#-like twice and that's about it from what I recall it's been a little while since I actually played the game but I think about this a lot

[aberooski]

Even after all these years, and Noel being one of my favorite characters in Final Fantasy period, part of me still wishes they had ended it at 13-2 and committed to the idea that changing the timeline would cause Noel to disappear. Because even if the future changed to one where he still existed, he wouldn’t be the same person and our Noel would then cease to exist as a consequence.

[kamiversee]

˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

3 | that it has to

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Content | language, sexual tension, teasing, fluff, & suggestiveness.

❧ Word Count | 5.3k

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.

| Chapters mlist |

——“You almost fucked him?” Choso’s voice practically echoes into the air of your shared apartment, a few hours after having a brief conversation on campus and minutes after you started telling him about what happened with Gojo.

Of course, you immediately sigh, “No, I didn’t almost fuck him. We just made out.”

Your best friend was sitting on the living room couch, slouched back, head resting against the couch, manspreading, and eyes plainly up on the ceiling. All while you sat on a nearby single couch, explaining everything to him.

“But, you wanted to fuck him, right?” Choso asks, feeling slightly confused about how things went down in that storage room— especially after you’d, not so long ago, told him you wouldn’t mind doing just that.

You sigh, “Not at the moment no-,”

He’s all too quick to laugh at that and it stops you from speaking for a second. To which both of you get a little quiet. Then, Choso lifts his head from the couch and sends you a look.

“What?” Your brows pinch together, “Why’s that funny?”

Choso’s got this smug look on his face as he shrugs, “I mean, I know how you are so like… You’re tellin’ me you made out with him and you didn’t wanna fuck him right then and there?”

You scoff, “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

His eyes drift down along your seated frame before carefully rising back up, this knowing smirk plaster onto his face, “You? The same girl who gets worked up after one kiss?”

“I-,” Your voice gets caught in your throat for a second but then you’re quick to clear it, “That was one time and we were like, in high school. Of course I’d be flustered.”

“It was twice, princess,” Choso reminds you, “Though, you don’t like bringin’ up the second time because you still think I’m an assh-“

“You are,” You’re all too quick to cut him off, sending him a very pointed glare.

Choso rolls his eyes at you and huffs out a heavy sigh, “I’m not. That was freshman year.”

An eyebrow of yours lifts, “I know you’re not still trying to explain yourself…”

“I’ve apologized for my actions back then already so, no, I’m not trying to explain myself,” He says before moving to shrug and rest his head back again. “But you can’t really discount that kiss, we almost fu-“

“Yeah, yeah,” You cut off yet again, face heating up at the slightest reminder of a very steamy moment you’d shared with your best friend in the past. “I know. I remember, Choso.”

“Right so, considering that…” He has to bite back a smile as he recalls the moment himself, “It’s a bit hard for me to believe you made out with this guy and didn’t find yourself turned on.”

“I-“

“It may have been a while but I still remember your body, princess,” Choso admits, taking a purposeful pause just to hear the way you choke on your words. Thinking about the moment from long ago even more, he does end up smiling to himself, “I know how sensitive you are-“

“God, okay,” You breathe out, eyes widened and everywhere except for in your best friend’s direction, “We get it Choso, I’m sensitive sometimes. But that’s beside the point— I didn’t fuck Satoru.”

He gets quiet again, allowing your words to simmer into the air a bit before he decides to respond. Still with that little grin on his face, he sighs, “…Yet?”

To his surprise, you shrug, “Yeah, yet.”

“I-,” Choso’s head lifts off of the couch again and his eyes are quick to land on you, “Wait seriously?”

Your brows furrow and he notices you’re looking away from him, “Did you miss the part where I said he invited me out to a gala tonight?”

“No,” He tilts his head, “But what does that have to do with you fucking him-, ohhhhhh! You freaky bastards are gonna sneak off to have sex, aren’tcha?” There’s a bit of teasing in his voice as he makes his predictions.

“Well, I don’t know…”

Choso raises a brow and grows more curious, leaning forward a bit, “You want to?”

You finally look at him, “Huh?”

“Do you want to have sex with Gojo tonight, yes or no?”

“I wouldn’t mind-“

Choso tips his head to the side and there’s that stupid smirk on his face as his voice grows oddly soft, “Yes or no, princess c’mon.”

You shrug, “Yeah, I gu-“

“Do not finish that statement with an I guess,” He chuckles, “You know damn well you want him to blow your back o-“

With your eyes going all wide, you cut him off as quickly as you can, “Fuck off, Choso.”

He snorts, “M’just teasin’, chill,” He starts laughing at your reaction and you just send him a playful little glare before standing up. To which his laughter dies down and his eyes lift along your body as you stand, “Where’re you goin’?” Choso asks curiously.

You move your arms up a bit to stretch, “M’gonna go see if I have anything to wear. If not, Satoru said he’d take me shopping for something.”

Choso’s eyes widened, “Really? That’s nice of him.”

“I know right?” A smile begins to dawn on you, “I think it’s his way of making up for inviting me last minute.”

“Mh,” Choso hums, watching as you begin to exit the living room, “…You’re gonna tell me everything when you get back, right?”

“Of course I will, I tell you everything,” You reply cheerfully.

“Alright then uh,” He stands up and rolls his shoulders back a bit to stretch, “Be safe tonight.”

You flash him a genuine smile before disappearing around a nearby corner toward your bedroom, “I will, thanks.”

And at that, Choso finds his eyes lingering in the area you’d last stood in for some reason. It’s like there was more he wanted to say to you but he wasn’t sure what. So, he ends up shrugging the feeling off before going to cater to himself.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

Luckily for you, there was a wonderful dress you had sitting in your closet for such a fancy occasion such as a gala. It wasn’t the most expensive or anything but, it was decent enough to wear out and it followed along with the dress code Gojo had described to you through text.

It was a rather long dress with a slit that trailed teasingly up your thigh. Decorated in a pretty dark blue fabric, it hugged your body in all the right areas and gave you a rather flattering silhouette. Do you remember when or why you purchased this dress? No, but that’s the least of your worries right now as you admire yourself in it.

And it becomes even less of a worry as the sound of a notification pinging your phone steals your attention from the mirror. Since catching up with Choso, you’d spent your time getting ready and quite a few hours had drifted by. As such, the notification on your phone was from none other than the man of the hour— Gojo Satoru.

You smiled as soon as you read his name on your screen, quickly reaching for the device and reading his text that informed you he was downstairs waiting for you. After sending a hasty response back to him, you were quick to grab the last of the items you wanted to bring with you, stuffing them into a small purse you planned to carry with you for the night.

When you left your room, Choso was spotted in the kitchen with his tongue lapping away at an ice cream cone. Unknowingly, your eyes were glued to the sight for seconds longer than you realized. He drags his tongue languidly along the sweet dessert and you only blink out of your little daze when it somehow manages to miss his mouth, a drop landing on his chin.

At that moment, Choso seems to notice you’ve exited your room and he raises a brow at your eyes all over the lower half of his face.

“What?” He huffs out, brows pushing together in quick annoyance.

You bat your lashes and swallow before meeting his gaze, “Nothing,” You nearly chirp as the word leaves your lips, almost as if you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. Then, you shake your head and start to walk toward him, to which his eyes drop down to the dress you’re wearing the second your figure becomes fully visible to him, “Anyway, what do you think?”

Choso takes his time to study you, his eyes greedily drinking in every inch of you as his gaze trails down, focuses on your legs for a second too long, and then slips back up to eventually land back on your face, “You look alright.” He hums.

Your face goes straight, “That’s it?? Just alright?”

The corner of his lips twitched, “What else am I supposed to say?”

You roll your eyes, “‘You look good’ would’ve been decent.”

“I would’ve said that if you actually looked good,” Choso replies nonchalantly, quick to flash a smile at the way a vein of annoyance pops out along your face.

“Y’know what, I don’t know why I asked you in the first place,” You practically groan as you start turning away.

The second your back profile is revealed to him, he’s shamelessly drinking you in yet again before releasing a sigh, “I was just jokin’, c’mon.”

You glance back at him over your shoulder and raise a brow.

Choso looks you dead in the eye and tilts his head to the left a little, “You look sexy. There? Happy now?”

You blink, turn around to face him again, and then take a few steps toward him, “Were you being genuine just now or are you fuckin’ with me again?” Your arms cross as you question him.

“I was bein’ serious,” He tells you, feeling a bit confused why you’re approaching him so suddenly, “That dress makes your ass look good.”

Coming to a stop in front of him, you scoff, “You were lookin’ at my ass?”

“M’always lookin’ at your ass,” Choso smirks down at you.

You return a slight smile, “Perv.”

He chuckles, “I’m not a-,“ Whatever refute he was going to say goes out the window as you lift your hand to his face. Choso seems to forget how to talk for a second while your thumb swipes over his jaw, a loud gulp coming from him before he clears his throat, “…P-Pervert.” He murmurs out.

Your thumb draws away from his face and you show him the bit of vanilla ice cream he’d gotten on himself. Choso sighed at the sight, wondering why the hell he got so nervous moments ago. Then, as if to redeem himself, he takes his free hand to your wrist and leans down.

“Sure you’re not,” Similar to him, your voice seems to die in your throat at his following action. Yes, Choso is your best friend but… he’s one of those best friends that could easily be mistaken for your boyfriend based on the way he acts and things he does.

Like now for example, as he pulls your hand back up near his face, looks down at your thumb, and licks the ice cream you’d just wiped off of his face.

You’re nearly frozen for a moment as your eyes latch onto his lips, tongue, and just every small detail on his face as he remains all too close to you for a few seconds. Slowly, his gaze flicks to yours and you gulp.

Choso all-too-casually smiles at you as he lowers his voice, “Didn’t wanna waste anything,” He tells you.

You wonder if that’s supposed to be a valid reason behind him licking your thumb just now but instead of questioning him, you just nod. “Right…” You murmur back.

Carefully, he lets go of your hand and leans away from you, returning his attention to the rest of the ice cream in his other hand. After which, he starts walking away from you, “Alright, cya,” He dismisses.

You snap out of your daze and clear your throat, “Yeah, I’ll uh, I’ll be back in a few hours I think.”

“Mhm, I’ll be up if you need me when you’re back.” He says finally.

And with that, you collect yourself with a little sigh, “‘Kay.”

Then, you were turning away and exciting the apartment before he knew it. Choso, left alone, moves his fingers to his chin that you’d recently touched, wondering why the hell he reacted that way. His hand then wanders to his lips and he nearly smiles to himself at the way you’d frozen up just from him licking your finger— as if he hadn’t done similar actions before.

Shaking his head, Choso ends up laughing at the whole thing while he makes his way to his bedroom. It’s been a while since he’s made you flustered like that. Part of him almost missed it.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

Meanwhile, as you made your way downstairs wiping your thumb off on your dress, you found yourself replaying just about everything from the day so far.

It felt like so much had happened— from Gojo’s tongue all in your mouth to Choso’s sudden… Clinginess? You’re not sure what word to put to it yet but he’s been acting a bit strange. And if you’re being honest with yourself, so have you. You can’t remember the last time you found your eyes lingering on Choso the way they did today.

You’re not ashamed or embarrassed to admit that your best friend’s hot but the last time you checked him out this much was a few years ago when you had a crush on hi-

Cutting your thoughts off was the sound of Gojo calling your name. You didn't even realize you’d made it all the way downstairs. Though, the sight of Gojo in a dark blue suit and his hair neatly styled was all it took to capture all of your attention.

“Hi Satoru,” You greet with a kind smile on your face as you approach the man.

His hand is out for you to take once you’re close enough and his pretty blue eyes are everywhere on you within seconds, “Hey pretty girl,” Gojo hums whilst you lay your hand in his, “You look…” He trails off for a second as he lifts your clasped hands up a bit, signaling you to spin around for him. After which, the bright smile on his face seemed to widen, “Amazing, wow.”

“Aw, thank you,” You murmur while he twirls you around until you come to a stop in front of him. “Think I look good enough to pass as your girlfriend for a night?”

Gojo shrugs a little, his eyes still taking in the way your dress is clinging to you before swiping his tongue over his lips. “Mhm…” He hums mindlessly, halfway hearing whatever it is you just said, “Yeah… Y’sure you wanna go to this gala with me?”

You blink, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I mean,” His head tilts, “We could always do somethin’ else.”

“Like?” Your eyes remain on his face despite his gaze all over your body.

Gojo nearly bites his lip, “We could skip all that ‘nd just fuck in my car, honestly.” Voice lowering a bit, he hardly realizes he just said that out loud until your reaction comes seconds later.

Heat swarms your face and you gulp, “W-What?”

The man finally meets your gaze and decides not to play too coy about what he’d just offered, “You heard me.”

“Are you serious?” You question.

“Only if you want me to be…” Gojo smirks. One of his hands drifts to your waist and he gently pulls you closer to him, “I mean, that would be a decent enough excuse to give my parents as to why I didn’t show up…”

“I-,” You gulp down whatever it is you were going to say as you try to figure out if he’s being serious right now, “Satoru…”

“Hm?” His brows raise and he studies your expression closely. It only takes Gojo a second or two to realize you were really considering his words, “Y’know you can say no, right?”

You crack a brief smile, “Y-Yeah I know… it’s just…”

He quirks a brow, “What? You wanna fuck me?”

“No!” You chirp, glancing away, “Well-, yes, but no,” He’s smiling at the way your brows push together while you try to figure out what to say, “N-Not right now… I-I just-“

Gojo interrupts your stammering with a laugh, “I was jus’ teasin’ you sweetheart, relax.”

You move to playfully hit his arm, “Do you get off on seeing me flustered or somethin’?”

This smug expression slips onto his face, “Y’want the honest answer to that-“

“No,” Your eyes get all wide and you quickly step to the side, “Let’s go.”

He snorts before turning around to open his car door for you. The two of you waste no time settling into the vehicle and you notice how Gojo’s eyes keep finding their way to your legs at any given chance.

For the time being, you decide to ignore his little glances. If anything, you tease him a bit once he starts driving by crossing one leg over the other, your leg being revealed more due to that slit in your dress.

And you just loved how Gojo didn’t hesitate to glance over whenever he got the chance to. You think you actually liked his little glances. It feels like it’s been forever since you’ve been looked at in such a way and you were truthfully relishing in it tonight.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

No, seriously— the entire night was filled with those longing glances. So much so that you think you were growing rather addicted to them. Hell, perhaps you were even searching for Gojo’s eyes to be on you at nearly every passing second.

After all, he does have such pretty eyes. A feature you soon learn has been passed down from his parents. You don’t think you’ve ever known someone to be such a spitting image of their parents before.

Actually, you’re surprised you even got to meet them. Especially considering that when you first walked into the gala with your arms looped around one of Gojo’s you swore there were one too many esteemed-looking guests scattered all over the place. And when Gojo had initially pointed out his parents to you, they were surrounded by a bunch of older people and hearty laughs could be heard coming from their direction.

He made a comment in your ear about how those same elderly folks were going to come swarming the two of you pretty soon, which led you to wonder just how important a family Gojo comes from.

Obviously, they’re pretty wealthy and well known but you’re completely unsure what for. Though, before you get a moment to ask him this, his attention is dragged away by the first interruption of the night— some older businessman who was greeting Gojo in the blink of an eye.

You tried to slip away from his arm to give him time to tend to the man but with the way he tugged you closer and his smile grew more tight-knit, you got the feeling that he didn’t want you to leave his side just yet.

Such an interaction continued countless times throughout the night up until he was practically ripped away from you. Some other group of people finally got to him and his attention was completely stolen from you.

You weren’t upset over it or anything though, you actually quite liked the little moment of escape you got. It gave you a chance to explore the venue a bit up until you finally found a bar to occupy yourself at. 

Only one drink was ordered and you managed to make small talk with some people who were also at this bar until things around you somewhat simmered down. As such, you eventually found yourself seated but facing the rest of the gala, your eyes watching Gojo’s parents chat with some more people— from your perspective, it seemed like they never got a break.

You tried looking around for Gojo but he was nowhere to be found. There were a lot more people now but things seemed more relaxed. Or maybe you were just feeling more relaxed.

Either way, with a sigh, you spun back around to face the bar as the soothing melody of Sade’s Smooth Operator filled your ears. Everything around you really was quite fancy, fancier than anything else you’ve ever experienced. Though, you dubbed it down to a bunch of rich people in suits making a bunch of connections with one another. Honestly, you could get used to this kinda lifestyle-

“You come here often?” A voice murmured right into your heart, nearly causing your heart to jump out of your chest as you flinched and turned your head to the person who’d just spoken.

An immediate sigh slips past your lips as you realize it’s just Gojo being as teasing as ever, “You scared the shit out of me, don’t do that,” You say with a chuckle.

He smiles, “And you didn’t answer my question, gorgeous,” Gojo purrs, tipping his head to the side as he leans against the bar and remains close to you, “What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ at a bar all alone, hm?”

You smile, “Well, my date-“

“Boyfriend,” He corrects, “For the night, remember?”

You swallow, “Riiight… My boyfriend, ditched me to go suck it up to some rich guys.”

“Yeah?” Gojo begins to play into this conversation just as much as you are, “What a terrible guy! Y’know, I’d never leave someone like you all alone like this.” His voice is filled with so much sarcasm that you can’t help but find the natural banter between you and him intriguing for the nth time.

“Really? So what would you do then?” You tease, maintaining such consistent eye contact with him that it almost makes him nervous.

Gojo shrugs casually and smoothly holds his hand out for you to take, “See, if you were my girlfriend, I’d have you out on that dance floor showin’ you off to all these lame rich people.”

Your face practically lights up at that, “Is this your way of inviting me to dance with you, Satoru?” You ask, breaking that little act of yours.

He’s quick to smile, “It is.”

With a hum, you place your hand in his and allow him to guide you out of your seat, “I suppose I’m inclined to accept your invitation then.”

Gojo swears that every time you speak, his heart is feeling all weird in his chest, “I suppose you are.”

And with that, he’s walking you to the nearest dancefloor where Sade’s voice has grown much louder. Obviously, given the abundance of wealthy people here, most people are swaying rather slowly with their partners. So of course you and Gojo follow suit and move to sway with that sweet melody.

Dancing with Gojo is probably the highlight of your day. Forget making out with him in some dusty storage room, or gazing at Choso much more than you intended to, nothing compares to right now as your arms drape around his neck and his around your waist— your body's swaying in sync to the song adorning the ambiance of the whole party.

It was almost romantic. Almost. 

Up until Gojo starts being playful again. A smile spreads across his face so suddenly and you raise a brow. He doesn’t give you a chance to question his expression as he’s talking before you know it, “Am I?” Gojo asks very randomly.

You snort, “Are you what?”

“A smooth operator?” God, he’s the biggest dork you’ve ever had the pleasure of interacting with. All you could do was burst into a slight chuckle and shake your head at him. To which he raises a brow, “What?? That’s a genuine question.”

“I can’t stand you,” You giggle, rolling your eyes at his corny comment.

Gojo sighs, “Sit on me then.”

“Satoru,” You huff out in a scolding tone.

“What?” He questions, as if he didn’t say what he just said.

You turn your head to the side and chuckle at how shameless he is, “How do you go from being an idiot to some flirtatious freak within seconds??”

“I dunno,” Gojo shrugs, “Things just come to me.”

Nodding a little, “Do they?” You ask.

“Mhm,” He hums in response, staring intently at the side of your face.

“Well-“

“But I was being serious that time,” The way seriousness drips off of his tone has your body tensing.

Your eyes snap back over to him, “What?”

With perfect timing, he looks away, “There’s people watchin’ us right now.” Gojo points out with a little nod of his chin.

“So…?” A brow lifts in question and you keep your eyes on his face, “People have been watching us all night.”

“Nono, they’re watching like they’re seconds from approaching us.” He explains, glancing around at other people.

You chuckle nervously, “Okay… So what?”

“So…” Gojo lets out a long sigh and finally looks at you again, “I don’t feel like talking to anyone else tonight.”

“And what am I supposed to do about that?”

“Steal me away.”

Rolling your eyes at him yet again, “How?” You ask.

“Well,” He shrugs cheekily, “You are my girlfriend.”

“So?”

“Do I really have to spell it out-“

“Yes.”

“I-,” His jaw clenches a bit as he swallows any argument to that down, “Fine. No one’s gonna question me if they see you dragging me out of here.”

You blink, “Like, dragging you out to leave?”

“Mmh, no. Like, dragging me upstairs.” Gojo emphasizes, glancing over to a distant staircase.

You turn your head back to follow his gaze, “What’s upstairs?”

He finds himself looking at you again, “My old bedroom.”

“Your-,” You pause. Then, your head slowly turns to face him, “Oh.”

The man winks at you and his lips curve into a smirk, “Y’get it now?”

“Yeah, I think so…”

Gojo hums, “Think you can pull that off, sweetheart?”

You scoff at his little challenge, “Of course I can. I know how to be a fake girlfriend.”

“Do you? It feels like I’ve been putting in all the work tonight-“ His voice is caught in the middle of his throat as you tug him closer to you and tilt your head, your lips nearly on his.

“Has it really?” You whisper, eyes dropping down to his lips, “Should I start putting more effort into this twenty-four-hour relationship then?”

“Yes please,” He unintentionally begs, clearing his throat seconds later. “I mean-, yeah, that’d uh… that’d be nice.” Gojo tries to sound nonchalantly but he ultimately fails— something you find so ridiculously cute.

With one last little hum of acknowledgment, you pull him all the way in and your lips land on his. Gojo’s eyes widen for a second as if he wasn’t expecting that but in reality, he was just trying to put on a little show for the nearby lingering eyes. His hands grip onto your waist and he’s quick to shut his eyes and press his lips onto yours seconds later.

He had to make this believable after all…

As if the way you two have been looking at each other all night wasn’t enough to convince any idiot with eyes that you two were in a ‘relationship’.

And hey, maybe he gets a little carried away with making things believable because his hand somehow finds its way sinking along your body and he’s grabbing a greedy handful of your ass, groaning into your mouth, and pushing forward with you without a second thought. Then he feels you smile against him and he thinks his eyes almost roll to the back of his head.

It was such a simple little curve of your lips against his and yet he was already losing his mind. Or perhaps it was how long he’d been waiting for this, waiting for you. You’ve been inside his head all day and he couldn’t stop replaying your body against his earlier.

Fuck, if you kept kissing him the way you were right now, he swore he was going to take you right here and now– in front of everyone. Which is why he has to rip himself away for a second just to whisper to you, “Sweetheart, we-,” He’s cut off by your lips slotting against his again and Gojo can’t help but groan instead of finishing his statement.

Were you feeling the same way as him? Did he give you this unusual thrill inside the same way you did him? Was kissing him making you lightheaded? Was it distracting you from the surrounding world and making your body heat up all over the damn place? Gojo sure as hell hopes so because that���s exactly how he’s feeling now.

He tries to pull away again though, this time mumbling against your lips, “Fuckin’ need you,” He grunts out directly into your mouth.

Your grasp slips over to the sides of his neck and then up a little, hands framing his face before you ease back with a slight smile, “So have me then,” You whisper in response.

