,” his voice comes out higher than he means it to, and Lando makes a soft sound.

Oscar hears the creak of the mattress before he feels it displace, and then Lando’s stretching out beside him, reaching out and placing his hand on the back of Oscar’s neck in a way that feels almost proprietary, despite the fact that Lando doesn’t really have a claim to him like that. 

He wishes Lando did. 

His thumb digs into a tender spot along the side of his neck, and Oscar can’t help the sound he lets out, going limp into the mattress with a soft sound. “Just go back to sleep, yeah, Osc? I’ll deal with everything else, get you a bath in a bit,” Lando’s voice murmured into his ear. 

The weight of Lando’s hand, the soft sound of his breathing is enough to have Oscar’s eyes drifting shut. 

He wakes up in bed alone, can smell something that is distinctly chicken noodle soup, and can hear the water running in the bathroom. His headache’s ebbing, and he still feels the ghost of Lando’s fingers on the back of his neck. His nose is still stuffed and tender, and his throat still feels raw, and he feels the aching loneliness of waking up alone. 

“Lando?” He calls out. 

“Yeah, be there in a sec,” is Lando’s reply, and Oscar allows himself to relax. 

It’s nothing, really. Just two friends caring for each other. 

It’s nothing, but he wishes it were something. 

(It’s definitely something).

[bohemianblasphemy]

Can I help?

Castiel x fem! Reader

Sam and Dean have left for a case, leaving you to have a few quiet nights in the bunker by yourself- but your sleep schedule is out of wack, that is until Castiel checks in on you.

Contains: fluffy smut, oral (f! Receiving), doggy style, unprotected PinV sex, just kinda cute

A/N: damn this took me too long, I hope you enjoy! ✨

Sam and Dean had left for a hunt, leaving you to your own devices at the bunker. They were hesitant on bringing you with them -

Their claim of it being too dangerous for you- despite your stubborn protests as you had been on more than enough hunts with them before, the brothers weren’t having it.

As the old doors echoed, announcing the brother’s departure, The Men of Letters bunker turned into an eerie, quiet space. Looming walls that held so much history and mystery, an infinite amount of books to last a mortals lifetime.

Despite having the place to yourself, the first few nights made it difficult for you to sleep, the silence and loneliness making you toss and turn. Anything and everything you had tried to have a somewhat restful nights sleep didn’t make a lick of difference.

Another solitary night rolled around, the sun setting on the sequestered shelter. Dean had called to say they’d be back in a day or so, which brought on a sense of relief over your weary self- but it still meant that you had to endure a few more restless nights.

The shiny surface of the kitchen island had ingredients of your dinner scattered along it, slowing cleaning up as you waited for it to be ready to eat. You hummed softly and swayed along to the soft rock music playing from your speaker, acting as a distraction from the sound of silence that still echoed through the lonely halls.

Your tired, distracted mind didn’t comprehend the sound of fluttering wings- Castiel had manifested within the bunker, smoothing out his tan coat that he always wore- following the sound of music down the cold corridor.

As he turned the corner, his eyes fell on you- his icy blues watched as you danced around, cleaning the last spot of spilled food on the counter, the sound of your humming bringing a quirk of a smile to appear.

Cas always admired you; he’d encountered all kinds of beings in the many millennia he had been living, no one too different to catch his eye until he met you- someone that made him question all he’d ever known about humanity, an indent of his loyalty to the higher power.

“Hello.” Castiel’s distinct, unwavering tone standing in the door way, his hands smoothing out his coat.

The sudden interruption of your little dance party made you yelp in surprise, turning around to face where the disembodied voice was coming from.

When your eyes landed on cas, a shaking sigh of relief fell from your lungs- your heart still rapidly pounding.

“Dammit- cas, please knock next time…” you chuckled nervously as you put your hand on your chest, trying to ease your racing heart.

“Sorry, I didn’t know how else to announce my presence.” He stepped into the kitchen, watching as you served yourself a bowl of pasta.

“It’s okay, a knock will do for next time.” You were still turned away from him, trying to calm your nerves- not just from the adrenaline rush of being spooked, but cas’s presence made you on edge- he was an celestial being, a soldier of God, the object of your attraction... it felt wrong to have these certain feelings toward him but it was impossible to hold it back, like trying hold a door closed with your bare hands as a wild animal tried to force its way inside.

“What do I owe the pleasure of your company?” you turned and waltzed to the small dining table, sitting yourself down on one of the stools to dig into your dinner, your eyes followed as cas sat opposite you.

“Dean asked me to check on you, said something about you possibly ‘flying off the handle’, but I don’t remember ever you having a bicycle accident.” You chuckled at Castiel saying something like that, the idiom flying over his head.

“Figure of speech cas, I don’t own a bicycle. It means going a bit out of my mind, since I’ve been alone for a while without them.” Cas nodded at your explanation, seeming to understand deans words a little more.

It was silent between you two, except for the music continuing in the background and the clinking of your spoon on the ceramic bowl.

He stared you once more, the way you chewed and swallowed your food- the way you blew air on the steaming morsels upon your spoon before every bite.

“You right there angel?” You muttered, eyeing his gaze on your movements. He nodded. “I am fine, thank you for asking.” He didn’t pick up that you knew he was staring, not that you minded…

Another thing he noticed as you finished your meal was the multitude of yawning you did, sensing your sleep deprivation and exhaustion.

“You’re tired.” He noted, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “You haven’t slept properly for the last few days.” It was like he was a behavioural analyst, and you were being profiled to filth.

“That obvious huh?” You took your bowl to the sink, him following close behind you as you washed your dishes. His eyes gazed at your hands and then back to your face, seeing every twitch and scrunch your facial muscles contorting into your expressions.

“You’re yawning a lot and your eye bags are slightly purple from the deprivation.”

Gee. Thanks Cas.

“You can be a little too honest at times, you know that?” You looked at him, your tone without malice.

“Honesty is good isn’t it?” He replied, tipping his head to the side. “Yes it is, it’s just-“ your body expelled another yawn, further proving his point.

“Why haven’t you slept?” He asked, watching as you dried your hands with a hand towel. You sighed softly, your tired pupils turned to his.

“It’s too… quiet. I thought I’d be okay but it’s just lonely.” You admitted. “I tried tea, meditation, magnesium - hell, I tried some army technique to fall asleep in one minute but I got bored.” You paused for a moment, looking at him again. “I don’t like being alone here…”

Castiel hummed in understanding, putting his hands in his coat pockets. He wanted to help, not liking that you were struggling to sleep, and on top of that being isolated from others.

“I can stay with you tonight.” His offer made the tips of your ears flush pink.

“I understand that you feel more comfortable with someone being here with you so, I’ll stay… if that’s what you wish of me.” He offered, his expression wasn’t as neutral as it had usually been, a small curl of his smile appearing.

“O-oh uh-“ you stuttered, your brain fizzled and the words failed you- the pink tinge on your ears moving down your face and neck as you continued to fumbled your words.

Castiel cleared his throat, about to turn on his heel as he wanted to conceal his own cheeks flushing. “Sorry that may not have been appropriate of me to offer, I can go if you’d rather-“

“No no- I want you to stay… please.” Your voice was soft, almost vulnerable as you reached for his wrist to keep him in place.

He turned back around to face you once again, seeing the need for a good nights sleep and something deeper than that- the soft twinkle in your eye had him detecting something more affectionate, which made his stomach fill with those hypothetical butteries.

All he did was nod in confirmation and give you a small smile. He watched as you yawned again, checking the time and seeing that it was starting to get late.

“I’m going to start to get ready for bed, um- did you wanna… go to my room? Settle in?”

Cas didn’t respond right away, his face going a little wide eyed. “If you’ll have me.” His stubbled cheeks were pink, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallowed his nerves.

“Of course I’ll have you…” you replied, letting go of his wrist to turn off the lights in the kitchen. “Cmon…” you stood in the doorway, watching as cas shuffled his feet along the hard floor after you. “You do know angels don’t sleep?” He walked along side you. “Yeah cas I know, it’ll still help knowing that you’re there..”

Castiel’s heart fluttered with those butterflies at your words, the thought of him helping you like this- being in such proximity to you in a very intimate way… heaven help him.

The pair of you reached your room in silence, the door closing behind you both with a loud bang that echoed the lonely corridors. “I’ll just get changed really quickly… do you mind turning around?”

“Of course.” He turns on the spot, facing the wall- standing as still as possible. The action made you giggle, thinking he looked like he go sent to stand in a corner for breaking a rule.

As you stripped yourself off and started to change into your oversized t shirt and pyjama shorts, Castiel’s mind raced of what you would look like, the sight of your bare skin and the curves of your body, how good you would feel under his fingers-

“You can turn around now…” as if he were under a spell he turned around, the heat pooling in his stomach as his eyes glazed over you…

“You look… comfortable.” He was trying so hard not to stare, but it was hard not to- the effortlessly beautiful human standing before him.

Smiling you nodded in agreement, moving over to the large bed in the corner- pulling the corner of your duvet to get under the sheets.

As you sat on the edge of the bed, you observed Castiel slip off his shoes, his tan coat and suit jacket laid flat on the desk chair to the side of him as he pulled his navy tie from his neck.

You peeled your eyes away, giving him the privacy to get himself changed. “Wait- cas do you even have clothes to change into?”

You looked up at him, your mouth parted in awe as Castiel stood before you in his white boxer shorts.

Seeing him like this, his torso on display- his near flawless skin, tufts of hairs along his chest and down past his navel… he was ethereal. “Is this okay? I can put my shirt back on if you’re not comfortable-“

“No no, that’s more than fine.” Your voice was soft, keeping watch as he came and sat by your side.

You both sat in silence for a moment, the faint sound of your breathing with his filling out the void of silence, the unresolved tension hanging over you two- practically begging for one of you to say something - anything to break it.

“Have you heard of um… pressure therapy?” You asked softly, your gaze falling to the small gap between you both. “What’s that?” He asked, his head falling to the side in curiosity. “I guess it’s like using your weight to relieve stress to the body and relax… like cuddling.”

“Are you wanting to cuddle with me?” Cas was straight to the point, no judgement or any undertone of malice. The blush of pink returned to your skin with a nod. “Lay down for me then.” He asked, seeing your body move to the furthest side of the bed where you normally slept, him following suit and lying down beside you.

There was still a small gap between you, it being extinguished as Castiel pulled you toward him. His arm wrapped around your waist, the grip just a tad too tight for you.

“Um Cas- a little too firm there…” you chuckle, smiling softly at him. “O-oh, sorry...” He softened his grip and smiled amusingly, his arm loosening but still wrapped around your back.

You positioned yourself comfortably against Castiel’s chest- one hand curled into your chest whilst the other rested on his bicep- the warm skin radiating through your palm.

The pair of blue eyes before you gazed down at yours, the hand on your back slowly making patterns against the material of you- the sensation making you scoot closer to him, your own hand softly moving along his bicep.

“This is nice…” you whispered, your breath fanning across cas’s collar which caused a shiver to flow through his spine. He hummed in agreement, bringing his hand up now to your face- pushing a few loose strands behind your ear. “Really nice…” his voice became low, his fingers running through your strands of hair before massaging your scalp.

An involuntary breathy sigh fell from your lips, the sound making cas’s chest pound - wanting to hear it again as he continued to rub your sensitive scalp. Those sighs continued to leave your mouth, cas’s thoughts becoming more than sacrilegious.

Your mind wasn’t exactly creating innocent scenarios either. The fingers on his bicep tightened slightly as you moved even closer, your chest pressed up against his…

“You look beautiful…” he spoke lowly- leering down at your relaxed expression as the hand on your hair moved down your back, landing on your hip. “Y-you look beautiful too.” You chuckled at your attempt at a flirty compliment, only for it to fall not so gracefully. “Dammit…”

Castiel chuckled, finding it admirable, His thumb traced slow circles around your hipbone. He watched as your breath hitched- the line between keeping this moment soft and sweet, and downright sinful blurring as the growing desire built upon you two.

A small mumble of your name and a curled index finger under your chin brought your attention up to him, the once light blue now navy pupils boring into yours. His intense stare spoke so many words, the way they flicked between yours and your lips.

“Can I?” He whispered, that longing look in his eyes drawing you in like a moth to a flame. Your quick nod was all that was needed as he wet his lips and leaned forward- capturing your lips in a needy, warm kiss.

It was as if the world had ceased to exist around you, the way your lips moved along each other perfectly made time stand still. He rolled you onto your back, moving himself to settle between your legs and wrapping them around his hips.

Castiel pulled away from your lips, watching as you chased them for more. “You feel so good.” he grumbled, pressing his kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

You rejoiced in his kisses, accompanied by his hands reaching for the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to feel the warmth of your stomach. “Wanna take it off?” You breathed as you gazed up at him. Castiel was enamoured with your flushed cheeks, plush lips and your hair sprawled out among the pillows- nodding as he pulled off your shirt, staring at your bare chest.

“So beautiful…” he whispered, starting to kiss down your chest- moving his mouth to mark your skin as he reached your breasts.

His mouth captured one of your hardened nipples, a hand raising up to pinch and grope at the other. You groaned his name, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth- feeling his teeth gently bite down on the peak of your breast. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you for so long.” You confessed. “You have no idea how much restraint I’ve had to endure to not put my hands on you…

“Can I keep going?” His voice had become husky, placing a wet kiss between your tits. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You demanded, earning a smirk from cas as he made his way further down your torso. His tongue ran down your stomach, leaving more wet kisses on your burning skin when he reached the top of your shorts.

Cas’s eyes flicked up, asking for your permission to take them off. When he witnessed your eager nod, his long fingers hooked under the elastic, pulling them down along your soft thighs.

“No underwear…” he groaned, seeing your bare pussy being revealed as he peeled off the pyjama shorts- the sheen of wetness on your core making his mouth water.

“All this for me?” The question quietly leaving his lips as he leaned his head forwards, nearing your glistening cunt. “All for you cas, only for you…”

“Only for me…” he repeated, no longer wanting to hold back as he connected his lips to your wetness, a hum of satisfaction as he tasted you for the first time.

The grip he had on your hips made it almost impossible to writhe amongst the sheets. His tongue weaving its way along your silken folds, flicking the tip of it against your sensitive clit to send shock waves up your spine- your back jolting off the mattress ever so slightly.

“Cas…” your mouth fell open as the call of his name like it was a prayer - making cas moan against your wetness. “That’s it… call out my name.” His words came out confidently, his mouth wrapping around your clit and sucking on it gently- hearing your whines echo through the air.

The quiver and twitching of your thighs around Castiel’s head indicated your release was near- your hips jolting as his tongue twirled that sensitive nub. “Fuck! Cas I’m gonna- gonna cum…” “Cum for me sweet girl… c’mon.” He listened as your breath hitched and your hands held his head in place, grinding yourself on his face as your orgasm washed over your body.

“C-cas…” you could only muster up his name, your chest rising and falling as stars filled your vision. Castiel’s grip on your hips loosened as he crawled up to come face to face with you. “Was that… good?” He asked almost too casually, as if he didn’t just gift you an absolutely mind blowing orgasm.

“You- you are incredible…” you muttered, sitting up slightly to capture his lips with yours. A hand snaked down his chest toward his achingly hard cock; squeezing his length softly. “Fuck…” he brooded, his hips involuntarily bucking up into the palm of your hand. “Your turn…” you whispered as you dipped your hand down his briefs.

“N-no…” he stopped you. “I can’t- I can’t wait any longer. I need to fuck you.” He was almost begging for it, needing to bury his cock in you. You bit your lip again, pulling his cock out of his briefs.

“Please, fuck me… I need it, need you.” You were aching for him, slowly moving your hand along him. Cas closed his eyes in pleasure, before he flipped you over suddenly. “I’m going to fuck you like you deserve… and you deserve only the best.” He praised you, kissing the side of your neck before he kneeled behind you, pulling you hips up into the air as he prepared to take you.

With your face buried amongst the pillows, your ass arched up in the air you felt Cas traced himself along your slit before sinking himself into you- the air exhaling from his lungs as the walls of your cunt squeezed around his cock. “You feel- amazing…” he praised, slowly rocking into you.

A long, pleasured cry left your mouth once more as cas moved, his hips snapping into yours at a faster pace.

“Fuck me cas- please, go faster…” you trembled, arching your back further. Castiel groaned your name as his grip on your hips grew tighter as his thrusts became stronger, hitting that spot inside you; Your moans of his name and pleads of more filled his ear drums.

He was on absolute cloud nine; the sweetest side of heaven couldn’t compare to this moment with you, bringing you utmost pleasure.

The thrusts became more ragged and sloppy, the heat within his stomach reaching its boiling point- his deep groans turning into whines. “S-shit, im so close…” he uttered, your velvet walls constricting around him as you neared your second orgasm. “Fuck cas, cum inside me…” you pleaded, the pads of your fingers reaching for your clit to quicken your release.

Castiel heard your cries as your second climax fell through you, which helped him finally fall over the edge. “s-so good, so good for me…” his cum filling up your tight cunt deliciously with a whiney, lusty groan of your name and a shiver running through his body.

Your body shook as he filled you with hot cum, exhaustion and satisfaction being the only things you felt in that moment. Cas let out a soft moan as he pulled out of you, pulling your torso up to be pressed flush against his chest.

“You are… exquisite.” He praised you once more, turning your chin to the side so he could kiss your lips again, moving his lips to your neck as he wrapped his arms around your torso. “I could get addicted to you, Castiel.” You giggled, eyes fluttering closed as you rested your head on his shoulder. “I’m already there.” He whispered hoarsely, chuckling softly as he pressed a tender kiss to your temple.

“Let’s get you cleaned up hm?” He suggested as he observed you nodding. “Then I can finally get that good nights sleep.” You chuckled, seeing Castiel’s sweet smile form on his face.

“Yes, you’ll sleep well tonight…”

Tags: @bluemerakis

[biteyoubiteme]

rosé

yeonjun x fem!reader warnings:🔞!!! tw:stepcest, don't like don't read!, vibrator use, no penetration, mentions of biting/teeth used, panty-fucking, prob forgot some sorry wc: 2.2k an: uuummm so look away I guess I still wont take requests for this kind fic and im not tagging my usual taglist so :p pls don't read if you don't like it

“You have to be joking,” your hand is still caught on the doorknob, frozen in place as you take in the sight of your childhood bedroom. Half the space was covered in boxes, labeled in the sideways handwriting of your step-mother. But everything else was frozen in time as the day you had left for college, frozen as the last holiday you had been back, ugly Christmas sweater thrown at the edge of your bed. Even the lone mattress on the ground from where a cousin had spent the weekend was waiting to be slept in. 

And that is where Yeonjun stood, his chuckle caught between shock and humor. He was holding a half-drunk bottle of rosé, the cap still screwed on the cheap glass. “You're not very good at hiding things,” he shakes the liquid enough to draw your eyes to it. 

“Going through people's things is childish,” you mutter, tossing your bag next to the bed, “shouldn't you be in your own room?” 

It wasn't new to see him around the times that you visited, he lived only a town over, closer than you had stayed when the two of you had dispersed from home. He wanted to stay close to his mom, loved to rub it in your face when you came back that he was the better child. Your parents hadn't gotten married until the last year of high school, too soon for you to really find a connection with your new step-mom in a way that yeonjun had found with your dad. 

“They turned my room into a gym,” he kicked at the boxes littering the space, “they haven't gotten around to clearing out yours but it's going to be the guest room from now on,” 

“No-” you groaned, falling back on your bed, “I don't want a roommate for the weekend, I wanted relaxation,” it's not that you care they are changing things around but it was less appealing to have to know every time you came home you would have to spend it in the same room as any cousin, family member, or, like now, stepbrother.  Some selfish part of you hadn't liked how changed everything had become since the added members in the house had become permanent, your room had stayed yours, and if you had anything left of before it was this. 

“You don't want me around? I'm good company,” you can hear the dip in his voice, the low murmur of it making you shiver. You sit up on your elbows, rolling your eyes at him. 

“Don't take that tone with me,” but it's weak, the both of you know it, testing the line drawn in the sand every time you two had the opportunity. Spending time in such close quarters didn’t help it in the slightest. The two of you had agreed, or you had told him, that you wouldn't push it further than the teasing, and yet… 

Yeonjun’s lip lifts in a smirk, just high enough to show his teeth, calling your bluff. You remember that hazy period in time when the two of you didn't have to keep apart, fumbling kisses shared at a party, hands finding places neither of you wanted to pull away from. It was only a few weeks later when you were told about the engagement, the shock was a bucket of ice water thrown over the two of you. Suddenly flirty glances in class turned to frozen glares and when you moved in that last year together it had felt suffocating. It had been a mix of teenage annoyance and rebellion to avoid him, and you did in the short few months you spent in his company. 

Then you had both gone to college, two separate universities on opposite sides of the city. It had been easy to ignore him but easier still to find it in you to heal the indifference into tolerance. But then you found yourself at a party, the lights low and his smile just like this one now. You couldn't blame drinking, couldn't blame anything except the fact that you wanted to kiss him again, needed to devour him in the way that he had consumed your mind anytime you thought of him. 

You had been the one to stop it before it had gone too far, in the backseat of his car, grinding on him, still chasing his lips even as you said ‘We have to stop’ his soft reply of, ‘We should’ without either of you pulling away. It had been on your mind every time you saw him again, especially now. 

“Fine, but I want a thank you, I found all your contraband that you wouldn't want them to find when cleaning your room out,” he lifted the bottle again, “how long did you have this stashed in the back of your closet?” 

You had forgotten all about the bottle, less so about most things sitting in your closet, drawers, or under the bed. You had moved out your important things, anything left was by mistake or unimportant. “Who cares we are adults, a little rosé is nothing to worry over them finding,” 

“And this?” you didn't know what to expect when he lifted his hand, another lone bottle of some other drink you forgot about was nothing to worry about and yet it wasn't that. There in his hand was a slim vibrator, pink and a foreign sight in his grasp. 

“Yeonjun-” you whisper shouted, the two of you were alone in the house, the bedroom all the way up in the attic space. But it felt like you couldn't scold him loudly, your face flushing, heat spreading all over you. And he chuckled, shoulder shaking as he flicked his finger over the button to turn it on, the soft buzz making you clench your thighs. “Put it away,” 

“Should I? I charged it and it would be a shame not to use it, if even a little bit,” he stalked closer, slow like a prowl, already having his sights set on eating you alive. “And you already look like you want it on you,” you watched the way his eyes flickered down to your thighs, rubbing together as you tried to deny that they were doing so. 

“We said we wouldn't,” you whisper, hands twisting in the sheets as he leans down nose so close to bumping yours, breathing in the same air. 

“We said we shouldn't, that never stopped us before,” the last syllable is pressed right to your upper lip, the ghosting of his mouth like sweet temptation against yours, “and all I could think about since the last time was that we shouldn't have stopped, because now you're all that's ever on my mind and you're never even around to rectify that,” he leans in closer, on hand bracing beside you on the bed while you try to keep even a hairs distance from falling into his trap because once you slipped up and found yourself caught you knew you wouldn't even try to escape. “Just one kiss, please,” 

“Just one-” You couldn't even get the words out before he was on you, pressing his mouth to yours, seeking to consume you. Your hands shot out, pulling on his shirt locking him in place as he fell on top of you hardly even trying to keep his distance but you wouldn't even give him that once his lips were on yours. The two of you worked so well together, every little touch was sending sparks up and down your body. You opened your legs instinctively for him, wanted him to fit against you, slot himself in your personal space even if it was only for the length of one kiss. But that wasn't what it was, this wasn't the simple peck but a feast of pent-up want and need reduced to a single moment as if you hadn't indulged before. 

He was hot and hard, grinding against you until you were gasping into his mouth, sloppy kisses now working down your throat as he nipped at your skin, teeth looking to find every sensitive spot you had. He wanted to devour you even if he shouldn't, and you were no better. It didn't matter if you said just one kiss, the two of you knew what it meant, you had said it before and you had him on the verge of finishing untouched in his jeans but he would finish this time, he wanted to reach that spot with you. 

And you wanted it too, not caring about your previous intentions as soon as he was pressed so close to you. He reached his hand down between you two, vibrator on as he pressed it right against your clothed clit, the vibration muffled with all the fabric and yet you gasped, hips bucking up to meet the sensation. “Oh,” his open-mouthed kisses warm against the skin on your throat, your hands sliding up to his hair, twisting your fingers in the strands. He pulls away for only a second, hands falling to the waistband of your pants, needing to get them off of you. “We can't-” 

“Please- I just wanna see how wet you are for me,” he begs, forehead pressed to yours feeling your nod more than seeing it. He pulls your pants clean off, leaving you in the nearly transparent white panties you have on. Yeonjun groans at the outline of you clear as day as the fabric clings to you. He doesn't hesitate to press the vibrator right back over your clit. You try to snap your thighs closed, the one less layer making it so much harder to not react. 

His free hand comes out to trace over your cunt, fingers circling up and down as you throw your head back, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Now look at that,” he runs one finger between the fabric of your panties and your aching center, the digit coming away slick as he lifts it to his mouth to taste, your brows scrunching together as you try to hold back your whine. It's a drawn-out moan that comes from him, “You taste as good as you look,” he presses the vibrator harder on your clit, “let me fuck you- please-” 

“We shouldn't-” you try but it's caught in your throat when he clicks up the vibration, free hand back to running up and down the outside of your panties. 

“Please,” he whispers like it's ripping him apart, not being able to sink into you when you look this good. He presses his pelvis closer to you, his bulge perfect for your grinding hips to try and find a steady pace on. “Please,” he lets his hips drag along with the word, your lip caught between your teeth as you try not to cry out but it's impossible to deny him, especially when he's promising to not put it in, and you know if you say no he will stop and if you say yes you wouldn't stop him even if he did try to do more. And all you wanted was more. 

You nod, needing more of him, needing to feel something more if anything at all. He pushes his hand into his pants, tugging out his cock, veiny and slick with bubbling precum, wrist working to give it a few loose drags. You're whimpering at the sight, wishing to say to hell with not having him just fuck you into the mattress. And you almost do say ‘fuck it’ the second he presses his tip right to your covered entrance, the slick of your panties only causing him to slip, the length of him rubbing over you. 

“I won't- I won't,” he's screwing his eyes closed, shaking his head as he convinces himself more than he's telling you. Just brushing against you, feeling the vibration hitting right under his tip as he grinds down on you makes it so much worse. Every sound he's making is desperate and whiny, echoing in the room as he presses his free hand into the mattress, keeping you pressed down and in the circle of his arm. He can't control the way his hips move, just chasing the high of wanting to be in you and the feel of you so close and yet so far. 