Gojo loses himself a bit at the sound of that, his lips sliding off of yours and finding themselves down against your neck and one of his hands dropping to grab ahold of you from that teasing slit in your dress, hoisting that one leg up against his hip and catching you by surprise. His other hand occupies your waist but his fingers are dancing dangerously against the fabric, as if he were seconds away from snatching something.

Your head tips back ever so slightly as a gasp leaves you, your awareness to still being in the middle of a gala coming to you, “N-Not here Satoru,” You chuckle at his hastiness, “People are watching-”

“Let them,” He hushes out against your skin, lips hot and wet under your jawline and his hand gripping onto your thigh.

You take things into your own hands by slipping your fingers down a little to his chest and giving him the softest little push, “Upstairs,” You murmur, “You’re supposed to be taking me upstairs, remember?”

Gojo shakes his head, “No… You’re supposed to be taking me upstairs.”

Rolling your eyes at his specifics, “Are you gonna let me?”

“Dunno if I’ll make it up there with you, baby,” He hums all too passionately into your neck, “I need you,” Gojo repeats yet again, this time licking your skin, “Needa taste you.”

A shiver runs down your spine and you gulp, moving one of your hands to pull one of his off of you. Slowly, you manage to remove Gojo’s grips all over your body but he struggles to pry himself away from your neck. Even so, you end up taking one of his hands in yours and walking backward, glancing around at the surprisingly few people actually looking at you two.

You’re thankful that not too many people seemed to care that Gojo doesn’t know how to keep his hands off of his girlfriend, with the exception of his parents who were among those individuals that were watching the small little show of affection you and Gojo just performed.

Your hand squeezes onto Gojo’s a bit tighter and you turn your body to walk properly toward the staircase he’d pointed at a while ago. Technically you don’t know exactly where you’re going but you assume he’ll lead the way once you make it upstairs.

Gojo snaps out of his little stupor and notices his parents are watching you drag him upstairs, making note that this plan of his seems to be working. Although, he secretly couldn’t care less that you were his excuse to escape this event– in reality, Gojo was genuinely eager to get in your pants.

But, you didn’t pay too much attention to that.

mlist | last chapter | next chapter |

Tags 1/2; @siriusblackswankourtzeyy @eternaltpaoe @moonsgravee @sooshisweet @looking4hina

@blognicole @designerpvssy @andyfasia @shytragedybluefox @papigotwap

@senseifupa @gojoslefttoenail @juliiizh @gojos-cumslutt @lovergirl65

@sydlunamoon-blog @gojstrulxvezx @gigiipeaches @kivrumi @urunclesbottomlip

@iseeyouuu @annieleonhardtsbitch @lwkykiyo @itsbellablue-blog @gorouenjoyer

@mua-for-now @bee3l0v3r @scarletteyuno @lilablogsblog @lolznoelle

@madaqueue @keriaonmarz @parakisssss @aniniyah @trx-xrt

@sxnkuna @chocolatecheer @unibrow-yzz @lovely-lady-tits @woofzz2

@pineapplepan7 @janrcrosssing @hauntedchoso @linksylove @lemonninq

@littlemug00 @namjoonie17717 @notjustagirlinthisworld @moonneversleeps @k4rma1sntd3ad

[just-some-random-blogger]

i was reading your fics, and was reading one where daemon is going up against cregan a little bit. i got this idea, cregan giving the reader a direwolf puppy as a gift. daemon makes a snide comment about it and cregan just turns to him, telling him that your enjoying your new pet, and who knows, maybe one day cregan will give you puppies.

daemon seethes as cregan walks away, acting as if he didn't just imply he was gonna breed you.

Puppy Love

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: Ever since you came of age, you became the jewel of the court and your father turned down proposal after proposal, knowing if the man didn't want your massive dowry, they wanted to claim and corrupt your beauty and kind nature. And the only reason why your father hasn't chewed up the all too friendly dragon prince, was because he was doing most of his job for him. And anyway, your father knew you were too kind to think his attentions to you were anything more than friendly.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, 'too kind' reader, jealous!daemon, smitten!cregan, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: first of all, i have written quite a few fics were I've added cregan as uh an opponent for daemon so HAHHAH im not sure which one you mean, though I have an inkling it's Wish I Was Her (this is not a p2 of this btw) second of all, /: cregan dumb for giving away a direwolf to some rando dafaq. third of all, i really want do a take on a 'traditionally feminine reader' since i normally dont do that lol so im tryna make reader fit the period more, without making her a damsel in distress. wish me luck Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony

You straighten the brown paper in one hand while you fiddle with the wax seal that was on it moments ago. You snort through your nostrils, beaming at the ink on the the letter, eager to both reach the end of the page, and not wanting the words to end at all.

Daemon, who had been walking with purpose, forgets where he was going along the way when he spots you. You, the giggling lady, sat comfortably on the stone blocks that separated the garden and the hall.

The prince's stoic demeanor melts into an expression similar to yours when you smile at what you were reading. What were you reading? A letter? A letter from-

Quickly, the realization of what kind of letters a lady such as yourself would be receiving that would cause you to giggle like that makes his expression splat into annoyance.

With twice as much purpose, he struts over to you and calls out your name. You immediately avert your gaze, smile widening at the sight of him.

Good.

"My prince," you speak, bowing your head just as Daemon reaches you.

Daemon raises his brows and drops his lips, eyeing the paper in your hand, "a good read?"

You release a chuckle at the expression he pulls, "a very good read. I say Alaric is as good with the quill as he," you point to the paper, "harks to me how good he is with the blade."

He grunts, "Alaric." Where has he heard that tatty name before?

You chuckle as you watch Daemon stiffen. He places his hands behind him, slowly walking to the other side of the block you were sat on, sitting there across you, "which moronic suitor is he again?"

You drop your letter on your lap, tilting your head at the fuming prince, who now had his arms crossed. "Alaric," you start with a chuckle, "is my darling cousin, Anna's, son."

Ahh, Daemon blinks, that's why his name is familiar.

You snort, "he has merely just turned ten and one, your grace."

He clears his throat.

"Do you not recall rejecting my offer to attend the boy's nameday?" you speak through an amused grin.

"I've never cared for namedays," he trails off, crossing his arms.

You laugh. He turns to you because of it. How could he not when your laugh was like that? Your being beams in amusement, glowing like a star. It makes the prince emit a soft chuckle.

"If I didn't know any better," you say in between catching your breath, "I'd you were jealous of a child, my prince."

You catch the small smile on Daemon's face as he pretends to be offended, "and I'd say you've been reading too much."

Very suddenly, you gasp and point at him, making him pull his head back and his expression drop. His concern drops when you say, "is that a blush I see? Ooh!"

Daemon's arms loosen at your words. As if eager to make your words true, he begins to feel his body burn. Damn body.

You gasp the second time before throwing your head back in laughter, "I do say," you sigh, "scarlet suits you well."

Daemon rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he stands from his spot.

"Well, I mean, it is one of the colors of your house."

"Yes," he drops his hands to the side and walks over to you, "and I should well ought to make it your own."

And though Daemon smirks when he says this, your brows furrow at the thought. His vanilla baby.

"It would be pointless to try and convince my father to change anything about our house."

He sighs as you refold your paper, trapping a waxen seal in its center, and move to stand next to him, "in our actual house, I had to argue with him to change our drapes."

"No," Daemon says in shock, as if he actually cared.

"Yes!" you shake your head, "it was terrible! I had to remind him that I was now the woman of the house."

"Oh, that does sound terrible," Daemon huffs, eyes widening. He watches you as you believe in his empathy. He watches as you smile at his disingenuous words. Two beasts rip at him from within.

Normally, naïveté and slow-wittedness were traits that repelled him, especially in its womanly form, as it was drawn from the sheltered nature ladies like yourself were bred into. The dragon in him found this dull and all too conforming. He liked the burn from the whores, who would snarl if you took more than what you paid for.

Yet this personal brand of innocent on you was dizzying to him. One beast wanted to protect the purity within you, while the other wanted to taint it until all remained was him.

"And yes-" you take a moment to continue, "those were my mother's beloved drapes but... they had not been changed since her passing."

Daemon presses his lips together when you turn to the ground with a solemn expression. He does not get a moment to share the semblance of comfort in which he was capable of, because you quickly smile at him the way you always do and comfort yourself, "it is good to remember those who have passed, but they would not want for us to mourn them too long."

For once, he responds with honesty, "they would not, no."

The moment you smile at his words, your attention is taken from the prince.

You are called by a servant, who tells you there is a man waiting for you in the main hall. You courteously thank the servant and turn to Daemon, "thank you for ke-"

"I will escort you to your visitor," Daemon smiles, though not a real one.

You return a genuine one nevertheless, "I am grateful, but I do not wish to bother you, nor take up more of the time you already so graciously offered me."

Daemon takes your hand and pulls you near him with little regard, "you dare dictate what I do and do not with my time?"

You press your lips as you body collides with him.

"As though you were my wife?"

You clench your jaw, unintending to overstep, "my prince, I did not mean for it-"

"Yes, well," he cuts you off, "let us meet this moron who wishes to meet you."

"You know," you smile, "it may well not be a suitor."

Daemon chuckles, "I'm surprised you even caught onto that."

"Well, how could I not?" you chuckle, "when you were just jealous a child!"

He loses his smug expression. He scoffs into a chuckle as you laugh at him. "Oh very good," Daemon rolls his eyes and slowly claps his hand, "I'll give you credit. I did not expect that."

But what he very much did expect was that your audience was sought by a suitor; one large, slobbering dog of a suitor.

Very truly, Daemon's grumbling was merited, for why were you so enamored by the wolf-man and this overgrown rat-pup he bought with him?

He scoffs as you coo at the furry creature for the hundredth time, and for what? For doing absolutely nothing but expose its incompetence to walk in a fucking straight line?

And what's more, for every time the degenerate baby wolf toppled over, you tugged at its master's arm and pointed, leaning into him as you laughed and expressed jovial sentiments over the creature.

The prince rolls his eyes from the armchair he was sat on.

What was so impressive about a dog? There were dozens of strays outside the walls. He could get you twenty right now. A dragon egg should have elicited such a response from you, not this.

"Oh, dear Cregan-"

Gods, dear Cregan, she says.

"-your pup is a ray of sunshine on this chilly day," you speak.

Daemon watches you smile angelically at the large man with muddy dark hair and wiry curls. He watches as the cretin bares his teeth at you like a wolf does its prey, and you mistake it for genuinely, as always.

"If you are cold, my lady," Cregan says, removing the brown pelt on his shoulders, "then allow me to warm you."

Daemon straightens where he was slouched.

You recoil at Cregan's generosity, raising your hands as you shake them, "oh, my lord, I could not possibly accept the clothes on your back."

You watch as Cregan's rosy cheeks pull up with his smile, "then would you prefer I give you one your own?"

Cregan put on his fur again. You open your mouth to speak, but it is Daemon's voice that sounds, "she would rather you fuck off back to the North, dog."

You still at Daemon's words, promptly turning to him with a hardened expression of disbelief, "my prince-"

"And you best take your defective animal with you," he adds, grimacing at the wolf-pup chewing at a ball of wound fabric.

"Prince Daemon," you call tersely.

Daemon turns to you, expression unable to melt with the presence of that oaf on your side.

"Please do not speak for me as though your sentiments and mine own are one and the same," you calmly say.

Daemon scoffs. Cregan chuckles.

You turn to Cregan with a guilty expression, "I apologize on the behalf of ill-contrived words against you, Lord Cregan."

"No, you don't," Daemon quips as he stands, "don't fucking-"

"I appreciate your sentiment, my lady," Cregan ignores the whimpers of the lizard prince, "though you needn't worry yourself, for I am not wounded by words from the likes of him."

"The likes of me?" Daemon sneers as he storms over.

You turn to Daemon, suddenly at your side. Your eyes widen at the fury on his features. You hands instinctively come to his arm when he appears as though he is about to lunge at Cregan.

Cregan watches you do this, watches you calm the hot blooded fiend. Part of him burns in a shade green at your shared familiarity, but he is more amused by the fact you turn to him with a concerned look, nonverbally expressing your concerns that you, in fact, to not want him to pound your prince if he attempts anything. And so he laughs.

Cregan laughs and takes a step back, allowing you to step between them and push Daemon away in return.

Daemon's ire is fueled further, "what, you halfbreed?!"

You grunt as you turn back to Cregan, relieved he was smiling and not partaking in the hotheadedness the other man was.

"Did you fuck your wolf yourself to offer the pup to her?"

You recoil at the grotesque notion. You cannot stop yourself from calling out the prince's name in anger and bewilderment, "Daemon!"

Cregan laughs. It draws your attention. You sigh, "Cregan, I beg your par-"

"No!" Daemon barks, peering down at you, "he's come here on the intent of you bearing his pups, girl, and you'd so readily drop on your knees for him?!"

"He's brought one pup, Daemon!" you quip pulling away from him as you shake your head, "and I have no intentions of keeping the little wolf," you turn to Cregan, "for I have no such capabilities nor capacities to care for one!"

Daemon grinds his teeth. You heave.

Good enough.

The prince finds slight catharsis in your words. His anger does not fade however, because Cregan's grin is as wide as ever.

"Actually," Cregan raises his hands casually, "I have spoken to your father about the pup and he said he would accept it, for I am also giving you one of my servants as an aid."

The two men watch as you perk at the idea.

"Oh!," you gasp in disbelief, "so..." you break into a wide smile, "I can keep the wolf?!"

Cregan laughs as he nods, "and even better, you can name it."

Daemon is appalled by your next actions.

You run and throw yourself onto Cregan, sealing him into a hug for a moment before pulling back in realization your actions were most indecent.

Cregan however prevents you from pulling away too far, hands coming to your waist as he smiles down at you. He speaks with a lopsided grin, "I have been meaning to bring you the pup ever since we spoke about my pregnant wolf when you visited me in the North."

When you what?

"Will your dear Luna not mourn the loss of her puppy?"

LUNA?

Cregan chuckles, pulling his hands away from you, not because he wanted to, but because, between the two of them, he was currently the more amicable in your eyes, and he was not about to ruin that, "I assure you, she will fair fine, as she is preoccupied with three more at home."

You frown, stepping back from Cregan to turn to the pup, not at all seeing the twitching face of your prince, "still... I must not let him be forgotten by her mother and likewise."

Cregan smiles at the sentiment, "you have a kind heart, my lady," he takes your hand, "I would be glad to bring my wolves to your home whenever you want."

You are horrified by the notion, "oh please, it would be much better if I came to you."

Cregan nods, lips in a smirk, "I shall await then."

You seemed to be caught off-guard by the fact you unwittingly just made plans with the Stark.

And you had meant to explain you could not simply agree to his offer, but you were distracted by the string of High Valyrian being spewed into the air, paired by the loud sound of the prince marching out of the room.

[urhoneycombwitch]

shrine of your lights

🍯 honey flavour: edibles and a church wedding to attend. what could go wrong with Eddie as your plus one? 

🐝 the bees: FWB!Eddie x reader 

wc: 4.8k

content warnings: a smidge of Catholic blasphemy, weed usage, friends w/ benefits Eddie, R is a bit of a love (and relationship) skeptic and Eddie is lovesick, R+E are in their 20’s, pining, public sex (no one but them observes tho), R has hair long enough to tuck behind ears, R gets a hickey but skin tone/color is not described, R has breasts and a V, softdom Eddie, marking kink (?)

foreword: I listened to Say You Love Me by Fleetwood Mac for this. LOL. kind of AU bc it’s a few years after ssn 4 and everyone is alive and just fine (lovesick but oh well can’t b helped) based on this anon thank u for inspiring me!!!!

The stained glass window in front of you looms tall, afternoon light streaming through and casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the polished wood flooring. You stretch out a hand into the warm beam of sun, admiring the way the colors catch and bounce off your dainty star-chain bracelet.

When Eddie had suggested you two eat some weed brownies as a precursor to your (very distant, very Catholic) cousin’s wedding, you hadn’t quite expected to get as stoned as you are now. Since Eddie hasn’t attended any major life functions sober since 1981, and seeing as how you refuse to step foot inside a church space without some sort of social lubricant, the weed wasn’t a hard sell at all. 

To be fair, Eddie had warned you of their potency, and you had snuck another quarter of a brownie when his back was turned: but christ, your tolerance must be crazy low or something, ‘cuz a window has no right to be this mesmerizing. 

You’ve been staring at it for the past five minutes, in your own little world while a steady stream of wedding guests file in through the big oak doors and mill about before the ceremony. The warm, still air of the church is heady with the smell of fresh florals and incense, and a line of votive candles flicker and wink against the windowsill.

Casting a glance over your shoulder, you see Eddie’s still speaking in gentle tones with an elderly woman (whom you’re likely related to, hard to say) near the foyer, all charming smile and sincere hand pressed to the slip of bare chest his button-down displays. You’ve got to hand it to the guy, he’s really great at endearing himself to total strangers; he’s been a natural shoe-in for any plus-one you’ve needed over the past few years.

While Eddie is perfectly in his element, holding what looks to be an engaging conversation while stoned to all hell, your focus is drawn back to the window. You should probably be on the arm of your guest, seeing as how it’s your family wedding after all, but the swirling lights and colors are too alluring to pull yourself away from.

“Beautiful piece of art, isn’t it?”

The voice behind you is unfamiliar, and proper social graces here would call for an introduction, perhaps a firm handshake, but your limbs and tongue feel so loose and the reply is out of your mouth before you can think twice- “God, yeah. S’fucking gorgeous. I want one for my house.”

There’s a light cough, and when you turn on your low-heeled Mary Janes it’s under the amused eye of a priest- in full priest-garb. Green velvet robes and little hat and everything.

You realize your error- swearing and taking the Lord’s name in vain- but the brief stint in Catholic school from when you were 6 is unfortunately not recalled in time to stop the scramble of swears mixed with apologies that come tumbling out. 

“Oh shit- I mean- fuck. Oh god. Sorry, Father, I didn’t mean-”

The priest- old as hell but thankfully with sense of humor still intact- smiles kindly at you and takes your hand in both of his, patting graciously. “No apologies are necessary, my dear. The beauty of God can be overwhelming and awe-inducing.”

You nod jerkily, grabbing on to his excuse- “Yes, yep. That’s exactly what happened. Struck down by the awe.”

The priest nods to you, and then to Eddie (who’s appeared at your side like a guard dog that sensed trouble), then wanders off down a row of pews to greet other guests.

You’re nearly doubled over with the effort it takes to conceal your laughter, Eddie stroking a calming hand down your back and chuckling with you under his breath. 

“Struck down by the awe, huh?” he echoes as you straighten back up and dab at the tears gathering against your lashline. “You really are somethin’.”

“That was so embarrassing but guess what-” here you lean in, voice a conspiratorial whisper as Eddie raises his eyebrows to look down his nose at you- “I don’t give a fuck ‘cuz I’m hi-igh.”

This last word is sung with a two-note lilt, and you turn back to the comfort of the sunny window as Eddie steps in beside you, shaking his head. “I told you to start with a lower dose, ya goose. Did you take more when I wasn’t looking?”

You shrug a shoulder, the soft linen of your cardigan brushing up against the hard leather of Eddie’s jacket. “Maybe. Couldn’t say. You gonna steal this window for me or what?”

He blows out a breath, pretending to appraise the size and heft, rapping his ringed knuckles against the sill- “Well normally I’d say ‘anything for my girl’, but we’d need a shrink ray for this type’a heist.”

“Maybe Dustin has one we can borrow.”

He sucks his front teeth, playing along, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. “Nah, little shit’s only got a ham radio. Useless when it comes to religious robbery.”

Eddie looks overly pleased when you giggle, but some of the humor in his face falls to concern as he reaches out to squeeze your upper arms. “Hey. You doin’ okay? If you’re too stoned to sit through the ceremony, I can find us a little spot to hole up in. I’m good at finding those.”

“I know you are,” you reply, waving away his worry. “I’m fine, honest. Do I look high?”

He holds you at arm’s length, giving you a contemplative once-over. “Nope. You look beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, affectionately, then smooth your palms over the front of your black slip dress and pull the scalloped sleeves of your cardigan into place. “Well, of that I am aware.”

Eddie winks, and you really wish you were sober enough that the warmth of his hands and the smell of his cologne would have less of an effect but high as you are, you want nothing more than to burrow into his neck and taste the salt of his skin. 

“Do I look high?” he asks, pulling away to do a little spin so you can appraise his appearance. 

Eddie Munson, as it turns out, cleans up very well for family functions: smart black boots, maroon button-down tucked into a pair of flare-legged trousers, worn but well-kept leather jacket to top the outfit off. And in signature Eddie fashion, little glints of silver highlight the ensemble- his usual chunky rings, stacked layers of thin chain necklaces, metal buckles on his coat and at his waist, even a set of tiny hoops (courtesy of your jewelry drawer) in his ears. 

The dryness in your mouth has nothing to do with your intoxication as you blink back to the present and give Eddie a once-over. “Uhm. Nope. You look sober. And very hot.”

He grins at you, wolfish, but then a bright chord of organ music signals the start of the ceremony. With a steady hand on your back, he leads you to a pew near the last row; when you’re both seated, his hand runs smoothly down to rest on your thigh, drumming a lazy beat with his thumb against you as the processional starts. 

Your cousin Marion looks lovely swathed in white tulle, contrasted with her groom in a black tux. Her mother, your aunt- Karen? Karina? can’t recall- dabs at her tears with a delicate lace handkerchief in the front pew as the couple exchanges vows, promising eternal and ineffable love until their ultimate demise, etcetera. 

You’re not someone who’s ever fallen prone to the gushy emotions that love seems to create in so many of your peers. While Nancy and Robin will dole out tissues to each other during some cheesy romcom, you’ll get ribbed for being so stoic. None of your breakups have ever ended in giant blowouts or dramatics from your side- hard to fight for something when you hadn’t really cared about it in the first place. 

That’s why you consider yourself so lucky, when it comes to Eddie. After the two of you ended your high school fling due to graduation, you’d come back to Hawkins after a few years of college and found yourself sneaking out like a teenager again to hang out with Eddie Munson. 

He told you he doesn’t want anything serious, either, and that he’s just fine being friends who sleep around and go to all of each other’s parties.

You almost believe him. 

He’s been to every one of your nephew’s hockey games this past season, and you’ve spent two cozy Christmases so far at the trailer with him and Wayne; every party in between has ended with Eddie driving you home, or (more frequently) back to his place. Your collective relatives and friends haven’t asked about your relationship status in years, and it’s all thanks to Eddie’s presence in your life: if the two of you aren’t technically dating, it’s really no one’s business. 

The old priest from earlier is droning on about some bible verse; uncomfortable on the hard bench and feeling restless, you shift your hips, and Eddie digs his fingers into the meat of your thigh.

“Quit. Squirming,” he murmurs, lips at your ear. When you shiver and still, he pats your leg and straightens again, eyes fixed to the front altar.

You and Eddie make it through the ceremony with minimal damage, only getting one dirty look from an older man in the pew ahead when you’d snickered at a dirty joke (courtesy of your benchmate). Marion and her new husband greet their guests one by one as everyone filters outside, and you coast easily through the interaction, kissing your cousin on both cheeks and fawning over her dress and giving just the right amount of congrats before Eddie plucks at your elbow to subtly redirect your attention. 