He tries to press his tip back in, properly fucking into your panties even if there is little give before he's back to slipping and grinding back down on your cunt, clicking up the vibrator until you can feel it sending sparks all over your body, the ache in your belly turning into a blinding light before you tremble, tugging him closer to you as much as you can get. “I'm- I'm cu-” It's only a moment before your orgasm crashes into you, your body trying to pull away from the vibration and yet being stuck in place with the weight of Yeonjun over you.

And he doesn't stop or pull away, whimpering as he jerks, cock twitching right before he's spilling ropes of white all over your stomach, t-shirt a mess of it. It's not until he pulls away the vibrator, clicking it off, that he's stopped the slow dribble of cum from shooting out. 

Both of you are breathing hard, Yeonjun's face now pressing into your neck to try and hide, hips still moving, languid as he softens. “Never again,” you try to say, but both of you know the truth, especially when you're running your fingers through the hair at his sweaty temple. 

“Of course, never again,” he mutters but he's leaning right back in to kiss you. 

taglist for those who asked lol @beomiracles @beombunni and im tagging the wonderful @thetxtdevil bc she is the one who came up with this idea and gifted it to me ily mae thank you so bad-

[chuellas]

Echoes of Silence | E is for Edging

⤷ Ft. Dazai Osamu

V. A. L. E. N. T. I. N. E.

Warnings | Fem!Reader, N.SFW, 18+ only, edging, slight mind break, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, WC: 1k

A/N: Idk why but I struggled so hard with writing this one, I hope it came out just as well as the rest did <3

Dazai had been clingy all day, performatively so. You could sense that something was off, even for Dazai the dramatics were a little much. But trying to pry it out of him was never an option, so when he asked to come over you were simply resigned to accepting. 

It has been what feels like hours since Dazai came over to your dorm and each passing second is becoming even more agonizing than the last. Dazai is toying with both of you tonight. He was quick to strip you of your clothes and have his way with you before the front door even fully shut. His desperate hands exploring your skin with urgency.

Nightly visits like these usually only last about an hour, maybe two, but tonight is definitely different. It’s been almost three hours and Dazai isn’t letting either one of you finish. You’ve been on the edge for probably two and half of those hours and it’s torture. 

This is cruel and unusual punishment and it’s all Dazai’s fault. 

Every time one of you is about to come he slows down or pulls out completely only to distract you by kisses. His lips sear every inch of your body. Dazai gives you absolutely no time to protest or to rest. It gives you each only a few moments before he’s diving into you again with the same agonizing pace he’s set, slower and harder than usual. 

You're a mess, your brain has been turned to mush and the only coherent thought you’ve managed to keep intact is the need to release. Your ability to speak is in the same condition. Pleas of your need to release spilling from your swollen lips, but they fall on deaf ears because Dazai clearly has no plans of granting any of your requests. 

The brunette is too caught up in his own need to release. He isn’t just torturing you, but himself too. He can’t rip his eyes away from the way your glistening sloppy cunt sucks him in and keeps a vice grip hold. He’s not sure where the self control is coming from but he barely manages to keep this up. The only thing keeping him from letting you finally cum is the thought of having to go back to his dorm and spend the rest of this night alone with his own thoughts.

He’d be damned if he let that happen when your company is so, so much sweeter than his own.

Even now, your incoherent words sound like music to his ears. “‘Samu…’Samu, please. I can't- ‘s too much- ahh- I need to- oh my god- I need to cum, please, please…”

It’s getting harder for Dazai to deny you and he thinks he’s on the verge of giving in. Even so, Dazai’s movement instinctively slows down and you let out a hiccuped sob. He looks down at you and he really thinks he’s gonna lose all senses. You are a beautiful mess — a devastatingly beautiful mess. Your hair is matted down on your face from a mix of tears and sweat. Your eyes rimmed red from the amount of crying you’ve done. Skin flushed the prettiest pink color and marks littered your body, courtesy of Dazai himself. 

In the split moment it takes for the agent to admire you, clearly distracted, you wrap your legs around his waist. It’s your desperate attempt to keep him close and finally give you what you’ve been begging him for. As if Dazai’s conviction hadn’t already been crumbling, this was the final blow to send it crashing all the way.

Dazai picks up his speed and crashes his lips into your own as you both finally find that release you’ve been chasing for hours. Your room is filled with muffled moans mixed together and the wet sound of Dazai’s hips crashing into yours before stilling completely and spilling inside of you. Everything is dizzy and Dazai can’t form a single thought. His mind is filled with fog and his ears stuffed with cotton. Nothing is registering but the white hot pleasure pooling in his stomach and spreading through his entire body like electricity. 

His length throbs inside of you with each release of his seed that he’s pouring into you. The build up made his plummet last longer than it usually would. His whole body twitches, already hypersensitive and he hasn’t even completely finished inside of you yet. Dazai’s vision focuses and you’re in no better shape. Your eyes are still screwed shut and your body is borderline convulsing. The tight grip you have around both his waist and his cock keeps him from pulling away from you at all. 

When you’ve both come down, the brunette can’t bring it in himself to get up to clean himself and leave. Instead he collapses into your hold, laying face down into your chest. By the sound of your breathy chuckle and the way you begin to run your fingers through his hair, despite it being wet from sweat, Dazai can tell you’ve come back to reality. 

Dazai shifts, making an effort to pull away but the action is stiff. He doesn’t want to leave but he knows if he doesn’t, he will be overstaying his welcome. Your hold on him, however, doesn't falter and you let out a soft hum.

“Stay.” Dazai’s head shoots up at that and he just stares at you for a few moments. You’re visibly nervous and start to elaborate when you really don’t need to because Dazai was already sold by the single syllable. “It’s later than usual and I really don’t mind the company. Also your body must be exhausted.”

Dazai tries to widen his eyes in shock but the detective’s eyelids become too heavy for him to keep open anymore and he wordlessly resigns. His head drops back to your chest — this time he makes sure to make himself more comfortable on top of you. He decides to stay nestled in between your thighs even though he’s softened now. 

Dazai doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t think he has to, his body language is enough to tell you he’s not going anywhere.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Lightning-Bolt - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

The "Oh" strikes without mercy.

(@frostybearpaws It begins >D)

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: panic attacks, PTSD

cw: sex

Snippet:

Jubilee's dying glow filters through the blinds

Sevika’s flat is quartered into corridors of light and dark. The radio is on, a lilt of low-key jazz serenading the empty livingroom. The piano medley plays out in lazy triplets that don't quite conceal the soundtrack of cramped mattress springs and throttled cries echoing off the freshly-painted walls. The flat is in its usual order: spartan to the point of austerity. But on the floorboards—waxed to a high sheen—a trail of clothing meanders with haphazard dishabille towards the bedroom: an exquisite silver gown laying pooled, silk glimmering, like a discarded chrysalis; an elegant red wrap flung like a battle standard; a black serge suit jacket discarded unceremoniously next to a gleaming pair of boots;  a cravat like a ghostly streamer stretched between the leather rungs of suspenders; and finally, the gutted remnants of undergarments like sacrificial offerings felled before the altar of lust.

In bed, Silco's spine, surfacing from under the sheets, curves in prelude to what comes naturally:

Take.

Beneath him, Sevika shudders. He is canted between her widespread thighs, deep in pulsing heat. She keens as he rocks, her own hips twisting demandingly to find the perfect angle, ankles digging into his tailbone. Each sound, lower in pitch but deeper in register, cuts a fresh notch up his vertebrae. But his movements stay languorous, deliberate. Drawing out every tiny spasm, every micro-flutter of muscle, until her fervor gives way to a ravenous full-bodied grip that dares him to try and escape.

He has no such plans.

During downtime, he and Sevika have usually begun to withdraw to her Oldtown flat. Most of the time, they're content to spend the shank of the night in cards and conversation.

Mostly though—they fuck.

In fact, they fuck nearly as often as during those choking months after Nandi's funeral. Not just all over her flat, either. He's had her propped against the gritty bricks of his steel mill during an inspection, the din of machinery crowding out their gasps. Or against the fogged glass at a cultivair's hothouse, breathing in her smoky scent and the sweeter perfume of orchids in the laden air. Or a few times on the roof of Headquarters, under the shadowed atrium, beneath the hazed pinprick of stars, where any of the lookouts in his network might glimpse them.

The sex feels different. The roughness hasn't abated. They still go at it half-starved, with little discussion beforehand. But lately, it is like he sinks his teeth into her, savoring her in small bites. Sometimes, mid-fuck, he'll run his fingers through her hair and murmur, "I do like it better long." Or he'll kiss her from breasts to cunt with the hungriest touch of lips and tongue and teeth, over and over, until her fingers thread into his hair and her gaze goes unfocused as if against the ghostly prick of tears. 

He's never stayed the night at her flat. But from time to time, too many relentless days and nights crammed together, she'll let him drowse with his head buried between her breasts, the way in another lifetime he'd fallen asleep absorbed in a good book. Her fingers will card cautiously through his hair as if stirring pages of a taboo text. 

It feels surreal. Not because it disturbs the natural order of the universe, but because it feels exactly that.

Natural.

Everything inside Silco is knotting up together—Jinx's absence, Zaun's future, his drive for a lasting legacy. In Sevika's company, the knots smooth out. He feels… not safe. Steady. It is a truth he's typically kept smuggled behind a boundary in his mind. Now he is breaking the boundary, brick by brick, to feel the warmth it gives off. 

He doesn't understand it. He doesn't even know why it is there. 

He just knows he wants it close.

"Silco—" His name, sawing out of Sevika's throat. "Godsdamnit. Faster. C'mon—"

"In time."

"Bastard—"

"Ssssh."

He subdues her with a slow roll of his hips. She sobs, baring her throat.  Her skin is sheened with perspiration.  The pretty crenellations of bitemarks stipple her skin wherever he's laid siege: under her left breast, on her belly, the crest of her pelvis. The hunger's nearly disembodied: some foreign chemical saturating the bloodstream.  His entire thalamic system stands at attention, nerve endings ablaze.

If he didn't know better, he'd suspect his wineglass spiked by aphrodisiac.  Except he's barely had three sips since committing assault on the Stonewall ambassador. 

He doesn't need the drink.

There's enough heady stimulus in Sevika sprawled beneath him. All hard-packed muscle, softening into scar-notched curves just begging to be traced by tongue and teeth.  Deliberately, his cheekbone rasps against her damp throat. The jugular throbs beneath his lips. He bites into it, a pattern of crescents that well up with the faintest red. 

Sevika bucks, a groan pushing its way out from the very pit of her belly.  Her good hand slides up the naked line of his back. The copper one bites into the solid jut of his hipbone, coaxing his thrusts to a more demanding speed, a faster friction. When he refuses, her whimper—low, rough, gorgeous—verges on hurt.

Like the promise, forever unkept, is closer to heartache than torment.

The sound pulls Silco's eyes to her. Her expression steals his breath. Usually, Sevika's not one to show emotion. Even in bed, she hides behind closed eyes, clenched jaw, thunderous brows: a monument fiercely guarding her own impending doom.

Tonight, every shudder is a deeper wound exposed. Every gasp is another secret bleeding free. There's a dewiness to her eyes he's never encountered before.

It should alarm him—that glisten. But she's not uttered the safeword. Not shown any sign that she needs him anywhere but deep inside her.

Silco nuzzles the damp corner of her eye.  A query disguised as a kiss.

"...all right...?"

"Yeah." Her heels dig into his kidneys. "M'good."

"You sure...?"

"Yeah," she husks. "Just fuck me."

He heeds the order. Gathers her in close and swivels his hips—deep and fluid. She jackknifes off the mattress. Two sets of nails—copper and cuticle—bite into the wings of his shoulderblades. The sensation's excruciating: pleasurepain bordering on profane. He angles into it, picking up the pace, grinding a wavering keen from between her gritted teeth. Then she arches against him and it's all he can do to meet the undulating waves of her need: stroke for stroke, breath for breath.

Sweat drips between them. The mattress springs shriek in unholy symphony. The hot slapslap of flesh-on-flesh echoes across the room. 

Somewhere, Silco registers his fingers threading hers; his teeth closing over the throbbing tendons of her neck.  The haze is like bloodlust, and yet he is sharply grounded, sunk wholly into the flesh. Sevika's, but also his own. It's an alien sensation, being entirely present in the moment without keeping a vital facet of himself locked away to mete out the usual measure of judgement, logic, lucidity.

Nothing short of pain has ever felt so real.

Not since—

(Not since Vander drowned me, and rage was the only lifeline—)

Reality returns in a visceral crash, stealing the air from his lungs. Sevika thrashes urgently, pinned between him and the pillows, and he knows she's on the verge of climax.

Except his own mind's gone haywire. His muscles follow.

Reflexively, he rolls off, his cock going soft, the harsh backed-up ache in his groin blunting all residual lust. There's only the phantom pressure: in his throat, in his lungs, in his skull. He shields his bad eye, fingertips numb, as Sevika shudders into stillness on a strangled cry:

"—what the hell?"

No breath for a reply. No breath for anything.

"...Silco?" 

She is looming over him. He shoves her aside, and sits up. There's a sense of vertigo crashing in, but he can't tell if it precedes or follows the epiphany. Only that it jolts through him—hot-cold. A lightning-bolt.

At its heels: freefall.

Then he is stumbling from bed to bathroom, retching his guts up.

___________

Revolution is like love.

It brews quietly, building momentum beneath the surface of habit. We do not notice the warning signs: the subtle shifts in temperature, the quickened pulse, the elevated tension. We rarely foresee the violent upheaval brewing on the horizon.

Then, one morning, we wake up to a life swung upside down. A new world order: a new paradigm of devotion. And only in retrospect can we trace the exact chain of events that led to that fateful tipping point.

Revolution is like love.

But when the match kisses the fuse, it detonates, taking all in its path, sweeping all else away.

All other desires. All other dreams.

All the best laid plans: undone.

And in the aftermath, we ask: what comes next?