“Let’s get some food in you,” he says, linking your arms together as you follow the receiving line outdoors.

The reception is held just next to the church building in a surprisingly lovely courtyard. Sunlight filters through the willow trees at the edge of a grass yard, where a picnic basket awaits on each spread quilt. People are kicking off their dress shoes, unwinding with the lure of nature, kids chasing each other through the paths between blankets as adults wiggle their toes into the grass and dig into the luncheon.

Possibly, you’re high and over-romanticizing, but you can tell by the look on Eddie’s face he’s there with you, taking it all in from your blanket in a quiet corner of the yard. 

There are finger sandwiches in the basket, along with some fresh fruit and plastic utensils and plates to eat off of; Eddie fixes you a plate and you dig in happily, sock feet tucked under yourself, yours and Eddie’s shoes in a jumble nearby. 

“Could eat anything when I’m high,” you muse, then bite into a sandwich that has the perfect cream-cheese-to-cucumber ratio with a contented sigh. “Food is so good.”

Eddie snaps a baby carrot with his back teeth, then snorts at you before reaching out to tuck one side of your hair behind your ear before it gets eaten along with your food. “I know you can eat anything when you’re high. I once saw you scooping up apple pie with potato chips.”

You give him a sidelong frown, mouth full of bread and veg as you defend yourself- “Yeah, and it was great. Dee-licious. Would do it again if-”

Your name is being called, and you swivel to see a young man about your age weaving along the spaces between blankets towards yours and Eddie’s spot.

“Tony!” In a neat bit of multitasking, you manage to swallow your food and rise to your feet (albeit unsteadily, with Eddie’s hand snapping out to support your efforts), then hold your arms out to envelop the boy in a hug. “Oh my god, it’s been ages.”

Anthony Townsend has grown up in the time you’ve spent away- the last recollection you have of your former childhood neighbor is his mop of red hair bouncing with the trampoline his parents bought him in 6th grade. He grew into his looks, for sure- the awkwardness of pre-teen ears and too-big front teeth have settled into a very kind and handsome face.

He looks genuinely pleased to see you, returning your hug with a squeeze, pulling back to hold both your hands and ask about where you’ve been. You breeze through a highlighted version of the last few years, leaving out all the interdimensional monster bullshit and focusing the questions back on him.

Tony’s telling you about his father’s veterinary practice that’s still running smoothly when you feel Eddie at your back, and Tony falters, dropping your hands.

Social cues come a tad slow to you, under the influence, and you think Tony’s stumbling because you haven’t introduced him yet (how were you supposed to know Eddie’s been glaring daggers at the poor kid ever since you’d hugged him?), and you attempt to remedy your mistake with a casual remark- “You know, Eddie here has been feeding the stray cats at our place every night, a whole colony of them- there’s gotta be, what, ten of ‘em now?”

You turn to Eddie for confirmation, reeling a little at the dark scowl he’s still sporting as he nods. “Yup. Somethin’ like.”

Tony scratches at the back of his neck, freckled cheeks pink as he begins to back away- “Um, yeah. Cool. Well it was great to see you! I gotta…”

With a vague gesture, he turns and tails it back to his blanket on the other side of the yard. You whirl on Eddie, his face smoothing back into relaxed indifference, even as you hiss, “What the hell was that?”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t know what you mean, princess.”

“That,” you repeat, waving an arm in the air for emphasis. “I know I’m not sober but you were being weird, even by my standards.” 

There’s this look that Eddie gets, sometimes, when one of you bumps against the walls of your loosely-defined relationship- a brief flash of pain and sadness before it gets hidden away behind his comfortable mask of bravado.

He’s got it now- a small pinch in his eyebrows, doey eyes swimming with emotion, and you put a hand on his leather-clad arm as the pieces fall into place. “Were you… are you jealous?”

In the span of a blink, the mask is back up, and with a dry laugh that’s so unlike him, Eddie shakes his head. “Nah. What do I have to be jealous of, huh? ‘S not like we belong to each other.”

Maybe on a different day, with half the weed in your system, you’d be able to let this comment slide. But there’s something deeply hurtful about it, sinking and twisting in your stomach like a stone. Your grip tightens on Eddie’s arm, tears stinging hot at your eyes, voice a watery, desperate thing- “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

Eddie is quick to comfort you, once he realizes you’re close to crying- “Shit, sweetheart. Okay. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to think…” Your voice is still shaky with emotion as Eddie lets you hold on to him, gently shushing you even though there’s no one near enough to hear. “You’re important to me, Eddie. I never wanna make you mad, or upset, or-”

“I’m not.” Eddie cuts smoothly into your rambling, placing his hands on either side of your neck as you cling to him, cool rings kissing into your skin. “I’m not mad, promise. I was just being an asshole for no reason, okay? Could never be mad at you.”

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat, your breath and heart rate lulled to normal under his touch, his expression returning to the gentle fondness you’re used to seeing.

“Let’s finish up lunch, hm?” Eddie says, and with a final soft squeeze he pulls away from you, taking with him the warmth of his palms.  

It’s always like this, with him, at least in front of your respective families- any PDA is kept to a strict minimum, nothing too intimate or drawn out so as not to attract attention. You’d implemented this rule from the beginning, and Eddie has been nothing but respectful of it, your peace of mind over not wanting a label pacified.

But right now? The lack of Eddie’s arms around you or his lips on yours was starting to make you ache. 

You both settle into the blanket again, conversation flowing around mouthfuls of food as you catch Eddie up with the latest family gossip, laughing when he bats your pointer finger out of the air (as if anyone is really paying attention to you two giggling loons). 

Someone’s brought a radio and has it dialed to a soft rock station; you gasp and shove at Eddie (sprawled out like a house cat after a full meal in the sun), exclaiming “It’s Fleetwood Mac and you love Fleetwood Mac!”

“I so don’t,” he grumbles, but rises easily when you tug at him to stand sock-to-sock feet with you in the grass. 

You both fall into a smooth rhythm, Eddie’s hands staying (respectably) on your hips, yours looped around his neck, doing a slow little rotation. He gazes at you as you sway back and forth in each other’s arms, the scrutiny making you titter and fidget.

“What?”

“Thought I told you to quit squirmin’,' ' comes his answer, hands tightening into the meat of your waist. “Let me look at you a minute.”

So you let him look. 

While his chocolate eyes roam your face, you trail a hand up to curl a lock of his hair around your finger. Eddie leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, giving you room to do some staring of your own at those long, dark lashes. 

After another slow circle, Eddie inhales and draws himself back, clearing his throat. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, sweetheart, but we’re gonna start getting looks if you don’t quit using me as your personal stress toy.”

You snort. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“All good,” he replies, dimples springing into his cheeks, teasing again- “When we get home later you can pet me like a dog, if you want. Just gotta tone you down ‘cuz you get touchy when you’re high.”

Eddie’s being a perfect gentleman. He’s sticking to your rules and looking out for you.

So why is it making you so sad?

You realize, with a stunning clarity, that you don’t want to wait until you’re back at the trailer to touch Eddie. That you’re starting to crave him when he leaves, whether it’s for a day or an hour or just out of bed to get a snack. 

Fuck it, you think, and bend to scoop up your shoes. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you tell Eddie, slipping on your shoes then starting towards the building. When you realize he’s not following, you pause, giving him a look over your shoulder- “Aren’t you coming?”

Eddie blinks, wondering if you’re insinuating what he thinks you’re insinuating or if he’s just really, really high. “Um. Uh…”

You don’t leave room for the shock to sink in, turning on your heel and smirking when you hear him swear under his breath and scramble to catch up. 

In a narrow hallway lined with portraits of long-dead saints, you push Eddie against the wall, mouth sealing over his and hands roaming hungrily over his body.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, in between kisses, your fingers tugging at the root of his hair, near the nape of his neck where it stings the best- “what’s got you so worked up, princess?”

“You.” The answer is an honest one. You slip your tongue between Eddie’s teeth and the boy moans, melting into you.

Peppering kisses down Eddie’s face, your lips settle into the hollow just under his jaw, then part to give room to your teeth. Eddie stiffens as you bite down, sensitive skin pierced by your mouth; it’s his turn to be the squirmy one as you suck a bruise into that soft spot. 

His cock is filling out, as proved by the steadily-growing bulge behind his zipper. You give a mean little wiggle of your hips and Eddie jolts so hard you lose your spot on his neck, popping off him with a wet smack.

“Angel, you have to stop.” Eddie sounds absolutely wrecked as he tries to maintain some distance, head tipped back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. “M’not gonna last if you keep doing that. Let me take you home, we can-”

“Shhh.” You quiet him with a pointer finger smooshed against his lips, your other hand tilted to your ear. “You hear that?”

Eddie strains to hear distant cheers and hip hip hoorays from the festivities a few corridors away; when he nods, you whisper, “That’s the cake cutting. We have a good ten minutes before anyone thinks to come back here.”

At first, Eddie thinks he’s off the hook when you release him completely, walking swiftly towards the main sanctuary. But then, because you’re a temptress, you beckon him with an impatient wave.

And because he’s so easy for you, he follows.

It’s like that window has a magnetic pull- you’re back under the prismatic glow of the stained glass, brushing a hand across the wide sill to dust it before hopping up to perch there. You fit neatly between the split row of votive candles (all snuffed out by now), enough room for your knees to part and for Eddie to fill the space. 

You cross your arms around his neck, drawing him in with another deep kiss as his hands find your waist.

“Want you to mark me up,” you murmur, and when Eddie draws back, wary, you let your chin tip up. The crown of your head knocks into the window, exposing your throat. “Show them I’m yours, Eds.”

Only have to tell him twice, apparently, ‘cuz his teeth sink into your stretch of soft skin without further qualms. The feeling of his tongue soothing over the sore spot makes you jump, hips bucking forward into his hand that you didn’t even notice had trailed up the inside of your dress.

His long fingers pet at the wet patch that’s seeping through your underwear, catching at your clit on an upstroke, your gasp a harsh noise in the otherwise silent sanctuary.

Eddie begins to rub at you through the fabric in earnest now, tight circles with his thumb even as he pulls his mouth from your neck to assess his handiwork. “Yeah, fuck, sweetheart, that’s gonna leave a mark. You want everyone to know who you belong to, huh?”

Your bundle of nerves throbs under Eddie’s touch and you curse, hands weaving tight into his hair again. “Shit, Eddie, yeah- just like that…”

He dips back into the well of your neck with his teeth, keeps just the right amount of pressure on your clit, and that tension coiling in your lower stomach is just about to snap before you stop him with a hand around his wrist.

“Sorry,” you pant through the apology, forehead crushed to Eddie’s collarbone as you try and catch your breath. “Was about to come and I want you inside of me for that.”

“Jesus fucking christ.”

Eddie fumbles with his belt buckles as you giggle, chastising- “Hush and mind your manners, Munson. That’s blaspheming and we’re about to fuck in a church.”

“I’ll show you manners.” Eddie has his pants and briefs shoved to mid-thigh before you can draw breath to tell him off; one hand smears precum down the shaft of his ruddy cock as the other pushes your dress up and hooks your panties to the side. 

You’re wet and worked up enough that he slides into the heat of you with ease, breath punching out with the way his cock completely fills you. When Eddie pulls out and sinks back in, you let out a keening whine and scrabble for purchase on his leather jacket. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it-” his voice is a dark rumble, each word punctuated with a snap of his hips, the squelch of your slick walls responding. “So wet for me. That’s my good girl. You like gettin’ off to being mine, huh, angel?”

You nod, head lolling against the window, and Eddie grins wicked even though you can’t see it. “Come on. Show me whose pussy this is.”

When his hand snakes between your bodies to press against your clit with his thumb, you come with a long, strained whimper, ankles crossing at the small of Eddie’s back to draw him closer while the velvet walls of your cunt spasm. 

Eddie’s free hand shoots out to the supporting wood arch of the window for stability as he angles his hips up, longing for that glossy honey-eyed look you get sometimes: and there it is, your eyes half-lidded and brow pinched in pleasure as his cock hits against that gummy spot, the tremble of your thighs locked around his waist as your orgasm peaks. 

Once he’s fucked you through the height of it, Eddie dips to bite at the taut muscle where your neck and shoulder meet, clamping down on the words threatening to flood out as his hips stutter. He comes hard, deep groan muffled into your neck, curses and praises spilling out in mindless babbling: “Fuck fuck, angel, that’s it, honey, shit, you’re so wet. All for me, huh, baby? Doin’ so good…”

He sags into your arms, pinning you to the window, chests heaving in tandem as you both catch your breath. You stroke a hand down his back, towards his ass, and then to the edge of his pants.

When he realizes that you’re trying to tuck him back into his clothes he whines at you, but you’re quick to shush him. “We’re cuttin’ it close with timing already, Eds. Help me out?”

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away from the wet warmth of you to re-dress. Once his belt is in place he attends to you, helping shift the hem of your dress back down, rubbing his finger lightly under the skin of your eye where some mascara had smudged.

“I’ll double back for the keys and we’ll go home, ‘kay?” Eddie says, nose nudging into your cheek. “Wait here. You got some wicked marks and everyone will know we just fucked.”

“Pfft. No they won’t. Who would actually fuck in a church?” You push Eddie back playfully, hopping down from the sill with a wink. “You’ve gotta be sick to do that. Good thing my family believes you to be a perfect goody-two-shoes.”

Eddie stares as you make for the doors back to the courtyard, shrugging off his incredulity- “Eddie. It’s fine. So they’ll think we made out a bit. Who cares? Not me. And plus…” here you trail off and point, mischievous, Eddie’s eye’s following the line to his sock feet- “...you kinda have a no-shoes situation goin’ on. Gotta fix that.”

When you disappear through the doors, Eddie slams a palm to his chest, in awe- then feels the outline of the lighter in his inner pocket. With a practiced twist, he has it out and lit in a second, holding the flame to the wick of a votive candle.

“I don’t know how these candles work, exactly, or if atheists are allowed to…” Eddie clears his throat, glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re still out of earshot, then whispers above the flickering light: “Please let this be real life and not just some high-fueled fantasy because this is kind of huge for me. Okay thanks. Amen, or whatever.”

Eddie blows out the candle like it’s a birthday wish then hurries to catch up with you, sock feet silent against the wood floor as he calls out your name- “Slow down and have a heart, babe, I’ve got no grip!”

[winxanity-ii]

BIG FAT MEANY

ship: stepbro!megumi x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (p in v, fingering, dub-con); overbearing/possessive brother (aged up: reader and megumi are in early 20s) word count: 4.5k (lololo forgive me y'all got a bit carried away with the storybuilding 💀 promise this won't happen all the time jajaja ) A/N: Hey guys, just wanted to let you know that i'm reposting this from my alt account, lulu-4-u in case you've seen this posted before... ★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You weren't a hateful person. Not at all.

In fact, you were practically a ball of sunshine—inside and out.

You loved everything.

It was the simple things in life that made your heart flutter: the moon on a clear night, the smell of fresh rain, lazy afternoons spent with your friends from college, and, of course, your family.

Especially the love between your mom and stepdad, Toji.

He came into you and your mom's life at a time when things were pretty dark—your dad had been having an affair with his secretary, and your mom was left heartbroken. But then, when you were fifteen, Toji walked into the picture, and everything changed for the better.

Out of all the things you cherished, though, there was one thing—one person—you absolutely hated.

Your stepbrother, Megumi.

You hated how mean he was to you.

How he always managed to push your buttons.

How he treated you like a child, even though you were only a year younger than him.

And what you hated the most?

How pushy he got when things didn't go his way.

"Megumi, I said stop!" you whined, pushing at his annoyingly close chest.

Your mind could only race, trying to piece together exactly how you ended up in this predicament.

The night had started simply enough. It was a Friday—date night for your mom and Toji, which meant the house was practically dead.

Normally, you would've just stayed at your dorm, but tonight was different. Your dormmates had been all over you about some party happening on campus, trying to drag you along, but you weren't in the mood.

You'd barely been able to dodge their constant nagging, so instead of getting sucked into something you didn’t want to do, you decided to come home.

A weekend in your room sounded a lot better than getting roped into a night of drinking and chaos.

But instead of holing up and rotting away in your room, Megumi had caught you on your way upstairs. He'd asked—well, more like insisted—if you wanted to watch a movie with him.

It had been a little out of the ordinary, but you shrugged and went along with it, thinking it'd be a decent way to pass the time. And for a while, it had been fine. You both settled on the couch, watching the newest Scream movie.

Until now.

"Megumi, what's your problem? It's just Yuji..." you finally managed, voice small as you sat up properly on the couch, trying to put some distance between the two of you.

"My problem?" he repeated, scoffing like you'd just said something ridiculous. "My problem is you acting like you don't know what’s going on. That picture—he sent it to you for a reason. But you're sitting here like it’s no big deal."

Your brow furrowed, hurt blooming in your chest at what he was insinuating. You hated it when Megumi got like this—sharp-tongued, confrontational, like everything you did somehow annoyed him.

All over a damn picture...

It wasn't even a big deal, honestly. You and Yuji were just chatting as always when among the messages he sent a picture of himself fresh out of soccer practice.

You could vividly recall the boyish grin plastered across his face, eyes bright with his usual warmth.

But it wasn't just the smile that caught your attention.

His shirt, the one you knew had probably been soaked with sweat from practice, was pulled halfway up, wiping at his forehead. It casually exposed the lean muscles of his abdomen, glistening faintly from practice.

He hadn't done it on purpose—he probably didn't even think twice about sending it knowing him—but the way his body looked in the picture was enough to make your face burn upon seeing it.

But apparently, what wasn't a big deal to you, was to Megumi...

"Is he your boyfriend or something?" he demanded, glaring down at you. "Yuji, I mean. Is that why you're all flustered? Because he sent you some half-naked picture and now you’re freaking out like some lovesick idiot?"

"What are we, twelve?" you scoffed, crossing your arms and turning your body away from him, your tone sharp. "For your information, it's none of your business what Yuji is to me. We're in college, Megumi. I don't owe you any explanations."

You could feel the heat rise to your face again, but this time it wasn’t just from the embarrassment. It was the fact that he felt like he had any right to badger you about this.

He wasn't your parent, your guardian—hell, he wasn't even a friend half the time with the way he acted.

"Why do you even care?" you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him. "You're always like this. Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

You didn't see the way his jaw clenched or how his gaze sharpened at your words. You were too focused on staring at the wall, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest.

You stood up abruptly, ready to head back to your room, away from his snappy attitude.

But just as you turned, a large hand wrapped around your wrist, halting your steps.

You froze, looking over your shoulder to see Megumi. He was staring up at you through his dark hair, head tilted slightly, a burning look in his eyes that made your heart race in a way you didn't like. His grip was firm but not painful—just enough to keep you there.

"Megumi, let go," you huffed, your lips pouting as your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. You gave a light tug on your arm, but his hand didn't budge.

He didn't say anything, just kept staring at you, his expression unreadable. That silence—his stubborn, infuriating silence—only made your frustration build.

Why did he have to be like this?

"I said let go!" you repeated, yanking on your arm harder this time, but his grip tightened. You felt a hot flash of anger rise in your chest.

"If you don't—" you started, your voice trembling with frustration, "I'm gonna tell Mom and Toji when they get home."

His eyes flickered for a second, and just as the words left your mouth, he scoffed, standing up in one smooth motion, his form towering over yours.

You could feel the heat of him, the intensity of his presence making you instinctively take a small step back.

"What?" he sneered, his voice low and mocking. "You're gonna tell them that you're whoring around?"

You gasped, your eyes going wide in shock, heart slamming in your chest. "What the hell, Megumi?" you started, but the words barely made it past your lips before he cut you off, stepping even closer, his voice quick and biting.

Megumi stepped even closer, his body towering over yours as he stared down at you through his dark lashes, his voice dropping into something almost mocking.

"Or are you gonna run to Toji?" he taunted, his lips curling into a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. "I bet you'd like that, huh? Telling him how mean I'm being to you... like some helpless little girl."

Your breath hitched, your back pressing against the wall as he closed the space between you, his presence overwhelming. You felt cornered, heat rising to your cheeks in a way you couldn’t control. His words, the way he looked at you—it all left you speechless.

You hated that he had this effect on you, hated the way he made your pulse race, not just from anger but something deeper, something you couldn't quite place.

Megumi leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or maybe you like it when I'm mean to you. Is that it? You're always whining, but you never tell them, do you? Why's that?"

You cleared your throat, trying to steady yourself, your eyes darting off to the side to avoid the intensity of his gaze. "B-because," you stammered, voice barely above a whisper, your cheeks still burning hot.

You swallowed hard, finally meeting his eyes, though the way he was looking down at you made your heart pound even harder. "Because… you're my big brother..."

You expected him to laugh, to scoff at you like he always did, but instead, his expression didn't change. If anything, something darker flickered in his eyes as he leaned even closer, his breath hot against your skin.

"Is that what you tell yourself?" he asked quietly, his voice low and almost dangerous. "That it's just because I'm your big brother?" He tilted his head slightly, still staring down at you, his eyes narrowing just a bit. "You sure that's it?"

You could feel the heat rushing to your face again, heart pounding painfully in your chest as you struggled to find words, any words, to push him away.

Your mind raced, and though you wanted to focus on the anger bubbling up, a different thought crept in, unwanted but undeniable.

Megumi was attractive.

Like, really, really attractive.

You hated to admit it, but standing there, inches from him, it was impossible to ignore. He towered over you, standing at least six feet tall, his broad shoulders filling out the plain black t-shirt he wore.

You could see the faint outline of his muscles beneath the fabric, the way his chest rose and fell with every breath, the strong line of his jaw clenched in irritation. His dark hair fell over his forehead in that effortless way it always did, messy but somehow perfect, framing his sharp, intense features.

And those eyes—Gods, those eyes.

Even though they were currently glaring down at you with frustration, you couldn't deny the pull they had. Dark, stormy, and filled with an intensity that made it hard to hold his gaze for long. They were the kind of eyes that could make anyone feel small, vulnerable, and you hated how they always managed to affect you.

Your breath hitched as you let yourself take him in for just a moment too long, your body betraying you with a sharp jolt of attraction. But no—no.

You weren't going to go there.

This was Megumi, your stepbrother, and as good as he looked, he was being a complete asshole right now.

You shook your head quickly, trying to rid yourself of the thought. Stop it. Stop thinking like that.

Clearing your throat, you took a deep breath and straightened up, attempting to put on your most serious face, even though your heart was still hammering in your chest.

"Look, 'Gumi," you began, your voice sounding steadier than you felt, using the nickname you had given him years ago. It rolled off your tongue easily, a little too familiar for the situation at hand, but you needed something to ground yourself. "I'm not sure what’s wrong. And I'm sorry if I did anything to make you upset, but you have got to stop this..."

You trailed off, knowing full well what the 'this' was. And deep down, Megumi knew too. It wasn't just about Yuji, or any other guy, really. It was him. It was how he acted—how he always got so weirdly possessive, so jealous, whenever another guy so much as talked to you.

You didn't even have to be interested in them; the mere mention of someone else was enough to set him off.

You'd seen it countless times. The sharp glares, the biting comments, the way his jaw would tighten at the mention of a boy's name.