What do we make of ourselves, now that the epilogue's ours to write at last?

~~~

"...Silco?" A single rap at the door. "You okay in there?"

"Fine."

"I heard you throwing up."

"Just the foul grub from the gala."

"...You're sure?"

"Positive."

He's at the sink, head bowed, shoulderblades spasming.  His knuckles are bone-white as they grip the porcelain rim.

He'd not realized he was going to puke until the boiling stuff had spewed into the sink. But the urge to vomit has passed. Now it's just dry-heaves.

Those, he's adept at subduing.

Under the cold shower jet, he lets himself be doused, water beating down on his bare scalp, sluicing down the rigid nodes of his spine. There's a headache's brewing at his temples; he's in for a rough night. But he can already feel a semblance of equilibrium descending, as if he's excised a poison.

Now the antidote's taking effect. The high-pitched pressure's receding from his skull; the five fingerprints at his throat fade to ghostly throbs. At length, he finds his breath, and his balance. By degrees, he straightens. His spine cracks audibly, each segment shifting minutely into alignment.

Something is dead, and buried. Something else is resurfacing, transfigured.

"Silco?"

The steadiness of Sevika's voice hides a spur of unease. He hears the scrape of metal across wood. Her mechanical fist poised over the handle, ready to rip it off its hinges should he give the word. Not even an event horizon would bar her from bursting in if she felt his life were endangered.

With it strobes the epiphany. The monster, purring a ruminative rumble:

Mine.

The clarity sears; the shock cuts deep.

For a moment Silco just stands there, rooted. Water sluices off his body, drops hitting tile with dull plinks.

Finally, he drags in a breath. "Sevika?"

A hitched pause. "...Yeah?"

"Could you put the kettle on?" A beat. "Please?"

The 'please' gets a loaded silence. Then, "...Sure."

A moment later, her footsteps retreat. In the kitchenette, cabinet doors slam open and shut. 

Left alone, Silco twists off the tap; towels himself dry. A spare toothbrush from the cabinet; a gargle of mouthwash into the sink. His reflection, under the florescent bulb, is etiolated but far from emaciated. He's left off the old rawboned pallor; the weeks in the Deadlands, full of sun and toil, have restored a taut vigor to his features. Even the scars cut less jaggedly across the left side of his face. In its lidless socket, his bad eye stares out: incandescent, edgy, dazzled within the blackness.

But his good blue eye is bright as déjà vu.

Calm settles in. An old comrade returned.

(What the fuck comes next?)

[whatdoidosatoru]

just like old times

sebastian/fem!reader | ao3 you come back to the place that holds your dearest memories to take over the farm once your grandpa died, now everything feels different. your friends feel different. five years away have done their damage, now's the time to fix it. wc: 12.5k cw: eventual smut, grief/mourning, a fuck ton of flashbacks, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), praise, creampie, fluff, slight hurt/comfort, slight angst 18+ MDNI

you stand on the pelican town ground once again. it looks like the old times, but the feeling of dread reminds you that it isn't, and it will never be as exciting as before.

for one, the bus ride seems longer. the hills and plains interchange outside of the scratched and dirty windows as the vehicle’s stiff suspension makes sure you feel every bump in the road. second, there's no more of that excitement you felt as the bored bus driver announces pelican town when the bus lurches to a stop and the door opens with a squeak. no more carefree holidays at your grandparents’ farm, no more staying out until the sun comes up and sleeping until lunch time. now it's time to gather all that knowledge of farming collected over the years, of which there is none, and take matters into your own hands, making sure the family farm is well looked-after.

you step off of the bus with a heavy sigh and even heavier bags. 

the air is cooler than usual, this might be the first time you’re witnessing pelican town spring, cherry blossom leaves filling the air with their soft pink color. 

you look around, already emotional with the realization that there will be no help in the form of the old man shouting an over-excited welcome as he makes his way shuffling across the bus stop to embrace you tightly, smelling of earth and herbs. no, there will be no help from him. time has decided so. 

swallowing your sadness, you pick up the heavy bags and start towards the farm. 

“you’re back!” a breathless shout sounds from the direction of the town square and you see the usual sight. a tall figure with a blond mop of hair on his head, a shorter one with a tidy ginger bob, accompanied by two even smaller figures. the surprise at their company stops you wallowing in sadness, breaking you out of the already set frown on your face and instead making the corners of your lips curl up slightly. 

“how did you–?” your gaze drops down to the kids following penny’s steps. the few years you haven’t been here didn’t seem that harsh, not until you notice their heights. “oh yoba’s tears, what are they feeding you two? hey guys!”

vincent sprints over and nearly knocks you over as he wraps his little arms around your waist, giving you his usual enthusiastic greeting. seeing the happiness in his action, you start feeling that growing sense of guilt for not visiting lately. jas walks over, staying closer to penny as they all approach. she shyly looks down at the ground before murmuring a hello, still as shy as ever before warming up to such a rare presence in her town. 

“gotta say, it feels like summer now that you’re here, almost makes me forget about my a-a-aller–” sam sneezes, making you lean back in surprise. funny how a few years can make you forget such mundane things like how loud sam’s sneezes are. wiping his nose with a tissue, he rambles on about some shit or other, it’s difficult to understand him when he’s mumbling. penny smacks his arm, looking at you apologetically. 

“i’m so sorry for your loss, truly.” her words make your smile drop again. you nod, taking a heavy breath as you thank her for the condolences.

“oh… yeah i’m so sorry. i didn’t wanna bring you down, but if you need anything…” sam awkwardly scratches the back of his head before noticing the heavy bags on the ground, the dye on handles already rubbed off from straining with the weight. “well, let me carry these at least.” he picks up the bags with a little less effort than you used, and starts walking towards the farm, vincent following after his brother with a happy bounce in his step. 

penny offers a small smile as you both follow after the boys, jas trailing after penny with her smaller steps.

you arrive at the creaky gates, your heart nearly rips out of your chest once the familiar green roof peeks through the treetops. it’s worse than you expected, the steps to the porch seem like they’ve seen better days, the scarecrows are barely hanging on, threadbare and spilling hay from their bodies like gutted corpses. it’s a horrific sight, tugging on the fond memories you have of the place. of the colorful fields of fairy roses you played in when you were little, of the sunflowers you ran through with your friend until grandma chased you out of them with a stern tone but a gentle smile, making you seek a way to pass the time on the beach. the beach . you wonder if she still likes the sea and sunflowers. 

shaking those memories from your mind and pushing the gate open, you follow sam’s path through the overgrown grass to the porch. 

“robin already said she’d be here today to fix these steps and the door.” sam kicks a loose plank with the toe of his shoe, waiting for you to unlock the front door. 

once the jingling of the keys stops, he takes your bags inside, leaving footprints through the thick dust settled on every surface inside. penny remains outside, keeping the kids from running in and touching what they shouldn’t, but sam walks into the old kitchen, testing out the tap and lights, making sure they’re functional before he can leave you to your devices. 

once alone, you busy yourself with dusting the place, lifting the old shutters to let some natural light in. dust particles dance in the air around the bedroom, looking magical as they sparkle in the spring sun spilling through the open window. you sneeze once, twice, wiping your nose with a tissue before tying up your hair and deciding to save the weeping for later. there’s work to be done. 

you  manage to sweep the floors with an old broom and dust most of the surfaces when robin’s gentle face pokes through the front door, knocking on the old wood when she spots you sweating as you try to make the place look decent again. 

“hey, cherry,” she calls you by that silly nickname that reminds you of your granny, smiling as she slowly steps inside with a toolbox in her veiny hand, “i’m just gonna fix your step, okay? sorry in advance about the noise…” voice dying as you approach her and sink into the comforting hug you took for granted so many times before. 

she always gave them out so freely, showing her affections with a gentle pat on the head and a tray of freshly cut apples when you were over at sebastian’s for the day. it was a given, on the days when the summer heat made being outside impossible, that you would spend most of the time in his bedroom, lying on the floor under the ceiling fan or playing games on his computer. robin would always make sure you forgetful kids didn’t die of dehydration or hunger. she would call you up into her husband’s lab to watch him make sparks fly by mixing different liquids or laugh when he made something expand and overflow, leaving a horrible smell in the air. 

you would then leave the house to sit at the edge of the lake while sebastian sneaked out a couple of cigarettes smuggled from abby’s dad’s secret stash. those first few tries were nearly the end of his rebellious attempts, but then demetrius had to comment on the smell of smoke on his clothes and how you would regret even lighting a single cigarette. that was the day when sebastian finally mastered the art of holding the smoke in his lungs and not coughing it out immediately, all he had needed was spite. 

now, robin’s hug is a little tighter, like she’s trying to pull pieces of you back together and slot them into place with her hold. she lets go with a little huff and a sniffle, but you smile at her through the sadness, silently thanking her for not repeating those words everyone keeps saying. sorry for your loss, my condolences, he was a great man, what a shame… yeah, it’s true, but there are only so many thank yous and yeah he was amazing you have left in you. robin pats you on the head like she did when you were younger, turning on her heel to start on that stupid broken step. 

wiping the corners of your eyes, you continue cleaning, checking every light bulb and power outlet before stepping out onto the porch again, just in time to see robin get up and wipe the sweat off her forehead.

“there we go, it should be good as new. even better than new, really.” she pats you on the shoulder before taking her stuff to leave. just as you’re about to go back inside to try unpacking, she calls out to you. “oh, cherry? i’m sure sebby would like to see you, too.”

with that, she walks off, wincing as the gate creaks and making a note of it to fix later. 

alone again, you walk back inside, noticing from the corner of your eye that robin left her best hammer on the floor. cheeky woman, she knows what she’s doing. you consider for a moment if you should feign ignorance, leave the hammer there until she needs to get it back, but some part of you is buzzing with excitement at the idea of seeing sebastian again. it’s been years . the friendship is surely still there, he’s never been high-maintenance, never insisted you stay in touch after the summers, always content with hanging out for the summer and saying goodbye until the first day of the next one. he wouldn’t hold a grudge, not when that was how you functioned for more than a decade.

groaning, you bend down to grab the hammer and begin the well-known hike up into the mountains, watching the sky get warmer in tone. the muscles in your legs haven’t forgotten the path, taking over as your mind wanders to reminisce on the simpler times. starting tomorrow, you have to take matters into your own hands, clear the farm, and start planting crops – something you’ve done with grandpa countless times over the years, mouth full of questions you would list out, not letting a single moment go without a why or a how . all while your granny took care of the greenhouse, her pride and joy, walking out with a heavy basket full of ripe fruits on her hip every morning. 

the cherry picking days were the best, for they meant that granny would set a big bowl of those dark red fruits next to an empty one, and the two of you would spend the afternoon removing pits from them, eating too many in the process and painting your lips, fingers, and clothes red. the sticky stains stayed until granny rubbed them off with a rough towel, making one of those mornings’ adventures result in a sweet new nickname - cherry. 

hardly anyone uses your real name anymore, at least here in pelican town. it’s been cherry ever since. little cherry, like the blossoms floating through the air every spring.

seeing smoke coming out of robin’s chimney shakes the longing thoughts from your head. you check the watch, she would be closing at this time, that is if she didn’t change anything in the past five years. 

a quick rap on the heavy wooden door and she is already on the other side, pulling the door open to let you in with a wide, innocent smile. unsure if she knew that you saw through her little stunt or not, you give in, walking inside to place her hammer on the counter while she apologizes profusely, her mind must’ve been all over the place to forget something so vital. with a quiet chuckle you dismiss her apologies. after all, you would’ve walked over to say hello to everyone anyway. 

demetrius is murmuring as he paces the lab, writing something down on a clipboard while maru holds two seemingly identical rocks, listing off differences as she notices them. you lean on the door frame, knocking slowly on the white wood of the door to the lab. maru stops mid-sentence, nearly dropping the rocks she was holding.

“sweet sodium thiosulphate, is it monday already?” the curly girl rushes over to embrace you, squealing in excitement despite her father’s less than excited face. he doesn’t approve of her abandoning experiments and research for something as frivolous as greeting an old friend. regardless, he finishes writing down what maru said earlier and puts the clipboard down, taking off safety gloves and goggles. you smile over her shoulder, her curly hair tickles your nose as she sways left and right embracing you. “ohhhh it’s been so long, mom kept going on and on about you coming back. we were so excited!” she pulls away to look at you better.

demetrius walks over to shake your hand, as is tradition. “ah, cherry, good to have you back. terrible circumstances, certainly, we would all rather have you here of your own accord. naturally, there is no way one could stop the ruthless nature of life and d–”

“fucking hell, man, give her a moment.” like an arrow straight into your soul, that familiar bored tone breaks demetrius’ rambling. you turn your head to the side, meeting eyes with him. sebastian. with the same hair and the same crease between his eyebrows. the ring on his nostril is new, though. and so is the one on his eyebrow, his ear, yoba, he was busy since you last saw each other.

“hey.” a weak greeting leaves your lips, too busy playing spot the difference on him to even employ a single brain cell for rational thinking.

he seems to be a little taller than before, but his posture is still as bad as ever. there are traces of black on his fingernails, so he must have painted them again and picked the polish off in the meantime. you watch as he takes a pack of cigarettes from his hoodie pocket, his sleeve uncovers a little bit of his wrist, enough to see a black, now very faded, bracelet tied around it. your heart clenches at the memory, at the thought that he has kept that silly little accessory all this time. not even a bracelet, but a strap you ripped off your favorite top when it got ruined by one of maru’s experiments. it was the last time you spent your summer here, unburdened by the real life , and sebastian insisted you save at least a part of that beloved shirt. so you did the only logical thing, you ripped both straps, tied one around sebastian’s wrist and the other around yours. the one from your wrist ended up in the trash somewhere since it didn’t fit with the dress code of your stupid fancy job at joja corporate. now you regret it, seeing its pair right here in front of your eyes.

“you coming?” his murmured half-invitation sounds just like old times, bringing the last time you heard those words to mind.

you nod and wave good bye to the rest as sebastian walks out the front door, expecting you to trail behind him as always, leading you to the lake. it holds many secrets, the clear surface of the lake in the mountains with its ever clear water and rich life. it’s been witness to every late-night adventure all those summers, it holds the memories of happy times and the promises you made under the night sky. the promises you broke by not being here. sebastian stops and lights the cigarette that dangles from his lips, taking in a few drags before turning to you.

he says nothing, but it would be easier if he just shouted, you know he wants to, he has that look in his eyes. that i’m fucking pissed off but i don’t want to waste energy yelling look he so often had when he was a teenager and only just discovered rebellion against parental figures. 

you say nothing, but it would be easier if you did, you really want to, your face certainly betrays the need to explain. to explain why you weren’t here, to ask if he’s mad at you, to reach out and make everything okay, make it better, make it easy like before. the silence between you is no longer light like it was years ago, it feels like a thread tugged completely taut and all it takes is one word to make it snap. 

“so…” you start, trying to sort your thoughts out as you speak, trying to put all the concern and emotions into the tone of your voice. but sebastian has never been a very patient man.

“five years.”

he looks away again, still standing in that same spot that he picked for smoking all those years ago when he was still sneaking out of the house with you and abby to cough out every painful drag, making for a lot of laughs bouncing off the lake. yet another memory that the water holds.

“i know.” you sit down, take your shoes and socks off, and roll up your jeans. it’s been a while since you could rest your feet in the cold water and not feel the overwhelming hurt of missing pelican town. sebastian stands there for a few long moments before joining you, though not dipping his feet into the lake.

“five years without a word.” he’s bitter. sure, your grandpa had some news of your well-being, though not much more. that corporate job sucked out all joy from life, made taking vacations impossible, made you into a husk of who you once were, not the person who went skinny dipping with her friends almost every night in the summer right here in this lake. not the person who sneaked out of the farm house to smoke joint after joint with her best friends and make out with all of them, exploring the possibilities of human bodies. “and then you show up all smiley and try to pretend nothing’s changed.” sebastian spits the words, holding the cigarette in shaking fingers as he relights the end of it. “i didn’t think you’d show up even now that your grandpa–” “i get it.” you cut him off, stopping his angry tirade before it spirals into something else. “i get it, i wasn’t here. i feel guilty enough already, your negativity is… noted.” with a heavy breath you sigh and slide a little closer to the edge of the lake, getting the legs of your jeans damp, but it doesn’t matter. you deserve the shouting, you deserve the anger and frustration. but you’ve been putting yourself through it already, sebastian’s words only add to the burden already on your shoulders.

“why weren’t you?” he asks a question you pose to yourself every day. why didn’t i quit and come here? why didn’t i help grandpa after granny died? why didn’t i take a chance on a better life? you don’t know, it felt easier to follow some expected path. desk job, awful manager, boring dress code, decent pay, but declining motivation. in the end, you would’ve ended up completely dead inside, a shell of the girl you used to be, the girl who used to pack her bags as soon as school ended so she could be on the first bus to pelican town to spend her days helping out on the farm and the nights hand in hand with her favorite people in the world. 

that girl would daydream every day about her friends, about the loud laughter and water splashing around her. purple hair swaying as abby ran to get the ball from the other end of the beach, alex throwing his gridball a little too close to pierre’s shop and running away together to avoid the punishment, haley’s annoyed voice when you messed up yet another carefully directed candid photo by laughing at just the wrong moment. emily draping you in silly fabrics to play dress-up when it was too hot to spend time outside, penny’s look of utter horror when you would crack the spine of your own book, running to maru’s secret lab to avoid her father’s chores when she couldn’t be bothered to do them. late-night bonfires with sam’s guitar as his mellow voice chased away the silence, sebastian’s eyes peeking over the top of his comic book as you sat across from each other on his bed and read together in peace. 

now those eyes almost avoid yours, instead focusing on the tree in the middle of the lake. yet another piece of your summer lore, the memory of swinging from that tree to throw yourselves into the lake screaming and laughing. you wonder if sebastian thinks about those times as well, or if he’s so bitter that he can’t push past the abandonment. 

“why wasn’t i here? i had a job , sebastian, i couldn’t just up and leave for the summer like i used to.” pushing the guilt away, you narrow your eyes, ready to put him in his place.

he doesn’t know what it feels like, being a slave to a big company, chained to your desk in an uncomfortable chair and a perpetually cold office. he’ll never be a part of that life, he said so himself, all those years ago as he decided to chase his own dreams, even if it meant struggling. you agreed with him then, promising to be an outcast with him, another promise this lake witnessed, now broken.

the comment stings, practically throwing your old agreement in his face, but you can’t care about that right now. it’s not easy, living in the city. he’s romanticized it all his life, always saying how lucky you are that you live somewhere so interesting, but it’s hardly that glamorous. it’s too busy, loud, demanding. there’s none of the energy you filled up on in those summers.

even the unbearable heat was somehow made less so when you were running from shade to shade, playing hide-and-seek with penny and sam before being called back to the farm to help granny in the greenhouse. gone were your favorite days, seeing drops of sweat on sam’s shoulders as he practiced his skateboard tricks in front of his house. abby and you sat on the step with ice cream melting down your hands, making everything sticky with liquid sugary vanilla in between your fingers. sometimes jodi would bring out freshly squeezed lemonade in a pitcher full of the cold beverage with huge ice cubes. you’d down the drink before sucking on the ice cubes until they also disappeared. it was easy, it was comfortable. 

those memories kept you sane in the summer weeks in the office. the air conditioning didn’t work as it should and the company was too cheap to replace it, so the only solution was to fan yourself with thick notebooks that had photos of your friends stuck to the covers. photos taken with haley’s old polaroid camera, a little scuffed on the edges from being shoved into an old diary during packing. photos starring those sweet smiles that came to your friends’ lips so easily whenever you were around, smiles that lit up your nights and chased even the darkest nightmares away. 

“oh okay so you became little miss very important and immediately forgot about the rest of us? you couldn’t have come to see us once ?” sebastian’s words hurt, but nobody can put you down quite like you yourself. you’ve been doing it for over twenty years, the experience is irreplaceable. 

“that’s not fair, you could’ve called. the phone works both ways,” you reply, furrowing your brows further, “and besides, you think it was my idea to not have any fucking time off when i could actually come here?”

sebastian scoffs. of course he doesn’t think that, but it’s easier being angry with you than accepting the fact that he felt rejected, abandoned… 

confused, especially after that last summer five years ago. 

granny had passed away early that spring so you were needed on the farm then more than ever. grandpa’s hands didn’t work as well as they used to, his fingers were weaker and shakier, his knees gave out more often, and his back never truly straightened anymore. he worked harder than ever attempting to escape the overwhelming loneliness with the love of his life gone without any warning. your parents never got into the whole farming business. they came over for the funeral and kept asking if he would move with them to the city so they could keep an eye on him . he would’ve rather died alone in the middle of his parsnip field, he said. you had to admire the stubborn old man, the unwavering sense of loyalty to his land was something else. so he wiped his tears and kissed the framed photo of granny smiling with a large sunflower on her head every morning before he left the house to work. you focused on the farm more, finally having reached the age when he could trust you with more tasks, and you loved every second of it. 

it was therapeutic, the cold earth between your fingers helped you become more connected with the land, and the animals seemed to look forward to your entering the barn and coop every morning. it was a life you thought you could get used to, even if it brought tears to your eyes whenever the greenhouse demanded attention. it was hers . it had granny’s heart and soul embedded in the glass panes and the fruit trees and those precious flowers. once you finally got over the anxiety of entering the warm structure, you could hardly leave again. sebastian found you in there often, remembering it as a place you were most likely to get stuck in if you hadn't shown up to the lake or to his house. 

it was his gentle hands that picked you up off the ground and walked out with you to greet the moon and the stars. it was him who helped you talk about her and how much you missed her. it was him who kissed your cherry flavored lips when he saw them quiver. and it was you who leaned into the kisses every time, who lay down to feel his body on yours and his hands ridding you of your clothes. it was you who sought it out almost every day that summer, it didn’t matter when or where. 

you had him in his bed, against the wall of his bedroom, on the beach, and behind a tree in the secret woods. he had you by the tide pools, on his desk, and in the lake by his house, making it another secret that the water kept. 

both of you did your best to keep those bite marks hidden, not being able to keep your teeth to yourselves when the sex felt so good. 

that summer could have very well been dubbed the best summer of your lives. if only it didn’t end with that cursed job offer.

“i know it wasn’t your idea, dumbass, but you could’ve let m– us know that we won’t see you again.” 

“i’m here now.” it’s a piss poor response to his words full of hurt. he puts the cigarette out into the ground and doesn’t reach for another, instead turning to face you again, making you look into his eyes and see the state that he got himself into, spending five years wondering…

“yeah but are you? is it you or is it some… piece of shit corporate pawn that you swore you’d never be!” his hands shoot out to gesture as he raises his voice, finally showing the repressed emotions that have been bubbling up inside his chest for years, pushed down because he didn’t want to show that he cared, that he was hurt, that he felt discarded. was i really only good for that? good to fuck the grief out of you and have years of our friendship erased? he wondered that at night when he tried to sleep but all he could do was think about your body moving on top of his, he could still feel the dips in the mattress where your knees were when you threw your head back and moaned out his name. you looked like a goddess then, under the dimmed lights of his bedroom as his cock disappeared into you and elicited cute little curses from your red lips. “i thought we were on the same page.”

“i hardly had a choice, you know? a job is a job, and the money was good. i didn’t have the option to stay with my parents forever–”

“oh yeah, ‘cause i’m so thrilled with staying in my mom’s basement at this point!”

“you know what i mean and don’t put words in my mouth!” you sigh, it wasn’t supposed to turn into a fight. 

all you wanted to do when you got to the lake was ask him how he’s been, not have a shouting match out in the open. he keeps quiet for a while, deciding to slide off his shoes and socks to cool off in the water. he doesn’t stop there, for the rest of his clothes also find themselves on the ground and he pushes himself into the lake. you can hardly believe what’s happening, it’s been so long since you saw his body only in boxers. sebastian swims away, not caring that he’s leaving the conversation or that there are words still stick in your throat. 

exasperated, devastated that this is how your first meeting after five years is going, you lie on your back in the grass, keeping your feet in the water. fuck . of course it has to be terrible. of course, your expectation of sebastian always being such a low-maintenance friend should’ve ended the minute you let him go down on you the first time. but how were you supposed to know he really meant it? that it wasn’t just a thing friends did with each other when they got to the point of being too horny to function. you were so tired that summer, so worn out with sadness and exhaustion from taking on more farm work, it was easy deciding to cross a line with him. you’d thought about it extensively years prior, imagining what it would be like, but never really assumed it would happen outside of your head. and now you’ve fucked it up. destroyed nearly everything you’ve built since the first time you came to the farm.

“cherry…” sebastian’s voice startles you, making you flinch and immediately sit up. he swims closer, nearly to your knees with his hair swooping up as he pushes it back with one hand. he wipes his face with it, looking up with those familiar eyes. he’s missed you, despite being furious and crushed by your abandonment, he’s missed you more. “why didn’t you call?” his voice is nearly pleading, but you know he knows why. he knew what you were like, he’s spent many of your crises helping you breathe, rubbing your back, and whispering sweet hopeful words into your ear. 

“i…” you swallow your tears and anguish, the guilt that devours you from the inside. “i couldn’t handle it anymore. i love it here but i was too fucking sad.” biting your lip for a second, trying not to burst into tears, you shake your head. this is not the time to lose your composure. so with another deep breath you continue. “i was so fucking sad because I felt that my life didn't lead anywhere if I didn't make something of myself in the city. stupid, I know. but once i was successfully made a cog in the machine I just got tired . I couldn't get away for long enough to recover, it was draining everything that made me me. and you would've hated me.” the tied strap around his wrist catches your eye again, sebastian places his palms on the edge where you sit, on either side of you as he looks up from the lake, wet hair pushed up and water droplets glistening on his pale face. 

okay, so he hasn't changed that much, despite the images that your anxiety put into your head during those years away. he still has those deep eyes and unfairly thick eyelashes. he has a few healing scratches, most likely from the mines, on his cheek, the one that usually gets covered with his long fringe. 

“how could I hate you, cherry?” his voice is still pleading, for a moment almost making you forget that he has every right to be angry. “sure, I was pissed off, I wanted to hate you. but you know the deepest parts of my heart, I could never feel that way about anyone else. even when you’re acting like a dick…” his hand reaches for yours, bringing it to his chest, right where his heart beats, “even when you're an insufferable, selfish, annoying brat that pushes all my buttons… even then I  cannot hate you.” there is a hint of a smile on his cheeky lips, but you know you owe him more than what you gave.

“i’m really sorry. i missed you every day i was away.” you confess, eyes meeting his in an intense stare. his hand tightens around yours, like your apology is the last piece of the puzzle he has been trying to solve for years. “i missed everyone here, but I thought about you most of all.” you swallow, feeling your throat become drier than ever. 

it's the most open you've been with someone since grandpa died, having responded to everyone's condolences with a sad smile and a weak thank you . but with sebastian it was never like that, you never felt like you had to hide what you were feeling, even if it was pain. both of you have been there for each other, and a bond like that doesn't snap so easily. 

“missed me the most, huh?” his face shifts into a mischievous smile as he holds your hand against his heart. 

the grip of his fingers tightens for a second, reminding you of all those times you ran with sebastian to escape the mayor’s stern look when you were sneaking around town, planting rotten vegetables under his door mat to piss him off after he shouted at sam for skateboarding in town. sebastian took your hand then, much like now, and he ran, dragging you after him to his house where you could finally stop and catch your breath. 

you want to say more, reveal the depth of your feelings and how he infiltrated your poor heart, how you cried your heart out nearly every night since you got that job, how you became what you had promised him you never would, thinking he would hate you, call you a sell-out, see you for the weak conformist that you sold yourself to be. you want to tell him he has the central role in your dreams. that he matters most, and you need him now more than ever, already having felt his care and support when granny died. 

everyone tiptoed around you and avoided mentioning her name that summer, but sebastian made sure to keep her memory alive by getting you to talk about her, joining you in the greenhouse to pick cherries with you, eating more than you'd put in the large basket. his fingertips were as red as yours, and you chased each other around the flowerbeds trying to wipe the fruit stains on one another’s face and clothes. 

and now his cheeky smile reminds you of the one he wore then, hell-bent on keeping you, making sure you're not closing off from him and disappearing into your thoughts. it means trouble. 

it distracts you long enough so you don't realise he's tugging you by that hand into the lake. with a quick, cut off yelp, you end up underwater. clothes and all. luckily, you have nothing in your pockets, your shoes have already been off, and all that's ruined in any way is the tiny sliver of dignity you had left. gasping for air you come up above the surface, hair stuck to your face, sebastian’s laughter in your ear. he holds your hand still, keeping you oriented as you cough out some water that entered your nose. 

“you dick!” you cough out more, holding onto his chest and wiping your eyes with the other hand “oh i hate you so much!” a few more awful sounding coughs and you are fine, glaring at sebastian as he nearly drowns himself laughing at your angry face.

“no you don't, you can't !” he wraps one arm around your waist, using the other to swim and bring you both closer to the edge of the lake, letting you hold onto the firm ground as you push the hair out of your face.

“I could !” you protest, reaching out only to attempt to punch him in the chest, the water making your attempt laughable. 

you both know it's a damn filthy lie. as you keep moving your feet to stay afloat, sebastian pulls you closer, turning you to face him. there is no escaping his attention now.

“don't disappear on me again,” his tone is serious, a contrast with his earlier laughter and mischief, “or i’ll have no choice but to glue myself to you. got it?”

“okay. promise.” 

he nods, quickly pushing himself up and out of the water, offering you a hand to help you out. you can do it yourself, with only a little bit of wiggling before bringing a knee up to push yourself up as well and sit next to him, completely drenched as your clothes stick to your body.

“you look like a wet rat.” sebastian comments, nearly starting laughing again, but your glare in his direction stops him.

“i’m gonna get you back for this,” you promise, but you can’t stay angry for long, something about his wet body next to yours mellows you out and requires attention of your eyes on the pale glow of his skin and the way droplets race down his lean frame to reach the ground. memories of that same body flood your mind, how good it looked when he moved on top of you on this very grass, how well it fit against yours when you were pushed up against the shed door at the farm. 

“gonna have to stick around for that, you know?” it’s like he’s testing out what you said earlier, trying to figure out if you really meant it, that you’re not going to disappear. 

“i’m staying, g-gonna restore the farm. i owe it to them.” your hands gather all the wet strands of your hair and wring it out, you’re already on your feet and picking up your socks and shoes by the time that sebastian makes a move to gather his clothes and starts walking towards his house. 

“you’re doing what ?” his tone is surprised like he didn’t even think that something could be done about the once-thriving farm that’s now overgrown and abandoned. 

he must’ve ventured there occasionally, checking in on the state of it while it was occupied only by a weakening old man that enjoyed sebastian’s visits because he’d get to talk about his granddaughter. the man would tell him how proud he was of her success even if he wished she would make decisions that would bring her more happiness. they both knew she was happier in pelican town than anywhere else. 

you shiver with the cold that attaches itself to your wet clothes, seeping into your bones quicker than you expect. sebastian notices and pulls you closer with an arm thrown over your shoulders. despite the fact that he is also wet, not providing much warmth at all, you’re grateful for the gesture. it reminds you of all the times you went skinny dipping with sam and abby. shy at first, but within what felt like only minutes, you stopped giving a shit about nudity, instead just having the time of your life with the best friends you could’ve asked for. if anything, it made all of you develop more appreciation for each other, seeing what you looked like under shimmering moonlight as water droplets reflected it off your skin.

“restoring it. i n-n-need to, grandpa l-l-left it t-to me– f-f-fuck i’m too c-cold.” your teeth chatter and it makes sebastian shift into gear, dragging you along to rush you into the house. robin’s barely covering a snicker while maru looks at you two with a raised eyebrow.

“what happened to you ?” maru chuckles, covering her mouth with one hand while the other holds a clipboard with way too many sheets of paper attached.

“decided to jump into the lake. she’s so silly, isn’t she?” sebastian quickly lies, dragging you down the stairs to the basement before you can tell him off and snitch on him.

“y-you little…” his laugh stops you from cursing him, it's a sound you've been dreaming of for five years. as he helps you out of your soaked clothes, not minding the puddle of lake water appearing around both of you while his bare feet left marks on the floor, you recall the first time you heard him laugh. 

you must have been five at that point, and the memory is still clear as day in your mind. he'd always been suspicious of new people, so when you first saw him on the beach - him accompanied by robin and a very tiny maru in demetrius’ arms, you by your granny - he squinted at you as if to warn you not to come closer to his sand castle. you'd never made one yourself before, so the very idea of creating something so fun out of the thing you walk on was interesting. he waited for you to approach, and as soon as you did he told you he'd push you into the water if you ruined it. it was a simple, small construction, and you crouched to take a closer look, careful not to provoke the boy’s already present disdain. sebastian gave you a few moments to observe with wide eyes until he started explaining the purpose of each of the towers. this is where the prisoners are and the knights sleep in this one. this tall one is the wizard's tower. he can turn people into furniture. have you met the wizard? my mom says he doesn't like people that much. but he doesn't turn them into tables. I didn't ask about the frogs. do you think he turns people into frogs? his questions were neverending. he finally found a person who didn't seem to get annoyed with him for asking, who didn't look down at him for his fantasies of knights and wizards and castles. he made up adventures, led by groups of valiant warriors, fierce mages, and comforting healers, and laid them out so vividly, painting the world before you while all you could do was sit in your damp bathing suit on the wet sand and adoringly listen to him talk and gesture and raise his voice as the story came to an end. 

in the end, with his little smile showing off a few missing teeth, he looked at you like he finally found his match. both sporting ice cream smudges on your faces, you spent the entire day talking over the sandcastle until your respective guardians decided it was dinner time and you were dragged away to get cleaned up before the meal. sebastian turned around and giggled over his shoulder why do you have red on your shirt? you hadn't even noticed it before, so looking down you remembered that granny asked you to remove cherry pits with her on the porch. it's from cherries! robin put her son's beach towel in a bag while her husband carried the baby, everyone waved goodbye but sebastian still took a few moments to look at you one last time that day, laughing again before waving with his small hand. okay, bye cherry!   granny kept chuckling to herself as she wiped your cheeks clean of any ice cream you had smudged on yourself and she brought you a clean shirt. such a sweet boy, she chuckled at the nickname he had given you, don't usually hear sebastian talk to people much. she kept humming an old tune as she took your hand and walked back to the farm, the two of you catching the last orange rays of sun before the moon came out. she started calling you cherry that evening, and the idea spread throughout the town. sebastian. you repeated in your head. I wanna know more about the wizards. 

twenty years later that same boy walks back into his bedroom only wearing his soaked boxers, but holding two large towels, passing one to you as he wraps the other around his waist and slides off his boxers from under it. you are still shivering like a leaf, peeling off your underwear to wrap yourself in the soft towel, leaving the clothes on the floor of his room before sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“you okay?” his voice is as low as it usually was in this room, it’s his sanctuary, free from any loud noises that could ruin his peace.

“just thinking.” you offer a smile, this room brought back so many memories, including the ones of your first ever exchanged words and ideas.

“oh, careful, don’t want you to hurt yours– ouch!” he laughs when you punch his shoulder, holding onto the towel with one hand as the other withdraws from him.

you’re slowly getting back into the usual routine, the usual state of things that has always been so natural between you. with a sigh of relief you look around the room. it hasn’t changed much. almost at all, actually, though the keyboard on his desk is different and there are a few more books and comics on his shelves. 

other than that, it’s how you remember it – posters covering most of the walls, along with a few photos stuck to the brick with messily torn tape. photos of his friends, of beach shenanigans, of sam’s birthday trips to zuzu city, and sleepovers in this very room. they coax a smile from your heart, tugging on the corners of your lips until sebastian notices and reaches out to poke your cheek gently.

“are you staying?” his voice is hopeful, so different now from the way he spoke to you when you just showed up at the door. 

shaking your head, you force yourself to stand up. the movement reluctantly kicks him into gear, he nods and turns to his wardrobe to pull out a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. you stop him bending down to grab a pair of soft boxers from the drawer.

“there’s no need, i’ll just put mine on when i get back.”

“right. you still got a big ass that barely fits into my boxers, eh?” his slight disappointment at your not staying over is masked by a cheeky teasing line. 

“you little shit, that was one time! ” you try to swat at him again, but he laughs and throws the hoodie and sweatpants your way, making you reach out and catch them, dropping your towel onto the floor in the process. 

it distracts him, the clear view of your damp body. the few seconds he has to catalogue every glowing inch of you soon end and he clears his throat, awkwardly unwrapping his own towel and turning to put on a dry pair of underwear.

“the one pair i will never be able to wear again, all because of your ass.” he chuckles and throws the comment over his shoulder, facing you again as he grabs the towel off the floor and starts drying his dark hair. you pull the string of the sweatpants tight, securing them around your waist, and cover the waistband with the hoodie. 

“you keep complaining, but…” your cheeks heat up, visibly flustered you chuckle, “you and i both know you like it just the way it is.”

sebastian laughs, taken by surprise as you bring it up. yeah, he’s smacked it many times, grabbed it in his hands, kneaded it with those long fingers countless times. he’s left bite marks after bite marks on it, enjoyed the feeling of the soft flesh under his teeth. 

“alright, alright. fine.” once he’s dressed and you’ve put your shoes back on, he throws one arm around your shoulder again, slipping back into the familiar flow of walking by your side. “let’s get you home then.”

it’s already dark by the time you’re out of the house, making the air a little colder as you walk down the path off the mountains. sebastian doesn’t ask you much, and you’re thankful for it. his hand is warm on your arm, holding you close to him like the old times. he always walked you home, no matter where you hung out, no matter how tired or stoned he was. it was the thing he never missed out on, waiting at the farm entrance until you’re inside, safe and sound. 

he'd message you once he was home as well, partly because he didn't want you to worry, and partly because he wasn't ready to end the day. 

and you loved those texts, pressing a pillow over your face so you don't wake up your grandparents with giggles as the sun came up. this time there is nobody to wake up as you two walk up the now-fixed steps of the porch and reach the hardwood door to the house.

your gaze settles on the bench by the door where granny used to sit. in an attempt to stop yourself getting emotional, you walk over to the railing and lean against it, postponing the inevitable moment when sebastian will have to leave you. the moment when you’ll be left alone in the farm house for the first night in your life. sebastian follows, his elbows rest on the smooth wood while he looks at the land ahead… and then at you. your skin tickles under the weight of his gaze, but you don’t sink under it. you return it. there’s that tension again, crackling in the air, electrifying the distance between your lips. if only you could… 

“you can ask me to stay, you know?” sebastian’s voice is low, you can barely hear him as your eyes flit between his lips and his eyes. 

“stay… here?”

“yeah, you don’t have to be alone. at least tonight.” his offer sounds like a plea, like it’s for his benefit just as much as it is for yours. 

“just say you want to stay then,” you challenge him, feeling a smirk curl your lips, “say it and i’ll give in.”

you remember how he always had a way to make you agree to things, he always knew when you were just holding back for whatever stupid reason. it was always a stupid reason, and when you gave in you were glad you did. nights were infinitely better when sebastian was involved.

he rolls his lips together, hesitating only for a moment before leaning in and pressing a tender kiss to your temple. it’s the kind of softness you haven’t felt in a while, there was no time while you worked for joja corp. left to your own devices, you rarely ventured out to find a vent for the pent up frustration. and even when you did, it was never as good as it could’ve been, never as good as when it was with him .

“i want to stay.” sebastian murmurs, the shapes of the words traced on your cheek before he presses a kiss there. and another, slowly inching closer to your lips, challenging you to stop him. but he knows you won’t. you know it, too. all it takes is one move to end this tumultuous day with a bang. you tilt your head to the side, speeding up his lazy kisses until they reach the corner of your lips and stop. it takes enormous effort not to huff like a brat, not to furrow your brows and stomp your foot, crossing your arms just like when you were little and granny wouldn’t let you eat ice cream before lunch. 

“cherry, don’t be like that…” sebastian shifts and pushes off the railing, moving to stand behind you and press himself against your back. those familiar palms of his glide up your arms, chasing away the slight bite of cold in the night air. “can’t go from not seeing you in five years to giving you everything right away.” 

he drags his hands up to your shoulders and then down your torso, gripping and grabbing along the way, reacquainting himself with every part of you. fingers trailing your skin under his hoodie, yoba he loved seeing you wear his clothes , lips dragging along the nape of your neck, sebastian is indulging in all the fantasies he has had for years. your mind is racing, recalling every instance when you’d lie in bed struggling to sleep and resort to getting yourself off to an old memory of sebastian’s head between your thighs. it never felt the same, his tongue just knew your body too well, it felt better gripping his soft hair than closing your fists around cold sheets of your uncomfortable bed back in zuzu. 

a little sigh escapes you once his lips reach your ear. with a gentle tug of his teeth on your lobe he drags a startled moan out of you. you can feel his self-satisfied giggle better than you can hear it as he trails those smirking lips down to the corner of your mouth once again, before capturing it in a devouring kiss.

head tilted to the side, your lips move together like a well-oiled machine, familiar in the way they taste, of coffee and a little bit of smoke. his one hand rests on the softness of your stomach while the other kneads your breast gently. the hoodie rides up and the cold air sends shivers through you, but sebastian keeps rolling his hips against you, grinding against your ass. despite how long it’s been, his hands seem to still know your body, despite how many people he’s been with since – a thought you don’t want to dwell on – his touch on your skin feels like home. 

sebastian sounds more and more desperate, the little groans as your tongues glide together betray him. as you open your eyes, he keeps moving, pulling away from the kiss to hungrily suck on the skin of your neck, all the while his hands quickly tug the waistband of his sweatpants you’re wearing down, once again baring your plump ass to his eyes. one bruise blooming on your neck, another is already in the making as he thanks yoba you didn’t take his boxers when you changed in his room. it’s a quick exchange, a breathy do you wanna answered with an instant yes please ‘cause you have always been polite, even when bratty. 

the usual, grabby, movements of his hands knead and savor the flesh of your body, as if mapping it out to make sure it’s still the same body that left him five years ago. it’s a little different, but so was his, you have a little more meat on your bones, something that sebastian cannot seem to get enough of. with a fluid movement he tugs his own sweatpants down, freeing his erection as it springs out and immediately ends up pressed against you again. 

“sweet yoba on a treetop, cherry… i missed you more than you know.” breath glides from his mouth along your neck, it’s warmer than the memories it brings up. 

you murmur something sappy back at him, making him chuckle through the heavy breathing as he slides the sweatpants lower on your legs, letting them pool around your feet. your movements are almost as smooth as that last summer you were here, only a little rusty as you lift one leg up, stepping out of the sweatpants and resting the knee on the railing and leaning forward. immediately it’s a familiar feeling, the tip of his already leaking cock pressing so gently against your soft cunt, almost being sucked in with how much you’ve missed him. even when you found the time and will to go out, none of the encounters felt good like this, none of them left you feeling anything other than disappointment and regret. you try not to think about them, or about him fucking anyone other than you, and those creeping thoughts are swiftly chased away by the intense feeling of him fitting his entire length inside you. sebastian groans, shifting his hips to feel the softness of your ass against him, to feel your wetness gather at the base of his cock while he adjusts to the feeling of being inside you once again. 

“five years…” he shakily breathes out, repeating the same words he said at the lake, but in a tone of relief, his anticipation finally coming to an end. “i’ve imagined it a lot, but nothing comes close to the real you.” 

and so it starts. with a gentle groan against your skin, with a slow moan slipping from your lips, he pulls away only to thrust back into you. this is it , you think, what i’ve been chasing . this intimate feeling even though you’re outside, not the riskiest thing you two have done, but enough to check the adventurous box on your shared checklist. with a tilt of your head to the side you catch his blissed out face, his soft lip caught between his teeth and eyes closed as he thrusts again, colliding his hip bones with your flesh, his balls gently smacking against your clit. it’s difficult trying to keep your eyes open, but the expression on his face is too beautiful to miss out on. your juicy lips part, letting out sweet honeyed moans that you almost try to stop, instincts telling you to be quiet around the farm house. instead, you grip the handrail as hard as you can, feeling it dig into you with every lurch forward.

sebastian holds you by the hips, digging his fingertips into your supple skin to hold you steady while fucking into you, fitting his cock head against all your sweet spots, hitting right where you need him to, where you’ve needed him for years. hearing those raspy moans coming from his throat brings up so much warmth in your belly, already building up the orgasm even though you have just started, and you suspect it’s the same for him. maybe it’s because of the fact that you haven’t had sex in a while, maybe it’s the roller-coaster of emotions you’ve gone through in the past twenty-four hours, or maybe it’s a secret third thing, but you can already feel your orgasm approaching as you near the brink. sebastian’s hand creeping around your body to rub your clit in circles doesn’t help hold it off either. 

“i’m n-not gonna last–” you stutter out, still keeping your eyes on his perfect, blushing face.

“me neither, c-come on cherry…” he groans, circling your sensitive clit with gentle fingers, always working perfectly with what your body needs. 

the pace of his hips changes as soon as your warm cunt tightens around him, squeezing him and keeping him in while your legs shake, threatening to give out. he stutters in those slow movements, speeding up to carry you over, and leans down to press tender kisses to your bruised neck, whimpering as he pulls you by the hips a little harder, moving you against him until he gasps and spills all he has inside you, sticky white liquid covering your soft walls. sebastian slowly comes to a stop, taking a few long moments to kiss you, holding your head turned towards him as he pulls out with a sigh. now soft, he groans at the sight of his release starting to drip out of you and onto the deck. it’s almost enough to make him take you again, but he’s spent, having finally experienced you again, pure pleasure that was just out of reach until today, perfection incarnate. 

“think it’s dripping on your sweats,” you chuckle, finally catching your breath, “sorry.”

sebastian shakes his head, pulling up his boxers and sweatpants before helping you lower your leg and picking up the crumpled (and stained) sweats off the floor. one day you’ll stop apologizing for things that aren’t really your fault, but today is not that day. jiggling the doorknob you stumble inside, carried by wobbly legs as sebastian trails after you. 

it’s odd going through your usual nightly routine in a nearly empty house. the radio is off, and so are most of the lights. the bathroom light takes a few seconds to turn on, you make a mental note to fix it in the morning, but for the time being it’s enough just to exist in this space, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. it feels different when it’s only yours, when it will be only yours for a long while. despite the heaviness of that realization, sebastian’s footsteps ease the pain, his satisfied humming disperses the bad thoughts looming in the corners of your mind, silencing them as he comes up behind you while you brush your teeth. 

his arms wrap around your waist, your shoulder is the perfect spot for his chin to rest on while he presses little kisses to the bruises he sucked into your neck earlier. 

“i put the sheets on your bed, that okay?” his gentle voice fills your chest with relief. you didn’t tell him that you wanted to sleep in your own bed, not yet ready to take over the main bedroom as your own. he just knew. you nod before leaning over the sink to spit out the foam and rinse your mouth. kissing him feels like the safest way to say thank you, not triggering the tears again. 

the two of you drag yourselves to your old room, undressing slowly until you’re naked before reaching into your suitcase to put on a pair of panties. deciding to forgo a pyjama top, you slip under the fresh sheets smelling of sebastian’s fabric softener – robin must have taken them for a wash before you got here. pulling the string on the bedside table lamp immerses the room into darkness once more. dark and silent, it would be enough to push you into a pit of despair were it not for sebastian’s warm arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you so close that you entwine your legs with his. nearly face to face now, you close your eyes to inhale his scent, thanking the universe for giving him enough initiative to stay with you tonight. gently, he hums, presses a few delicate kisses to your forehead, and starts rubbing gentle circles on your lower back. 

“thank you,” you murmur against the base of his neck, feeling your minty breath against your lips, “i wouldn’t have made it to bed if you weren’t here.”

“hmmm,” pursing his lips before pressing another kiss to your forehead, he sighs, “but thank fuck one of us has common sense, huh?”

a gentle chuckle shakes his chest, words leaving his mouth causing you to attempt a smack on his shoulder, but you give up, instead giggling along. you fall asleep to the sound of his voice, slipping into the sweetest sleep you’ve had in a while as he tells you about all the random things that have happened in the valley since you left, now with no bitterness in his voice. 

waking up to the chirping of birds was the norm in the summer, but the sound wasn’t quite right this time. it is an owl, the low hoot snaps you out of your peaceful dream making you lift your head to get you bearings, take a moment to remember where you are and why you can smell sebastian’s presence.

it’s okay, we’re okay, you comfort yourself, once again settling into his embrace, smiling as his arms instinctively tighten around you. 

then he moves, taking a deeper breath and shifting to roll over on top of you. only once you feel his lips trail along your neck do you realize he is also awake, alert, and not interested in simply falling back to sleep.

it starts with gentle kisses, lips savoring the taste of your skin, along with some light touches, his hands roaming your sides and settling on your hips. his lips connecting with your skin are the only source of noise in the room, finally being joined by moving bodies against the sheets once you arch your body into sebastian and let his hands travel around your back, squeezing every piece of flesh he can reach. he doesn’t start grinding against you immediately, instead he kisses down to your chest, taking a nipple between his lips while one of his hands sacrifices its warm place on your hip to hold the other breast, kneading it to make some tasty moans spill from your lips.

like he’s getting drunk off the sounds from your mouth, he gently presses his teeth against your nipple, tugging on it how he remembers you liking it. moving downwards, he lifts his gaze up to see you jutting your chin up, pressing the back of your head on the pillow as your hips lift, seeking for more, for what only he can give you. warm kisses make a winding path down your bare stomach, peppered with gentle bites of his impatient teeth as your thighs spread, letting him slot himself in between them like the good old times. 

sebastian’s clever fingers hook under your panties, but he doesn’t remove them, the cheeky fuck. instead, he presses them tighter against your soft pussy, slowly getting wetter with his attention and creating a sweet little damp patch on the fabric. he cannot help but press a delicate kiss to it. the tiniest whimper leaves you, spurring him on to press another kiss, and then another, making your underwear wet with his saliva as well as your arousal. his voice vibrates over your sensitive clit as he hums, praising you quietly as he slides his wet tongue along the material of your panties, pushing it in between your squishy folds before he finally slides them off, once he’s had enough of teasing you. once more he kisses your bare pussy, showing his affection through murmured praises and compliments. look how pretty, sebastian hooks his arms under your knees, bringing your legs over his shoulders before he dives in. so sweet f’ me , your breath gets shorter quickly, his tongue glides around your clit slowly, pretty and wet how i like her, he parts you with practiced ease, making you remember how it felt back then. how it felt when he was just starting, getting better with each night that he spent between your pretty thighs, i’ve missed it so much, making you scream out into his pillow and thanking yoba his walls were thick enough for his whole family not to hear you. could do this all fucking night, gentle slurping noises mixed with the hums coming from his mouth fill the air, coaxing moan after moan from you. it’s the first time you’re doing anything like this in the farm house, a christening in a way. 

very soon, your moans get higher in pitch, they give way to whines as your hands find purchase in sebastian’s hair, tugging it only a little closer, cum for me, cherry, come on baby. and then your toes curl. shuddering, you cry out a desperate plea, lifting your hips up once more for sebastian to feel your slick cover his lips and chin. feasting on you, he licks his lips, not letting a single drop of you go to waste. he’d rather drown in you, rather give you his all than give up a molecule of your release, because it’s his. it’s all for him and it’s all because of him. he slowly helps you ride it out, licking gently between those slick folds as you relax, as your breath gets slower, and your legs stop shaking. one last kiss, he tells himself, pressing a single tender kiss to your clit as he pulls away slowly, wiping his face with his hand and licking it off, almost moaning and savoring the taste of you. 

finally you open your eyes, the fuzziness around the edges of your vision persists, but the goal has never been clearer. sebastian leans in for a kiss on your lips and you snake your arms around his neck, bringing him in to wrap your legs around him, a move you would always pull in an attempt to wordlessly say thank you for treating you so well, for giving you what you needed without asking for anything in return. but you always gave him something in return, always made time for him, especially that summer. much like then, but with a little more desperation and need, he rubs his clothed cock against you, making you wince as it teases your overstimulated clit.

“shit i’m sorry.” he starts apologizing, stuttering over his words. you’re quick to shut him up, kissing him and poking at his tongue with yours, moaning as you taste your release on his lips. it’s the sexiest thing, the undeniable proof of his devotion to you. and when he pulls away for a moment to slide his boxers off, you use it to look over his body, sighing with satisfaction at seeing him in the sliver of moonlight dripping through the window of your room, bouncing off his lean torso and the lines of his beautiful face. your breath hitches in the second before he leans back down, this time grinding against your pussy with no barriers, no cursed clothes between you. leaning on his elbow, he reaches down with the other hand to lift your leg up, hooking it around his hips as he gently prods your entrance, hissing once his tip pokes into you. 

“ h-aah please, seb… need you again.” your syrupy plea has him groaning as he dips his head to bury it into your neck, trying to hold on and keep his breath steady.

“cherry… fuck i’ve missed you, missed you so damn much i couldn’t breathe…” sebastian’s raspy voice glides over your skin as he sucks on your neck once more.

“i- i missed you too, so much, so much.” you gasp when he pushes his tip into you again, settling nicely inside as he keeps pushing, keeps making you take him again, “ so fucking much .” he hears you whine, ears perking up once he’s fully in. feeling your wetness on the base of his cock, feeling you contract around him, it’s almost enough to make him give up on the niceties and use you like a fuck toy, like his own hand that was getting the sticky end of things for five long years. 

“whine for me again, p-please, cherry.” he swallows hard, staying buried in you until you gather your thoughts, take a few short breaths, and whine like your throat was begging for it.

only once you let it out does he pull back and thrust into you again, setting a slow pace to make you feel every vein on his aching cock, every inch that was waiting for you while you were away. and he gives them to you, so readily he feeds your cunt all his passion and all his love, stuffing it full of him as he speeds up a little, aiming to hear more of those saccharine moans you willingly let out of your throat. they fuel him, make him snap his hips harder, reminding you what’s been waiting for you all this time, what you can have with him. almost like feeling you for the first time, like you didn't fuck on the porch mere hours ago, he ruts into you desperately, needily pulling noises from your throat and his own. 

heavy breaths roll off his tongue, groans and whimpers and curses mixed with your name. your eyes teeter between opening and closing, catching glimpses of his parted lips, his focused eyes, even looking down to see that old strap of your shirt tied securely around his wrist. you sniffle, taking a moment between lewd moans to take in the fact that he really waited for you, that he’s been sure of your connection and you never left his mind. you didn’t just belong to the summers, salt drying on your bodies as the sun burned memories into your skin. you belonged to eternity. 

when you cry out his name, coated in that pretty, desperate tone, you know he feels you getting close. his thrusts speed up, bringing you both to the edge of an orgasm while your breaths quicken, mixing together until he hungrily dives in to kiss you again, to steal the whimper from your lips. grabbing for him, gripping his back with one hand and his arm with the other, you hold yourself steady, moaning into his mouth until you break. colors spark behind your eyes, electricity zips from your fingertips to your toes. you finish with a whine that sebastian immediately takes for himself, stuttering in his movements once your tight cunt contracts and squeezes him, keeping his cock inside while he spills his release inside you, slowing down to moan and breathe against your plush lips. the whole world stops when you’re done, sebastian’s weight covering you like a blanket of solace, his breath dancing on your cheek as he gathers strength to pull out and slump onto the mattress. 

once again you find yourself in a comfortable position, sebastian’s arms wrapped around you, your face buried in his chest, legs entwined together under the warm covers. he’s softly talking into your hair, peppering you in gentle kisses in between sentences while you both try to drift off to sleep.

“and after coffee we can take a shower, we can drag out the morning, you’ll see, nothing important happens on spring mornings. then i’ll help you unpack,” his voice slows down, and so does your mind, “and… then we can… we can clear the farm together and…” he yawns, a small sigh escapes you as you snuggle a little closer, completely spend and happy. “and then we’ll get to work on th… the land and–” 

you don’t get to hear the end of his train of thought, already dozing off, already dreaming again, tired and safe in his embrace.

[the-fyre-flie]

Part 3 (ish) to 17 year old Bruce Wayne becoming 8 year old Dick Grayson's adoptive father, and becoming Batman and Robin together hehehe. PART 1 PART 2

-

"Can I came with?"

Dick peered over the cold granite countertop to stare at Bruce, eyes wide as the man tried to organize his things before leaving for his first ever night patrol. His hero costume was pitiful, a black get up he had asked Alfred to help make using a plethora of different materials. Sports gear and a bullet-proof vest for protection, visible stitches along the chest and legs, a cowl Alfred had knitted himself. It was shoddy but functional until he could find someone to produce real gear. Perhaps his own company could produce it... His goal was to figure out the city's night routine, not fight... yet. He had been planning this for years now, but after figuring out that the death of Dicks parents wasn't an accident, he opted to start his mission early. Waiting until he was 20, like Alfred wanted, wasn't an option anymore. The cave under the manor hadn't even been retrofitted with modern tech, and was still unusable, but here Bruce was, pulling on the cape for his costume.

"No, Dickie. Gotham isn't safe at night. You know this." Bruce huffed. He had told Dick to go to bed hours ago, but the kid was stubborn. It had been a few months, and Bruce was finally feeling the full force of a nosey 8 year old child.

"You look like a bat." Dick commented, shuffling a bit to climb onto the counter, much to Bruce's chagrin. The boy was so flexible and agile, it was impressive how easily he did everything Bruce told him not to.

"Do I?" Hm. That hadn't really been the goal. As a kid, he had hated bats. They infested the caves under the manor, and he had a few run-ins with large swarms of them, but he had mostly grown out of that fear. Tho... perhaps this was a good thing. "Are bats scary to you, Dick?"

"No." Dick scrunched his nose as he settled on the counter, sitting so his legs swung over the side. "But your hood thingy looks like bat ears. You look big."

Bruce turned to find a mirror a few paces down the hall, staring at himself. The cowl, a knitted hood that covered the bottom half of his face, did indeed look like a bats ears. It had settled with the hood sagging down the center, with the sides stuck up like ears. Combined with his wide shoulders and tall stature, he did look imposing. Albeit a little goofy.

"Do you think thugs would be scared of a big bat man?" Bruce turned, smiling as he reached to grab Dick under the arms, easily lifting him off the counter. Dick giggled madly, flailing against Bruce's chest, demanding to be let down. Bruce was so happy that Dick had finally opened up. He had worried the boy might never smile again after what happened. He felt so responsible for everything...for the city, for the people, for Dicks happiness and safety.

"I'll be home by 6am, kiddo. Wait for me."

[lvrrgirlll]

2019 patrick x miss honey coded/kindergarten teacher reader

In a moment of desperation from both of you, you two resort to Tinder. He was looking for a place to stay, too broke to afford even the cheapest motel. You were looking for some company, desperately lonely in your own personal life even in spite of the fulfillment you felt from your job.

When he asked you to meet for drinks, you felt somewhat wary, never one to drink much, but agreed anyways. You were too lonely to refuse. Upon meeting him, you were surprised, but you knew you shouldn’t have been. His profile told you everything you needed to know. He was scruffy, seemingly polite, though he cussed like a sailor, and he obviously wanted to sleep with you. But it had been so long since that had even happened for you… and you couldn’t deny it was nice to feel wanted.

Of course, you ended up taking him home. He let out a laugh, mostly out of surprise, when he saw the literal cottage you lived in. He marveled at the live flowers around your home and the eclectic interior. That is, before he kissed you as if he was never going to let go.