It was always the same, this constant undercurrent of envy and jealousy that never made sense, and it wasn't just a protective brother thing.

No, it was something else.

Something darker.

Something you weren't ready to acknowledge.

Megumi's jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he was going to say something or maybe even do something.

You braced yourself, heart racing with both frustration and something you didn't want to name.

But instead, he let go of your wrist, taking a step back.

"Fine…" he muttered, his voice low and almost too calm. "You're right, and I'm sorry."

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. Megumi? Apologizing?

He never apologized to you, not like this. Usually, he'd just brush you off, act like whatever happened didn't matter or somehow turn it back on you. But now, here he was, actually acknowledging his behavior.

It felt strange, and you weren't quite sure how to respond.

"Uh, well, um, thank you…" you mumbled, still processing.

It didn't feel real, this sudden shift. But before you could dwell on it for too long, you turned to leave again, ready to retreat to the safety of your room where you could put distance between yourself and this confusing whirlwind of emotions.

But just as you began to walk away, you felt it again—his hand, firm around your wrist.

He wasn't letting you go.

"Where's my apology?" he asked, his tone unsettlingly calm.

"Huh?" you responded, confused by the sudden demand. Your brain barely had time to catch up with the words before Megumi yanked you forward, pulling you off balance.

You stumbled, instinctively putting your hands up to steady yourself, but you ended up falling into his chest instead.

You gasped, your hands pressing against the solid warmth of him, trying to create some space, but Megumi's arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

The heat from his body seeped into yours, making it impossible to ignore how solid and overwhelming he felt against you.

"Megumi—" you started, breathless, but the rest of your sentence was cut off as he brought his lips close to your ear, his voice soft and commanding.

"Shush…" he murmured, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Let's just finish the movie."

With that, he pulled you back down onto the couch next to him, his arm still wrapped around your waist, keeping you tethered to his side. You were practically sitting on his lap, his arm still holding you close, and your mind was spinning, trying to wrap itself around what was happening.

The movie played in the background, but you couldn't focus on anything except the heavy tension in the room and the warmth of his body pressing against yours.

As you tried to shift away, to put some space between you, Megumi's voice pierced through the room, low and deliberate. "You know," he began, his hand dropping lower, his fingers brushing the inner corner of your thigh. "I just realized something… we never got to bond." He emphasized the word by gripping your thigh, his touch firm and intentional.

Your breath hitched at the contact, and your mind blanked for a second, overwhelmed by how sudden and intense his presence felt. "I-I mean, we still can," you stuttered, trying to defuse the situation, trying to keep this from going wherever it was heading.

But the way Megumi's face pulled into a wicked smirk, the sharp gleam in his eyes, made your stomach drop. He leaned in closer, licking his lips as he watched your reaction, his grip tightening slightly on your leg.

The air around you felt thick, it was as if everything had narrowed down to just this—his gaze, his hands on you, the heat of his body so close to yours.

Before you could even think of moving again, Megumi's hand suddenly gripped your jaw, his fingers firm against your skin as he turned your face toward him. His touch was possessive, controlling, and it sent a wave of something through you—part fear, part something darker that you didn't want to name.

"C'mon, look at me," he said, his voice a low murmur as he scooted even closer, towering over you now. He tilted your head back slightly, forcing you to meet his eyes, and even if you wanted to pull away, you couldn't.

His grip was too strong, too sure.

Megumi watched your reaction closely, his smirk growing as he tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "What's wrong? You don't wanna play with your big brother?" The way he said it, his voice dripping with a mock sweetness, sent shivers down your spine, and your heart pounded painfully in your chest.

"G-Gumi, the movie…" you stammered, trying to deflect, to push him away with your words, but it was no use.

You knew nothing good was going to come from this.

He just chuckled softly, his fingers gripping your jaw a little tighter as he leaned even closer, his breath hot against your skin. "Forget the movie," he muttered, his voice taking on that dangerous edge again.

Before you could react, Megumi grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them to your side with one hand.

You were startled by how effortlessly he did it—his arms didn’t even bulge, as if it was nothing for him to hold you down like this. Your heart raced even faster, panic starting to creep in as you realized how strong he really was.

You tried to squirm, to pull away, but Megumi didn't budge. His grip on you was firm, almost casual, like he was barely putting in any effort to keep you trapped against him.

Megumi tutted at you, a soft noise that somehow felt condescending, as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "The movie's still there, silly," he hummed, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

You could feel him nosing along the contours of your neck, his presence overwhelming every one of your senses.

"Let's just play a game until the commercials are over, yeah?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing, as if this were all some harmless joke to him.

"A-a game?" you stuttered, your mind struggling to keep up with what was happening. Your body felt frozen in place, your instincts screaming at you to move, to get away, but the grip he had on your wrists, the way he held you down so effortlessly, made it impossible.

"Yeah…" he whispered, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. "Let's play… who can last the longest."

The words didn't even fully register before you felt the sudden force of him pushing you back against the sofa.

An involuntary "oomph" escaped your lips as your back hit the cushions, and your vision blurred for a second as you stared up at the ceiling, heart pounding in your ears.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Megumi was hovering above you, his body blocking out everything else. His dark eyes raked over your face, taking in every flicker of emotion you couldn't hide, every sign of the fear and confusion coursing through you.

He didn't move, not yet, but the weight of his gaze pinned you in place as effectively as his body did.

There was something in his expression—an intensity that made your chest tighten, made it hard to breathe, and you couldn't help but feel like you were already losing whatever game this was.

Megumi let out a deep chuckle, the sound reverberating in your chest, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry," he murmured, his tongue flicking out to lick the curve of your ear, making you shiver. "I'll go easy on you… for now."

"Megumi—" you started, your cry cut off as his hand cupped your jaw, and he slammed his lips onto yours, his movements forceful and possessive.

Heat shot through your body, shivers running down your spine as his tongue invaded your mouth like a man starving. It was overwhelming, the way he kissed you—demanding, fierce, leaving no room for resistance.

You whimpered against his mouth, the noise muffled by the way his lips devoured yours. His hands wandered along your body, gripping, grabbing, squeezing any part of you he could find.

The pressure of his touch was firm, almost bruising, and with every place his hands explored, your body responded with an involuntary jolt of heat.

Your breath hitched as he hooked his hands under your legs, pulling them up and around his waist, his hips jolting forward into yours. The movement sent a rush of sensation through you.

You managed to tear your lips from his, gasping for air as your chest heaved. "M-Megumi…" you whined, your voice trembling, your head falling back as you tried to make sense of what was happening, what he was doing to you.

He didn't stop. Instead, he groaned low in his throat, his lips finding your neck. He licked and bit along the sensitive skin there, the rough scrape of his teeth making you shiver even as you tried to push the sensation away.

Your mind was at war with itself—one part of you frothing, screaming, fight him, get him away, the panic clawing at your chest. But the other side—the darker part, the one that you didn’t want to admit was there—was keening, practically begging for more of his attention, for more of this twisted game.

And Megumi, as if sensing the battle raging inside of you, just smiled against your skin, biting down a little harder, leaving a mark you knew wouldn't fade anytime soon.

Megumi pulled back slightly, making a deliberate show of licking his lips as he panted above you, his eyes dark and focused. "C'mon, lil sis," he murmured, rocking his hips into yours in a slow, rough rhythm that made your breath catch in your throat. "The game can't start until you're ready."

Your body betrayed you as you watched him put a hand between your bodies, his fingers easily slipping into the confines of your sleeping shorts. "Ohhh, looks like you really wanna play, huh?" he taunted, his voice laced with smugness as his fingers rubbed up and down your wet slit.

A wave of shame washed over you, your thighs twitching with the instinct to close, to shut them and stop what was happening, but his frame kept them wide open.

You couldn't escape the heat pooling low in your stomach, no matter how hard you tried to fight it. A choked whine left your mouth, your back arching involuntarily when he slipped a finger inside.

Megumi let out a groan, low and rumbling, as if he was savoring the sensation. "Damn…" he muttered under his breath, cursing softly as he felt your walls constrict around his finger. His thumb brushed over your clit, making your whole body jerk, and when he added a second finger, the fight in you began to crumble.

His fingers were relentless, rubbing and probing with a skill that left you breathless. Your legs, which had tried to resist, opened wider for him, your body moving of its own accord.

Megumi hummed in approval, a light chuckle escaping his lips as he muttered, "Good girl." The words sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you—humiliation, desire, confusion—but you couldn't stop the way your body responded to him.

And before you knew it, you found yourself overcome with an orgasm. Babbled whimpers fell from your lips as the coil within you snapped, your body shaking with the force of it.

By the time you came down from the high, Megumi had already pulled back, sitting on his haunches as he dropped your legs. You curled your legs up to your body, watching as he began to untie his drawstring sweats, his eyes still locked on you with that same wicked smirk.

You looked away just as you caught a glimpse of the dark trail of hair peeking out from his waistband, heart pounding in your chest.

At this point, you had accepted what was about to happen, and your mind raced as you braced yourself.

Megumi crawled back over you, his hands tugging at your shorts, and you barely registered the feeling as he discarded them over his shoulder. One of your legs was pulled back around his waist, the heat of his skin pressing against yours.

His body hovered over yours, and you felt him nudge your entrance with the tip of his dick, sliding it up and down along your slit.

A shiver ran through you as you struggled to keep your thoughts clear, but it was impossible under the weight of him, both physically and mentally.

"Fuck," he groaned to himself, eyes locked on where your bodies were beginning to connect.

Your breathing grew shallow, your heart racing uncontrollably, knowing that whatever came next, there was no turning back.

Megumi filled you in one swift movement, stealing your breath away. You cried out, the sound a mix of pleasure and pain echoing through the room. His groan was long and guttural, reverberating in the space between you.

Megumi's rhythm was steady, each thrust sending a jolt of shock of pleasure through your body.

It felt surreal—part of you couldn't believe you were letting this happen, but the undeniable pleasure clouded every coherent thought.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, the intensity of it all overwhelming your senses.

"That's right," Megumi grunted, his breath hot against your ear. "Take all of me."

You couldn't form words, your mind spinning, too overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

Instead, all you could do was moan and whimper, your body moving with his, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. His hand snaked up to your throat, gripping lightly as he maintained a relentless pace.

"You like that, don't you? You like the way big brother fucks you?" he growled, his voice harsh and demanding, his thrusts becoming even more intense.

Your mind reeled, unable to speak, only nodding frantically in response as the pleasure built inside you. You could feel the pressure mounting, an orgasm threatening to wash over you as your body tensed beneath him.

Megumi seemed to notice, his hands hiking your legs up higher, deepening the angle, each movement more brutal and precise than the last.

You lay there, body writhing beneath his as he fucked you like a ragdoll, and a dark part of you couldn't help but thrill in the way he took control. His voice filled your ear with praise, breathless murmurs of "you're doing so good for me," and other words that barely registered through the haze, as if he were drunk off the feeling of you clamped around him.

Soon, his tempo shifted, becoming erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as his low moans became uncontrollable.

The intensity built until you felt warmth spreading inside you, the realization hitting you that he was coming, his release flooding your senses.

The throbbing between you two blurred together, until yours faded, and you could still feel him twitching, even as everything else calmed.

Eventually, he slowed, both of you panting, the room thick with the aftermath. You winced when he finally pulled out, a shiver running through you as you felt the hot liquid seeping out.

Megumi stood to grab cleaning supplies, gently wiping you off, his touch softer now, though still lingering in the tension of what had just occurred.

And as you lay there, watching him, all you could think was, What the fuck just happened?

[toxicanonymity]

Let me stay awake.

7.2k, vampy!Joel x f!reader | vampire masterlist | playlist SUMMARY: Joel tries to take better care of you and plans a date night in. Next time he takes your blood, it feels amazing. WARNINGS: I8+, big girthy age gap (440s to 20s-50s), reader is in captivity, angst, hurt/comfort, dark fluff, POV alternates (twice?), a lot of character dev in the first half, a former blood donor joins the cast, alcohol (minimal), chains, shackles, ankle collar, joel gets handsy and a little creepy, dry humping, groping, perfectly timed ejaculation. All dubcon because you're captive. SERIES IMMERSABILITY: Reader can menstruate, be lifted by vampire Joel, and has no allergies.

After Joel took your period, you told him he was doing a bad job taking care of you, which was true. But he did a good job at something. You slept like a baby. He was back with when you woke up. Now he’s sitting next to you on the mattress, back against the wall. Against his thighs, he’s holding a pen on top of a book that looks ancient.  He adjusts his glasses and opens the book. The pages are blank, discolored, and thick. Some have been ripped out. He takes the cap off his pen and asks, “What’d ya have at your old house that we don't have here?” then rests his hand on the page to write. His hand dwarfs the page, and you feel a surge of desire recalling his sounds of pleasure. No, you don’t want him, you tell yourself, as if you didn’t fantasize about him on your way to sleep.

“Freedom,” you answer, and he winces. 

He closes the journal with the pen keeping it partly open, then he turns toward you. “If ya just gimme a chance, sweetheart. . . I'm really gonna do my best. . .” 

When you stay quiet, he says, “Ya know. I think one day, we’ll get there.” 

“Get where?” 

“Outside, out in the world together.”

“Really?” 

He nods. “That walk we took was nice, right?”

“What walk?”

“Through the alley, that first night, when I walked ya to your car?” Right. . .what a gentleman. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Now your mind is drifting back to the way he gently pushed you against the brick wall to kiss you on that walk. Did he already know what he was going to do to you when he first pressed himself against you? 

His eyes are earnest.  “It can be like that again,” he nods.  “Just need a little time.”

You nod. 

He clears his throat, opens the journal, and picks up his pen. “So what do you need?” 

Your stomach twists. Answering would feel like resigning yourself to some dark fate. “I'm not gonna help you keep me prisoner,” you mumble. 

“Prisoner?” He dips his head and his brow furrows. “God, no,” he softly reassures you. He reads your face, then stares into the mattress and swallows.

You rephrase, “Well I’m not gonna help you keep me.” 

He looks you over with pleading eyes.  “I'm gonna go out for a while, okay? Can I get ya anything?”

There are things you need, but you still can’t bring yourself to acknowledge you’re there for the long haul. So you shake your head no. He goes to get the chain from the floor.

“Hate doin’ this,” he mumbles. “‘s’just for now.” He drags the chain over and lifts the sheet to expose your feet. He sees the scrapes and irritation on your ankle. “Shit,” he shakes his head at himself. “Hold on, sweetheart,” he mutters. “Stupid,” he mumbles at himself as he gets up.  He goes upstairs and takes the tray from breakfast with him.  He returns with the same tray. It’s holding a pair of his own wool socks in a fair isle pattern, a paper bag, and a translucent teal bottle full of water. “Lunch,” he says as he sets the tray down next to you. He puts the socks on you, and they're toasty. Then, he puts the cuff on over the sock. “Little better?”

“A little,” you answer. 

“Good,” he whispers. 

— JOEL —

He’s gotta do something about that chain. He’s about to lay down on the sofa to think, but when he moves a decorative pillow out of the way, he feels a rush of shame. “Oh my god,” he whispers. He’s so stupid. How did he not think to give you a pillow? He goes straight to a guest bedroom. The tall, oak door creaks as he opens it. The light from the window nearly blinds him. He blocks it with his forearm as he hurries over to close the heavy curtains.  He sneezes. He picks up an old pillow off the bed and fluffs it. Dust swarms around. There's no way he's giving you that. This whole room has a sad vibe. But he could make you a different room, maybe. His wheels start turning as he goes back downstairs - he has ideas for what room he could use, and what he could do with it. 

He says your name as he descends the final steps. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking,” he apologizes as he crosses the room.  He hands you the pillow and assures you he'll get a better one. Then he goes back upstairs.

After a little research, he packs a leather, cross-body bag and checks the weather. “Damnit,” he grumbles to himself.  Cool but no cloud cover. If it were another sunny day, he’d stay home, but this is too important. He puts on a scarf and grabs his parasol from the coat closet and tucks it under his arm as he pulls on his gloves. He’d rather endure the strange looks than come home without the energy to take care of you. 

-

-

Joel’s first stop is an erotic boutique. It's been a long time since he was anywhere like this. The mannequins in mesh bodysuits and strappy leather catch his eye on the way in, and he almost forgets what he came for. He can't help but imagine you wearing some of these things, but he'd rather just see you naked. 

He slowly makes his way through the store. Should he get you a toy? It seems like sexual health would be a basic need. No, he decides. It might make you uncomfortable. He doesn't want to assume, and doesn't want to invade your privacy. Plus, he has to be careful. He doesn’t want you to think this is all just to get him off. He knows how it feels to be fetishized.

“Can I help you?” Someone asks. Joel turns around and squints through his transition lenses at the worker’s face, then their name tag. Craig.  Where does Joel know him from?  Joel stays home a lot, but not as much as one might think. He needs some kind of social contact. 

Craig interrupts Joel’s thoughts, “You’re the one with the mansion, right?”

Joel chuckles. “Uhh, I dunno if–”

“Oh, sorry,” Craig  holds his hand up. “Ya know what? I must be thinking of someone else.” His lie is an unconvincing attempt to allow Joel his anonymity after the slip-up. He probably thinks Joel is in disguise. 

“No, no, it’s okay, man. I was just gonna say. I wouldn’t call it a. . . mansion,” Joel feels stupid as he finishes the sentence. 

“Okay,” Craig concedes with a playful eye roll.  “The house with the Christmas party” 

Oh, God. Joel hadn't even thought about his party. It's gotta be small this year, if it happens. Maybe it would be nice. Joel pictures you in a fancy dress sitting next to him at the table. He imagines having someone to kiss at midnight. 

“New year’s, “ Joel corrects him and sticks out his hand. “Joel.” 

“Right, right.” Craig shakes Joel’s hand and asks, “Friend of the Fishers, right?” 

Joel snaps his finger, “Yes! Right. You're in David's choir.” Another thing Joel forgot. His life has revolved around you ever since you stepped into it.  You're all he thinks about.  Joel starts to apologize, “Look, I dunno if I'm gonna make the Christmas concert this year, it snuck up on me.”

“It's okay, it's okay,” Craig reassures him with a wave of his hand. “Can I help ya find anything?” 

“Yeah, uh, it said online y’all have some cuffs and chains and stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” Craig nods. “Come with me.” He guides Joel to a back wall covered in all sorts of contraptions. “Looking for anything in particular?” 

“Yeah, something really comfortable and secure.”

–

As Craig rings up Joel’s purchase, Joel silently worries if this is going to work. 

“Want me to show ya how the lock works?” Craig asks. 

 “Uhh, sure,” Joel says. 

Craig takes the leather cuff out of the package and demonstrates the metal lock. He dangles the two keys. “One for you, and one for them,” he smiles. 

“And both cuffs have the same key?”

“Yep,” Craig nods. 

The cuff seems comfortable–the inside is suede and there's metal over the leather-–but Joel wonders if it's secure enough. What if you get away and he never sees you again? He looks at the metal loop on the cuff.

“Hey,” Joel asks and scratches his neck. “Y’all don't have any, uh, ID tags or anything do ya?”

“ID tags?” 

“Like the little metal ones that hang on a loop.”

“Ohhh, like for a collar.” Craig raises his eyebrows. 

“Or for this?” Joel asks, holding up a cuff. 

“Cool,” Craig nods as if Joel is an innovator.  “Gimme one sec.” 

Craig goes out to a nearby shelf and comes back with a few collars that have their own tag – mostly hearts, either blank or with something generic like princess. “This is all we got.”

“Y’all do engraving here?” Joel asks. 

“No. . .But if ya only need the tag, and it's gotta be engraved, I can tell ya where to go.”

–

When Joel is done with his next stop, he opens his leather bag and slips the metal tag into a zippered pocket. Damn, he thinks.  He doesn't even know your favorite color. He hopes you’re okay with a black heart. Certainly better than a bone shape. He starts his car and heads toward the library. 

-

When Joel walks into the library, he politely nods at the information desk, then heads to the computers. He sits down at one in the back row. He takes his gloves off, pulls his journal and a pen out of his bag, then logs onto the computer. He searches the catalog and the internet. What do you need? Food, water, shelter, this all seems obvious. What do you want? Freedom, he can hear you saying it. How much can he give you? How can he make you stay? How can he make you understand how much he cares? He retrieves a book and opens his journal to make some notes.

-

Joel puts down his pen, looks over his notes, then takes off his glasses, and rubs his eyes. He wishes you’d talk to him. What do you really want? 

He whispers your name out loud. “God I wanna make you happy.” He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. He has a headache. The sun is catching up with him. He shouldn’t have gone out today. He should go home. When he opens his eyes, he puts his glasses back on. Someone is approaching. He swiftly locks the computer screen and closes his notebook. 

“Joel.” It’s a kind, grandmotherly voice.

“Carol,” Joel smiles, and leans back as casually as he can. 

“You alright there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Joel nods, trying not to wince. She looks at the empty computer screen and closed notebook. 

“Okay, well, you know where to find me, dear.” 

“Great sweater, by the way,” Joel tells her. “Perfect color. Really makes your eyes pop.”  

“Oh, Joel,” she coyly pats down her white curls. “Thank you, dear--OH, Christy asked if you came in. Do you want me to get her?” 

Joel didn’t even think about her on his way in. He feels a twinge of guilt for silencing her call, ignoring her text. 

“Joel?” Carol asks, looking concerned. 

He snaps out of it and feigns a little smile. “Uh, no. No, thank you. Don't bother her.”

“Okay,” Carol says in a sing-song voice. “I'll leave you to it then.” She smiles and walks away. 

–

So she was expecting him. Oh, shit - he thinks through his mental calendar - Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Warmth rises to his cheeks. It’s been so long since he’s felt his cheeks get warm. It must be something in your blood.  Not only has Joel taken blood from Christy, but she’s been his wingman before. They'd go out somewhere, and he'd listen to her drone on and on–she never took a breath–about  her armchair detective community. 

She’s always been a little too into the whole situation. If Joel thanked her for her help, she’d beam, “Any time.” She wasn't with him the night he met you. He wasn't on the hunt. But you smelled special, and he couldn't physically resist. 

Joel hears Christy greet someone. He can't dodge her, he just has to hope she walks on by.  He picks up his leather bag and puts it in his lap. He rifles through it until he finds a stick of menthol balm. 

“There he is,” Christy calls. 

Too late. He stuffs the menthol back in his bag without using it. He looks up, and she’s paused in the middle of the library with one hand on her hip and her eyes wide, even wider than usual.  

“Hey, Chris.” 

She hurries over. “So you are alive,” she teases with her arms crossed, then tilts her head, widens her eyes, and whispers, “figuratively speaking.” She laughs at her own joke. 

She knows as much about him as anyone alive. It's made a big difference having a friend who knows. This has been one of Joel’s better eras, but the era he’s moving into with you will be lightyears better. And it’ll be more than an era. 

“Kinda late,” she cringes lightheartedly. 

“Oh, no, no, none for me. I’m good, thanks. Sorry, I’ve uh – I’ve gotta go.” 

He stands up and puts his bag on.  She’s gonna know something’s up. He scratches the back of his neck, weighing whether to break down and tell her everything so she can help him know how to make you comfortable and happy. Plus, he just wants to talk about you. He wants to tell the world. But today he has one priority: taking care of you. 