That was Saturday night. He had slept over, of course, that being his plan all along. Sunday morning you were up before 10am reading with a glass of tea while his toned body laid asleep in your bed. When he finally woke, you offered him tea and a croissant. He eventually asked you the questions that had been pressing on his mind, namely why you dressed ‘like you were going to church.’ Of course, you answered that you were a kindergarten teacher, which he said ‘made a lot of sense.’

That evening he explained his circumstances, you, of course, taking pity on him for having to sleep in his car, and offering he stay for the rest of the challenger. You told him it didn’t come with a price though. He originally was excited, thinking you meant sex, but he was disillusioned when you put him to work on ribbon garlands. “They’re for my class! I showed them a tiny one and they loved it so I said I’d make big ones to put around the classroom.”

He rolled his eyes, but his smile gave him away. He found your dedication sweet. You showed him pictures of your class and told him about all the wild, funny things the kids said, while he worked diligently on the garland. Neither of you realized but you had been chatting and working till 3am, the smoke of your cinnamon scented candle putting itself out as it drown in wax alerting you two. At one point you had dozed off, your head in Patrick’s lap, and he just didn’t have the heart to wake you. When you did wake up, immediately getting back to work, you chastised him for letting you get ‘sidetracked’ by sleep, to which he just chuckled.

When you did finally go to bed, you had thankfully finished the garland and could relax comfortably in Patrick’s arms, even if you would have to go work in only a few hours. You thought you could get used to this.

[armpirate]

The Vows Between Us || San

pairing: San x fem!reader || Arranged marriage

w.c.: 13.6k

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), female masturbation, unprotected sex, teasing, edging (Minors DNI! Refrain from reading if you're not +18, and ignore if you don't like this type of content)

Aprox. time of reading: 40 / 50 minutes

Summary: For San, marrying you was a calculated move -a necessary step to secure the company that was rightfully his. But also a move to know you'd be his after years of looking at you from afar. For you, it was an escape from the gilded cage your family had locked you in. What neither of you anticipated was the spark that would ignite in the ashes of your arrangement. But in a world where every touch felt like a promise and every whisper hid a secret, falling for him was your first mistake. Because just when you thought his heart might truly be yours, you uncovered the truth. Or so you thought.

MASTERLIST

The air inside San's office was warm and suffocating despite the minimalistic modern design and large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Berlin's skyline. You stepped inside with measured steps, your heels clicking softly on the marble floor. San was already there, leaning against the edge of his grand wooden desk with his long thick fingers wrapping around the pen that kept swirling on his digits every few seconds, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

"You're early," he said, his voice smooth but laced with something smug.

"I prefer to get unpleasant things over with quickly," you replied, your tone cool and detached as you slipped off your coat. "I assume your father told you why I'm here."

San chuckled, swirling the pen one last time before putting it down. "Oh, I know. The future Mrs. Choi wants to 'discuss terms,' right? Sounds like a business merger already." his dark eyes gleamed with interest as he looked you up and down, deliberately slow. "But I'm curious, why did you finally agree? You seemed so determined to avoid me before."

You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Not everything is about you, San. My reasons are my own."

The smirk faltered for a split second before returning, this time tinged with something bittersweet. "Fair enough," he said, straightening up and taking a step closer, his voice dropping just slightly. "But you'll have to get used to things being about us. At least, that's what everyone else will expect starting next weekend."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to show it. You kept your expression neutral, tilting your head just slightly. "Let's get one thing straight, this marriage may be inevitable, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

San smiled -slow, dangerous, and entirely too pleased. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

That sentence alone had you rolling your eyes, trying to control yourself from slipping your tongue on how disgusted you were by that whole thing. 

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the strap of yourbag. "As long as you understand where we stand, this arrangement might work. We'll play the perfect couple for the public. But behind closed doors, we keep our distance until we sign the divorce papers. Simple."

San stepped closer, closing the space between you just enough to make your breath hitch. His cologne -warm and spicy- wrapped around you like an invisible trap. "Keep our distance?" he repeated, his voice low, almost amused. "Is that what you want? Because that's not what it looked like back at that business gala... when you couldn't stop staring."

As much as you wanted to deny it, your eyes were indeed on him the whole time. He was charming and captivating, it was impossible to move your eyes away from him. But that hypnosis lasted until his family came up with the idea of imposing that marriage on you. He lost all his charm just at that moment. 

You narrowed your eyes. "I was staring at the disaster unfolding around me, not at you."

San smirked, tilting his head. "Right. That's why your eyes followed me the entire night." he leaned in, his lips just a breath away from your ear. "You're good at playing it cold, Y/n. But I wonder how long you can keep that act up once we're married."

You refused to back down, your voice calm despite the spark of irritation in your chest. "I've dealt with men far more intimidating than you, San. Trust me, keeping you at arm's length won't be a challenge."

A flicker of something darker crossed his eyes -something almost dangerous. For a moment, the air between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

"Good," San finally said, his voice a whisper. "Keep trying to resist me. It'll make it that much more fun when you fail."

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step back, reclaiming the distance. "You're delusional if you think I'll ever fall for you."

San raised his eyebrows in amused awe as he took on the challenge. "We'll see, future Mrs. Choi. We've got a lifetime to test that theory."

You turned on your heel, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected you. But as you walked toward the door, you couldn't shake the feeling that San was right. The real challenge wasn't staying distant -it was making sure you didn't get burned by the fire between you.

"By the way, you mentioned divorce... didn't you?" your tracks stopped the second he mentioned that detail, hearing his heavy steps behind you as he approached his body. 

Slowly, you turned to him, unable to back down on your stance "That's what we agreed on."

"Some deals suffer changes as they have to meet different necessities, don't you think?" the way his eyebrows arched, while his lips pursed on a mocking grin almost had you losing your patience. "Divorce was ever on the plate? Because I don't think it was one of my conditions".

"No, it was one of mine" you spat back. "Either sign those divorce papers on good terms, or I'll drag you from one trial to another" San loved the challenge, he loved the way your eyes fixed on him to make sure he understood everything you were saying. 

"What if I don't want to sign them?"

"Then you'll have to find another dumbass to agree to get married to you" you rolled your eyes, thinking that would be the end of your conversation, but his fingers hooked on your elbow to stop you from walking away. 

You weren't sure exactly when he got so close, but you could feel the warm air escaping his nostrils on your cheeks. 

"Don't try to throw a fist at me" he stopped you. "You're so used to getting what you want, don't you? You pout a little, you act a little bitchy and daddy gives you all you want. Let me give you a spoiler: that won't work with me. The moment you're my wife, you'll do as I say. And if I say I don't want to get divorced, then you won't get those fucking papers". 

Your eyes started to water: rage, sadness, frustration... All those feelings were building up as you realized you got to a no-exit stop. Your plans were crumbling down, all your ideas were getting ruined, and all you could do was tighten your lips and open your eyes as much as possible so tears wouldn't escape with a blink. 

Daddy's girl? He had absolutely no idea. If you were living in such a perfect place, you wouldn't have agreed in the first place, but the fact that your parents -or people who gave you shelter when you needed it- agreed on engaging their daughter with a complete stranger for money should've given him enough of a hint of your reality. 

"Your choice" you managed to get rid of his grip. "Either sign those papers, or I'll make sure to tell everyone what all of this is about". 

"You won't. And you wanna know how I know?" he took one step closer to you. "I'll make your life a living hell if you do". 

"With what power?"

Your mocking tone was the last straw before he moved his hand from your elbow to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it and slamming your body against the wide door. 

"I don't need any power for that." his eyes were dark, his threat becoming a promise "Even if it's the last thing I do, I'll make you regret ever messing with me. So you better come with a pretty dress and the best of attitudes next weekend". He let go of your throat slowly, calmly placing his shirt properly "I know you'll make the best decision" he finally said. 

Your eyes were fixed on him, confused at how easily he let you go. And, somehow, his words were even scarier than his actions, because you could see the threat through them. 

The grand hall was filled with muted whispers and expectant gazes, the air thick with anticipation. The soft hum of violins played in the background, their melody delicate but almost haunting. The guests sat in rows beneath an arch of white roses and crystal chandeliers, their eyes flitting between the tall doors at the back of the aisle and San, who stood at the altar in his perfectly tailored black suit, waiting.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he stole a glance at the watch, sliding the sleeve of his jacket just a bit far up. 

Ten minutes late. Then fifteen. 

You weren't there.

He told himself you'd show up. You had to. But with each passing second, doubt sank its claws deeper into him. His heart pounded, and the polished facade he wore so well began to crack. Was this your way of backing out? A silent rebellion against a marriage neither of you had chosen? Were you actually telling the truth when you said you wouldn't show up if he didn't promise you a divorce? 

The doors remained closed, and San's jaw tightened. His father, seated in the front row, shot him a warning glance -one that practically screamed "Handle this".

Then, just as his patience teetered on the edge of collapse, the heavy doors finally creaked open.

A hush fell over the crowd.

And there you were.

You stood at the entrance in your wedding dress, the long veil trailing behind you, catching the soft light like a halo. For a moment, the room seemed to blur around you, everything fading except the heavy thud of your heart. You could feel every eye on you, the weight of their expectations pressing down on your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Your feet felt like concrete as you took your first step. Hesitation rooted itself deep inside you, your body caught in a battle between instinct and obligation.

San watched you with an intensity that bordered on desperation. His dark eyes flickered with a thousand questions. You couldn't miss the way his shoulders tensed or how his lips pressed into a thin line, betraying the fear he was trying so hard to conceal.

Step by step, you made your way down the aisle, but each step felt heavier than the last. Doubt whispered cruelly in your ear. "You don't have to do this" you told yourself.

Your fingers clutched the bouquet so tightly that your knuckles turned white. You forced yourself forward, your gaze fixed ahead, refusing to meet San's eyes until you stood just a breath away from him.

"Finally," San muttered under his breath, his voice low enough for only you to hear. 

There was relief in his tone, but it was wrapped in a layer of frustration.

The officiant began to speak, his words echoing in the cavernous hall. You barely registered them, your mind a tangled mess of emotions. San's eyes never left yours. His expression was calm on the surface, but you could see the storm raging just beneath it: fear, frustration, and something dangerously close to longing.

"And now," the officiant said, his voice cutting through the fog in your mind, "if the bride and groom would like to exchange their vows."

San went first. His voice was steady, but the practiced words carried an unexpected weight, laced with sincerity that caught you off guard.

"I promise to protect you," he said, his gaze locking onto yours. "To stand beside you through whatever comes next. No matter what happens... I'm yours."

There was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes -just a flash- but it was enough to send your heart lurching in your chest.

Then it was your turn. The officiant turned to you expectantly, waiting for your response.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came.

A heavy silence hung in the air. It stretched long enough to make the guests shift uncomfortably in their seats. Even the soft melody of the violins seemed to falter.

Everything you had prepared so mindfully disappeared at the feeling of being so watched, as if you were under watchful eye. You were sure it'd be obvious you weren't feeling either of the words you were pronouncing. 

San's fingers curled slightly at his sides, his eyes searching yours for a sign, for anything.

The officiant cleared his throat. "Do you, Y/n, take Choi San to be your lawfully wedded husband?" his tone was insistent, as if he wanted to get any words from you to get all of that over with. 

The pause that followed was suffocating. You felt San's breath catch, his entire body coiled tight, ready to unravel.

Although he hoped you wouldn't humiliate him that way, he saw you completely able to do it. 

Finally, you whispered the words.

"...I do."

Your voice was barely audible, a breath more than a declaration. But it was enough.

San exhaled, his shoulders relaxing, though the tension in his jaw remained. His eyes never left yours, dark and unreadable, as if trying to solve a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

The officiant smiled, oblivious to the war waging between the two of you. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

San hesitated, just for a heartbeat, before leaning in. Your head immediately threw back slightly, enough for him to know you didn't want that kiss and make it seem like a shy move for the rest of the assistants. His hand found your waist -firm but not forceful- as he tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was brief, calculated for the audience, but the heat of it lingered far longer than it should have. San had been daydreaming way too long about it to waste that chance. 

His lips were warm against yours, but there was something else beneath the surface. A question. A challenge.

When he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours once more. He didn't smile. Neither did you.

The applause from the crowd felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely.

As the two of you turned to face the audience, San leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

"We're just getting started," he whispered, his voice dark with promise.

You kept your face neutral, your expression unreadable, but your pulse betrayed you, thudding wildly in your chest.

The reception was a spectacle of luxury and elegance, just as expected from a merger of two powerful families. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the grand hall, where hundreds of guests mingled, sipping champagne and exchanging polite congratulations.

You smiled and nodded your way through countless conversations, always keeping one eye on San. He was never far, and every time you saw him start toward you, you slipped between groups of guests or ducked behind another table.

You had managed to avoid him all night. At the cake-cutting ceremony, his hand had hovered near yours on the knife, holding tighter over your skin as you threatened to let the long sword slide from your fingers to his throat. And for a fleeting moment, you thought he might say something, yet he only smirked and moved closer to you. You were quick to turn away, disappearing into the crowd the moment the applause broke, trying to get away from him. 

San, however, was nothing if not persistent.

The moment you saw him again, his dark eyes locked onto yours from across the dance floor. This time, there was no escape. The crowd parted just enough for him to make his way toward you, his strides deliberate and confident.

"Running from me again?" he said when he reached you, his voice low, a challenge glinting in his eyes.

You lifted your chin, forcing your expression to stay composed. "I wasn't running. I was... mingling with the guests."

His lips curled into a smirk. "Right. Mingling." he offered his hand, palm open and waiting. "Well, it's time for the first dance, Mrs. Choi. You wouldn't want to disappoint our guests, would you?"

Your stomach tightened at the weight of his words. There was no getting out of this. Not without causing a scene.

With a quiet sigh, you slipped your hand into his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm, and you couldn't help but notice how easily they fit together.

The lights dimmed, and the soft melody of "You Are the Reason" by Calum Scott filled the air. A sweet, tender song -one that felt far too intimate for the situation, as if it was meant for two people who loved each other.

San led you to the center of the dance floor, his hand resting gently on your waist, pulling you just close enough to make your pulse stutter.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up today," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the music. His eyes searched yours, the teasing edge gone now, replaced by something far more serious. "You made me worried."

You swallowed, your gaze dropping for a split second before meeting his again. "I was... thinking things through."

His hand tightened slightly on your waist. "Did you change your mind at the last minute?"

For a moment, you didn't answer. The question hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. The song swelled around you, the lyrics wrapping around your heart like a bittersweet lullaby.

You knew hell would be nothing compared to your life if you didn't show up to the wedding. Not because of San or his family though, but your adoptive parents. The moment you twisted all of their plans, there would be no escape from it. 

At least with San you wouldn't owe anyone anything. Instead, you'd be the one they owe something to. 

San's eyes softened, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "If you had, I would've waited. I would've found another way."

Your breath hitched. His words caught you off guard -unexpected and disarming. For the first time that night, the wall you had so carefully built around yourself began to crack.

He seemed so genuine, so caring.

"I'm here now," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "That's all that matters."

His gaze lingered on you for a long moment before he nodded. "Yeah. You're here."

The music continued, the world around you fading as you moved together in perfect synchrony. His touch was light yet grounding, his eyes never leaving yours.

For a fleeting second, you forgot about the crowd, the expectations, the tangled mess of your circumstances. It was just the two of you, swaying gently beneath the chandeliers, the lyrics of the song weaving a story neither of you was ready to admit aloud.

As the final notes faded, San leaned in just slightly, his voice a soft murmur against your ear.

"You can keep running all you want," he said, his breath warm on your skin. "But sooner or later, you'll stop. And when you do... I'll be right here, waiting."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. There was no smirk, no mask, just him.

The applause from the crowd broke the spell, and you quickly stepped back, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. San let you go, but his eyes stayed on you, dark and unreadable, as if daring you to run again.

And maybe you would. But for the first time, a small part of you wondered if running was really what you wanted. No, you stayed by his side, answering to his challenge with the same power he was showing off. 

The party blurred into a collection of clinking glasses, polite congratulations, and watchful eyes. Despite the sea of guests surrounding you, you felt like you were holding your breath the entire time. So when San leaned close and whispered, "Let's get out of here," you didn't argue. If he hadn't said it, you probably would've escaped by yourself. 

Now, the two of you sat in the back of a sleek black car, the hum of the city filling the silence between you. The driver navigated the streets with ease, the warm glow of streetlights flashing across the car's interior.

San sat beside you, his posture relaxed, but his eyes kept drifting toward your hand -the wedding ring glinting softly on your finger. He didn't bother hiding the fact that he was staring.

You caught him once, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, something unreadable flashed across his face. "No," he said quietly. "Just getting used to the sight."

You turned your hand slightly, the light catching on the diamond. The ring was beautiful, of course -a complex design that was probably picked out by your parents and San's father rather than by either of you. It felt foreign on your finger, a constant reminder of the deal you'd made.

San's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It suits you," he said, his voice soft, almost contemplative.

You said nothing, turning your head to watch the city rush by through the window. San simply smirked, knowing that your silence was better than a sassy response from you. 

When the car finally pulled up to the luxury hotel, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The driver opened the door, and you stepped out, feeling the cool night air brush against your skin. San followed close behind, his hand hovering near the small of your back but never quite touching.

The suite was exactly what you expected -grand and luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the Brandenburg Gate. A bottle of champagne and a tray of chocolates waited on the marble table, while a large king-sized bed sat at the center of the room, draped in crisp white linens.

You set your bag down and turned to San, folding your arms across your chest. "I'll take the bed. You can sleep on the couch."

His eyebrows lifted slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "The couch?"

"It's comfortable enough," you said, nodding toward the plush, oversized sofa near the window. "Plenty of space."

San took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "We're married now, remember? Sharing the bed won't kill us."

You scoffed lightly, crossing the room to stand by the couch. "Not happening." You glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow. "Fine. You take the bed. I'll sleep here." you rushed to say, feeling your energy consumed by the small talk you made with all the guests. 

"No." his response was immediate, his tone firm. "You're not sleeping on the couch."

"Then am I sleeping on the floor?" you arched an eyebrow "Because I won't sleep with you in the same bed".

You stared at him, daring him to argue further. But to your surprise, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Alright. I'll sleep on the couch."

His sudden surrender caught you off guard. "Just like that?"

He smirked faintly, tossing his jacket onto a chair. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

You watched him for a moment, suspicious of how easily he gave in, but ultimately decided not to push it. "Good. I'll get ready for bed."

As you disappeared into the bathroom, San sank onto the couch, leaning his head back against the cushions. He glanced at the wedding ring on his own hand, turning it slowly between his fingers. For all his confidence and charm, there was something strangely grounding about the weight of the band.

As much as that wasn't the way he wanted you to be by his side, it somehow made him feel good. 

When you returned, dressed in something far more comfortable than your wedding gown, San was already stretched out on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes.

"Comfortable?" you asked, standing by the bed.

He peeked at you from beneath his arm, his lips quivering into a faint smile. "I've had worse."

You rolled your eyes and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up around you. For a few moments, silence filled the room, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside the windows.

Just as your eyes started to drift closed, you heard San's voice -quiet but clear in the darkness.

"Goodnight, Y/n."

You hesitated before responding, your voice soft. "Goodnight, San."

Neither of you said anything after that, but sleep didn't come easily. You lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, painfully aware of his presence just a few feet away.

The distance between you felt both vast and dangerously fragile. And as the minutes stretched into hours, you couldn't help but wonder how long it would stay that way.

The morning started quietly -too quietly. You woke up, blinking against the soft morning light spilling into the room, only to find San already sitting on the couch, his phone in hand. His jacket was gone, and his dress shirt, slightly wrinkled from the night before, was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked far too relaxed for someone who had spent the night on a couch after your wedding.

"Good morning," he said, his eyes flicking to yours the second you stirred. His voice was calm, but there was something smug lurking just beneath the surface, as if he was already one step ahead of you.

You rubbed your eyes, forcing yourself to sound composed. "Morning."

A few beats of silence passed, too long to be comfortable.

"You were tossing and turning last night," San said casually, stretching his arms behind his head. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I slept just fine," you lied, standing and heading for your bag. You could feel his eyes on your every move, sharp and assessing.

"You sure? You sounded restless." his voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You froze, giving him a flat look. "Were you listening to me sleep?"

He grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "It's hard not to when someone mutters 'This is a mistake' at 2 a.m."

Your face heated. "I did not..."

"You did." his smirk widened. "I thought about waking you up to ask what you meant, but I figured I'd let you dream about it instead."

You crossed your arms, your patience wearing thin. "Thanks for your consideration, San."

"Anything for you, love," he said, drawing out the word with deliberate sarcasm.

"You've really mastered being annoying, haven't you?" you shot back, heading toward the closet.

"Years of practice," he said, standing up and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. "You'll get used to it."

You rolled your eyes, yanking open your suitcase with unnecessary force. "God forbid."

San chuckled under his breath, walking over to lean casually against the wall beside you. "You can deny it all you want, but deep down, you like this."

You turned to glare at him. "Like what?"

"This," he said, gesturing between the two of you. "The bickering. The back-and-forth. Admit it, it's fun."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "San, not everything is a game. And if you think this -whatever this is- counts as fun, then we're going to have a very long, very difficult marriage."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "A long marriage... Sounds like you're planning to stick around. It does sound really good to me."

"Oh my god," you muttered, turning on your heel. "I can't do this right now."

You stalked toward the bathroom, determined to get a moment's peace.

"You're already giving up?" he called after you. "We've been married for less than 24 hours, Y/n!"

"I'm not giving up. I'm taking a shower," you snapped, slamming the bathroom door shut.

The water was a relief, washing away some of the tension, but your frustration lingered like a storm cloud. And then, halfway through shampooing your hair, you realized something.

You forgot to bring clothes.

You let out a frustrated groan, rinsing the shampoo quickly before wrapping yourself in a towel. The last thing you wanted was to ask San for help, so you cracked the door open and peeked out.

He was still there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, clearly waiting for your return like some smug predator.

Of course.

You squared your shoulders and stepped out, keeping your head high as you made your way toward the bag.

San's eyes found you immediately, sweeping over your damp hair and the towel wrapped tightly around you. He didn't even try to hide it.

"Forgot something?" his voice was low and teasing.

"Not a word," you warned, grabbing your clothes.

But before you could escape back to the bathroom, his hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His fingers were warm, firm, and far too steady for someone who was enjoying this way too much.

"Why bother going back?" he said softly, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone that always made your pulse race. "You're already here."

You tightened your grip on your towel. "Let me go, San."

His eyes darkened, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a slow, deliberate motion. "Why? What's the big deal? We're married now, remember?"

Your breath caught, but you forced your voice to stay steady. "I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're thinking."

He leaned in just slightly, his lips curving into a smirk. "Then prove it. Get changed right here." His gaze dropped for a split second before meeting yours again, his voice barely a whisper. "Unless you're shy."

Your heart thundered in your chest, heat rushing to your face. "I'm not shy."

You weren't shy, but you didn't like the way your body was reacting to his voice, to his petition and his proximity. And you certainly didn't want him to see it so clearly either. 

"Then go ahead," he said, his voice practically daring you.

You glared at him, yanking your wrist free. "Turn around."

"I'm not turning around" he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What's the fun of it if I can't see you?"

He was trying to intimidate you, challenge you to do something he thought you wouldn't dare to do, so he could then tease you about it. 

Two could play that game. 

You placed the clothes on the bed, next to where he was. Taking one step back, your hands were placed on both edges of the towel, slowly undoing the knot to let it pool at your feet. San gulped thick at the sight, not expecting you to actually get naked in front of him, and even less that way, and it gave you a pinch of pride at how nervous he looked for a second. 

You didn't need to do anything, just that stare and the sight of your body alone was enough to awaken the most primal needs. His body responded to you, even if it had been just a second he saw you. Your humid skin, the way some drops fell from your hair and rolled down the curve of your breast to get to your hardened nipple. His mouth was watering just with the need of tasting you. 

San blinked, confused at the way your hand was stretched out for him, "The panties" you mentioned as if it were obvious. 

His hand moved to his left, grabbing the fabric to hand it out to you. You put them on torturously slow, covering your lower half to snap your fingers and asking him for your bra. Placing the strips on your shoulders, you turned to him, your body fitting perfectly in between his semi-parted legs as you silently asked him to tie the clasp. 

Shivers ran through your body at the contact of the reverse of his fingers on your skin, his touch holding on longer than necessary, just because he liked the way you felt as he touched you a little bit too much. 

You didn't need to ask, because San moved to the next item the moment you stepped away. 

He should've seen it coming for him when he saw you lifting your feet, placing it on his thigh -way too close to a place where he needed you like crazy. Your fingers moved calmly, sliding the tight over your leg, up the curve of your knee, moving it past your thigh. Yet San could only focus on how your warmth spread over his skin like wildfire, making him feel you were touching him in places you were not. 

When you finally stepped back to put on the other side of the tight, and the rest of clothes, San felt like he could breathe again, his control coming back to him when he was able to think straight -which also happened when you were fully clothed again. 

You thought he'd hesitate or act shy, but instead his cocky attitude came back as he stood up, the height difference becoming obvious again as he towered over you. 

"See how it isn't that difficult to be a good girl?" he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You'd have thrown a shoe at him if he hadn't hidden inside the bathroom immediately after airing out that response. 

He was insufferable. 

The car ride to San's house was quiet, tense, and far too long for your liking. The morning sun bathed the streets in gold, but it did nothing to lighten the atmosphere inside the vehicle. San sat beside you, one arm draped lazily across the back of the seat, his eyes occasionally drifting toward you as you stared resolutely out the window.

He had been surprisingly well-behaved since the towel incident, keeping his teasing remarks to a minimum -though his occasional glances were enough to keep you on edge.

When the car finally pulled up in front of his house, your eyes widened slightly. House was an understatement. It was a sprawling modern estate with sleek glass panels, sharp architectural lines, and an air of quiet luxury. 

"Home sweet home," San said, stepping out of the car and holding the door open for you with a half-smirk.

You stepped out, clutching your overnight bag tightly. "Big enough so we won't have to see each other for a whole day"

"Thanks for noticing," he quipped. "Come on. I'll give you the grand tour."

You followed him up the steps, trying not to be too impressed as you took in the pristine interior-marble floors, minimalist décor, and massive windows that flooded the space with light.

"Kitchen's over there," San said, gesturing toward an open-concept area with gleaming countertops. "Dining room, living room... you know, standard rich-guy stuff."

"Right," you said dryly. "Because this is completely normal."

He glanced back at you with a grin. "You'll get used to it." the mockery on his tone, knowing damn too well you were used to all that luxury and more, shouldn't have been as funny as it seemed for you. 

You rolled your eyes, walking a little faster to avoid his gaze. The tension from earlier was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but it was muted now, replaced by an odd sense of anticipation.

"Upstairs," San said, leading you to the second floor. You followed him down a hallway lined with modern artwork and huge windows, your footsteps echoing softly on the hardwood floors.

He stopped in front of a door near the end of the hallway and turned to you. "This is your room."

You blinked, caught off guard. "My... room?"

San nodded, his expression unreadable. "I figured you'd want your own space."

Your hand tightened around the strap of your bag. For a moment, you didn't know what to say. You had fully expected him to make some smug comment about sharing a bed -or worse, insist on it. But there he was, offering you something you hadn't dared to hope for: distance.

"Thanks," you said quietly, stepping into the room. It was beautiful -spacious, with a king-sized bed, soft cream-colored walls, and a large window that overlooked the shared garden of the building. There was even an en-suite bathroom with a walk-in shower and a deep soaking tub.

You indeed wouldn't need to get out there, except to eat. 

"Your things are in the closet" he started. "You didn't bring a lot of things, so I guess you'll bring the rest later?"

"No, that's it" you whispered. 

San stopped for a second, shocked about the fact that you only brought a medium suitcase and the bag you were carrying to pack up all of your things. It wasn't like he was expecting a full suitcase display from you, but certainly not something so minimal. 

"I'll be down the hall if you need anything," San said, lingering in the doorway. His eyes softened, his earlier bravado fading just a little. "Seriously. Anything."

For a brief second, the air between you shifted. He wasn't teasing or smug. He just looked... sincere.