“Waait a second,” Christy says knowingly, studying his face. “You’re glowing. You just got some good stuff, didn't ya?” She playfully punches Joel’s arm.  “Good for you,” she beams, then raises her eyebrows and lowers her voice. “Bet it was menstrual, O positive.”

“The blood type doesn't–”

“--You say that, but if you’d let me do my experiment. . .Oh! We’ve got some new microfilm downstairs. 1880s, if you can believe it.” 

“Not today,” Joel replies a little too quickly if he doesn’t want her prying.  

Her lips form a line and her eyebrows go up, then she shrugs it off. “Okay, mister. Hey, can you still take care of Cal next weekend? Nat and I are–”

“--Uh, yeah,” Joel starts to walk off. “If you can drop her off.” You might enjoy the cat’s company.

“Joel!” Christy calls after him. “Don’t forget this!” She’s holding his parasol. 

–

Next, Joel stops by the hardware store to get some supplies to secure you more comfortably. He’s sure he’s forgetting something, but this is a good start, and there’s always delivery. He doesn’t want to leave the house again this week. Thankfully, the hardware store is next to a Walmart, which has groceries, clothes, and pillows. He gets you some loungewear, socks, and new bedding. It’s the least he can do.

—--

When Joel gets home, he brings you four different pillows and some bedding. 

“Wasn’t sure what firmness.” 

He unlocks you and shows you the socks and lounge clothes. “These looked comfortable. Here, I can help. . .”

“I can do it,” you tell him. 

“Right.”  He turns around. While you’re changing, he says, “Let's order in tonight. Too tired to get anything started.”  

“I’m not hungry yet,” you tell him.

Then he shows you the new cuffs and chain. He rings the heart shaped tag onto one cuff, then puts it around your ankle. “Better?”

The chain is much lighter.  “Yeah, I guess,” you admit. “What’s this?” You look at the tag. 

“Oh I dunno, I just–I started worryin’.” 

You stare at him blankly. 

“I dunno, just in case.” 

“In case what?”

He swallows. “If ya. .” He looks around. He doesn't wanna say it out loud.  “If ya left. . . so ya could . . . I dunno, get back.”

Now there’s a hint of pity and bewilderment in your eyes. 

“It was stupid, sorry.” He takes a deep breath and manages a small smile. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll be right upstairs.” 

-

When he gets upstairs, he looks at his phone and has a message from Christy. His stomach drops when the picture loads. It’s his search history about taking care of adult human women and what makes them stay.

“God damnit,” he curses himself. Of course he didn’t clear his search history. He didn’t even log off. She's typing. She stops, then starts again, and he presses the heels of his palms into his temples. What now? Should he call her? She wouldn't tell anyone, but – Her message comes through with a woosh: “this is what librarians are for.”

“Ha," he scoffs with the slightest smile. He shakes his head and turns the screen off without answering.  He should be relieved, but can’t help but worry. He's seen her at her worst. God, he hopes that was her worst.  What does she want?

Another message comes in: “let me help you."

Of course that’s what she wants. Funny enough, he’s seen her at her worst specifically when she was trying to help. But it’s still tempting, because she’s smart and resourceful. She could tell him everything there is to know about you within an hour. He’d love to know what kind of clothes you’d like, your favorite foods, how to make you happy. But for now, he’s doing alright on his own. He doesn’t text back. 

-—You—

A while after Joel goes upstairs, you hear drilling, then clanking, metal jingling, things being dropped. 

Later, he brings you dinner. He doesn’t eat, but he sits with you.  Then, after you’re done, he faces you, cross-legged on the mattress.  He’s wearing his glasses and has his journal again. There are handwritten notes in it. From upside down, you can see the words “buy” and “do.” Some items are crossed through.

“I was thinkin’,” he studies the page, then looks up at you. “Ya might need a bed.” He looks at your face for confirmation.   “Right?” he asks. Wow, he really wants an answer. 

“I mean. . . yeah, I sleep in a bed, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Okay, I’m workin’ on a room for ya.”

For the next few days, he’s hard at work. 

—----

He comes downstairs one evening around dinner time and says,  “I was thinkin’, maybe we could watch a movie or somethin’.”

“Here?”

“Uh, no sweetheart. I was thinkin’, if ya wanna come upstairs for dinner, then maybe, after that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiles.

“Okay.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. Great.” He goes to the other end of the chain and takes a key out of his pocket to unlock the cuff from the floor.  As he's doing it, he mumbles, “You can, uh, pick the movie. If ya want.” The chain is sliding around on the mattress as he fiddles with the cuff. When the cuff is free from the hook, he puts it around his wrist, then locks it. Your breath hitches. He sees you looking at his wrist. 

“Don't wanna get separated,” he chuckles sheepishly, then puts a hand on your wrist. “Want yours here?” 

“Yeah.” 

He moves the leather cuff from your ankle to your wrist, and it's nice to feel his hands on yours as he fastens it. He smells good. Fresh, woodsy. He opens his palm and takes your hand to help you up. He holds the slack of the chain as the two of you walk upstairs. 

—

It's a large room with high ceilings. It's dark, but cozy. A fire is lit. There are plants, lots of plants. And bookshelves in the walls. He takes you through the main room, to a dining room with a huge table already set for two.  He offers you the head of the table and pulls out the chair for you. He lets the slack of the chain pool between your chairs, and you're both still wearing a cuff on your wrist. 

 You eat mostly in silence, which makes the jingling of the dog tag deafening when you move that hand. He asks where you’d like to travel. You’d love to just travel outside, down the driveway, but you humor him with more ambitious places.

The space is lit with gas candelabras, and it’s hard not to admire his handsome face and the way his eyes sparkle in the candlelight. Sometimes a flicker catches the silver in his beard just right.

After dinner, he takes you back to the main room. There's an oversized sofa with a large, soft blanket draped over it and pillows like the one Joel brought downstairs. There's a big, square ottoman. There's also a side table with two clean, empty wine glasses. The sofa faces the fireplace, which is quite wide, and there’s a screen mounted above it. Joel offers you a glass of wine, and you accept but won’t drink much of it. He starts the movie.

-

Joel puts his arm around you while you watch the film. The chain lightly clinks against itself as he strokes your shoulder, then your arm, and you feel yourself melting. He arranges the pillows and asks if you want to lie down. You do. He spoons you, with his free hand resting over your body. His chained hand is under the pillow, and it finds yours as the movie goes on. Your fingertips brush, and you don’t pull away. Then he fully rests his hand on yours. 

The hand draped over your side gradually begins to wander. He slowly, lightly strokes your side. . .then your hip. . . then your stomach, over your clothes. His breath deepens. His light, meandering touch makes you weak with desire and lulls you half asleep. 

“Thanks for being here,” he whispers. He kisses the nape of your neck. “I know it’s a lot to take in.” He kisses your hair. “But it'll be worth it.” His light touch continues, and you begin to tingle. “Won’t be stuck here forever. . .we’ll travel the world one day.”

His hand travels higher on your body as he moves it in loose circles, until he’s skimming the bottoms of your breasts. His palm grazes the outline of your hard nipple, and a hard shape twitches against your ass. You don’t flinch, but you inhale sharply through your nose, trying to suppress a wave of desire. 

Joel pulls his hips back and tucks the blanket between you, to your secret disappointment. Then he props his head up to admire you. “So many things I wanna do with you,” he murmurs, running his massive hand down your side again where he started. “And for you,” he whispers, draping his hand over your lower belly. Then, barely audible, so quiet you might be imagining it, “and to you.” He puts his head back down on the pillow and inhales your hair, skimming your top with his fingers.

His hand nudges under your lounge top, then his fingertips slip into your waistband ever so slightly, and you’re throbbing.  His fingertips skim your bare belly, dipping a little further into your pants. 

He asks, “You okay from. . .”

Your heart rate quickens. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“I can check,” he quietly offers. “Make sure I got it all.”

“Ok,” you whisper. 

“Good,” he slides his hand down your lounge pants. You’re not wearing underwear. You gasp softly as his fingers reach your clit. He pauses there, and an involuntary push of his hips lets you feel him through the blanket before he pulls back again. His fingertips get lower, then hook between your legs, and he softly gasps when he reaches your wetness. He runs his fingers through your folds, then uses his massive hand to hold the waistband open while he peeks at his fingers. 

“You did,” you whisper. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shoulda waited, though. I wasn too rough. Shoulda let it happen.” He lets the waistband close over his wrist and cups your  mound.

“You weren’t,” you tell him, closing your eyes, embarrassed at the whole situation. Now he knows how wet you are. 

His middle finger twitches and nudges your clit, then begins nudging it rhythmically. Soon, it evolves toward a more deliberate, pleasure-focused rub, and he inhales deeply, chest expanding against your back. 

“I think I should go to sleep,” you whisper, overwhelmed. His finger stops moving, but his hand stays in your pants.  

Joel offers, “Might sleep better if–” 

“Not tonight.”  You twist your hips away from his, already hating yourself for cutting this off, but knowing you’d judge yourself for continuing. 

He slowly withdraws his hand. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Somethin’ came over me.” 

On the way downstairs, he tells you again, “I’m workin’ on a room for ya. Just gimme a couple days.” 

He chains you back to the floor, then makes up the mattress with a new set of bedding and a comforter. He tucks you in, and leans over you. He wets his lips, looking at yours. You look away. He kisses you on the cheek, soft and slow. Somehow, it feels just as sensual as if it were your mouth.

“Night, sweetheart.” 

—-

The next evening, your room is finished.  He brings you upstairs and shows you what he’s done. It’s an actual bedroom, with a nice, roomy bed. There’s a reading nook with a big, comfy chair and a wall of books.  It’s dim, of course, but he shows you how to use the dials to remotely adjust the flames of the candelabras and chandelier. There’s a window with a curtain. It has steel bars, but at least it’s there. There’s a closet with clothes and some packages not yet opened.  There’s even a fireplace. 

“And here’s the best part,” he says excitedly, gesticulating in a way that makes the chain between you jingle. He brings you outside the bedroom and closes the double doors. There are two dark panels that create a heart where the doors meet.  “Check it out.” He retrieves a key from his pocket, and locks the door from the outside. It’s a heavy, satisfying click. He looks at you like you’re going to be excited. “So you can take this off,” he explains, holding up the chain. 

-----

You see Joel more often once you’re out of the basement. He’s happy to have you close, and you’re glad to have the accommodations. But you’re also confused, and a little depressed. You crave his presence and his touch in a way you know is unhealthy. You know it must be because he’s all you have right now, but your heart tells you there’s more to it. The whole situation has felt like a dream, and maybe that’s how you’ve coped. But the longer it lasts, the more real it feels.

One night, it catches up with you and you have a good cry. You try to be quiet. You try to stop, but you can’t. So you let it go, you just sob. 

After a while, you hear the heavy lock, and the massive door opens just enough for Joel to come in. He closes it behind him, then stands there rubbing his beard.  He looks at you like he’s lost, then cautiously approaches. 

“Hey,” he whispers. He sits down on the bed. You’re curled up, facing him. You don’t turn away. He strokes your arm, and you cry harder. “Oh, sweetheart.” His eyes are sad. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He knows. He lies down, facing you. He hugs you into him and you cry into his soft t-shirt, inhaling his scent with every gasp for air.  “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

You close your eyes, wanting him to kiss you, and you’re disturbed by your own desire.  You pinch your lashes shut harder, and your whole face tenses. It hurts.

“This isn’t okay,” you sob. “It’s not gonna be.” You try to push him away, but he holds you still. After all the times he’s folded, apologized, and backed off, that’s not what he does. He holds you in his arms, making you stay there. “What are you doing,” you whine, and you push at his chest. He doesn’t budge. You half-heartedly hit and kick at him, and he cages you with his leg, too. It soothes you, like a weighted blanket, but you fight it. 

“Shhhh,” he holds you tight. His voice is deep and quiet against the top of your ear. “We’re gonna be happy one day,” he insists. “Promise, sweetheart.” You exhaust yourself crying, and he holds you. “I love you.” You try to ignore it, but that doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering. Soon you’re nuzzling your head into his neck, gripping his shirt in a fist like you don’t want him to go. He drapes a heavy blanket over both of you. He holds you like that until you fall asleep and your fist releases his shirt. He stays a little longer, then kisses you on the forehead and leaves. 

—--

The next afternoon, Joel approaches you and sits down on the edge of the bed. “How ya feel? Ya look good,” he whispers, and cups your cheek. You don’t shrug him off. 

“I’m fine,” you reply, wishing he would lie down with you again, but not wanting to invite him. 

“What do you want for dinner?” he asks. 

“I don't care,” you answer.  

He sits there in silence and places a hand on your knee. 

“Got ya somethin’,” he murmurs, and stands up for a moment. He appears to get nervous as he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a shallow, velvet jewelry box. He sits down again and holds the box out for you to take, but you don’t. He opens it for you. It’s a necklace. He tells you what the stone is. It’s your birthstone. It’s thoughtful, but he only knows your birthday because he has your wallet. He faces you and puts his hands around your neck as he puts the necklace on, getting his face close to yours so he can see the clasp. With his temple nearly brushing yours, you feel a surge of want. There’s no denying it. The scruff of his cheek scratches you lightly as he finishes fastening the necklace. “There,” he says, and looks at you adoringly.

“Thanks.” 

“You’re one of a kind, ya know.” 

He wets his lips and you notice they’re chapped, dehydrated. He’s pale. You find yourself wanting to hug him, kiss him, but you don’t. He kisses you on the cheek. 

—

One night, Joel makes you a special dinner. He cuffs the two of you together, and you eat in the dining room at the big table with him again. He tells you he needs your blood again. “I don’t have to take much,” he says. “It can be tomorrow,” he offers. “Don’t wanna spring it on ya.” 

“It’s alright,” you tell him. “You need it.” And the truth is, you want it. You want him to take it. You want to be taken back to that moment against your car. You want something that overwhelms your senses and puts you on another plane. You need something to remind you that you aren’t just a girl in a room, and he’s not just some guy keeping you there. If you can physically feel all of that, maybe you can let yourself relax. 

After dinner, he brings you back to your room and unchains you. You sit on the bed. He turns on the fireplace and tells you he’lll be right back. When he returns, he has an old medicine bottle with a cloth. He wets the cloth and says, “I’ll lay with ya, til ya wake up, okay?”

You look at the cloth in his hand and say,  “You don’t have to put me to sleep.” He adjusts the cloth in his hand. “Don’t,” you shake your head. 

His brows knit, and he reads your eyes for a few seconds. 

“Let me stay awake,” you plead. 

“You sure?”

You nod. He closes the bottle again and puts it on your nightstand. 

“Thought it scared ya,” he mumbles. 

“Well it did, when it was a surprise.” 

He nods solemnly. “I’m sorry ‘bout that. I really shoulda. . . I don’t even know.”  If he had asked, you wonder if you would have let him. Surely not, so you can’t exactly blame him. 

-

“Okay,” he looks you over and gets on the bed with you. “You warm enough?” He nudges the cardigan you’re wearing. 

“Yeah,” you nod, and shrug it off. You’re cozy enough from the fire.

“C’mon, let’s get up here.” He guides you up the bed and gets you to lay down with your head on a pillow as if you’re going to sleep. 

He gets close to you, and starts lightly stroking your shoulder as he looks you over. His eyes glue to your neck, and he wets his lips, then he pulls his eyes back to yours. 

“You can choose,” he offers. “Where I take it.” 

You bite your lip as you watch his face and inhale his scent. 

“I can take it here again,” he caresses your neck. Then he holds your arm and lightly brushes his thumb across where you’d normally get an IV, giving you an unexpected surge in arousal.  “Or here.” 

He checks your face, then lays his hand on your waist. His palm skims your side, down your hip. “Or,” he runs his hand up your thigh under your dress. His thumb caresses your thigh, right near your pelvis, and he whispers, “I can take it here.” You’re nearly overwhelmed with desire already. 

“I dunno,” you whisper. 

He gently rolls you onto your back. He takes a deep breath, scoots down the bed, and gets between your thighs. He nuzzles your inner thigh with his nose, then whispers, "up to you, sweetheart."  You're throbbing.

“Tell me what feels right,” he murmurs and nuzzles your inner thigh with his nose.  His hair is fluffy and his eyes are dark and sparkly as he looks up at you. “God, you’re . . .” He reaches up and wraps a hand around your arm. “You’re perfect.” 

“Where do you want?” you ask. 

“Everywhere, anywhere. I want every inch of you.” 

You allow yourself a little smile and hold his eyes for a few seconds. 

He sits up again and offers, “I can make ya feel good.”

“I know,” you nod with a laugh.

“I mean, it’ll feel best, if you’re already feelin’ good.” 

You nod with butterflies in your tummy, telling yourself it’s for a practical purpose, and you might as well enjoy it. 

He nods and whispers, “Okay. . .good.” His eyes rove your body hungrily. He asks, “Anywhere ya don’t want me to touch ya?”

You say "no" so fast your cheeks heat in shame.

His eyes darken and he growls, “good,” as he prowls back up your body.  His triceps swell out from under his shirt.

He kisses you tenderly below your jaw and brings a hand to your breast.  You lift your chin with a sigh. He drags his lips and nose down your throat to your chest, pausing at your neckline. He looks up and you nod. He nudges the fabric aside with his nose, then plants a wet kiss on the swell of your breast, and his eyes close. He moans into your skin. Your gaze fixates on his softwash khakis, and he briefly removes his hand from your chest to adjust himself. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“s’okay,” you whisper.

“‘Sposed to be about you right now,” he murmurs, looking up at you. You tilt your head, trying to look at his pants, but the room is too dim. Truth is, you’re finding it hard to think about anything but his cock at the moment. You only felt the briefest hint of it the other night. You want to feel it all.

He slides his hand up your thigh again, and his thumb nudges just slightly under the crotch of your panties, making you twitch. He takes a deep breath through his nose, then withdraws his thumb and lets down the edge of your panties. He scoots up to lie to your side again, leaving his knee between your legs. He rests his hand on your mound, and slowly ghosts your clit, closing his eyes.  When he opens his eyes again, they sparkle, and his face drifts toward yours.  You don’t flinch, you don’t pull away. You let him kiss you.

With one hand still between your legs, he slides the other one under your head. He kisses you slow and deep, stroking your most sensitive spot through your panties.  Your mouths remain connected as his massive hand slides up to your bare abdomen. He gives your side a little squeeze before sliding back down and nudging his fingers under the hem of your underwear. He pulls his lips from yours and looks at you darkly. It’s not a question, but you nod as his hand slides down.  You gasp and his knuckles strain the fabric as he cups your naked heat.  “Good,” he whispers when he feels how wet you are.  “What if ya just. . .” he kisses you again, then murmurs,  “let your body decide." He plants a soft, open mouth kiss on your cheek, then whispers in your ear, "I'll go everywhere. You tell me when.”

You wrap your wrists around his neck and he catches your inner arm with his mouth. He wetly kisses the inner crook of your elbow, looking up at you. Then he drags his lips down toward your chest, where he pulls your dress down. Your skin hardens with goosebumps as your nipples sharpen, and he groans softly. He kisses your bare breast, then fixes your dress, and kisses your hard nipple through the thin cotton. You arch your back and sigh. He gets between your legs and backs up as he kisses his way down your torso. He lifts your dress and thumbs your panties, sighing “oh, God.” 

He lifts one of your knees over his shoulder and kisses at your cunt through the damp fabric.  Your hips lift into his mouth. He licks along the edge of the crotch, then your inner thigh. He leaves a meandering trail of kisses around your inner thigh, then plants his lips and leaves a hickey. He glances up at you and adjusts himself again, and you let out a little moan.  “C’mere,” You nudge him, pulling at his arms, wanting nothing more than him on top of you. 

He prowls up your body and plants his hands on either side of your chest.  Lays his hips into yours, and when the shape of his warm, hard package presses into your most sensitive place, you gasp and he lets out a low moan. “Should I take-” he asks, reaching for his belt.  You’re nodding before he finishes the question. He uses his left hand to unbuckle his belt. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he pulls away from you enough to take his pants off. Now he’s in long johns, and it’s quite a bulge you’re looking at. Your face and chest burn. You pull him toward you with your feet. He presses his throbbing arousal against your aching heat, and you moan. You card your fingers through his hair. “Feel so good,” you whisper. 

“Good,” he whispers, then kisses your neck again.  

He puts his hand on your thigh and you wrap your leg around him. He lightly grinds into you as he kisses your neck, then your cheek, then your lips again. Your mouths open and draw each other in. You breathe each other’s air and drink each other’s spit. Your lips tingle. Your chest tingles. As you kiss harder, he grinds harder against you. You badly want him inside you, but  you won’t, you can’t, you shouldn’t, you tell yourself. 

The next time his mouth comes to your neck, he teases you with his tongue and a bolt of pleasure shoots down  your spine. Your nipples harden.  He opens his mouth wider against your skin. “Do it,” you whisper, then feel the prick of his fangs against your flesh. “Do it,” you repeat, and his arousal swells against you as he sinks his teeth into your skin. Your hips lift against his. He moans into your neck, and as your blood flows into him, he gets harder. You shudder in pleasure as he takes what he needs. You move his hand from your thigh to your breast, and you lift your pelvis into his, whispering, “yeah.” You’re not lightheaded, not yet. He’s doing this slowly, pacing himself. 

His warmer, harder cock twitches against you, and you reach down to grope it desperately. He groans. You grind up against him and moan, “Joel,” with a surge of need overtaking you. He ruts against you slow and hard, warm and stiff, then his cock pulses right against your clit. He groans into your neck, and you grind back against him, and the whole front of you begins to pulse with him. “Oh God,” you gasp and grab his ass, pulling him against you harder as the warmth of his cum seeps through the thermal fabric, “oh fuck,” you sigh as you cum with him. 

As you finish convulsing, his fangs release you. His breath is humid against your neck. “Fuck, i’m sorry,” he mutters. He leans his cheek against your shoulder, and you can feel how warm his face is. 

“Don’t be,” you whisper. “That felt really good.” He pulls back and looks at you, cheeks blotchy. 

“Really?” he asks. He cups and adjusts his manhood through his damp bottoms. “I never. . .”

“I know,” you reassure him. “It’s my blood, isn’t it?”

He nods with his eyes half closed. “It’s incredible.” 

You nod. “It was good for me too,” you admit. 

“I could feel it,” he puts a hand on your panties.  He sighs and lays half on top of you. He strokes your face. “Can I do somethin’ for ya?”

You shake your head no. “I’m good.” 

He caresses your neck. “I’ll get ya some ice.”

“No,” your hand comes to his back, and you don’t let him leave. “Just stay right here.” 

You lay in silence with him half on top of you. Then he props himself up to look at you. 

“We're made for each other,” he whispers, looking at your mouth. He kisses you softly, then meets your eyes. “You don’t believe it yet.  It’s okay.” 

“It’s not that I don’t-”

“It’s okay. Don’t have to,” he reassures you. He rests his head close to yours on the same pillow, and nuzzles his nose against yours. “Just hope ya feel it one day,” he murmurs into your cheek. “I know ya will.” 

You feel it. You disagree, you think, but you feel the truth in it. 