You hesitated, feeling the strange urge to say something more, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you gave him a small nod. "I'll be fine."

He smiled faintly, stepping back. "Alright. Settle in. I'll see you downstairs."

As he walked away, you closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

But then again, with San, nothing ever stayed calm for long.

The first month of marriage was nothing short of a battlefield.

It didn't take long for every small interaction to turn into a heated argument. San always had something to say -sharp and sarcastic, ready to push your buttons at every opportunity. You were no better, meeting his smug remarks with icy glares and curt responses. It became a game, a war of words and wills, with neither of you willing to surrender.

There were good moments, but they were fleeting. It started with you finding out San filled up your closet with different clothes and accessories, adding up to the small suitcase you first brought. And it slowly evolved into a laugh shared over breakfast when San nearly burned his toast. A surprisingly comfortable evening spent watching a movie in silence, where the tension seemed to ease just a little. But those moments were always overshadowed by the endless tug-of-war that followed.

It was exhausting, that constant dance of hostility and fleeting truce.

Every day felt like a test of who could push the other further without breaking. The house, despite its size, felt stifling. His presence lingered in every room -a constant reminder that your marriage was nothing more than a cage disguised as luxury.

And today, you'd had enough.

The argument started in the kitchen that morning, over something as trivial as a set of misplaced car keys. It escalated far too quickly, voices rising, accusations flying.

"You always think you can control everything," you snapped, crossing your arms.

San leaned against the counter, his jaw tightening. "Control? I'm trying to help you, but you treat everything I say like it's some personal attack."

"Because it always is!" you threw up your hands in frustration. "You don't know how to back off, San! You just keep pushing and pushing... Fuck, you don't let me breathe!"

"Maybe because you keep running away instead of facing things!" his voice dropped, low and sharp. "You're so obsessed with shutting me out that you can't even see when someone's trying to meet you halfway."

You stared at him, chest heaving, words caught in your throat. For a second, neither of you moved. The silence felt heavier than the argument itself.

Then, without a word, you turned on your heel and stormed upstairs. You needed air, space, anything to escape that suffocating cycle.

In your room, you grabbed a coat and your purse, your hands trembling with frustration. Your eyes caught on your wedding ring, glinting in the sunlight. The sight of it only fueled the fire burning in your chest.

You slipped it off, the cool metal unfamiliar without the warmth of your skin beneath it. For a moment, you stared at the ring in your palm, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of emotions.

Then you set it on the dresser and walked out of the room, not bothering to look back.

San was still in the kitchen when you came back down, his back to you. You didn't say a word as you grabbed your keys from the counter and headed for the front door.

The sound of your footsteps must have caught his attention because he turned around, his eyes narrowing. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you said shortly, not slowing down.

"Without your ring?" his voice was calm, too calm. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You paused, hand on the door handle, refusing to turn around. "I need some time alone."

"And you think taking off your ring is the way to do that?" his footsteps echoed behind you, slow and deliberate. "Is this your idea of freedom?"

You finally turned to face him, meeting his eyes head-on. "What does it matter? It's not like this marriage is real anyway."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

For the first time in weeks, San didn't have a quick response. He just looked at you, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite place -hurt, maybe, or anger, or both.

"If you walk out that door without it," he said quietly, "don't expect me to come looking for you."

The threat was clear, but it only made your resolve stronger.

"Good," you said, voice steady. "That's exactly what I want."

And with that, you opened the door and stepped outside, the cool air hitting your face like a slap.

As you walked toward your car, your heart pounded in your chest. Part of you expected him to follow, to stop you. But when you glanced back, the door was already closed.

Maybe he didn't care enough to stop you after all. Although you wouldn't think too much about it. The more he ignored you, the more freedom you'd have. 

The bar was harmonized with a low hum of conversation and soft music filling the air. You had no plan when you walked in -just an overwhelming need to be anywhere but at that house. You found a spot at the bar, ordering a drink and savoring the temporary escape it promised.

The alcohol warmed your throat and dulled the frustration swirling in your chest. One drink turned into two, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

"You look like you could use some company."

You glanced up to see a man standing beside you, his smile easy and confident. His eyes lingered on you just a little too long.

"Not really," you said, turning back to your drink.

"Come on, don't be like that," he said, leaning in closer. "It's just a conversation. You shouldn't be alone in a place like this."

"I'm fine," you insisted, but he didn't seem to get the hint.

The air shifted before you could say anything else, a new presence filling the space behind you.

"She's not alone."

You froze at the familiar voice, low and commanding. Turning slightly, you found yourself face-to-face with San. His dark eyes were locked on the man, his jaw tight, his entire body radiating quiet danger.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And who are you?"

San's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Her husband."

The word hung in the air like a gunshot, silencing everything around you.

The man's eyes flicked between the two of you, suddenly less confident. "Right... well, my mistake." he backed away with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.

Your heart was pounding, though you weren't sure if it was from the alcohol or the way San's eyes hadn't left you once.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, trying to sound unaffected.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his voice calm but laced with barely restrained frustration. "But I guess taking off your ring and disappearing without a word answers that for me."

"I needed space," you said, crossing your arms. "You don't own me, San."

His eyes darkened. "You're right. I don't. But I'm still your husband. If you disappear in the middle of the night, I'll come looking for you. And if some creep thinks he can hit on you, then I'm going to do something about it."

You rolled your eyes, the alcohol emboldening you. "So this is about your ego?"

He took a step closer, the tension crackling between you. "No. It's about the fact that I care, whether you want to believe it or not."

His words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

"Let's go," he said, his tone softening just a fraction. "It's late."

"I'm not going anywhere," you said stubbornly, turning back toward the bar.

San let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Fine. You want to be difficult? Have it your way."

Before you could react, his arm looped around your waist, and in one swift motion, he threw you over his shoulder like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"San!" you gasped, pounding your fists against his back. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he muttered, already weaving his way through the crowd. Heads turned, curious eyes following the scene as you squirmed in his grip. "You brought this on yourself."

"San, I swear to God..."

"You can yell all you want," he said calmly. "We're leaving."

Once outside, the cool night air hit you like a slap, but it did little to cool the heat rising in your cheeks -from anger or embarrassment, you weren't sure. San carried you all the way to his car, finally setting you down beside it.

"You're insane," you snapped, your breath coming fast as you straightened your clothes.

"Maybe," he said, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I thought you'd have learned to love it by now."

For a moment, you stood there, caught in a standoff.

"Get in the car," he said softly, but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice.

Your pride told you to refuse, to stand your ground and make this even more difficult. But something about the intensity in his eyes made you falter.

Wordlessly, you opened the car door and got in, your pulse still racing.

San slid into the driver's seat, starting the car without another word. The ride home was silent, the air between you charged with tension. You could feel his occasional glances, the way his hands tightened around the steering wheel every time your bare finger caught the light.

The ride home was silent. He didn't speak, and neither did you. But the weight of everything unsaid filled the car, pressing down on you both.

When you pulled up in front of the building, San finally broke the silence.

"I'm not going to pretend I know what you're thinking," he said, his voice low. "But if you want to leave, really leave, just say it. I'll let you go."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his eyes. It was the first time you'd seen him drop his guard like this.

But instead of answering, you opened the door and stepped out, your heart pounding in your chest.

San stayed in the car for a moment before following you inside. Neither of you said a word as you climbed the stairs, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

When you reached your room, you paused in the doorway, glancing back at him.

"Goodnight," you said softly, your voice barely audible.

For once, San didn't have a clever comeback. He just nodded, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than they should have.

"Goodnight," he echoed, his voice rough around the edges.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you -something neither of you was ready to admit yet.

The tension between you and San had been palpable since that night. Every word, every glance, felt like a battle -a silent war that neither of you was willing to lose. And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, you found yourself trapped at one of his company's lavish parties, drowning in champagne and meaningless small talk.

It wasn't your kind of crowd. Polished executives and their equally polished partners swirled around you, exchanging pleasantries and hollow laughs. Being the accessory of the main character of the party wasn't your thing at all. You stood near the bar, sipping your drink, counting down the minutes until you could escape. 

That's when you saw him, San, standing at the center of a group of people, commanding their attention with ease. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, his hair perfectly styled, exuding the kind of confidence that made it impossible to look away.

And then you noticed her.

She was standing beside him, too close, her hand resting lightly on his arm as she laughed at something he said. A striking woman in a sleek red dress, her eyes sparkled with something far more than professional interest.

Your grip on your glass tightened as you watched her lean in, whispering something into his ear. To your horror, San didn't pull away. Instead, he turned toward her with a slow smile, his eyes dropping deliberately to her lips before meeting hers again.

It was a calculated move -one meant for your benefit. You knew it. He knew it.

Your stomach twisted, a mix of anger and something far more dangerous bubbling in your chest. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

You turned your back to him, willing yourself to focus on the conversation happening nearby. It was meaningless chatter, something about stock prices, but you latched onto it, pretending you didn't notice the way your pulse was racing.

"Jealous, love?"

The voice was low and teasing, right behind you. You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Hardly," you said, taking a sip of your drink without looking at him. "Do what you want. I couldn't care less."

"Is that so?" San stepped into your line of vision, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Because it looked like you were about two seconds away from throwing your drink at her."

"More like two seconds away from smacking this glass on your head" you finally sentenced. 

"That does sound like someone who's jealous"

You forced a smile, meeting his gaze head-on. "Please. If I wanted to make a scene, you'd know it."

San chuckled, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. "Careful, Y/n. You might give me the wrong idea: that you actually care about me and what I do."

Your pulse jumped, but you refused to let him win. "Trust me, I don't." you narrowed your eyes while looking at him "Just be careful of how you behave in front of everyone. We're still married. In private, do whatever the fuck you please". 

His smile was slow, almost predatory. "Good. Because I'd hate for you to get hurt playing a game you can't win."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless and furious.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. You couldn't stop watching him: laughing, smiling, always with her by his side. Each glance felt like a deliberate push, a challenge to see how far you'd let him go.

By the time the party started winding down, you'd had enough. You grabbed your purse and made your way toward the exit, your steps quick and determined.

But before you could leave, a hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"Running away again?" San's voice was calm, but his grip was firm.

"Let go," you said, your voice low and dangerous.

"Not until you admit it." His eyes locked onto yours, the amusement gone, replaced by something far more serious.

"Admit what?"

"That you care," he said simply.

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes burning with fury. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet, here you are," San said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Still standing in front of me". You didn't know when he stepped so close that your chests were pressed together and your breaths were mixing between you two "I'm only yours, love. You just need to ask me, and I'll declare to you my love without thinking twice". 

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, the party noise a distant hum. You hated how close he was, how easily he could get under your skin.

But you refused to give him what he wanted. Not tonight.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, ignoring the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

The car ride back was suffocatingly quiet. The air between you felt like a loaded gun, ready to go off at the slightest provocation. San's hands rested on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the window in stubborn silence.

The tires crunched on the gravel as the car came to a stop in front of the building. You didn't wait for him to say anything -didn't even glance his way as you pushed the door open and strode toward the front entrance.

But the sound of his footsteps trailing behind you, steady and deliberate, made your pulse quicken.

You barely made it inside when San's voice cut through the silence.

"Care to explain what that little stunt at the party was all about?" his tone was deceptively calm, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.

You spun around, glaring at him. "Are you seriously accusing me of something after what you pulled tonight? Flirting with her right in front of me?"

San smirked, stepping closer. "You noticed."

"Of course I noticed!" you snapped, your voice rising. "You made sure I would."

He shrugged, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "Maybe. But you didn't have to leave the party like that, running off again like you always do. It's getting old, Y/n."

"Maybe it's because I can't stand being around you," you shot back, your voice trembling slightly with the force of your anger. "Did you think of that?"

San tilted his head, studying you. "No," he said quietly, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between you. "I think you left because it bothered you. Because for once, you didn't have control, and it drove you crazy."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "You think too highly of yourself."

"Do I?" his voice was a whisper now, low and deliberate, each word wrapping around you like a challenge. "Then why are you shaking?"

You hated him for being right. Hated how easily he could strip away every layer of defense you had built.

"I'm not..."

"You are," he interrupted, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "And it's not because you're angry. It's because you feel something."

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out.

His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before locking onto yours again. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll back off," he said softly. "Tell me you don't feel anything, and I'll stop."

You stared at him, your heart pounding so hard it was almost painful.

But you couldn't say it.

The words wouldn't come.

San's smile was slow and triumphant. "That's what I thought."

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless and furious, your skin still burning from his touch.

"You're insufferable," you called after him, but your voice wavered, the heat of your frustration blending with something far more dangerous.

San stopped mid-step, his back still to you. For a split second, you thought he'd ignore you, that he'd let you stew in your own whirlwind of emotions.

But then he turned, slow and deliberate, his dark eyes locking onto yours like a predator sizing up its prey. His steps were measured, each one bringing him closer, the air between you thick with electricity.

"You know what's really insufferable?" his voice was low, almost a growl. "The way you keep running. The way you keep fighting me when we both know exactly how this will end."

Your breath caught in your throat as he came to a stop just inches from you, his body radiating warmth, his presence overwhelming.

"I'm not running," you said, though it sounded more like a whisper than the firm declaration you intended.

His hand reached out, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. His touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of heat racing through you.

The space between you disappeared in a heartbeat. His lips crashed against yours, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The kiss was anything but gentle -wild, desperate, and filled with every bit of frustration and desire that had built up between you.

Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing grounding you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, his grip possessive and unrelenting.

It felt better than anything neither of you could've ever imagined. It wasn't just a kiss -it was a battle, a collision of everything you didn't say, everything you'd tried to ignore. 

His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before deepening the kiss. You gasped when he sank his tongue in your mouth, quickly meeting yours at the same time he cornered you on the wall next to the door, his hand gently cupping the back of your head before moving it back to your neck. 

You hated him for making you feel this way, for always knowing how to push you to the edge and catch you before you fell. 

But at that moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths were ragged, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

"Say it," San whispered, his voice rough and breathless. "Say you don't feel anything."

You stayed silent, your lips still tingling from his kiss.

But the way your hands lingered on his chest, the way your body leaned into his, spoke louder than any words ever could.

He took your silence as the perfect answer, smirking to himself before he linked your lips together again. His fingers sank in your hair at the back of your head, twirling them on some locks to pull from them and throw your head to the side as he kissed you down your neck. 

"You're absolutely everything I've ever fucking dreamed of" he heavily whispered on your skin. "I want to admire you, worship your body and make love to you so you'd meet a devotion you had never seen in your life. But hell... when you look at me that way..." his thumb brushed over your cheekbone "I want to ruin you so bad, show you no one will fuck you so good to make your ears beep so loud you won't be hearing your own pleas when you ask me to stop".

Your kiss grew more passionate, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, when he kissed you again. His hands began to wander, tracing the curve of your back, the swell of your hips. You could feel the hardness of his body against yours, and it sent a thrill through you, craving for something you didn't know you were desperate for. You moaned softly into his mouth, pressing yourself against him, at the same time his hands held your hips to keep your body glued to him. 

San broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck again, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You arched my back, a soft sigh escaping your lips, when his fingers brushed against the little skin that was shown off through the cleavage of your dress. It frustrated you, but it also felt so good the way your body responded to his touch without a resistance, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your bra, your entrance clenching around nothing as you kept waiting to feel him inside you. 

When he looked down at you once again, his hands moved down to the zip of your dress, his thumb brushing on your skin while his other fingers slid the material down. He didn't need to ask you, he didn't need to tell you, you helped him take off your dress. 

His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his breath hitching. You were definitely better than he could've ever imagined. No light pajamas would ever compare to the vision in front of him. 

You reached for the hem of his black shirt, pulling from the buttons to reveal his toned chest. San had to hold back the growl in his throat when you ran your fingers over the muscles, feeling the heat of his skin, making him sure your fingerprints were burning every inch you were moving through. 

He wasn't going to let you take control so easily though. 

He lowered his head all of a sudden, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth through the lace of your bra. You gasped, your hands fisting in his hair as a way to control your own self. He teased and suckled, his other hand cupping your breast before he dragged his fingers down with the fabric, exposing the flesh, his thumb rubbing against your nipple before he pinched it with his index. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body aching for more.

San slipped the straps of your bra off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He took his time, exploring every inch of your body with his mouth and hands. He made you squirm beneath him, he filled your head with pleas you never thought would ever be aimed at him, your body was on fire for him.

You reached for his belt, unbuckling it slowly. He lifted his hips to help you, his jeans and boxers coming off in one swift motion. You looked down at him, your eyes widening at the sight of his hard length. He was thick and long, the tip glistening with pre-cum. You licked your lips when a sudden urge to taste him overwhelmed you. Was it how sexy he actually was? Or how bad you wanted him to beg for you and finally accept you were in control? Maybe both? 

You leaned down on your knees, not wasting a moment before taking him into your mouth. He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair as your tongue swirled around him. You sucked and licked, your head bobbing up and down at a tortuous speed. You could feel him getting harder, his hips thrusting gently. You took him deeper when he pushed you lower, your nose brushing against his skin to look up to him. 

And hell, if that image wasn't the best sight ever...

He pulled you up with one swift motion, your lips still parted to the size of his length when he crashed his lips against yours again. Your back slammed against the door, and your head banged against it the moment he pulled your panties down and slid two fingers in you. His thumb brushed over your clit gently, slowly, which was opposite to the way his curved digits moved and rubbed against your walls. 

He earned another moan from you, and his cock twitched in the air against your body once more. 

"Who do you belong to, Y/n? Who owns you now?" his voice was thick and raspy as he whispered. His voice was a mix of cockiness and need to prove you always belonged to him. 

The moment you tried to move your head forward to rest on his shoulder, his fingers wrapped around your throat and stuck your head against the wood to keep your eyes fixed on him. 

You didn't know what to do with your arms, how to keep yourself on your feet, but you did know you had to keep your eyes fixed on him. 

"My love" he almost sang when he felt the way your walls clenched around him and your clit throbbing "I've only been yours" his digits squeezed your throat tighter, unaware of how that dragged you closer to your orgasm. 

Your body squirmed and folded under his grip when that hurricane hit you, yet he didn't stop. His movements were more delicate and slower, but he fingered you through your orgasm until he felt your breathing settling again. 

Your lips were parted when his wet fingers slid through them, and you blindly obeyed, closing your mouth around his digits to lick every drop of his work of art. San barely gave you time to let go of them before his lips crashed against yours again, his tongue looking out for yours to taste you directly on it. 

You were so addictive. 

San picked you up effortlessly, humming at your legs wrapping around his waist, as he made his way to his bedroom. 

When he let you down on his mattress, he couldn't help but admire the way your naked skin stood out so clearly while lying over his sheets, dying to twirl his fingers on those locks spread over his pillow. You brought in him a feral attitude he didn't know was so strong. 

You looked up to him, eager for what was to come, your body ready to jump as he kneeled on the bed and crawled to you. His hands parted your legs easily, resting your calves on his thighs when he redirected his length to you. 

He rubbed the head of his cock against your clit, making your moan. "You're so wet," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Will you let me fill you up? Hmm?" he looked up to you while still rubbing himself against you "Let me mark you now that you've finally accepted that you're mine". 

His words, the idea, the look in his eyes... all of them influenced you to finally nod. 

He slid into you slowly, his eyes locked on yours. You gasped, your body stretching to accommodate him. He felt big, bigger than you could've guessed when you took him in your mouth. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, until your hips met and you both moaned with relief. 

You stayed like that for a few seconds, giving the two of you time to get used to each other before he began to move, his hips thrusting against yours. The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, your moans and gasps echoing around you. You could feel every inch of him, the sensation overwhelming.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his forehead resting against yours. "So tight and wet." he rubbed his nose on yours. "It was really worth it to wait for you".

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back. "Harder," you whispered, your body aching for more.

He obliged, his thrusts becoming faster and deeper. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the room. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing in anticipation.

He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit at the same time his lips found your mouth. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, sending you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He continued to move, his own body tensing as he chased his own release. You felt him getting harder, his thrusts becoming more erratic. With a final thrust, he groaned, his body shaking as he came deep inside you, his load hitting a deep spot. 

You lay there for a moment, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths ragged. He rolled off you, pulling you into his arms. And as much as that feeling felt foreign, you didn't push it away. Instead, you snuggled closer to him. 

The weeks after that night were nothing like the stormy start of your marriage. Slowly, without even realizing it, you began to lower your defenses. San softened in his own way, his sharp-edged words losing their sting, replaced by warm glances and lingering touches.

It wasn't love -at least, that's what you told yourself- but it was something dangerously close. You found comfort in his presence, in the late-night conversations you shared after you agreed on sharing bed with him, the stolen moments of laughter, and the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.

The night he was officially named the head of the company, the entire building was alive with celebration. People congratulated him left and right, raising glasses in his honor, praising his charm, his brilliance, and his unstoppable rise to power. You stood by his side, smiling softly as he greeted his investors and thanked his board.

But despite the glamour, something felt off. San was different -detached, colder than usual, like the man you first met. He didn't seem to notice your growing unease.

Later that evening, after slipping away for a moment to get some air, you made your way down a quieter hallway in the building. As you rounded a corner, voices stopped you in your tracks.

It was San's.

"You're really settling into this husband role, huh?" the voice was familiar -Wooyoung’'s, you realized after a second. 

His tone was light and teasing, but it was what came next that made your blood run cold.

San let out a low chuckle. "Don't get carried away. This marriage means nothing. It was a deal, plain and simple. I finally got what I wanted"

There was a pause, followed by the sound of a glass clinking.

"And the rest?" Wooyoung asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Sleeping with her?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering painfully in your chest.

"That's just part of the game," San said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Keeping her close keeps everything in control. She's predictable now. She's exactly where I need her."

Your vision blurred, your mind racing to process what you'd just heard. Every moment you'd spent with him, every touch, every whispered word in the dark -it had all been a lie. A calculated move in a game you didn't even know you were playing.

The sound of their laughter echoed down the hallway, cutting into you like a blade.

You turned and walked away before they could notice you, your steps quick and unsteady. Your chest ached, a painful mix of anger and heartbreak constricting your lungs.

By the time you reached the main hall, the noise of the party felt like a distant hum, your surroundings spinning as you tried to catch your breath.

You thought you had started to know him. You thought maybe, just maybe, there was something real between you.

But you were wrong.

You were nothing more than a pawn in his game -a game you never agreed to play.

The rest of the night at the party, you avoided him like the plague, your attitude a huge contrast to how you behaved when the night had started. Whenever San tried to approach you, you found an excuse to step away -chatting with guests, refreshing your drink, even pretending to admire the floral arrangements like they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Y/n" his voice caught you off guard as you lingered near the exit, your hand brushing the stem of an untouched champagne flute. San's dark eyes studied you, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's going on? You've been distant all night."

"I'm just tired," you said flatly, forcing a tight smile. "It's been a long day."

His frown deepened, but he didn't press further. Not yet.

The ride home was quiet -tense in a way that made the air between you feel suffocating. San sat beside you, his eyes occasionally flicking toward you, as if waiting for you to explain what was wrong. But you kept your gaze fixed out the window, your thoughts swirling in chaos.

Once you were back home, you made a beeline for the stairs, wanting nothing more than to put distance between you as you closed yourself back in your room. 

"Y/n" his voice was sharp now, demanding. You stopped halfway up the stairs, your hand gripping the banister tightly. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

You turned slowly, meeting his gaze. The man you had once started to trust, the one who had held you so tenderly just nights ago, now felt like a stranger.

"I want a divorce."

The words fell from your lips with a finality that hung heavy in the air.

San froze, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing dangerously. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," you said, your voice calm despite the storm raging inside you. "You finally got what you wanted. You're head of the company now. There's no need to keep up this farce anymore."

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Is that what you think? That this was all just some business arrangement, and now it's over?"

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising. "You've gotten everything you wanted, San. There's no point in pretending anymore."

"You're unbelievable," he growled, stepping closer. "You want to throw everything away just like that? After everything we've been through?"

You laughed bitterly. "What exactly have we been through, San? Lies? Manipulation? This marriage was never real. It was just a means to an end for you."

His eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "And what if it wasn't?"

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him sway you. "It doesn't matter. I'm done."

"You're not done," he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "You don't get to decide that impulsively."

"It's not an impulse," you snapped. "This was part of our deal since the beginning. I've made up my mind."

San's eyes burned with fury, but beneath it, there was something else -something raw and unguarded. "And when exactly did you make up your mind about it, huh?" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"I think it's better for both of us," you said, ignoring the way your heart clenched at the look in his eyes.

But San wasn't having it. His hand gripped the banister beside you, his body blocking your path. "No," he said firmly. "We're not done. Not until I say we are. And you're not leaving," San said, his voice steady but barely restrained, his body now fully blocking your path. His gaze locked onto yours, fierce and unrelenting.

"Move, San," you said through gritted teeth, trying to push past him. "I'm done having this conversation."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist -not hard, but firm enough to keep you from walking away. "No. We're going to finish this right here"

You glared at him, your pulse racing. "What's the point? You made it clear I was just a means to an end. Now that you're head of the company, what reason is there for us to stay married?"

"Because this isn't just about the company!" San snapped, his voice rising, frustration boiling over. His chest heaved with each breath, and for the first time, he looked genuinely unhinged, like he was losing control of everything he'd carefully built.

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes burning with unshed tears. "Then what is it about? What part of this marriage was real to you? Tell me!"

His silence was deafening. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching your face for something -anything. But no words came.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, and you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "Exactly. You can't even answer that."

San's eyes darkened, his frustration tipping into something dangerously possessive. "You really want to know what's real?" he said, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between you. "You." his voice was low, his eyes burning into yours. "Every damn second with you was real"

But for some reason, those words that night felt like the most painful stab at your chest. If there was something clear to you that night, it was that San never really cared for you, but his own control over you. That idea alone made your head spin, trying to decipher if all of his words in that moment were part of the act as well. 

His proximity sent a jolt of heat through you, but you refused to back down. "Words mean nothing, San. Actions do."

"Then watch me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could say another word, his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that stole your breath. It wasn't soft or sweet -it was raw and consuming, a war between his frustration and desire. His hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you in place as his lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin.

You tried to fight it, to remind yourself of everything you'd just overheard, but your body betrayed you. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer even as your mind screamed at you to push him away.

His tongue swept across your bottom lip, coaxing a soft gasp from you, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. It felt like drowning, like falling too fast and too far, and you hated how easily he could unravel you.

When he finally pulled back, your hand slapped across his face, making it turn. He stayed in that position for a few seconds, until he finally moved his head back up, his eyes searching yours, dark and unreadable. "You think I don't care?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You're wrong."

Your heart thundered in your chest, and for a fleeting moment, you believed him. You believed every word, every touch. But the sting of his earlier betrayal still lingered, refusing to let go.

"I can't do this," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Not like this". 

Not when you couldn’t trust him, or know what he was saying was real or not. Not knowing when he was playing with you or showing off his feelings. 

It was too much. 

San's grip on you tightened, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Yes, you can. You're not leaving."

"I don't want to be near you" you let go of his grip once again. "You disgust me. I can't even stand being near you right now. Who knows? Maybe it had always been like that and now that the reason that kept us together is gone I can be honest with the two of us. Be honest with yourself, too". 

The next afternoon, sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow across the marble countertops. You sat at the kitchen island, quietly picking at your lunch, your mind still tangled in the events of the previous night. Sleep had been elusive -every word, every touch, every kiss replaying in your head on an endless loop.

You were lost in thought when the sound of the front door slamming snapped you back to reality. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, growing louder until San appeared in the doorway, his expression dark and unreadable.

Without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a stack of papers. He strode over to you and threw them onto the counter in front of you, the crisp white pages fanning out across the surface.

Your heart stopped for a second as you glanced down at them: "Divorce Agreement". Signed.

"You wanted this, right?" San said, his voice cold and biting. "There. You've got it. Congratulations, you're free."

You looked up at him, stunned into silence, your fork frozen in mid-air. His eyes were like shards of ice, his usual warmth completely gone. He looked almost... victorious, but underneath it, you could sense something else, some of his vulnerability was still obvious in his eyes.

"San, I..."

"You don't need to say anything" he interrupted, his voice dangerously calm. "You made it clear last night that this marriage means nothing to you. So, I'm giving you what you want. No more pretending. No more games."

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you struggled to find your voice. "You think this is what I want?" you finally said, your voice trembling.

"Isn't it?" he shot back, his eyes narrowing. "You were the one who asked for the divorce. I'm just making it easy for you."

You swallowed hard, your throat burning. "You're unbelievable."

San crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a bitter smirk. "No, what's unbelievable is that you think you can just walk in and out of my life whenever you want. You're the one who pushed me away, Y/n. I'm just giving you the freedom you begged for."

"Don't you dare act like you're some kind of victim here," you snapped, rising to your feet. "You lied to me, acting like you cared, like you were into me. You said you were after me long before all of this happened... Bullshit! You used me for your business, just like you admitted to Wooyoung. But I was dumb as fuck to believe we were more than that".

His eyes flickered with something -surprise, perhaps, or regret- but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same infuriating calm. "So, that's what this is about," he muttered. "You overhear one conversation, twist it in your head, and suddenly I'm the villain?"

"I didn't twist anything," you said, your voice shaking. "I heard exactly what you said. That I'm just a pawn in your game. That sleeping with me was just part of your plan. Hope you enjoyed the bit of control you had while you fucked me."

San laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. "You really think that's all you are to me?"

"Isn't it?" you challenged, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. "Tell me I'm wrong."

The silence that followed was deafening. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, he stepped back, his expression hardening.

"You already made up your mind," he said quietly. "So what's the point in convincing you otherwise?"

Your breath caught in your throat, tears stinging your eyes. You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to tear down the walls he had so carefully built around himself in less than a few days. But instead, all you could do was stand there, your heart breaking all over again.

"Fine," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "If that's how you want it."

He nodded once, his face devoid of emotion. "It's what you wanted, remember?"

Annoyed, you reached for a pen, signing up the papers next to him, slamming it against the table before getting up and walking away, leaving the papers on the counter in front of him. The sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house, and for the first time since the start of your marriage, you felt truly alone.

[nebuliias]

SYNOPSIS. . . Mindless with a high fever, delirium overtakes you as you struggle to fall asleep in the hollow darkness, until your significant other comes in to tranquil your worries.

CHARACTER FEATURED. . . Blade

CW: gender-neutral reader, not proofread, hurt/comfort, mentions of hallucinations and derealization in case that bugs anyone, idk what else to add so lemme know if smth bothers you

A/N's note: GUESS WHO IS BACK BABYYY. at least for now until i vanish for another year lmao. so fucking sorry for the extreme lack of updates; here's a blade fic for you to feed on.

January 3rd, the year 8000-something.

It was only the third day of the new year, and you had already fallen with a high fever without being able to care for yourself—especially with your lover out of town.

Everyone else had gone along with the new 'script' Elio had assigned them. All except. That damned Destiny's Slave had left you out of it, whether on purpose or not. Anyway, you were left to your own devices with only the black cat as company, though you suppose he did try his best to treat you.

The situation was kind of funny. You rarely ever got sick, thanks to your well-built constitution, but when you did, it was always came in bad. You couldn't help but giggle to yourself as you drenched yourself in the cold shower, the fresh water soothing against your burning skin.

Blade. You wanted to see Blade. Bladie, Yingxing, your Blade. But you probably had to wait another few days or so until he came back.

But you really, really, really, did wanted to see him again. To be in his arms and trace the scars decorating his body and kiss them all the while. To play and braid his ombre hair. To sit in silence alongside him while stargazing on the terrace.

Ugh. Destiny's Slave truly was cruel.

You turned off the water, got out of the shower and clumsily dried yourself off, unknowingly leaving droplets of aqua in your hair to drip onto the marble tiled floor. Putting on your nightclothes, you staggered to your bedroom just wanting to be put to rest. You'd be lucky if it was for eternity.

For some reason, you started to feel sad. Maybe it was the absence of Blade's presence or the overall silence—which you hated—of the opulent shared penthouse, but your eyes began to turn teary.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you dried your hair more aggressively this time and wiped away your incoming tears, raking your fingers through your tangled locks of hair, but a knot blocked your trail, forcing you to get a hairbrush to rip it out. With your vision being all swirly, you groped around your vanity in hopes of finding the necklace your lover gifted you when he returned from the Xianzhou to put on, but it was a futile search.

Now on the verge of breaking down into hysterics, you attempted to turn on the glass-stained lamp on your nightstand, but due to the barely visible moonlight seeping through the window, you failed to do so. In an abrupt fit of frustration, you slapped the lamp, causing to tremble slightly.

Then, you collapsed into your bed, weeping into your silk pillowcase.

Everything suddenly appeared terrifying. It frightened you how you weren't able to differentiate between illusions and reality, causing you to repeatedly check your surroundings to make sure you weren't in some cluttered cellar being held hostage for whatever reason.

Blade. You wanted to be with Blade.

Your heart hurt. It felt as if some unknown being's hands were beginning to squeeze the blood out of the organ, vermilion liquid flowing through your sweaty body. It felt as if a metal wrecking ball had slammed into your skull, for a throbbing migraine had spread throughout your head.

You ended up bursting into sobs, your shivering frame curling up against the soft quilt on your bed. You swore there were shadowy figures standing in the corners of your room, watching you agonize in your suffering while they did nothing, but the fever had gotten a strong grip on you before you could discover it was just a hallucination.

You missed Blade. You wanted to tell him "I love you," but unfortunately, telepathy didn't exist just yet. And who knew where your phone was...

Helpless, unknowing of what to do, you muttered, "I'm sorry, Blade... I'm really sorry," over and over again your pneuma was slowly being drained out of you.

Your throat felt too dry, but your legs felt like jelly when you tried to get on the move. You would get painkillers for the migraine, but you didn't know where they were, let alone if there were any in the infirmary. Perhaps a bit of classical music would do you some good. After all, the saying went like this: "Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak."

So exhausted. You just wanted to—

Out of nowhere, you heard your bedroom door click open, the ominous creak only deepening your anxiety—and then a deep yet quiet sigh was heard.

Your sobs cut off instantaneuosly, and your eyes burned as you squinted in the dark to make out the versimilatude tall figure amongst the fading shadowy figures. His tailcoat swayed slightly, and his arms were crossed as he stopped right at your bedside.

You grinned, still in the clutches of your delirium, believing he was another trick from your mind, even though you wanted to see him.

He wasn't an illusion though.

"Bladie," you called out, almost relieved at the sight of him.

The man said nothing in response to the nickname. Instead, his hand moved to turn on the glass-stained lamp you had somehow struggled to turn on, the ambience now softly illuminated by the warm golden glow of the artificial light.

He faced you once more, flame-colored eyes looking down at your flushed face. He reached out to push out the stray strands of hair sticking to the sweat, his touch as light as a butterfly's. It was as if he was afraid of accidentally hurting you. Heh, how considerate.

"Rest. Go to sleep."

Aeons, the migraine pounded so terribly it felt like your head was going to break apart into smithereens; however, his words managed to still your crazed state, even if merely for a short time. Your hands were gripping onto the quilt, eyes hazy as you silently gazed back at him like he was an undiscovered species.

Seeing that you weren't able to rest properly, Blade left your room, returning quickly with a white cloth and a bottle of medicine. He went to sit on the edge of your bed, lifting your head up slightly so you could take a few sips of the bittersweet medicine. Seemingly satisfied now, he lowered your head and set the wet cloth on your forehead, hoping that it would help lower your fever down a bit.

"Don't go," your voice managed to rasp out, a trembling hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

He grabbed ahold of your hand and planted a kiss on your knuckles. He patted the limb, setting it on his chest where his heart was located so you could be reassured that he was real; that he was here, alive and well.

"I won't go," he replied.

Your crying had resumed. You didn't even know why you were genuinely sad. Maybe the woes of bygone memories had come to enact vengeance while you were in this fragile state, or perchance the wintry weather outside had taken a toll on your emotional well-being, considering how much it bothered you that it snowed too much, knowing how you couldn't curse Mother Nature for it. Or was it how careful Blade was being with you? No one in your early life has ever been so...sweet with you.

"Blade," you called out again, your grip tightening on his hand. No more words needed to be said to express your emotions.

The swordsman shushed you, his free hand stroking your hair, the action giving off a tingly sensation throughout your scalp. "I'm here," he reassured you. "I'm not going anywhere. Not here, not now."

"Everything will be alright."

He wiped away your tears, both the recent and dried ones. Letting go of you, he lifted the quilt and tucked you in, making sure the warmth wasn't too overwhelming. Once he made sure of it, he leaned down to kiss you on the cheek, his thumb stroking the skin.

"Don't worry about me leaving," Blade comforted. "Sleep in peace. I will remain here until you wake up."

[nanasrkives]

navigation : main masterlist the eclipse secret track! the haikyuu secret track

── .✦ "ACSENSEUR EMOTIONEL" — Kuroo Tetsurou

I felt like I was leaving Kuroo behind, so why not smut for his first post ;) content : explicit smut. fem!reader. fingering. piv sex. LOTS OF EDGING. Post timeskip Kuroo. slight ooc. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The day had stretched on longer than you'd hoped.

 Your heels clicked sharply against the polished floor as you made your way toward the elevator, your mind still stuck on the pile of work waiting for you, despite staying to work overtime. When you turned the corner, you almost ran straight into him—Kuroo Tetsurou, casually leaning against the doorframe with his signature smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You know,” he said, looking you up and down with that familiar teasing gaze, as he noticed the scowl on your features “you could have taken the stairs. I’m sure you’d appreciate the view.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress the slight smile that crept onto your lips. Kuroo was always this confident, always pushing your buttons with his sharp wit. But there was something about today that felt... unusual.

You'd noticed it creeping in over the past few weeks—the way his glances lingered just a bit too long, the way his touch had grown a little bolder, a little more deliberate. It was subtle, but you couldn't ignore it. And now, standing in front of him, you felt a sharp awareness between you both that was hard to shake.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. “Because I definitely have time to let you distract me.”

He chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Distract you? I’m just offering some good company. What’s the harm in that?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused but feeling the heat of his gaze lingering a little too long. “I think we both know exactly what kind of ‘company’ you’re offering.”

Kuroo’s grin widened, a knowing glint in his eyes. He reached for the elevator button. “Could be just what you need.”

The doors slid open, and you hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. Kuroo followed, his presence immediately making the space feel smaller, tighter. You pressed the button for the ground floor, the silence between you both growing heavier, like something was about to shift.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, and you both stood there in the tight, humming space. Kuroo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on you. You began your descent, and for a second, it felt like everything was just as it always was—quiet, professional, just a brief exchange between colleagues.

Then, without warning, the elevator jerked to a stop, making your stomach lurch. The lights flickered for a moment, casting the space in an eerie, half-lit glow. 

A low mechanical groan followed, and the elevator came to a complete halt.

You blinked, looking up at the panel, expecting to see the lights come back on, but nothing changed. No movement. No response.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath.

Kuroo pushed off the wall casually, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Well, isn’t this cozy.” His tone was playful, but the undercurrent of something else—something sharper—was impossible to ignore.

You reached out and pressed the emergency button, but there was no response. The only sound was the soft hum of the elevator’s failing machinery and the beat of your own heartbeat, quickening with the growing tension between you both.

“Well, this is just perfect,” you said, turning to face him. "the universe seems to be against me."

He shrugged, unbothered, as if he was somehow used to this kind of situation. “Could be worse.”

You glanced at the small digital screen above the door, the numbers frozen, stuck on the same floor. “Could it, though?”

Kuroo’s gaze remained on you, studying you with that familiar, cocky glint in his eyes. “Could be worse,” he repeated, his voice a little lower this time. “But we have time now. So… what’s really bothering you, hmm?”

You shot him a look, annoyed by his question but not entirely sure how to answer. There was something about the way he looked at you—like he could see right through your exterior, like he knew more about you than you were willing to admit.

“Nothing’s bothering me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

But Kuroo wasn’t fooled. “Really? You sure about that?”

You wanted to brush it off, but there was a tension in the air, a weight that settled between you both. The space was too small, too intimate now. The air in the elevator felt thick, oppressive, like it was closing in around you.

His smirk deepened, his voice dropping lower. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. Pretending like you don’t feel this thing between us.”

You looked at him, eyes narrowing, but your pulse was already quickening. “Avoiding you?” You asked, your voice coming out sharper than you meant.

Kuroo didn’t move, but his body was close now, closer than it should be in this tiny elevator. He was so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. “Yeah,” he said, his tone now serious. “But I know you feel it too. The way you look at me. The way your breath catches when I’m near. We’ve both been pretending long enough.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t pull away. He was right. You had been avoiding him—avoiding what had been building between you both for weeks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

Kuroo stepped closer, his chest almost brushing against yours. The tension between you both was almost unbearable now, each breath, each movement amplified by the confined space. “Oh, you do. You just don’t want to admit it. Not yet.”

For a moment you looked in each other’s eyes and before you could come up with a clever way to dodge the growing heat between you, his lips were on yours. The kiss was sudden, demanding, and full of that same intensity you’d been trying to deny.

The world outside the elevator didn’t exist anymore. You couldn’t hear the faint hum of the emergency lights or the soft creak of the elevator’s faulty machinery. There was only Kuroo—his lips moving against yours with purpose, his hands sliding to your waist to pull you closer.

The kiss deepened, more urgent now, as you felt his body pressing you back against the elevator wall. His touch was gentle but insistent, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long. His lips traveled down to your neck, and you couldn’t help the small gasp that left your mouth.

Kuroo pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath shallow, eyes dark with desire. “Guess we’re really stuck here, huh?”

You looked up at him, chest rising and falling with every breath, your mind racing as you processed the situation. “Guess so,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kuroo’s hands moved slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second, as if there was no rush, no reason to stop. He leaned in again, this time more slowly, brushing his lips lightly against yours, teasing, as if asking for permission.

You kissed him back, and everything around you blurred. There was only the soft creak of the elevator and the taste of him on your lips.

Kuroo’s lips slid down your neck, his hands undressing you slowly, deliberately. His fingers traced along your skin, teasing, skimming over your sensitive spots, before slipping lower, to the waistband of your skirt. You moaned softly, already burning with desire.

He paused, looking up at you with that dark, teasing gaze. "Are you sure about this?" His voice was low, controlled, as if he were giving you a choice, but you knew there was no turning back.

"Yes," you whispered, your body aching for more. "I want you."

That was all the permission Kuroo needed. His hands slid under your clothes, fingers brushing over the lace of your panties, teasing, sending sparks of heat through you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his fingers brushing your clit through the fabric, testing the waters. "Already so wet for me." His voice was filled with both admiration and a dark hunger that made your knees go weak.

You let out a soft moan, biting your lip from his touch, and soon enough,he slid your panties down. Without another word, Kuroo’s fingers slid inside your pussy, his touch firm and steady as he began to pump in and out slowly, his thumb pressing against your clit in a perfect rhythm. You moaned, hands gripping the edges of the elevator, bracing yourself as the pleasure began to build.

His movements were controlled, steady, but there was an urgency to them—a need to push you further, to make you unravel in front of him. His lips met your inner thigh, his breath warm against your skin as he continued to work you with his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, the sound of his voice sending another wave of heat through you.

You could feel the tightness in your lower belly grow with every thrust of his fingers. It felt like you were teetering on the edge, so close to the release you desperately needed. “Kuroo,” you gasped, your hands reaching for him, wanting more, needing more.

He smirked against your skin, his thumb moving faster against your clit as his fingers deepened inside your velvety walls.

You gasped, unable to control the small sounds escaping from your mouth as he worked you closer to your release. His fingers moved expertly, his pace quickening, the heat between you intensifying.

“Kuroo… don’t stop,” you breathed, your body already shuddering with the need to come. “Fuck, just like that.”

But then, just as you were about to spiral over the edge, his fingers paused.

You froze, eyes snapping open in confusion as he pulled back slightly, his smirk widening at your reaction.

“Slow down babe,” Kuroo said, his voice dripping with amusement and something darker. “It won’t be fun if I let you cum.”

Your heart raced, your body aching with the sudden absence of his touch. You wanted to protest, but the look in his eyes made you swallow your words. He was enjoying this—enjoying the power, enjoying seeing you on the edge but unable to cross it.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he said, his voice smooth, almost mocking. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could respond, he slid his fingers back down, faster this time, but not quite fast enough to push you over the edge. Your body was tense, your chest heaving as you desperately sought release.

He moved his fingers in a teasing rhythm, pushing you to the edge and then pulling back just as you were about to come. You gasped and squirmed against him, frustrated, needing more, but Kuroo just watched you, his fingers still working in and out, but not enough to let you fall.

“Please, Kuroo,” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. “Please, please, let me cum.”

A wicked smile tugged at his lips, and he gave you one final, slow stroke before pulling his fingers away completely. You let out a strangled moan of frustration, your body shuddering with need.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he stood up, his eyes dark with desire. “You’ll get what you want, but not yet.”

You wanted to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped you. You knew he wouldn’t let you off easy. Not after the way he’d been pushing you. But you were desperate now, your body a trembling mess, aching for release.

You were panting, your hands gripping the elevator walls for support. “You’re an insufferable piece of shit, you know that.”

Kuroo smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ll make you beg.”

Without warning, he lifted you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you off the ground, placing you against the elevator wall. You gasped, surprised by the sudden movement, but the shock only heightened your need for him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands threading through his hair as he held you firmly, his chest pressed against yours.

His lips found your neck again, kissing the sensitive skin there as he moved you both, his hands finding the hem of your dress and lifting it further up your body. You could feel his hard length pressing against you, his own restraint clearly fading.

“You’re already so worked up,” Kuroo muttered, his voice low and rough as he unbuttoned his pants to free his rock hard cock from its restraint.. He glanced up at you, smirking. “You sure you still want this?”

You nodded, unable to form coherent words, your body aching and he rubbed his length against your leaking core.

“Good,” he murmured, before burying himself into you with one slow movement. You gasped, your head falling back against the wall as you felt him fill you completely, the full sensation pushing all coherent thought from your mind.

Kuroo’s arms tightened around you, holding you securely as he began to move inside you. His thrusts were slow but firm, making the elevator tremble slightly with each sharp movement. You moaned, your hands clutching his shoulders as you tried to keep yourself steady.

“Fuck,” Kuroo groaned, his voice rough. “You feel so good around me.”

Your body arched in response, feeling the pleasure building with each thrust. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in fast, controlled circles, making you clench his cock in a tight grip. The pressure inside you was rising, and you were so close, so close to the release that you needed.

His hips slapping against your inner thighs along with your moans were the only sounds that could be heard. His hand found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss with continuous pounding that sent you to ecstasy.

But just as you were about to finally reach your high, Kuroo’s thrusts slowed, and he pulled out of you, leaving you gasping in frustration.

“Not yet,” he breathed, his voice filled with the same teasing control. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

You felt your heart race as he pulled you off the wall, spinning you around so that your back was against his chest. His hands gripped your hips tightly, bending you slightly as he slid back inside, his thrusts deep and relentless. Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes closing as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge again. Kuroo’s hands moved over you, feeling every inch of you as his pace quickened.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he whispered in your ear, his voice dark and seductive.

You nodded, unable to speak, your body completely at his mercy.

 He growled, his voice commanding. “Beg me to make you come.”

Your entire body burned with need, and with a desperate breath, you gasped, “Please, Kuroo… make me come. I need it.”

That was all he needed. With a low growl, he increased his pace, thrusting deeper, faster. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, frantic circles. 

The pleasure overwhelmed you, and with a final, sharp cry, your body shattered, your orgasm hitting you hard and fast. You clung to Kuroo as your body trembled, the sensation of release coursing through every inch of you.

Kuroo groaned your name as he followed you, his grip tightening on your hips as he came, his own release spilling into you in a rush.

For a moment, all that existed was the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath, the elevator still unmoving, suspended in time.

Kuroo gently let you go, your legs feeling like jelly as you tried to catch your breath. His hand gently brushed your hair back as he looked down at you, a satisfied, almost smug expression on his face.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he muttered, his voice still filled with desire, though he was clearly content for the moment. You chuckled breathlessly,“Next time, maybe we can skip the waiting part,” you muttered, half-joking but half-serious.

Kuroo chuckled, brushing his hands through your hair. “Maybe. But I like to keep you on edge.” His hand grazed on your cheek, his touch soft after everything. “You did good.”

Kuroo was the first to move. He straightened, smoothing down his shirt, though his hair was still slightly tousled from where your fingers had tangled in it. His usual smirk played at the corners of his lips, but his eyes held something deeper—satisfaction, maybe, or the quiet thrill of knowing exactly what had just happened in that suspended moment.

You adjusted your dress, fingers brushing over the fabric as you steadied yourself. Your body still hummed with the remnants of pleasure, but you refused to let it show. Not when Kuroo was watching you like that.

A soft chime announced the elevator’s return to function. The doors slid open with an almost indifferent ease, as if they hadn’t just trapped you in a moment neither of you would forget anytime soon.

Kuroo exhaled, a low chuckle escaping him. "Well, looks like power’s back." You met his gaze, arching a brow. "Shame. I was getting used to it.''

You stepped past him, careful not to let your legs betray you. As you reached the threshold, you felt the ghost of his fingers skim the small of your back—not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you that even though the elevator had started moving again, something between you had shifted.

“Next time,” he murmured just beside your ear, his voice low, confident, “try to last longer.” You turned just enough to glance at him, lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Next time,” you echoed, stepping out of the elevator, “try to make me.” His chuckle was the last thing you heard before the doors slid shut.

Back to work. Back to reality. Back to war.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @cherrysurf @arwawawa2 @elmaa127 @sexysweetsavageesstuff

[twiceeshy]

3% [Chapter 1/?]

Read and view tags on ao3.

Summary: Three percent was the chance that suppressants would fail to protect from pregnancy, if a fertile Omega had sex with an Alpha during heat. It was non-negligible, but low.

E, rosquez, 6.7k words.

--

Marc held a baby in his arms. Nurses bustled around to make sure everything was alright, but he knew he didn't have to worry. She was tiny and pink. He loved her, he realised, stunned.

He was, perhaps, blessed that a pandemic had befallen them so he could have her safely. His abnominal muscles hid the bump for months. In another world he might have trained and crashed multiple times out of complete ignorance and lost her. Would he be happier that way? It wasn't worth thinking about, and nobody would ever hear about these doubts except his brother.

Still, he had considered the prospect of not keeping her seriously before making a choice, knowing what a commitment it would be.

Deep his heart, as much as he fretted and feared and did not actually want to do this at all, he couldn't bring himself to lift a finger to do anything else. Not when the child would be a combination of himself and someone he once loved. He would never have this chance again.

When a surreal health crisis laid their season's schedule to waste, he was vindicated. All the stars aligned for him to commit to this tough choice instead of the other.

"I think she'll look like you," Alex said cheerfully, as though he hadn't been awake through the night. Labour lasted thirteen hours.

Marc thought that Alex made good company in lieu of a husband. In fact, Marc was fairly certain he would have kept his brother and kicked the actual father of his child out of the room about five minutes into delivery, if he happened to be around. He couldn't stand the thought of anyone else watching through this specific vulnerability, which was why he made his parents stay at home. He was filled with a complicated mixture of love and loathing that would be horribly unpalatable to anyone else.

Marc had squeezed his brother's hand to bits and tried not to make noise even though it hurt. Alex made no complaint either. Marc probably played too heavy a hand in raising him, but Alex turned out perfect so it was hard to feel guilty.

He was going to be the best uncle in the world. And Marc was determined to be a good mother.

He held her out to Alex, who took her carefully. She was tiny. If she was anything like him, she would be tiny for a long time. He wondered if he could make her take more after him out of sheer willpower.

"Do you think she looks like a Laia?" Marc asked. Laia Marquez Alenta. He'd drawn the name from a list of popular Catalan baby names, and still thought it fit. He enjoyed having the most common name for decades running, and there was an edge of rebellion in naming her as Catalan as possible. Her name carried ties to home, and the freedom to shape her own destiny.

Alex smiled at her with the warm fondness. "She looks like whatever you want."

Marc held his brother's arm appreciatively. For the millionth time since he found out about his pregnancy, he was unspeakably grateful for his brother. His family's love was a panacea to his unquantifiable amount of despair, as his body stretched and his toes disappeared from view. He used to easily bend down and touch the floor with the palms of his hands. He would get back there. He would get back on a bike too - soon, maybe even tomorrow - and he would return to winning again.

A few short moments later, a nurse took Laia away to measure her height. Something animal and new surged within him. He wanted her back, he didn't want her to smell like someone else. He controlled himself.

Alex dabbed stray tears from Marc's eyes with his sleeve. He hadn't realised he had been crying. His head was a mess.

"Congratulations," Alex said.

Marc gave him a wobbly smile. He felt unfit and horrible, and he regretted taking a break from his career from every fibre of his being now that the deed was done. But he'd done it, he was a mother now.

A thousand or so kilometres away, the paddock was just over a week away from their second race in Jerez.

--

Marc could pin down the day of Laia's conception to precision: 17 November 2019, when he had capped off a year of glory with a win.

He had been on the verge of a heat. It didn't matter - he'd raced through them before. When riders had their heads covered by helmets, scents were scarcely a distraction to everyone else. The only inconvenience was for himself, because his body temperature felt hotter and his stomach was prone to cramping, so he needed to ensure he had a different balance of water and electrolytes to keep the averse effects at bay.

It should have been a handicap for everyone else, and yet, he won with some margin. He simultaneously felt invincible and mortal, battered by the chronic weight of past and present injuries magnified by his heat. It was a terrible, foreboding mixture.

He was on top of the world. He was boiling alive in his own sweat and leathers.

He dragged himself to the afterparty anyway. His head was killing him. No matter how much water he drank, he couldn't shake off the dehydration. Once the adrenaline of the race had worn off, his dislocated shoulder throbbed painfully. He needed surgery soon to fix that again, as his arm felt to be one tough whack away from falling off.