He puts his arm all the way over you. His arm is solid, and you imagine very heavy, but it's not dead weight. It's tense, like he's actively holding you there, just in case. 

—----

---------

--------

His parasol was inspired by @gasolinerainbowpuddles mood board. 

Thank you so much for love for vampire!Joel and your patience for his story to continue.

I hear you about notifs not working, and tags too (i'm not receiving a lot of my tags either). consider checking my fic notifs blog @toxicfics or the "latest fics" link on my profile header once in a while to see what you might have missed.

: @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

[leafostuff]

One Heck of a Joyride[Ft. WooAh's Nana]

Word Count: 14-15K~ words

Collab with @octoberautumnbox

My Author's Notes: we are so excited to finally release this fic for yall, me and box have been working on this fic since the end of FEBRUARY (almost 3 months) and we have been working on it so hard to make it the best it can be so I really hope you will enjoy this fic

@octoberautumnbox's author notes: there u have it! took the better part of three months, but it was really fun to work on :DDDD Thanks to leafo for making sure i didn't slack LMAO

No tags since it is too long but this is fluff and smut

Thanks: of course @octoberautumnbox for working with me on this amazing collab. @4m1rz for being my lovely beta reader and @libraryoferos for being my motivation to not be lazy on this fic

And so without any further preface, let's get started, shall we?

================================================

“And I expect you all to get along this year. Leave the past behind you as you all face a new future together.” Sporadic applause rises slowly from the crowd and dies down twice as quickly. The dean sighs away from the mic and drifts offstage, leaving everyone disinterested in the rest of the program. It all goes by in a blur, and finally ends right as the air conditioners start to fail against the heat of a summer not-yet-ended. 