After an hour, he bowed out. There were tests to be done in two days. It was early still, but there wasn't any reason to torture himself when his heat was surely already setting in. He only hoped he'd be able to get over the worst of it the next day and be fit for the tests. He couldn't imagine being off suppressants and having to suffer through three-day, full blown heats. This was bad enough.

He made it to his motorhome somehow. While trudging there, he caught a whiff of something forbidden through an open window. Despite his exhaustion, he ran.

During his two and a half years with Valentino, their heats and ruts had never coincided. Although couples' cycles tended to sync up with greater proximity, they hadn't been together long or frequently enough. And well, "couple" was a generous term to describe what they were.

He'd only been through two of Valentino's ruts before. Marc shared only one heat with him. Scheduling didn't permit anything else. They'd both been out of their minds for all three of those occasions.

Marc wasn't usually stupid in heat when he was alone. Impulsive and slow perhaps, but nothing like the mewling, horny mess he'd been reduced to during that one heat after his home race. He and Vale had been one-two on the podium in Montmelo, and he felt top of the world, untouchable. Hours later he was knocking on Valentino's door with his brain fried. There had been an embarrassing amount of whining involved while Valentino teased him. The memory was precious. He had been trusting and vulnerable then, but floating from his winning streak (how many in a row had it been by that time? Six or seven? He wasn't even done yet), and Valentino had taken care of him kindly. He couldn't believe his hero would take the time to do this for him. It had been so good, beyond a dream.

In contrast, ruts were bordered on violent. Valentino was brutal. He'd barely been able to speak before the knot formed, and when he was that way, it was impossible to reach him. Marc silently let him, let him, let him, because he was used to pain and he could cope with it, could be the perfect Omega if he needed, so what if it was too intense?

He was bruised by the end of it all, his limbs and his back and surely his insides, not wet or stretched enough to comfortably grip a knot in absence of a heat. These were the only times Valenino had ever offered him apologies, but he didn't need them. He had been kissed gently in compensation when Valentino came down, once the knot was in place, and he'd felt loved. Beautiful, brave, he remembered, and a soft kiss to his sweat-damp eyelid. Kisses all over his face until his cheeks were warm. He kept the compliments close to his chest.

This time, his body would be able to take it. Years ago, the thought of a cycle that finally synced up would have excited him. Now he hid and shut the door behind him. He wished again that Alex was around to stop the inevitable from happening. He hoped that Valentino was as desperate for self-control as he was, because this couldn't happen.

But even while he thought that, he knew it was not to be. He was on a knife's edge himself, and Omegas in sport were accustomed to containing their baser tendencies, both with their minds and medical interference. Alphas meanwhile, were encouraged to let it out, to be possessive and aggressive and greedy. It was good for the competitive spirit.

If Valentino smelled him at all, he'd be there soon. The rare sight of him at his best and his worst, fully unrestrained. Marc feared and yearned, and knew it was not to be denied.

Then came a knock on the door. Marc watched the knob twist from his vantage point in his own sitting area, unmoving. He could smell it through the gaps around the door - his Alpha, however long ago it may have been, and the other half of a mating bond that was broken before it could take hold.

He's should have thought to lock himself in. But he had gone stupid, and subconsciously he didn't want to spend another heat alone. He got to his feet to rush over and twist the lock shut. It was too late.

Valentino let himself in. The full brunt of his scent in rut punched Marc up the nose. It was pungent and human, mixed in with sweat. He shouldn't have been searching for it, inhaling it like he needed it. If he had clarity of mind, he would find that the scent was not pleasant, and he wouldn't want it all over him like a perfume. This wasn't the protective, sweet mating scent it once was.

But it was Valentino, and his body reacted. His hole clenched around nothing. He was wet already, and so hot it was frightening.

His eyes traced over the other man, tall and older and thin. Marc could take him in a strength fight, he knew, but there was no fight to be had. The heat wanted to be sated.

He refused to beg for it. Self-control was a deep well he could draw from even when surrender was nigh.

"Maybe you should go," he suggested quietly, the last barrier he was able to erect between them. It was flimsy, so Valentino acted as though he never heard it. It hurt Marc as much to voice it out as much as it stung to be ignored.

Valentino came to him (he was so fast - how was he so fast? How was it fair that ruts did this and heats made Marc dull), held his face, gripped his jaw, kissed him. Marc let it happen, fists clenched by his sides, teeth biting into the flesh of his own lower lip to keep the silence. The heat was unbearable. His palms were sweaty and searing in his own grip. Even the soles of his feet were burning.

He could tell that his lack of reaction frustrated Valentino, who made a noise of annoyance and maneuvered them onto the small sofa. His weight sank above Marc's, hot and heavy. He had sweat gathering on his temples and his nose.

In heat induced haze, Marc could still appreciate him. His lovely curls, lines on his face that showed his good humour, and his intense, light eyes. Marc swallowed a whine as Valentino clawed at the fastenings of his jeans, and felt his eyes flutter shut.

He knew he was wet. When Valentino tugged his jeans and his briefs down, he couldn't open his eyes out of shame. He had never felt shame over what was natural before, but his scent was overpowering, and unlike Valetino's it was still sweet. This was an admission he didn't want to give. The saving grace was that Valentino was too far gone to notice, lost in rut and years of anger.

Valentino didn't take the time to undress Marc or himself fully. Marc had his shirt and shoes still on (Alex would laugh so much about having shoes on during sex, he realised hysterically), and the jeans that pooled around his feet were too tight for him to move comfortably. Kicking in the air, he shucked them off - shoes, jeans, socks that caught on the rest - as Valentino worked on his own clothes.

It was easy for him. He was in an tracksuit with yellow stripes. Wildly, Marc wondered why he wanted him so much. But he did.

The thought crossed his mind that he really should have found some way to fuck Vale when he won in Misano back in September, so he wouldn't be in this situation. He had made it halfway to Vale's box in his unzipped leathers and his heat dildo in a bag before he caught himself acting like a prowling animal and turned back. He had been driven by the taste of victory on Vale's soil.

It would have made everything between them irrevocably worse. He should have done it anyway to gain a mental edge over this. Marc had the most unbearable urge to top that day and he was crystal clear that he would have succeeded, novice or not.

He would torture Vale one day. When he wasn't weak and pathetic in heat, he'd show Vale what it felt like to be held out on. He'd ruin him, he'd never let him come. He'd show him why it was so good, why Marc still waited and waited for him, and why Vale would never have this with anybody else. Anger and want mingled in a primitive corner of his brain.

Then Valentino freed his cock, and he crowded himself on Marc, and the complicated regrets flatlined temporarily. The heat demanded submission.

It was already happening. He should just enjoy it, given in to nature.

He couldn't.

He was supple, but even he found that the cramped sofa was less comfortable than the bed he was accustomed to. He didn't suggest to move.

Valentino pushed him down, so Marc's spine was curved awkwardly in the crook between the seat and backrest. He pulled Marc's legs apart and folded them back such that his knees were against his shoulders. Marc was flexible so it didn't hurt, but he didn't like it.

He was so wet, almost dripping before Valentino' eyes. There was no way he could sit back and allow this to happen. To do so would be pathetic, and Marc had never been pathetic.

He needed control. It was always certain that the person who kept their wits better had control if they played it right. It would be marginal victory in a war of attrition, but he was good at holding on to the winning edge in those.

Valentino held his cock and it looked like a fucking weapon. The lust of a rut was something to behold. His cock was swelling, not yet a knot, but red and painful.

Marc wanted it.

He didn't want it at all.

He twisted around to lie down across both seats. If there was a damn cushion somewhere so he could rest his head, he would be better off. It didn't matter - there was no position he couldn't fold himself into as needed.

With one swift movement, he kicked his legs up and bent wound his thighs around Valentino's shoulders, them forced him down with his strength. The Marc of 2014 would never have done this, but he was no longer so willing to roll over. Valentino was on his knees, head in proximity of Marc's weeping hole. It was a completely novel position to both of them. A smirk tugged the corner of Marc's lip. Surely Valentino would come to his senses soon and he would fight back, but by then he would realise that he had lost himself to his rut far more completely than Marc had allowed his heat to control him.

He still wanted Valentino to fuck him, knot him, have them fused at the front for hours, show them off to every other Omega who had stolen Valentino's ruts from him, scratch his fucking name bloody into Valentino's back so that Vale could feel how much he cared.

Time slowed down to molasses, which was a strange contrast to the acrid desperation in the air. Marc felt that he had a brief moment of time in control. It was like being on a bike, lining up a clever overtake while slowing down from 350 kilometres an hour. There was nobody better than him at this.

Marc quicky pushed himself up on his elbows so he could lean forward and watch. He swiped two fingers through his slick and touched them to the tip of his tongue, just to make sure that it was the same saccharine taste, sweet with affection, that Valentino used to go crazy for.

It was. Marc had always known that deep inside, he did not change easily.

Then he shoved his fingers into Valentino's mouth to remind him of the taste, and laid back to reap the benefits as Valentino attacked his hole with carnal hunger. His nose brushed against the hairless expanse of Marc's skin, his warm breath lit up every one of Marc's nerve endings. He pinched Marc's swollen, traitorous clit. Marc panted, his eyes fluttered shut, on the tenuous edge of control as Valentino stretched him out with his tongue, greedy for slick. Good, stay there, do it properly. Marc wouldn't hurt more, not today.

Marc moved a hand to the back of Valentino's head to hold him there, but it was slapped away with an impatient sound. He fisted his hands into his own shirt, grasping for purchase.

"Va-le," the name snuck itself out of his mouth without his permission.

His voice brought Valentino back to brief lucidity.

"You're the fucking devil," he said hoarsely, and it might have been true, but the words cut like a physical weapon. His lips were coated in a shiny sheen, and his hair was messy and sweat-damp. He looked throughly debauched. He would never have wanted this.

Marc should have defended himself. He could only whine and bring his thighs closer so Valentino would shut up with his horrible words and continue to stretch him out.

Valentino pulled himself free, scissored Marc's hole roughly with two fingers, and - too quickly for Marc's heat-weakened self to resist, he hauled himself up and sank his growing knot into Marc's swollen heat.

Marc felt tears well in his eyes and hated himself for it. It wasn't the pain, he knew pain like an old friend. It was the intensity of being fucked and being hated.

Under the heat of Valentino's sweaty, heavy body, Marc refused to buckle. He met every movement, grind for grind. He refused to look away. He stared without blinking. Let Valentino see him suffer. Let Valentino see him detach himself from this. Maybe Valentino would understand him better if Marc could haunt him in return for all of their past years.

He controlled his expression into something stoic and defiant. It was all wrong, so let it be obvious. Let him maintain his dignity when all other control was stripped from him. Let him come out on top.

The knot, heavy between his legs, pushed obtrusively into his slick cunt. There was no point in fighting it, as it would only hurt more. This was like crashing - if you tensed yourself defensively, you would die. If you accepted it and let the momentum take you, you might live.

He felt his slick change in consistency, turning grippy. He hated the body chemistry of an Omega in heat. Hated that when the knotting was supposed to take place, his body acted against him. This was new to him, with the heat and rut cycles syncing up.

Valentino continued to fuck him clumsily, his thickening knot going through the resistance of Marc's body, piercing back inside over and over again, until Marc locked him in for good, gripping the knot in a vice, the intrusion almost the size of a fist. They came in tandem, and while light behind his eyelids stole Marc's consciousness for a moment.

He was aware again shortly, and all of a sudden, the sound of their breathing was too loud. Their faces were too close.

The magnitude of how awkward the situation was revealed itself. They couldn't even run, locked into each other as they were. His cunt ached dully. His clit was oversensitive and wanted for attention it wouldn't receive. His scenting gland throbbed, but he was unmated. Marc felt cold, despite the heat they shared. He didn't feel beautiful or brave today, and his body felt worn.

His shoulder was crying for mercy, trapped between Valentino's weight and a sofa that didn't provide enough support. He wanted Valentino to flip them over, but he refused to ask. Could Valentino not smell that he was distressed? Was he distressed? Or was it that he had been distressed from the start, so Valentino couldn't tell the difference? Normally, he was at least sensitive to Marc's pain. It was only Marc's head that he wanted to mess around with.

What had they done? Valentino didn't even want him anymore. Marc didn't have to stop him from making the mating bite this time, as he had every time prior. The desire had evaporated.

Valentino spoke first. "We didn't use a condom," he said.

The world fell away beneath Marc. He gathered himself in an instance, anxiously. "I'm on suppressants. Three percent," he said, repeating an oft-mentioned statistic. Three percent was the chance that suppressants would fail to protect from pregnancy, if a fertile Omega had sex with an Alpha during a heat. It was non-negligable, but low.

Valentino accepted this with a nod. He looked tired, each of the fourteen years between them highlighted vividly. So unhappy was the occasion, so spent was his body, that Marc almost felt as though he was guilty of something. But of course, he was not.

They didn't attempt to converse. Marc remembered when Vale used to talk, and make Marc laugh through the tears.

The moment Valentino's knot had decreased enough in size, he wrenched himself out and put on his ugly trackpants. Marc gasped and clenched over nothing, but all he saw was the sight of Valentino's tense back as he took brisk strides away. Valentino let the door shut with a violent slam. Marc didn't call out for him.

Valentino was still in rut, despite the lull. Alphas in sports didn't take suppressants. Marc's heat had broken but where was Valentino going? Who was he going to? Marc couldn't help but wonder, thoughts spiralling into useless directions.

He tried so hard, but he didn't think he won this round.

Empty and hopeless, Marc dressed himself. He ignored the mess of fluids collecting inside his briefs. As a distraction, he made himself clean the sofa. The smell of antiseptic drove his heightened senses crazy.

It didn't matter. Alex and his father knew the moment they returned home. An incompatible mating scent was impossible to hide.

Marc hadn't even considered the possibility of pregnancy for more than a second. He cleaned himself out throughly with his fingers in the shower, unable to tolerate the thought of the remnants of Valentino in him. It was easy, he was sore but he was was still loose. That should have been the end of it.

--

The cruel irony was that Marc had highly specific plans for becoming a parent before any of this happened. He always assumed that he would become one in the future because he liked children and they liked him, and he was willing to temporarily give up his athletic body for that pursuit. However, the assumption also caveated that it would be a post-retirement affair.

He intended to collect all the accolades humanly possible first, then he would retire as late as he could. He wanted to be racing deep into his thirties, maybe even his forties. It was the most passionate love of his life, which he would cling to with bloodied fingertips until he couldn't. He gave his childhood and his life to it, so it needed to give back to him. He wanted to keep having fun and winning.

Somewhere in the middle of this illustrious career, maybe when he was in his early thirties, he would have enough wisdom to pick a good person and fall slowly in love. He knew, after years without Valentino, that it would not be him. A part of Marc would always feel affection for the Alpha that first laid claim to him, but he trusted that his heart was big enough to love again. He just needed more time to get over the hurt. Besides, Valentino would be far too old to become a new parent by the time Marc was ready.

Ideally Marc would find a gentle person who was proud of his accomplishments, and patient enough to wait for him to finish earning them. Marc wouldn't date a competitor - their ego would protest, and he understood completely. He couldn't stomach dating someone who made a habit of beating him either, when he eventually grew too old to be competitive. He would rather retire than face that reality, and maybe one day when he started to decline, he'd consider his fertility when he made his decision to leave. He would finally get to experience a three-day heat and carry a baby for the nice person he was going to find. Maybe he would be with a nice girl, for a change, and his mother would enjoy her company. His worry used to be whether he could catch this window in time.

He wanted someone good for him, who he could be good to in return. He'd always been capable of being generous and tender when he loved. It was just on track that he couldn't, which was why it was inadvisable to start a family with a rival. As a younger person, he lacked this foresight.

He knew that there had to be someone else out there for him who was perfect, and would want to be out in the open with him, cheering him on and waiting patiently for Marc's career to run its course. When he was done, they could be married, and his partner would follow Marc back to Cervera to have a good life together.

In the meantime, Marc hadn't been in a hurry. He was too young for any of this.

--

Two days after Laia's birth, Alex drove them home.

He wasn't in the most talkative mood. They both were tired, having squeezed onto Marc's bed to sleep while he was warded. Marc didn't care about the rules, he paid for a private room and his brother wasn't going to sleep in a chair while putting aside his life and his career to babysit him.

They then faced the conundrum of trying not to wake a newborn who only knew how to communicate by crying. The easiest ceasefire seemed to be staying silent.

Marc was free from holding her because she had to go into an infant carrier at the back, but he was fidgety. If he had to deal with awkwardness from the only person he had never been awkward with because of the baby, he was going to do something unpleasant.

Thankfully, Alex always knew what to do. "Open the glove compartment," he said, apropos of nothing.

Marc turned to him, puzzled. "Why?"

"Just open it," Alex said, so Marc did.

He found a folded paper bag, and pulled it out. It contained something soft. He emptied the contents onto his lap.

There was a soft onesie that looked like a bee, and a red ant plushie that was cuter than any insect had a right to be.

"I thought you wouldn't want her to be an ant, but she can hold you," Alex explained.

Marc looked down at the items wordlessly. He hadn't thought so far about what a baby girl would like. He was busy thinking about what she would need, and placing an insane number of online orders for baby things, thanks to the fucking pandemic. He had twenty milk bottles nozzles stockpiled now.

Alex smiled softly. "She'll be a bee if she's like you. Noisy."

"Of course she'll be like me," Marc said without really thinking. He fidgeted with one of the ant's fluffy red legs. It was soft, and felt more expensive than any of the toys they used to share. Or maybe this was what new toys felt like.

"She's very quiet now," Marc remarked, registering what Alex said.

"I think she likes the engine sound," Alex said.

Marc did too. A quiet hum. It had nothing on a bike of course, but it was calming. A balm of steady sound to keep the thoughts from crowding his mind.

He felt a longing that he blamed on hormones. An Omega on his lonesome, left to raise a child on his own, could only feel small and tragic. His chemistry wanted him to cower at the altar of his Alpha and lure him back so his baby would be well cared for. His mind tempted him with the echoes of strong hands against his thigh, fingertips pressing confidently under his briefs, whispers of reassuring warmth against his body that he no longer had access to, and no longer truly wanted.

Funny how it used to feel as though they had so much, when they always had so little. Stolen moments between commitments and no plans for their future.

It was sacrilegious to yearn for any of that in the vicinity of Alex, given that Alex hated Valentino with a cold fury. He harboured all the difficult feelings that Marc couldn't convince himself to sustain. All of that emotional labour, for Marc's sake. He was much more important to Marc than Valentino could ever hope to be, even if Valentino came to his senses and delivered himself with his metaphorical tail between his legs. And he wouldn't, so.

He centred himself on the sound of the engine humming. It was like what he was taught to do when his heats overwhelmed: focus on the other senses. What did he see? What did he smell? The soft brush of his fuzzy shirt against his bare skin. A plush ant in his hand. Sunlight in his eyes. The clean scent of their air freshener. Instrumental music in the background for the baby's sake, mingling harmously with the engine. Steady. He grounded himself.

Maybe he was being childish, but he placed the ant on Alex's hand that was holding the gear shift, then made it do a few hops to crawl up his arm. He just liked the contact. The ant was soft.

Alex laughed softly. "What is this, Marc?"

"We have a baby, you have to get used to it," Marc said loftily.

"She can't be worse than you," Alex said.

Marc turned his head to watch his daughter for several moments. She was too special to be worse than anyone. The blood of seventeen combined championships ran in her veins - which wasn't worth everything obviously, but it was worth something. And she carried a bit of the the other people he loved too; shared the encoding of his parents and his brother and his grandparents before them.

He wondered what Valentino would think of her. Marc was going to be the one who would take care of her all her life - clearly - but he wondered if Valentino could find it within himself to love her, even though she was Marc's. He wanted a family once, with a long-time girlfriend even before Marc came into the picture. Then with Marc, they never had a serious conversation about it. It was obvious that it was impossible, until it wasn't.

Laia was Valentino's family too, and Marc supposed that Valentino could love her.

He would love this girl. Marc just needed to work harder to make it happen. Valentino was constants and variables in an unpredictable fashion, except when it came to the people he called his. He didn't let them go.

"Are you thinking about him?" Alex asked plainly.

"Thinking about how to tell him," Marc lied, leaving out his doubts. It wasn't a complete lie. He now was thinking about how to tell Valentino. "I don't know what to say. I think I'll just send him a picture."

He decided to do just that during the car ride. The message was a simple photo of their daughter without a caption, reviving a chat that had been dead for two months. He picked the best photo, where she was sound asleep, dressed in baby blue and sweet little mittens.

Before that, there were only short exchanges. "Are you healthy?" from Valentino, who thought of him at two in the morning.

"Yes, don't worry," from Marc, who never knew what to say anymore, and always hated texting anyway.

Months before that-

"I'm pregnant and I'm keeping it. You don't have to do anything. You can't stop me." Followed by five missed calls, and a voice recording that Marc downloaded and replayed over and over again when he could bear to.

Every message mattered so much, and this one the most of all. Marc watched the file upload, and a single tick appeared in the corner. A second tick didn't show up. Maybe Valentino was busy.

When Alex pulled into their driveway, Marc finally locked his screen.

--

Marc's mother, Roser, cried when he came home. They were happy tears, she said.

She hugged him gently, the baby in his arms between them.

"I'm so lucky," she said, stepping away to wipe her eyes with a tissue. "I lived to be a grandmother."

"Of course you were going to be a grandmother," Alex said from behind Marc, carrying both their overnight bags. "Unless you thought none of us were going to have kids? I understand thinking that about Marc, but I always wanted a family."

"And where are your kids?" Marc scoffed. "All talk and no results."

Roser laughed wetly. "Boys, not everything is a competition."

Alex sighed with an air of long-suffering. "You tell him that."

"We know how Marc is," Roser said peaceably. She held out her hands towards the baby, who had alarmingly started to whine. Marc didn't know what he would do if she started full-on crying. This was why they had nurses at the hospital, even though he started freaking out inside whenever they took her away from him.

"She's beautiful. Let me see her," Roser said, and Marc was only too happy to comply. Laia was wailing before she left his arms.

Marc watched intently as his mother rocked his daughter gently from back and forth to calm her. He had so much to learn.

"She might just be hungry, darling," Roser said. "I made a nest for you on your bed. Why don't we take her there?"

She carried Laia for him, until Marc got into bed and she tucked the covers around him with one hand. It might have been approaching the height of summer but he didn't mind. Having parental care was nice.

They were her covers, he realised, and sank deeper into the scent of them. Her covers, and Alex's bolster, and his father's pillowcases that she must have driven over to retrieve for him. His parents had separated, but they made it as painless for their kids as they could, and Marc was always appreciative of it. His bed was a clutter of soft possessions of the people he loved.

He was surrounded by family. Family plus one more, who was experiencing the familiar walls of his bedroom for the first time. She would grow up around these scents, as he did. They had always been a comfort to him. What was familiar to him would become familiar to her, and she would feel the love of a Marquez Alenta through and through. It was a profound realisation.

Roser kissed his forehead and passed him his fussing daughter. "Shall I leave you two to it then?" she asked softly.

Marc nodded. He took his shirt off when his mother left, and held his daughter to his chest. She sucked on a puffy nipple, and he just-

He found it unsettling to be a food source. His body was made for different things; stalking his prey and hauling around a bucking beast of a bike more than twice his weight. He was horrifically far from his fighting physique. He didn't want to know how many kilograms of muscle he had to rebuild.

It hadn't fully sunk in yet that being a parent was a permanent state of affairs, that he would never not be a parent again. He kept realising the same thing, bit by bit.

He itched to check for Valentino's response, but he wasn't prepared to hear from him yet. He wasn't being a coward, so much as he didn't have the energy to spare.

It would have been nice for Valentino to like him enough to be here with him, maybe hold their child for him so Marc's wretched shoulder could take a break. Too much unnecessary risk to be under general anesthesia for non-emergency surgery, the doctors said. He'd pushed back his recovery by nine months. He would take even longer to be strong again.

He let the physicality of his exhaustion wash over him. He had known pain, but he had never been so tired before. The birth sapped his muscles and drained marrow from his bones. His insides felt out of place. His chest was sore. He wanted to go back to normal.

He closed his eyes and pretended to be twenty again, with these sensations. He would be happy, disbelieving, and in love, with the rest of his life ahead of him. And maybe he had a child who was an accident, maybe he felt too young to know what he was doing, but it was a happy accident. Back then, he would be young enough to be confused and cry about it, and seek refuge in his Alpha's loving arms. Vale would not let him think of himself as dairy cattle, he used to be able to say so many nice things.

Marc would have kept her even at twenty, he was certain of it. And maybe everything would have been different; maybe Vale would have kept him.

Since it made him feel better, in private, he gave in to this moment of weakness. He imagined that everything was perfect - that he had an Alpha who was out winning important races, but he would come home to be a family man. An Alpha who would never sleep with anyone else ever again, now that he was Marc's.

His daughter's small weight rested against his chest, swaddled in soft fabric. He exhaled slowly as she fed, trying to keep calm for her. He still felt like a cow - or no, perhaps a lion - caged and restrained in a place far too small for him. He still thought of the races and felt deep envy because there was no way for him to do what he was meant to do.

But this had to be worth it. If there was one seed of truth in to be harvested from his illusion, it was that his daughter had been made with his love.

[kaptainkoalaoshiz]

OK, so I let the worms dig a little bit more and I can't help but love that AU gjzohjo :

Wrong number to dad AU where Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian knew each other in high school and they were in love, but life, misunderstanding and Wei Wuxian stopping coming to school separated them - both thinking the other stopped loving them and it's really bittersweet for the two to look at pictures they took of their "summer idyl".

Lan Wangji goes to work for his family company for a while before he then goes to work for a non-profit that focuses on clean energy or something like that. He adopts several bunnies. He thinks of Wei Wuxian three times a day, buying trinkets that reminds him of him and hiding them because, who the hell buy stuff for a high school sweetheart they haven't seen in thirteen years?

Wei Wuxian's life has been chaotic right after quitting high school. The people he's been friends with and doing odd jobs for (the Dafan Wen) had a stroke of bad luck coming right after the other and when they left Wen Yuan to him for babysitting, Madam Yu flipped a switch so hard she nearly had a stroke, thinking WWX got a girl pregnant and he'd hid that from them for years - never mind that WWX is barely approaching his 18th birthday and still a virgin.

His pleadings and him trying to explain the situation doesn't work and he's kicked out, so he has to go and find a job to support his and Wen Yuan's life from then on. The first ones he find pays little and have horrible hours - but he power through until he gets a name for himself in a knick-knack repair shop, where he still do odd jobs but he's paid a good amount to make computers, repair old gramophones and such; he also paint and invent things on his own time, which sells like hot cakes (coincidentally, one of the little statuette he did with copper wires and bits of marble has been gifted to Lan Wangji as he saw it at a salon and fell in love with it, the owner giving it to him because he was so thankful for their work).

Cue thirteen years later after Wei Wuxian mysteriously disappears and Wen Yuan, wanting to text Lan Jingyi, who got a new phone& phone number, gets one number wrong and ends up texting Lan Wangji.

They don't quite hit it off immediately but Wen Yuan keeps texting him because Lan Wangji gives good advices and is a good listener - but Wen Yuan keeps internet safety rules pretty tight (he does not give his name, does not give his location or anything that can lead to him) but one year after Wei Wuxian has disappeared from his life, Wen Yuan just want someone to tell him everything is going to be ok, and Lan Wangji sends him a few pictures of his bunny - and Wen Yuan is like "hey, why is there a framed picture of my dad on your wall"

Lan Wangji had kept and framed a picture of Wei Wuxian when they went to a school outing and he looked so free and gorgeous, so loving - before the misunderstanding, the bitterness, the heartbreak - that he could not help himself. The picture is always in the bunnies' room because he thinks they deserve to know this sunshine boy, the one that said he'd adopt three thousand bunnies with Lan Wangji just because Lan Wangji likes bunnies (at first, lwj did not like bunnies. They were fine, bute animals but then wwx startedf gifting him bunny paraphernalia "because they reminded me of us" that his love for the animal started blooming full force) and so his bunnies deserved to know about him.

They start meeting IRL after that, after Wen Yuan is 100% sure LWJ is not a creep and that he genuinly loved his father, that he regretted his words back then and regretted not running after wwx before he disappeared from his life. They visited each other for comfort for another year before the hospital called Wen Yuan - and they drive there so quickly because they can't believe their luck, can't believe wwx is alive again-

When they arrive at the room's door, wwx is hesitant to let them in, saying he's not presentable and such and he doesn't want to break their heart. But they insist and he let them in - and they are shocked because his face is absolutely different from before - softer, gentler, more pretty than handsome but his eyes are still the same, as is the curve of his smile..

Two years ago, Wei Wuxian had left Wen Yuan home alone (a sixteen years old boy who knew how to cook and clean the house could stay a week alone without problem. He needed to know how independance felt like and wen Yuan was excited to manage the household like a grown adult) for a business trip. The first five days, everything went well and Wei Wuxian met a young man who had a difficult life like himself. Mo Xuanyu was at the trip to try and prove himself and get away from his maternalle family that claimed mental illness to keep him at their home and pocket his inheritance/the government money.

They hit it off like a house on fire but at the sixth day, wwx's clothes got so dirty mxy let him borrow a few things and stuffed into wwx's pants his phone, keys, papers -while wwx's were left inadvertendly at the hotel. The bus they were on got into an accident and mxy died on the spot, his head so damaged he was unrecognizable. And so was wx's face. So when the ambulance arrived and got him to the hospital, they decided on reconstructive surgery based on the papers they found in his pocket - mxy's papers. His face. His life, basically.

WWX stayed into a coma for a good year and a half and had very muddled memories when he woke up - and when he told the doctors his name wasn't Mo Xuanyu but Wei Wuxian, and was allowed to call his son, he was then put into a panic because - this wasn't his face anymore and what if Wen Yuan thought he was Mo Xuanyu trying to get Wei Wuxian's stable, loving life?

But then when Lan Wangji entered the room with his son, he blurted "Lan Zhan?" and Mo Xuanyu had never met the man, would never had known his birth name and so their reunion was tear filled - wangxian talked about how and why they broke up and realized they still loved each other even after so long and not seeing the other for more than a decade- even with his new face, wwx was wwx so.. happy ending where they end up together co-parenting Wen Yuan and three dozen bunnies more and everything is right in the world again!

so many people writing wrong number text meet cutes for couples but what about wrong number meet cutes for reserved teen boys and their new mother figure to be send post