Your attention is drawn away from the droning on and on from the stage and towards the many characters that populate the theater with you. You catch glimpses of people talking with their friends, a few crazy hair colours, and the occasional sleeping student who’s no doubt already saving up hours for the all-nighters to come. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice someone in the front row with both people sitting next to her conspicuously leaning away. They seem to want to get up and leave her there by herself, but the way she gives no reaction despite the jeering tone coming from her seatmates leads you to think that she’s asleep herself. 

~~~

“So yeah, That's the tour, bucko. Check the map if you’re ever lost.” Your student tour guide points at the multi-colored document on your phone. Vaguely you recall the various little symbols: which classrooms you can sleep in, which bathrooms are haunted, which shortcuts are best, all of the must-know basics of college life. 

As you continue scanning around the campus, the girl from the assembly catches your attention again. She has her hood up this time, but you can tell it’s her; her quick pacing and how she is not looking around at anyone making you believe that she’s trying her best to hide.

“What about that one? Do we not talk about her?” you ask, pointing at the oblivious figure walking past, drawing eyes and whispers much like your own. 

Your guide scoffs at the absurd idea. “That’s Nayeon. And no, we don’t. She fucked up last year, big time. Got a bunch of us in trouble. So stay away from her, she has those goody-two-shoes germs.” he says, walking away as while signaling you to follow him.

You wonder what she could have done to gain such a reputation. She was adorable earlier with her hood off, but the way people talk about her makes you want to steer clear against your own will. 

~-~-~-~

Curiosity ends up killing the cat, and you manage to gather bits and pieces of the incident from last year from gossip, class lore, and even the way some professors acted:

“She’s the luckiest bitch in the world with not a single shred of common sense. Seriously, who goes and rats on a hundred other students like that?”

“The test incident shows she only looks out for herself, even if it means bringing down the entire class.”

“There’s really no excuse for it. You have the answer key in your hand, of course you take a picture! You don’t just leave it where it’ll incriminate some other innocent loser and say you’re only trying to do the right fucking thing.”

The sheer number of factoids you gather from the wild bunch of sources only slightly make sense. Unfortunately, trying to piece them together only took up more space and brainpower which you should have used to study for your midterms coming up. Keep to yourself and you can just barely pass and move on; there is no time for college drama.

After the exam, you approach the professor to ask about possibly bumping up your grade. You decided to maybe half-ass an extra credit assignment and get the lowest passing score, but you resolve to just see where it goes. While lost in thought, you nearly bump into the small girl in front of you. already talking to the teacher, and by the way they’re whispering, it seems like it’s something serious. 

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to do here anymore, Miss Kwon,” the professor admits as he takes off his glasses and rubs his nose bridge. “None of this was necessary. I thought we wanted to leave all this behind us.”

Nayeon looks down to her toes in defeat. “I’m sorry, Sir. I was just thinking, maybe I’d get sent out of class this time.” Her voice cracks, giving away her vulnerable state: she’s near tears but trying to fight everything back to look tough. Sadly for her, you think, none of it is working.

“Look, just try to lay low. It’s your last year before all of this starts to not matter anymore.” Your professor finally puts his glasses back on and looks Nayeon straight in the eye. “Trust me, you’re better off keeping your head down. You’ll be fine.”

She walks despondently off to the right and out the door. Your feet choose to follow her, but a sudden jolt restores your common sense. “And you, Mister New Guy, what seems to be the problem? Beside your dismal score, that is.”

You have a slight feeling you are not getting a higher score.

~-~-~

After talking it out fruitlessly with the professor, he releases you from his classroom and you make your way out. The conversation with him didn’t take long, and so you arrive to a few jeers and muffled laughter once you step outside.

“Serves her right. Trying all this bullshit isn’t gonna change anything.” 

“Seriously, cheating on a test she obviously studied for? How dense could she be?”

“I bet she just wants to show us up. She’ll study and then cheat, then she gets perfect marks on the test and she’ll show us she’s untouchable again.” 

You find it hard to believe that Nayeon would resort to something as convoluted and pointless as that, but then again, you really don’t know her to make a judgment. Whatever she was thinking, you agree that it was idiotic to pull that sort of thing, even if you didn’t see any of it.

The weather on campus is the right mix of cloudy and sunny, with rays of light shining respectfully on the grass and pavement of your college courtyard. Something tells you that people-watching by the gym feels like the perfect lunchtime activity for a day like this, so you find your way to the properly noisy setting and look for a spot out of the way. 

You settle on a spot by the side of the gym with the perfect amount of shade and wind, but you’re instead drawn further back to the rear by strange and irregular noises. Turning the last corner, you’re met with a surprising figure.

It was Nayeon, sitting with her back against one of the walls, her entire body curled up like a ball. You slowly inch closer and closer to her, and you realize the strange noises that you heard before were instead sniffles and cries coming from the lonely girl. Finally as you get close enough, Nayeon feels your presence and raises her head.

Her eyes were full of tears, who knows for how long she had been crying, and you could feel the sadness coming from her eyes; they were trying to tell you something, however, it's hard to figure out what. Her expression of sadness didn't stay for long though as soon enough her expression turns angry when you get closer to her, squatting down to look at the girl from a closer angle.

“Please, go away. Leave me alone.” The small girl pushes you away, but with her hand preoccupied wiping away her tears, she can’t do much to get rid of you. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You have the nerve to do what you did last year and still show your face?” The anger in your voice catches you off guard. Since when did you take it personally when it came to her?

“Oh fuck off, new guy,” she taunts. “So I’m fucking hiding here, what more do you want?” She tries to act tough again, but it’s painfully apparent to both of you that it isn’t working. At this point, you really do just want to leave her alone. And just like every other time, nothing’s stopping you. So why are you staying?

You breathe a sigh of defeat at the situation you find yourself in. “Look, I don’t have any sort of beef with you personally, but come on. This is pathetic. You’re only embarrassing yourself by doing all this bullshit that isn’t like you at all.”

“And what if it’s not like me?!” Her shout sends a few birds hiding in nearby bushes to take off. This sort of language takes you aback from her; Little Miss Perfect Kwon Nayeon, top honour student, teacher’s favourite pet, hating herself? 

“I… I don’t like being me, and I don’t like what I am.” She wipes her tears again and tries (and fails) to look you in the eyes once more. “So if you’re another member of the ‘I hate Nayeon’ club, well… Better show the club president some respect.”

She sits back down with her back against the wall. Nayeon's eyes are wet for the last time before she wipes them off and faces her lack of tears.

Normally in situations like those you would just walk away and ignore people like those for the rest of the school year, but for some reason with Nayeon in front of you, showing herself being weak, fragile, and sad, something about her makes it so you can't leave the situation alone. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you have to know why.

“No,” you turn back to her as a determined expression is painted on your face.

“What?”

“I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me.” You stand your ground, arms crossed, and Nayeon can't seem to be any more pissed than before. “What is going on? What do you mean you don't like yourself?” you ask.

For a while, no one dares to speak another word, and you wonder if what you have here is an argument. For a good few seconds, she stares at you intently as silence hangs heavy in the air. 

“You think,” she says defeatedly between sniffles, “that I'm Little Miss Perfect, right? Like everyone calls me ‘the straight-A girl?’ Well I’m not, and I’m tired of everyone saying so.” She fishes out a very used handkerchief from her pocket and wipes her eyes of tears, only for them to be replaced by more. 

“It can’t be that bad, Nayeon. People look up to you, I’m sure.” You finally notice your alarms are blaring and you’re put on high alert. What you just said was the exact wrong thing to say, and you’re at critical risk of involving yourself in her messy situation more than you should.

She side-eyes you, calculating if you’re being sincere or not. She stuffs her handkerchief back into her pocket carelessly as if knowing that she’ll only pull it back out again soon. She looks down at her hands, deep in thought, looking like she’s trying to grapple with something she might regret. 

Once she’s done, she fumbles around in her backpack. She fishes out a tiny black notebook she seems to keep so well hidden, on the cover of the notebook the words ‘Nana’s Bucket List’ are scrawled in big, bold, immature-looking letters.

“Throughout all of my life, I always wanted to be the top student, the best of the best like no one ever was, and I succeeded, you know…” she scoffs. “Top marks in Elementary, Middle school, and Valedictorian in high school.” She sighs and tries to fight back more tears, though you notice she’s a bit more successful this time, with a bit of hope and yearning in her eyes.

"But on the other side… The other side seems so great. I mean, I see all these movies and books about college life," she says in between residual sobs and hiccups. She opens the notebook, showing you a not-so-long list, and even though it's hard to see the text from the small size of the writing, you can make out a little bit of what’s written on the paper.

Cheat on a test 

Get drunk

Party all night

Dye my hair

Sing in an Open stage show

Sneak into a Public pool

Shoplifting

You know...

Most of what you read makes zero sense, and you’re half-convinced this girl is just crazy. You stare at the scribbled letters, hoping to draw more meaning from them, but Nayeon shuts the little notebook in your face and starts putting it back away. 

"I want to do them all. Drinking, breaking glass bottles, partying, all that stuff," she explains dreamily. She zips up her bag and pats it down, making sure it’s secure beside her, and turns her attention back to you, “I want to live like a normal girl, you know what I mean?” she asks, you are not sure if its because of the tears, but her eyes seem to glitter.

"That's very cliche, Nana," you jab at her, making fun of the nickname she gave herself.

"That's all I know, though. Please." She takes your hand in between hers and looks up at you, teary-eyed and seemingly begging for her life.”This wouldn’t kill you, all I’m asking for is some help crossing stuff off of the list.”

You hate how well it works on you: her big, round eyes, her adorable little pout, her cute pleading voice. It goes against everything you know, and even now you’re sure you don’t want to get involved in whatever this would turn out to be. And yet, despite even the most deeply ingrained lessons you’ve learned for yourself, all it takes is a brief moment for it to come crashing down.

With a disbelieving sigh and a sense of regret creeping in, you ask: “What’s in it for me?”

~-~-~-~

You take a bite of your burger and breathe out. Cheap bun, dubious patty, artificial cheese, it all takes you back to a past life. You're left to momentarily wonder how you ended up where you are now, and slowly it comes back to you. You messed up.

"So, about the list." Nayeon sets down her cup, ice cubes clinking against each other as they swirl around her soda. "I already did one. So that’s one less thing for us to do”.

"I can do that much math, Nayeon. What do you take me for?" You chomp down on a few fries grumpily. 

"I didn't mean it like that. All I'm saying is there are just a few more months left until graduation, so we'll need to be quick. We can’t be lazy about this." She pulls out the little black notebook and flips to an unfamiliar page. The words "cheat on a test" has doodles of a devil's horns and wings and tail around it, with lots of eyes and ears decorating the rest of the ruled paper. Above it, the poster you recognize from the movie "Bad Genius" is copied, albeit crudely, in a thought bubble.

"I did this one last year, don't ask. Anyway, this next one should be easy enough." She flips to the next page, showing a couple pictures of beer cups and wine bottles, surrounding the words “Get Drunk.”

“Wait, is this the ‘incident’ people hate you for? What even happened there?” You eat more of your fries, trying to hide your curiosity. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work and she nips the conversation in the bud.

“That’s not anything you need to know. What matters is now and the future. Now are you with me or not?” She snaps the notebook closed and yanks it away from your sight, back into the pocket she keeps it in. 

“I can’t help if I don’t know what exactly your deal is,” you say disappointedly. You pick up your own drink and take a sip, and the cool soda washes over your tongue and throat on the way down. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be with everything that’s going on.”

For a moment, you catch Nayeon’s gaze on you, dumbfounded. You could almost hear the gears in her head turning as she tries to process your logic, but it takes a while. As she thinks, though, you take a particular interest in how she handles it: her mouth is hanging slightly ajar and her eyes are only half-focused on wherever they’re pointed. You notice how delicately her bangs fall on her forehead, how her eyebrows furrow and crease, how she tries finding the right words yet can’t find the message she wants to send. Odd things to notice, surely, and yet here you are. You messed up.

It starts coming back to you. The jeers from your classmates as you walk down the hall grow louder in your ears, and you fight against your hands trying to cover them with the knowledge that none of it is real anymore. The tears you fight back all the time surface for another rematch, but with your current state, you may be at a disadvantage. 

Fortunately, she shocks you back into reality. “Hey, are you listening? I’m feeding you, so the least you could do is pay attention.” She bites a small chunk of her burger and chews, and you notice how her cheeks puff slightly and the corner of her mouth is decorated with a dollop of mustard. 

Cute.

1 + 2. Get drunk + Party All Night

“God, this is stupid,” you think to yourself, exiting the convenience store. With a plastic bag in your right hand and your phone in your left hand, checking the time and the address Nayeon sent you earlier today. Finding it was easier than you expected, and you tried not to let the walk to her dorm set any expectations for you.

You bring your knuckles to the wooden door and make three quick raps. It swings open very quickly and you’re dragged into the cozy space without even the slightest chance to take off your shoes. 

“You took forever! Did you bring the stuff?” She looks all over you and pats you down, looking for what you brought her. 

“Get off, will you? I put them all in my bag like a normal person.” You swing your backpack off your shoulder and carefully place it onto a nearby table. Nayeon takes a seat and waits excitedly for what you brought for the two of you. From your bag, you produce three bottles of soju, three five-packs of Yakult, six cans of beer, and four bags of chips. She eyes each item with absolute interest as they leave your backpack, and she hardly contains herself once you finish and zip up your bag once more. 

“Okay, so how does this work?” Her eyes sparkle with wonder, and while waiting for your instructions, it was clear that as much as she was excited, she was also inexperienced.

“First off, get us some shot glasses and a pitcher. Oh, and a can opener.” Nayeon bolts off to the cooking area, and you can hear drawers opening and shutting loudly. You start getting concerned when you hear plates start to clatter against each other, but thankfully it dies down quickly and she returns with two small glasses, a decently sized pitcher, and a can opener. 

“Shit. I meant bottle. Bottle opener.” Without even a hint of annoyance, she rushes back off into the kitchen and, after a few more rummaging sounds, she returns with the correct item. She really must not know what she’s doing.

“Come on, show me!” She shoves the bottle opener into your hand, and you’re left with no choice. 

“Don’t you have a roommate we have to worry about?” You pop the cap off one of the soju bottles and then tear the aluminum top off two bottles of Yakult. “She’s out with her own friends. Hurry!” Despite her starting to get on your nerves, you pour all three into the pitcher and swirl them around together. Once you’re done, you pour the mixture into each of the glasses until they’re full. 

“Bottoms up, Nayeon.” 

“Bottoms up!”

The both of you down your drinks: yours slowly crawls down your throat, but hers disappears straight into her stomach. She reels at the burning lines left by the alcohol all over her esophagus and takes a bit of time to recover. 

“Whoa, that was,” she says, and a burp erupts from her mouth, “intense.” She sways a little bit to the left before righting herself, and then overcompensates to lean to the left again. 

“Easy there, champ. We’ve got two more bottles to go through.” You pour another shot for each of you, hers first and then yours, and raise your glass once more.

“Open the chips now,” you tell her. “This’ll be less dreadful with food.” 

Both of you down your shots at the same time, and Nayeon reels at the sensation once more. 

“Does that get easier?” Her speech is slowly starting to slur, the poor thing. “I’m kinda feeling a little something right now, too…”

“Yes, but only if you keep going at it, idiot. Don’t down everything so quickly.” Grab one of the bags of chips yourself, open and present it to Nayeon on the center of the table.

“Eat. You’ll hate this less.” You take a handful of chips and bring all of them into your mouth. Once you do, you raise your eyebrow at her to tell her to do the same.

“Isn’t… *hic* being hungry the thing for… faster drunk?” 

“Apparently so, Nayeon. I don’t even know what I expected from you.” You take another shot, alone this time. She tries to pour her own shot, but fails miserably at getting the liquid anywhere near the inside of her shot glass. It’s adorable how she tries, though.

You pour her another shot despite a small voice telling you maybe she isn’t cut out for this much in such a short time. You shove the voice aside in favor of Nayeon’s own words: “We pregame, drink a little, and then we go. Party starts at 7:30, so we leave here by 7 o’clock.” Her shot glass fills with the drink, and you place it in front of her, making sure at least to keep an eye out for what might happen next. 

She successfully picks up the glass and, sans the spills she made on the glass's way from the table to her mouth, drinks everything she could. She slams the glass onto the table in no light movement and you have a slight inkling of regret at letting her do that to herself. 

“You… We have to… Fuck.” Nayeon’s head droops and she catches her face with her hands. She may have underestimated how strong soju is, or maybe what being drunk actually does to a person. A groan emanates from behind her palms, and you notice she’s having trouble holding herself up. 

“Aren’t we going out after this? You might wanna slow down, idiot.” You pour yourself another shot and drink it leisurely. Nayeon tries leaning back onto the chair, and she finally pries her hands away from her eyes. She does a few quick blinks, and she tries to focus her sight on you. Her head sways a little bit, and it dawns on you that you may have overestimated her. 

“I’m okay… just… we have to go.” She tries to stand up, but she wobbles dangerously and you have to catch her. Dive under her and take on her weight, thankfully not too heavy, and keep her from hitting the floor. She mumbles a bit about something you can only kind of understand, but it's enough to guide your next decision.

“Forget it,” you grunt as you plop her back into her chair, “we're not going anywhere.” An exasperated sigh leaves your lungs, and you head off to the kitchen to return with a large bottle of cold water.

“No… we have to go. We'll be late.” Nayeon tries to get up again, but there's no strength left in her body. She sits motionlessly, probably thinking that she's already stood up, and it gives way to a confused look on her face as to why she's still in the same place.

You fill a proper-sized glass with water and hand it to her, which she drinks obediently. You fill her palm with potato chips which she also eats without objection. The way her jaw moves, clumsy and slow, signals a threat that she might just fall over any minute.

You move your chair to her side and sit there, allowing Nayeon to lean her head on you. Her hair covers her reddening face, and her hiccups arrive in growing force.

“If you're still in there, Nayeon,” you say quietly, “we're not going out. I can't look after you this closely at a party.” All she does to respond is nod. Her hiccups are punctuated intermittently with sniffles, which you take as a sign that she knows she has no power left to object. 

Still, you feel bad for her as her plans fall through. Despite the responsible thing to do, put her to bed and leave, you kick yourself mentally before deciding to stay anyway.

“Movies and snacks?”

~-~-~-~

Before you know it, the night goes by just as quick. You go through the list of movies she’d always wanted to watch: The Truman Show, The Great Gatsby, Mean Girls, and even then there’s still a few left on her list. You could tell she was watching properly halfway through the first, and that was the telltale sign that she’d sobered up. 

You drink a bit more with her in between movies, and she would frequently pause to get up and put on a song to dance to. “It keeps me awake,” she said, “I can’t fall asleep before the good part happens.” The songs she put on are generic pop and the kinds you skip whenever they come up, but you let it pass for tonight.

At some point, she pulls out an old Wii and challenges you to Mario Kart. “I am undefeated in this game. I’m not even that good, everyone else that challenged me just sucked.” You take her up on her offer, and the match begins. You try and almost get ahead of her in a few of the turns, but she would always take back her lead at the slightest opportunity of you hitting a wall or missing an item. And the way she glows with pride every single time she crosses the finish line before you do, the sudden brightness that fills her face when she wins race after race, the confidence it gives her that she isn’t actually the worst person in the world, all of it is a sight to behold. People may see Kwon Nayeon as an arrogant goody-two-shoes traitor, but the way you see her now is different: just someone with a past to outgrow. 

Right as the last movie’s credits start rolling, mischievous thin rays of dawn sunlight slip past the tiny gaps in the curtains. Both you and Nayeon have little energy left for anything else, and you maybe think it’s time to call it a night and go home.

“Let me walk you out,” she says while trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes for a little bit longer. You both get up and walk to the door, and as it opens your faces are flooded with a world right before it wakes. Dewdrops sit respectfully on leaves and blades of grass, birds are only starting to stretch their wings, and the crisp morning air fills your lungs with a calm grace. 

You turn back to Nayeon, who you find is still admiring the dawn, and grasp her elbow. “Sit with me.” 

You both squat down and take your seats again on her doorstep. Clouds roll in and dot the sky, wandering on the blank canvas of today, eagerly waiting for sunlight to block out. The sun peeks over the horizon and the first proper rays start to arrive, spreading warmth where they land. Nayeon meets your eyes one last time, and the pair of you find a sleepy and still a bit drunk person when you look at each other.

“Well,” you say as if it was a farewell, “good night, Nayeon. And good morning.”

“Good night,” she giggles back, “and good morning to you too.”

3. Sneak into a Public Pool

“Are you sure about this?” Nana’s tone is subdued by fear. Her voice shakes and struggles to be as quiet as possible, but at the same time you get the feeling that if you didn’t need to be quiet, she’d be yelling right now and trying to get the both of you to leave.

“Can you please shut up? I’m trying to focus!” You find the first of the pins and push it out of the way. For a moment, you lament how restricted you are: this could have been such a simple lock to break, replace even, but the girl dragging you around was deathly insistent on leaving as little damage and evidence as possible. 

“You shut up! I'm whispering here!” Anger rises in her voice, and you almost feel anger in yours too. You're able to stop it though, and you remind yourself that if ever a guard was on watch that actually cared about this place, they'd be easily outrun.

The lock presents more of a challenge than you thought; despite the agonizingly simple solution of snapping its shackle, its inner mechanisms are harder to crack for whatever reason. Taking it pin by pin is supposed to be an easy task, but the warm and humid air and the incessant nagging seem to debilitate you. It’s such a nice night out for a swim, why make this any harder than it needs to be?

After what seemed like eternity you finally manage to pick the lock, sighing in relief as the both of you head forward quietly, but cautiously looking side to side just in case. The metal-grate door swings open slowly, avoiding any creaking sounds it may make otherwise, and the both of you enter the pool area.

“I gotta say Nayeon, this went better than I thought it would,” you say, both of you looking at the rectangular box of water which unlike during the day, was completely still, no waves, no splashes, just the water. It glistened and reflected all manner of light: the pool lights above and below the water, the yellow street lamps far off on the sidewalk, and the moon overhead, singing tones of wonder and mystery to those touched by its borrowed glow.

Off to the side, you find Nayeon fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Her head whips round incessantly as she tries to keep a lookout of the surroundings rather poorly. Sigh a deep one, and finally go over and take your seat next to her. 

“Thanks… gimme a sec.” She finally grabs the hem decisively. The fabric crumples a bit under her grip and folds as it's pulled up.

You can’t help but watch as the shirt starts to leave her body, revealing a slim and toned tummy underneath. Your breath hitches as it crawls higher, reaching her face and obscuring her sight, and she inadvertently shows off a dark purple sports bra that’s… a size too small. Your gaze lingers on her cleavage and the flesh of her boobs lightly spilling out of the garment.

Nana turns around and you’re treated with the view of a beautiful back and shoulders to die for. The way her body twists and turns in the slightest ways to negotiate the shirt off of her form is the most sensual dance you’ve ever seen.

And you realize you’re staring. Fortunately for you, she doesn’t seem to notice, and she continues on to fold the shirt properly before setting it next to her sports bag. You opt not to risk staring any longer, and you decide to get rid of your own shirt. You strip quickly, and your shirt flies off approximately near Nayeon’s things in a messy pile by itself.

Sit on the edge of the pool, dip your feet into the water. There’s absolutely no reason for it to be this warm, you think, but whatever the case may be, it feels like a tea that’s just about to go cold. This, coupled with the humid air and quiet atmosphere, makes for a perfect night to spend on whatever this is with her. 

She joins you and takes her seat at the edge of the pool, and in every other situation, you’d ask her to back off a bit. Instead, as she lays her head on your shoulder and takes your hand in between hers, you lose your steel in the most important of times. 

“I’m scared.” Her eyes never leave the water, taking in the light dancing on its surface. Her face is fraught with worry, and while you know it’s for no good reason, you nevertheless try to reassure her.

“Yeah, someone might jump out of the bushes and arrest us for swimming in a swimming pool,” you say mockingly. “They’re gonna take us to court on the charges of ‘using something the way it was meant to be used’ and we’re gonna get life sentences. When we’re all old and wrinkly they’re gonna sit us in the electric chair.”

“Okay, I get your point. But still, though, I’m scared.” She grips your hand tighter, and for some reason you can’t resist her. Place your other hand over hers and try to calm her down. Nana takes a deep breath with her eyes closed, and finally looks at you with a reserved grin.

“Alright, I’m good. Let’s go.” 

You feel her hand on your back, and warmth spreads from her palm. Her smile grows just a bit wider and her eyes follow suit. Her teeth show themselves from between her lips, and you’re almost tempted to dive right in. 

Lucky for you, she helps. The hand on her back suddenly applies more pressure, pushing you to the pool and causing a splash going all directions. Collect your thoughts and raise your head above the water to see Nana, face full of laughter, right before she dives in the water with you.

It takes a second, but her head resurfaces and you find yourself relieved. She catches her breath once more, and before you know it, you're met with a faceful of chlorinated water. “What are you staring at?” She says between hearty laughs. 

Wipe the water from your face, find the humor. Laugh with her, and face her properly.

Another shade of Kwon Nayeon. Granted, it's one with no makeup and way less clothes than usual, but none of that takes away from her natural, elegant beauty. It's captivating, the way her figure glides around the water, the way the cool night air wisps around the pair of you, the way the moon throws its rays around the world, your world, so haphazardly. 

Another faceful of water, and you snap out of your daze. “Creepy ass,” she snorts happily. She splashes you again, and this time you fight back. 

“Race you around the pool.” You start paddling, and the water grows loud against your ears. She says something back to you and starts paddling herself to catch up.

“Yeah,” you think to yourself, “whatever this is with her.”

4. Sing in an Open Mic

“Another night, another goal,” you muse, sitting in your car with Nayeon in the passenger seat. It has become quite a routine that every time she wants to do something on her bucket list she asks you to pick her up. You don’t mind too much — she pays for gas after all. 

“Where do we go this time?” Nayeon just shoves her phone in your face, showing a map with directions to some bar out of town. She looks at you expectantly, but without any more information than what you’re currently getting, you’re at a loss for what she’s trying to make you see.

“A club.”

“Exactly.”

“We already did ‘get drunk.’”

“I know. This is different.”

“How so?”

“Take me here. Make me sing. Take me home.”

The pieces connect in her head and she pulls out the notebook again. She flips to a page you again haven’t seen, and when she shows it to you you’re treated to the sight of “Open Mic Stage” in graffiti-style letters and the poster of “Wedding Singer” scrawled in the bottom right corner of the page. 

“If you have the map, why not just do this yourself? You didn’t need to wait for me. If anything, I’d only laugh at how bad you might be.” You push away her phone and notebook, choosing to return your attention to the sidewalk instead. The boba tea place you keep hearing about is nearby. 

“That’s the thing,” Nayeon interjects again, “I have been there before. I listened to all the people singing, and they’re… some are good. I don’t know if I am, but I got shy at the last minute and I never even got near the stage.” She grabs your sleeve and your attention. “I need you to make me sing. Don’t let me chicken out.”

You shrug, “Sure, let's do it.”

~-~-~-~

Taking up two seats at the bar, you try and seem to fail at helping Nayeon calm down. Her guitar rests against the bartop beside her while she fans herself hurriedly with her hand. “It’s so nerve-racking… I knew this was a mistake,” she adds before turning back and trying to leave the place, however, you stop her in her tracks

“Come on, you worked so hard for this,” you say, recalling the number of recordings she sent you: one for each take she was doing. “You can do this,” you continue reassuring her, knowing she’s more ready than ever. At the same time, you could see your friend get more nervous by the second, now taking more sips of her water bottle.

“But what if I miss a chord, or I sing badly? Everyone will laugh at my mist–'' You know at this point she’ll only spiral to worse and worse thoughts, so you nip it in the bud and stop her right there. You take both her shoulders in your hands, making Nayeon stop her nervous rambling, and her cheeks turn a shade of pink.

“I believe in you, Nana. just take a deep breath.” You stop to let her do as you say, taking a deep breath in and slowly breathing it out. The tension leaves her with each breath she takes, and you find a moment to keep her stable. “Good, I am sitting right here, not leaving for any reason, so if you feel nervous, just find me. Look at me.” Her gaze softens at your promise, and her lips form a tiny smile in response to your words. 

Hearing the current open mic singer finishing up his song, you send her off with some final words. “Your turn now, Nana. Break a fucking leg.” You leave her shoulders as her smile slowly starts to grow.

You watch her heading toward the stage, taking her guitar out of the cover, and taking her seat on the chair in front of the mic. “Hey,” she starts, “I am Nayeon… and I’m gonna sing Spring Day by BTS… I, uhh, hope you enjoy.”

She takes one last deep breath as you find her gaze on you. You return a reassuring smile, and Nayeon’s eyes fly back to her guitar. She strums her first chord, and the crowd’s welcoming applause rises.

“I’m missing you, when I say that I miss you more, I’m missing you…” Nayeon’s fingers strum the strings delicately, and it enchants you how graceful and in control she is of her instrument. The wood and metal of her guitar work together under her guidance to produce a beautiful sound, one you feel deep inside you'd never have heard the beauty of if not here, not now.

The way her lips move to articulate her words is heavenly, like she has you under a benevolent spell to bring you a rare sort of peace. It captivates you how she carries herself; behind her tough outer shell is a scared and confused layer, which hides a soft and optimistic core and wants to chase a brighter, happier future by cherishing the present. You marvel at your luck, that you were permitted to see so much of her, and how openly she welcomed you in when all she knew was aloneness and to shut people out. 

“Snowflakes falling from the sky, are drifting further by and by…” Her heavenly voice draws you in, and it commands your attention like it speaks directly to your soul. The sound of Nayeon tugs on your heartstrings, pulling you closer to its source, and you let yourself get whisked away.

And to its source you look; find a girl with courage like you’d never seen. See Kwon Nayeon in a different light than the harsh monotones of the classroom fluorescents, but in a spotlight that she takes up with everything in her soul. It’s a different shade of her: a shade of Nayeon that only you could comprehend, a part of her that only you had the privilege to understand.

“I breathe you out there somewhere, like smoke in the air…” The space grows warmer, like a hearth welcoming you home. Your surroundings quiet down as Nayeon pulls them deeper and deeper with her subconscious command: rest, lay down your worries and fly for the moment towards your peace. You look around, and every fellow face in the crowd you see has their eyes fixed on Nayeon’s performance; they’d never know it, but it’s the debut of a person coming into a whole new life free of regret and cowardice. It’s Nayeon building herself up from the rubble of a past that she aims to forget. 

“Flowers blooming towards the sky, has winter finally passed by?” The noise of the world seems to die down, as if just you and Nayeon are the only two things in existence. The pace of her strumming slows, as do the lyrics that escape her mouth. Every note she produces is deliberate, gentle, comforting, and for once you feel like you’re able to imagine a brighter tomorrow like her. 

With her. 

The song draws to a close, and she looks all over the crowd as they start to clap. You can't help but join in. Nayeon just bows lightly, and you can feel how happy she is that everything went well in her song. As she steps off the stage, you leave your spot and head toward her.

With both of you only a couple of steps apart, you chuckle lightly, “Well it wasn't so bad was—” You were stopped, caught off guard by your friend, dashing to you with open arms and crashing into your chest, wrapping her arms around you, and pulling you into an embrace. 

No words are spoken; both of you just stand there, hugging each other, her face nuzzling your chest as you could faintly feel her heartbeat. You were quite surprised with Nayeon being so open with you, since it was just a short time ago you made your promise to help. 

“Thank you…” she says, now releasing you from her embrace, noticing how her eyes shed small tears, that you couldn't figure out if they are tears of sadness, or happiness.

“... Always here for you Nayeon.”

“Please… call me Nana,” she says. She takes her notebook and crosses off another line from her bucket list, and as she walks toward the exit, you make way for the people coming by to greet her for the performance.

You can't help but wonder… has something changed after that performance?

5. Shoplifting

“Pick something already, it's not that hard,'' you remark impatiently while tapping your feet. Both of you are staring at the snack section of the local convenience store near your college, and Nana hovers her hand over the selection of snacks to look for the perfect one.

“Stop rushing me, I'm trying to choose which one will not get me caught,” she replies, still focused. The veteran petty thief in you groans, recalling your highschool days where nicking a cigarette or two (or ten) every once in a while gave you back huge chunks of your monthly budget. You miss the simplicity of it, and you once again find the restriction of being so careful more annoying than anything else. How come for Nayeon it is such a big struggle to steal one snack? You shoot the question up to whichever god might be listening, and you even half-expect an answer back. 

“You are thinking about it too much, the cashier is probably not gonna notice even if you stole something that made noise,” you add, tapping your foot rapidly, like you were some parent spending too long in the toy section.

“Well, please forgive me, oh thug master, it’s my fault that I never did that shit before!” Her whispers are loud enough for you to hear clearly, your less-than-welcoming attitude leading her to take a deep sigh.

“Fine, if you want to make it easier, do the buy one steal one method,” you explain. 

“The what?”

“Well to make it simpler than it already is, you dolt, you take two things, one you buy normally, and the other one you don't pay for,” you added as it seems to all make sense in Nayeon’s head. “Defeats the fucking purpose why we’re here, but really, the longer we spend here to leave with just four things, the more anyone will suspect us.”

Despite your best efforts to hurry her, they all seem to only make her take even longer. Her brow furrows deeper, as if trying to form lasers in her eyes to burn holes through the plastic wrappers. 

Your patience wears thinner by the moment, and you resolve to isolate before you lose it completely. “So if you’ll excuse me, I will get my shit and meet you outside,” you say, leaving her alone in the aisle.

As a promise to yourself not to shoplift anymore, you decide to buy just one pack of cigarettes. You light one of them as you lean against one of the store’s walls, watching the sun start to set. Find yourself sitting down, admiring the beauty of a day near its end, taking in the world around you.

Two cigarettes and fifteen minutes later, a small ding sounds from somewhere in the front of the store. It’s Nayeon, half-running out of the building, her face painted with worry as she finds and walks towards you.

“So, you did it?” A smile forms on Nayeon’s face as she takes her right hand to her jean’s pocket, revealing a small candy bar. She brandishes the candy around like a magic wand, as if trying to charm you into being proud of her. 

“Well… it's something,” you nod, while the two of you start towards her dormitory.

“Oh don’t say ‘it’s something’ when you didn't steal anything,” she exclaims. She holds the candy bar up against the setting sun, examining its entire wrapper. Now that you’re a considerable distance from the store, the worry on her face has been replaced completely by pride and excitement.

“Well I don’t shoplift anymore, the only reason I'm letting you do it is because you wanted the experience, which by the way,” you scoff, plucking the snack out of her hands, “all of that was for a chocolate bar.” This earns you a pretty strong punch on the shoulder, and the force loosens your grip on the snack enough for Nayeon to steal it back.

“Shut up,” she says, her cheeks seeming to grow a small shade of pink. She walks faster, leaving you no choice but to speed up as well.

6. Dye my Hair

“Do you think blonde hair will suit me?” Nana asks, holding the color card next to her face. You come in for a closer look, but as you stare you stop and wonder why you even did so in the first place. 

“Yeah… uhh yeah, I think it can suit you well.” You weren't an expert in hair styles and colors, so honestly unless it was a color that was actually hideous, everything was fair game.

Nana smiles at your response and picks out a box of blonde hair dye to add to her basket. You’re a bit nervous that she wants to dye it at home with you, but any attempts you made to convince her to see an actual stylist have been dismissed. “It’s easy,” she said, “there’s instructions on the box.”

“So, how was it?” You’re half-convinced that the bleach is eating through your rubber gloves, but you soldier on.

“Was what?” Nayeon checks herself out in the mini-vanity mirror in front of her. You have to swat her hands away from her head with your elbows, but apart from that she stays on her best behavior.

“You know,” you shrug, “this whole thing. The stealing, the swimming, the dyeing your hair.” You try to keep the bleach from dripping onto your arms, mostly aiming for the scattered sheets of newspaper the two of you prepared on the floor, but there’s only so much you can do. You just resolve to wash off any drops as quickly as possible. 

You get the feeling that she hoped you wouldn’t notice, but you did. The smile on her face dimmed the slightest it could before she could fix it. “It was… great! Stuff I’ll remember for the rest of my life, for sure.” 

Like some form of cosmic karma, she spots your involuntary grin in the mirror. “Good. That’s good.”

The color drains from her hair bit by bit as you apply the bleach carefully. You’re not sure how quickly you have to finish, but Nana seems not to mind. You gently stroke and rub the product through her hair, taking special care not to come into contact with her scalp too often, all the while she turns her head from side to side to admire the look she’s going to have soon. 

“You know…” she says suddenly, avoiding your eyes in the mirror, “this was really fun. I’m so happy I got to do all that stuff on my list.” Her smile changes: what was once a cheerful and optimistic smile just a few moments ago is now a wizened and melancholic one. “I mean it. Thank you for helping me.” 

She makes eye contact with you again in the mirror, and she flashes that smile to you once more. Her hair grows lighter with each passing second, and as her back relaxes and straightens, it seems that the weight of the world leaves her shoulders as well. She breathes more easily now, and despite the fumes the box says you should do your best not to inhale, you breathe easier too.

~-~-~-~ 

You’re sat back again on her sofa, and Nana tries her best not to mess with her hair that’s still soaking. She looks kind of silly, what with her old towel around her shoulders faded to near oblivion, her hair in sections making her look like a half-done scarecrow, her hands going up halfway to her head only to be forced back down by the other. 

And yet, you admire another shade of Nayeon. This time, it’s a girl who’s scared of the future, of changes she might regret later on. It’s something deep in her character, even central maybe, to be afraid of things she can’t take back. Even then, she takes her leaps and bounds to try and outrun her past, and finally, you see the razor edge that keeps everything in balance: Nayeon’s fear which dictates her present, and Nana’s strength which leads her to her future. 

“Hey,” you say abruptly, surprising even yourself, “you good?” 

“I think so. My head’s itchy. Is that supposed to happen? Should we wash it off?”

“No, jackass, it’ll look even worse if you quit halfway.” 

Your words set in and she realizes you’re right. Worry seeps into her face and you notice tears start to well up in her eyes.

“Look, this might not be comfy right now, but I promise it’ll be worth it later on.”

“Really? You promise it’ll look good?” She looks over to you with pleading, shiny eyes, and it almost hurts to tell her no.

“I said I promise it’ll be worth it. Not that it’ll look good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

You chuckle at the sudden rise in her voice. After all this time, she’s still Nayeon, still Nana. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It means… if you stick with it, there’s no way you’ll regret what we just did.”

7. You know…

The end of your senior year of college rolls around, and the graduation ceremony is still fresh in everyone’s minds. Photos of friends together and square caps thrown into the air decorate your social media feeds for a good few days, and you can’t deny the whole thing was something you wouldn’t forget for the rest of your life.

And finally, Nana’s bucket list has been finished. To think that all of it was done in the span of a college year is quite impressive to say the least, as before you started she was lost in her own goals and left sitting for a good three years. Now, looking at your diploma, it was not only a sign of your successful studies at college, for you it was also the sign of helping your dear friend get to where she wanted to be. 

Speaking of the devil, now sending you a message

On the way, you see various people from her dorm building heaving away bags and suitcases, undoubtedly taking advantage of the nice weather to move out. You see people hugging each other, taking selfies, exchanging numbers, and all the while you think of each of them with their own stories to tell when they get home, but none so interesting as the one you and Nana built together. 

The walk up the stairs was more of the same, people saying goodbye, and you can’t help but feel a bit of nostalgia. It was by no means a short year, but for everything you did, the feeling of wanting just a bit more time never seems to leave you. You recall the first time you saw her, that quiet girl in the front of the auditorium with four seats of clearance around her, and how you slowly watched her grow into the fine and confident woman she is now. Part of you is unbelievably proud of what she’s achieved, but another part of you knows it’s all her doing and you were only along for the ride. 

You reach Nana’s room just as her roommate was leaving, and you exchange pleasantries with her before she goes off. “Hey, just so you know, Nayeon’s a really nice girl,” she says in whispers to you, “I’m glad she found you before she left.” She pats you on the back before going off to the stairs herself. Something deep inside you glows in agreement, and you think to yourself how lucky you were to be able to meet and spend time with a person like her.

“Hey, come in!” Nana pushes you into her now half-empty room. “Yuri just left, so we have the place all to ourselves!” You take a seat on her easy chair while she plops herself down onto her bed. The half that still has stuff in it is simple and unassuming, and the realization dawns on you that this is the first time you’ve been in Nana’s room. Despite this, the space is warm and cozy, like it was filled with a good sort of energy for a long time. 

“Cheers” you both say at the same time, each with a can of beer that you both drink fairly quickly. You recall the first time of her drinking with you, how easily she felt her stomach hurting but this time she quickly shrugs off the bitter taste.

“You know,” Nana says, her eyes shining and her smile flashing itself directly at you, “I am really happy that you helped me with the bucket list, I couldn't do it without you.”

You simply laugh casually and say “Come on Nana, all you needed was confidence.”

“And who do you think gave me that confidence? I really mean it…thank you,” she says, and you can't help but smile at her back.

“Let me get some snacks, okay? Don’t move a muscle.” As she stands and heads toward the kitchen, you go to check up your phone to see what the time is. However, just as you are about to go into your Instagram, you notice something on the table: a little black notebook that’s only all too familiar. 

When you think about it, She has never shown you the actual list besides that one time when you two first talked. “A peek won't hurt right?” you say, the alcohol definitely makes the choice for you. Your sober self would never invade someone's privacy, especially not some as close as Nana’s, but regardless, you open it and…

You flip through the pages, and the notebook reveals so much more. The few pages you’ve been shown were just decorated pages, and each mission was a chapter, filled with dozens of writings, pictures, scribbles, each for its own topic. You find yourself smiling, muttering quietly to yourself: “You really worked hard on it… didn't you?” 

Your attention is snatched to Nana across the room, looking at you with cheeks fully red. You can't help but curse quietly, and you try to come up with something of an apology. However before you can finish your first word she says…

“Hey, come on, put that down!” Nana rushes toward you, nearly tossing the snacks off to some random part of the room, and snatches away the little black notebook from your hands. She hugs it close to her chest as she turns away, and she looks over her shoulder to peek if you might still be thinking about snatching the notebook back.

Instead, you raise your hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Sorry. But what's there to hide? Aren't we done?” You take another sip of your drink before picking up one of the snacks. You open the bag of chips and place it on the table for the both of you. 

“Well… I had one other thing. I gave up on it a long time ago, just never ripped out the page.” Nana turns back toward you and fiddles with a leaf of the notebook. Her steps are careful when she gets nearer to you, as if cautious to scare you away. 

“What?!” You bolt to your feet in surprise, your drunkenness taking a backseat at the sudden exposition. “Shit, we gotta go now! What is it?”

“Calm down,” Nana mutters, her feet rubbing against the carpet, “it isn't something we can do anywhere else anyway. Or, I mean, it’s done? I don’t know…”

Your nerves are still flaring, but you get the feeling that whatever it is, there's nowhere else but where you are now that Nana could do the last bucket list thing. Your gaze steadies on her, and she looks like she wouldn't budge for the world. Her eyes never leave the floor, her hands stay guarded on the notebook, and for some reason, she's also able to keep you just where you are. 

“So… what is it, then?” 

“Promise me you won't get mad?”

“... Promise.”

Once she hears you say it, her eyes shut tight. As if gathering courage, she takes a deep breath before taking deliberate steps to where you're standing. You never see it coming, but the next thing you know, Nana's soft lips are on yours, her delicate fingers keep you steady in place, and her vanilla scent fills your nose and overwhelms your senses that you can't think of anything at all but her.

It takes only half a second, but you melt into the kiss yourself. Your eyes flutter closed and start to forget the world around you in favor of the girl who stayed by your side. The space between the two of you grows smaller, your hands make their way to her waist, and you let your selfishness take over and keep her for yourself as well. 

The kiss breaks just as you hold her, and both your eyes shoot open to find hers just as wide as yours. 

“I-I, umm… I’m sorry, it was too sudden, and uhh…” It wasn't too hard to see how much she was stuttering, and if you weren't so surprised yourself you would've also joined her like the blushing mess she is right now.

The alcohol was starting to hit you again, and your better judgment slowly left you as you took her lips once more. You have no time to be surprised at how willing she is, and you resolve to just enjoy the kiss with her. You lead her to the edge of the bed and sit her down; and the first chance she gets, she lies back onto the mattress and pulls you with her. 

“If you really wanna know…” She flips to the last page of the notebook and shows you. It’s a simple picture, just two stick figures in a heart, holding hands. You don’t recognize the poster, but the quote is unmistakable: “You should be kissed, and often, by someone who knows how.”

“I’m glad we got to spend all this time together, and I know I keep thanking you, but I really am so happy…” Nana pulls you back in, and with your own sweet defiance, you trace kisses across her cheek and onto her neck. The whimpers that escape her are adorable, but at the same time they also confirm thoughts you’ve only ever tried to suppress: she likes you too. 

You go lower and lower, tracing kisses from her neck to nibbling her collarbone, and you settle right before you reach her chest. Her breath hitches when she figures out what you want to do, but ultimately her fingers rake comfortingly through your hair.

“So tonight… let me show you… let me thank you… properly.” Her eyes may look pure when she says those words, but with how you are inches away from her lips, with how you have been kissing her now, it's anything but.

She slowly pulls off her jacket, her eyes never leaving you. The fabric slides off of her arms, revealing the smooth skin of her slender arms. The next to go is her tank top; her fingers grip the hem lightly, tugging slowly upwards, showing you her toned tummy and milky skin. The hem rises higher and higher, until she stops right under her chest. 

“Are you sure?” Your question is breathless, not in the slightest bit annoyed, but your tone full of concern reaches her. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know,” she says, the sound of her voice betraying a dry throat, “I love you.” She pulls the rest of her top off, and her boobs bounce freely in front of you. Nana takes your hands and places them on each, and asks you playfully, “Come on, you think I never caught you staring?”

She pulls you back in for a kiss, a proper one this time, the kind that quenches your thirst for her. She tries her best to wrap her tongue around yours, all the while you take your fill of her soft tits. Pinch and tweak her nipples, feel them stiffen as her tiny whimpers grow into careless moans. You never let up, delivering constant pleasure to her chest, and your surprise when you feel her palming your growing bulge is quickly replaced with anticipation. 

Her hand slips under your waistband and her moan fills your mouth when she feels how hot and hard your cock is for her. She wraps her fingers around your shaft and gives long, slow strokes, nothing that would make you cum on the spot, but just about enough to make you leak precum onto her palm. She relishes the feeling of your arousal on her skin, and as she picks up her pace, seemingly trying to entice you to do more, you’re left with no choice but to give her exactly what she wants. 

You work on unzipping your jeans and taking them off, and with Nana’s help, it feels like the second easiest job in the world. They fall to your ankles and you kick them away, and all of a sudden your cock rests on the skin of her luscious thigh. The heat and the precum that leaks onto her flesh surprises her, but her senses come back to her and she asks for a time out. 

“Gimme a sec, I have to breathe,” she gasps unsteadily. You get off her, wondering what you might have done wrong. Her breathing is ragged and she seems to not be able to focus on much else, but a reassuring look in her eyes lets you know she’s alright. 

“I just– I needed to see it.” Her gaze falls on your cock, and once she reaches and wraps her fingers around your shaft again, it throbs in her hand. A groan of pleasure escapes you, and she figures out that she’s doing something right. Her pumps start slow, gradually building up speed, all the while she brings her face closer and closer, and you don’t even notice it, but finally her lips meet the tip of your dick. Nana rubs your precum all over her lips like lipstick, and she takes your head in her mouth. 

Small groans come from your mouth feeling her soft lips, you enjoy much more than you thought, especially knowing how inexperienced you thought she was. Your hands meanwhile grab a part of hair, pulling it lightly, causing Nana to moan into your cock.

“Don't get mad if I do this wrong–” she says, her eyes fraught with worry. Despite this, she makes careful moves to give you the best possible experience. She seals her lips around your head, and she gives slow but deep sucks as she tries her hardest. 

“You’re– nngh– doing great,” you moan, the pleasure overtaking you. The eye contact you two share is enchanting; she’s undoubtedly a very pretty girl, and despite the amateur blowjob, she more than makes up for it with her enthusiasm. Her head bobs slightly, trying to take more of your length in, but her worry of choking keeps her from giving any more. 

On the other hand, she has no idea of the effect she has on you, and the sight of the gorgeous woman’s plump lips on your cock coupled with her eager attempts at making you feel good nearly sends you over the edge early. In an effort to stave off your orgasm for even just a little while longer, you regrettably pull her off of you. 

“What– what’s wrong? Wasn’t it good?” Again her words are coated with worry of disappointing you, but the way you look tenderly to her reassures her. 

“You are perfect, Nana,” you whisper into her ear. You lay her back onto the bed gently, and you let show your eagerness to please her too. You venture down until you’re level with her crotch, and you work slowly to peel off her thin shorts. As they leave her legs, you’re presented with a pastel blue pair of panties, though you can’t help but notice the growing wet spot right in the center and the scent of her arousal seeping through. It must be uncomfy, you think, and you strip it off of her as well. 

The garment leaves her and you look to Nana for approval: her finger between her teeth and her face red as a tomato, she looks at you with a loving gaze. Only then do you realize that Nana is now fully naked, everything bare for you and you alone, and the way her thighs rub together needily sends the message you’ve been dying to get. 

Part her legs, meeting little resistance as you do. Travel up from her knees to her thighs, planting kisses and light nibbles on the soft flesh of her legs. Hearing how she whimpers beneath your lips: “That feels really good… I want more…” 

Your lips finally meet her pussy, and the initial contact draws out a sultry moan from her. Each swipe of your tongue on her cunt causes more and more of her love juices to leak out, sending waves of ecstasy up her spine. She tries locking your head in place as she runs her fingers through your hair, all the while she grinds her crotch on your face as she chases her pleasure. 

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck, you feel so good! I love you~!” Nana humps your face more and more roughly, and you take it as a sign that she’s close. Good thing as well, as you’re running out of air, but on the other hand you feel as though this wouldn't be the worst way to go. You run your tongue over her soaked pussy, taking slow, deep licks. 

She’s inching closer to her orgasm, her hips are bucking onto your mouth, your tongue meets her clit, she squeezes your head between her thighs, your lips seal around her swollen nub, she grabs your hair and pulls hard, and with a scream ripping through her throat, Nana squirts her love juices straight into your waiting mouth as you drink her essence up. Her scream turns into a drawn-out moan as she continues to grind on your face, making sure to pleasure herself enough to give you everything you’ve been working so hard for, and you lap every single drop of it up like it was the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted. 

She releases her grip on your hair and head, and as she relaxes onto the bed her arms fall to the sides and her legs spread open. She lazily brings a hand to her pussy and rubs it, showing you just how good you made her feel, and she smiles up at you. 

“That was fucking amazing.” It couldn’t have sounded any sweeter, and the fact that it came from Nana, lying on her bed wearing nothing but a smile that you gave her, fills you with a sort of pride that you doubt you’d ever get again anywhere else in your life. But as she starts to get up, and she places her lips on yours, you feel another weight lifted off your chest. It’s another shade of her, one that shows you how she is when she’s content. It’s her way of telling you that among the hundreds of firsts she’s had in her life, she’s grateful that you were this one too. And as you kiss back, your hands finding their way to her hips, you connect with her again on a level that you never put into words before. “I love you too, Nana.”

Upon hearing, her kiss deepens and her tongue works harder to play with yours. She leans on you more, until finally you let yourself fall backwards, and Nana is right there, straddling you, with an innocent yet horny look in her eyes again.

“Your turn. Relax, okay?” She caresses your cheek, and suddenly you’re made conscious of how bad you’re probably blushing right now. Despite this, her smile never leaves her face as she continues to reassure you. She giggles at whatever expression it is that you’re showing her, and she gets to work. 

Nana reaches to her bedside table and opens a drawer, and from it she produces a peculiar box. “Remember when I ‘stole’ that candy bar?” She tears off the sticker on the edge of the box to open it, pulls out a little plastic square pouch, and tears it open with her teeth. “I… bought… the candy bar. This was what I stole.” She tugs on the contents of the pouch, and reveals a condom. 

“What the–” you start, but you soon stop in favor of moans caused by Nana’s handjob. “Don’t ever belittle me like that again, okay?” Her smile is again just as sweet and innocent as the first time you saw it, but now is completely different. It never leaves her face as she pulls the rubber over your cock, but not before giving it a few more cursory licks.

“Ready?” she asks, and you nod furiously. Finally, she aims the tip of your cock at her entrance and slowly sinks down onto you. “Oh, fuck, it’s so big,” she gasps. She takes her time taking in your length, feeling every vein against her pussy walls as you enter her tight pussy. She sucks air in through her teeth, her eyes shut tight, her fingernails leaving imprints on your chest as more and more of you slides into her unbelievably tight cunt. As she does, you feel her wet velvet walls rub your cock inside her, her slick spreading all over you and coating you with a warm you can’t describe. After what seemed like an eternity of bliss, she finally hilts, having taken everything inside her, and she sits on your crotch without moving, still trying to get used to the feeling of her pussy being so full. 

“You good?” you ask, genuinely concerned if she’s okay or not. Place a hand on her waist, pat to comfort her. Her eyes open slowly, almost releasing a tear, and panic rises in your chest. 

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, do you need to get off? I–” you start, but she shuts you up with another kiss. It’s slow and gentle as it starts, just simple pecks, as she reassures you once again that she’s alright. Once she pulls away, she flashes you another smile, and you swear she gets more and more beautiful with each and every one. 

“I’m okay. Are you okay?” She traces circles on your cheek and neck, and all you could do is nod. She comes back in for another kiss, and this time it’s much deeper. She opens her mouth to moan, and you jump at the opportunity to swipe at her tongue too. She loves it, and once she’s comfy enough, she starts to hump against you as well.

“It’s really really good. Do you feel good?” Her question snaps you out of your daze, but you only nod as you fight off cumming too early. Not long after that, you note she’s had her fill as she pulls away from you. Her posture straightens and she sits on you properly again, this time determined to return the favor and blow your mind. She takes in a deep breath, braces herself, and lifts herself up carefully. Your breath hitches, watching her naked figure on top of you, and you admire the way her sweat collects in drops before they slide down between her breasts. She notices you staring again, and she brings your hands up to her chest, moaning at the first moment of contact. Your instincts overtake you; you push yourself off the bed to her boobs and start to suck. Your lips seal around her nipples and she runs her fingers through your hair as she tries to push you deeper into her delicious breast. 

“Shit, don’t stop,” Nana pleads, and you continue kneading the flesh of her boobs more, sucking when and where you can. At that moment, she forces herself back down onto your dick, taking in everything again all at once. Her walls part suddenly, and once she settles her warm pussy walls squeeze your cock as tight as she can. She begins bouncing, her moans never stopping, and you find a rhythm: each time Nana brings herself down, you thrust up to meet her halfway. The first time you do, you reach a depth to her that neither of you thought was possible, and the heat from her sex with her slick drive the pair of you insane with pleasure. 

She keeps bouncing on your cock as her lewd moans gradually grow louder and louder with each of your thrusts into her needy core. Her eyes roll to the back of her head, her pussy tightens again, and just as you deliver a perfectly-timed bite to her nipple, another scream rakes out of her throat as her second orgasm overtakes her. Her pussy convulses as her hips buck again and again on your cock, her thighs and tits jiggle seductively, and her tightness reaches new heights as if she wants to keep your cock inside her forever. Despite this, you never stop thrusting her, never stop making love to her, and you cover her chest in kisses while you lick up all her sweat. 

You never give her a chance to catch her breath, and soon enough, an unknowable number of seconds or minutes past, you feel your own orgasm coming. You take one last look at her godly figure and divine visuals, and you finally succumb.

Hold her close, hold her tight. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want you getting away, so you only return the desire. Keep thrusting into her, forget about how she’s losing her mind. She’s gone, lost in her own pleasure, and there’s no point in bringing her back yourself. Instead, follow her. Send yourself over the edge and join her in her ecstasy.

You momentarily lose your flow of consciousness as flashes of white fill your eyes, but you’re snapped back to reality with Nana pulling at your hair. Only then do you realize; you’re actually cumming inside her. With each spurt, you thrust into her as your cock twitches against her slick walls. The cumulative heat from your cum sends just the right signals to Nana’s body, and it sends back the equivalent of screams of desperation at the illusion of breeding. Your pumps are harsh and careless – thank the stars you’re wearing a condom – but Nana is too far lost to care past the unholy pleasure you deliver to her. 

“Fuck, fuck! Aaaahhh!!!!” You feel her tighter, as if clamping down on your cock, her cunt pulsating and the connection between the two of you growing wetter, slicker. Despite this, you never let up, hell-bent on giving her everything you have. One spurt turns into two, then four, then six. It didn’t matter, none of it did. It could have been the end of the world and you wouldn’t have minded. All that was important was the girl sitting on your lap, losing her mind.

As both of your orgasms die down, the pair of you fall to the mattress. You stare at each other, wide-eyed and out of breath, and all you can do is smile and giggle at each other. As each of you catch your breath, the world quiets down, and all that’s left in existence is just you and Nana. 

“Wow,” she sighs, “nice.” Her smile grows wide again, and her hand once more finds your cheek to caress.

“Yeah, nice.” You laugh back at her, the adrenaline fading quickly. “Does that check the thing off your list?”

“Oh, yeah!” Nana jolts up and off the bed, or at least attempts to. Instead, she falls back next to you, and only then do you realize the fatigue rendering your bodies useless. 

“So… we good?” There’s nowhere else to look but right to her. Nana’s beautiful, round, just a bit teary eyes gaze back at you with adoration and love, something you never thought you’d have for yourself in this magnitude. And yet, here you are, and here she is, as if nothing else mattered. 

“Shit. That was crazy. Anyway, yeah. Thanks.” With her last ounce of strength, she comes in for one more kiss. She collapses in your arms, cuddled right up to your chest, and you can imagine she could hear how loud your heart was thumping, just like hers. 

Catch her snoring an adorable snore, wrap her in an embrace that would protect her from the worst the world could throw at her. A small thought in your head says you want to keep her safe forever like this, but you know better: she’s a strong woman who can take care of herself. Think back to how lucky you are, and how you walked this journey with her. Recall how she was just a fearful nobody when you first met, remember how you watched her grow into the amazing person she is now. 

Your eyelids grow heavy, and you realize your waking seconds left are numbered. Right before you drift off to sleep yourself, you hear her, in the tiniest voice ever, mumbling her confession: “Stay with me.”

“Go to sleep, Nana.” You smile and turn your head toward hers, arms wrapped around her waist. 

“Not without a promise.” Her own eyes are half-lidded, and you can tell she’s fighting back her drowsiness as hard as she can. She tries blinking the sleep away, but it only works marginally.

You could say anything to her at all right now, anything in the world, but there’s really only two things that need to be put into words. Your mind rushes at a snail’s pace, and you reach for faraway ideas when the right one is just in front of you. In your mind only one question appears: “So is this like…a one time thing?” 

In response Nana just leans in and kisses your cheek, then giggles. “Would me saying ‘I love you’ outside of sex prove it?” she asks playfully, her tone betraying her desire for rest.

“Touché.” One hand goes to her soft blonde hair, brushing it to the side. “But in my defence, suddenly kissing me and then getting me naked was not the first thing I expected when you said there was ‘one last thing’ in your bucket list,” you state matter-of-factly.

You share a bout of tired laughter for a moment, and then you both look at each other with pure eyes, as if you two compete to see who can make the other blush first. Decidedly, Nana loses while she confesses. “I used to think that college was supposed to be all rose-colored, that it was to be the peak of my life. But spending it with you, I learned that it doesn’t have to be all grand milestones to live through.” The air in the room swirls differently, replacing stale breaths with new ones from the open window. 

“That time you cheered me on during the open mic, how you looked at me… It made me realise that after everything’s said and done, I wanted peace. And I can feel peace with you, without all the guilt of past mistakes, nor ghosts of regret that would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life,” she says, now leaning toward your ear muttering, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, smiling from ear to ear. Eventually you both released the hug. Look around her room for your clothes, which was surprisingly hard for how your sex wasn't too feral, and in turns take showers to clean yourselves up.

As you get out of the shower, fully cleaned and with some good-enough-for-sleep clothes, you find Nana on her bed fully knocked out. You simply laugh and join her, and her instinct leads her to wrap her arms around your waist while her head leans into your chest.

“Goodnight, Nana,” you whisper with finality, as if ending the night on a perfect note. Peck her forehead and close your own eyes, and fall into slumber just as deep as hers.

Bucket List Completed

“Argh, I’m so excited!” She grips you by your collar and shakes you as she screams, jolting away any sleep you wished to get. 

Two months have come and gone, and while you know it hasn’t been long, things have changed so much. Despite you trying to get just a bit more sleep in the backseat of the taxi, Nana right next to you can’t stop bouncing in hers as the sights outside the window pass her by.

“Okay, okay. Just get all this energy out before we get on the plane, please?”

She returns her attention to the window just as the taxi slows to a halt. Your new girlfriend practically throws open the door and leaps out, heading straight for the trunk to retrieve your luggage. 

“Hurry up! We might miss our flight!” She struggles lifting her comically large suitcase before you hear it hits the concrete pavement followed by its handle extending with its clack-clack-clack. 

“Hawaii isn’t going anywhere, Nana, please,” you mutter as you lazily exit the cab. You hand the driver your fare, and he reaches out to accept. As he does, he gives you a knowing smirk and tips his hat to you, as if saying “good luck.”

Turning around, you find Nana with all of your luggage too, eagerly awaiting your arm for her to cling to before you make your way inside. The hustle and bustle of Incheon International Airport fills her with a deep sense of excitement, and honestly, who could blame her? Your girlfriend is in the midst of all these other people — travelers, tourists, adventurers — and she fits right in. It’s the most natural thing for her now, to find herself in new situations that broaden her horizons and make her feel alive. 

She yanks you to her side in line for the desk, holding her brand-new polaroid camera at a high angle. “Cheese!” she screams, not far enough from your ear, but with how happy she is, you can’t help but smile her smile too. “Our first overseas trip! This is the first time I’m leaving Seoul, let alone Korea!” 

“Okay, Nana, calm down,” you chuckle, but you know she won’t. Divert her attention instead, put her energy to good use. “Do you have your passport? Carry on? Pink notebook?”

Though you both are sure she hasn’t missed anything, Nana rummages through her bag again anyway. “Check, check, and check! How could I forget?” She takes each item to show to you, and she flips through the pink notebook once it’s in her hand.

One thing about Nana, she never lets the moment escape her anymore. Once she sets out to do something, she’ll do everything in her power to accomplish that goal. This is no different, and you love her so much for it.

After looking through the notebook, she claps it shut. She flashes you the drawing of a gray bucket on its front cover before it disappears back into her carry on, and you both are reminded that a part of who you are as a couple is just that: a notebook that predicts the future by rooting itself in the present. Sadly, a weeklong trip won’t be enough for everything on her list this time, but who’s to say you’re not coming back eventually? 

And at the end of the trip, you have it ready, the best gift you could give her: a little green notebook, every left-side page filled with things you want to do, and the corresponding right side page blank, all for her. And on the very last leaf, where the cardboard of the back cover accompanies it, is a drawing of a ring, with the words: “I’ll be taking my time, spending my life, falling deeper in love with you.”

“Come on, hurry!” She yanks again, snapping you out of your wistful thoughts. “We’re gonna miss the plane!” Nana pulls you to the gate just as the intercom announces your flight has begun boarding. “Alright, alright! Easy,” you chuckle again, and you can’t believe this is the same girl behind the gym crying her eyes out alone just last year. Funny how people change like that, but at the same time, it’s impossible to think that Nana would ever stay the same.

================================================

Thank you all for watching, it has been a long time working on it and we are really happy it is finally out, hope yall had a good read with this one,

i will see you all next time leafies~

[wndaswife]

matriarchal disturbance | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Iryna Maximoff pays her daughter a visit, and Wanda must learn to balance living with her ever-complicated mother while navigating her rocky relationship with you, her stepdaughter.

Word count: 14 615

Tags: smut, angst, fluff, family issues, infidelity, age gap, strap-ons, cunnilingus, spanking, hair-pulling, praise, degradation, slight cnc, impact play, mention of somnophilia, mommy kink, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader. MINORS DNI.

You sped down the stairs and slung your backpack over your shoulder, hoping to avoid your dad and stepmother on the way out. The rapid padding of your feet prompted Wanda to force herself out of her husband’s arms as you passed the kitchen.

“Y/N?” she called out, listening close to how you walked over to the front door. Wanda rounded Vision and headed over to you. You were leaned over, pulling your shoes on with a backpack hanging from your shoulder. Wringing her hands around the dish towel she was holding, Wanda asks, “Are you going somewhere?”

You stalled with some stuttered hesitation in hopes of leaving and talking with your stepmother as little as possible. But you watched the way she stayed planted in front of you and you still had another shoelace to tie. “Yeah, going out, forgot to tell dad,” you answered finally.

“I can drive you if you’d like. Vis can finish making dinner,” she offered, and you saw her playing with her fingers when you looked up slightly from beyond your eyebrows. She was always trying to make some excuse to spend time with you. But you wouldn’t let her. Not unless you were forced.

The afternoon could be recalled as clearly as if it were yesterday. Months of getting close with your dad’s new girlfriend, gentle caresses and passing longing glances, excuses to get each other alone, delicate kisses exchanged, vows of love, all tossed away as delusion the moment her engagement to your dad was announced. He had his hand on her knee, Wanda’s hands wringing around uncomfortably in her lap as she anticipated your answer. 

Suddenly, you had no idea what to do with all the months you spent loving Wanda. She lost her virginity when she was sixteen to a senior at the back of his truck. She won a spelling bee contest when she was ten. She broke one of her ribs once when she was a young child hanging out of her father’s moving car.

What were you to do with knowledge like that?

Information about her that you held close to your heart for whatever reason, a pride you felt in knowing her and having been able to watch her face as she recalled stories of her life. She was once a grand and beautiful constellation, each day spent with her discovering one of the many stars she was made of. 

She made you feel and look like a fool — a lovesick puppy blinded by the thrill of first love. You hated her for it, and you hated her all the more when she made those pathetic attempts to make it up to you.

“I’m walking,” you told her and straightened to take your sweater from the coat rack.

“Walking? Is it far?”

Hoping that your brief response would suffice, you answered, “No.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed on.

“Wanda, I told you — I’m walking,” you repeated, meeting her eyes. She nodded and stepped to the side to let you open the front door. The stability of her relationship with you was precarious and she wouldn’t think twice before yielding to maintain what closeness she had left with you after her marriage to your father.

You didn’t believe there was much, if any at all, but you imagined that Wanda liked to hold onto the idea that there was.

Before you could step off the porch and finally make some space between you and home, Wanda called from behind you and asked if you were planning on being back home before dinner. You replied with something vague for you didn’t feel like thinking about when you wanted to be home, and you didn’t want to give your stepmother the benefit of knowing your plans.

Pretending to be content in spite of her lack of a role in your personal life, Wanda refrained from asking anything else and let you go without another word.

Several days ago, Vision suggested that you start calling Wanda something along the lines of ‘mom.’ Your father had initially argued against your refusal, insisting that it was time you started behaving maturely rather than acting like a rebellious teenager. Wanda was quick to defend you, but you were already cutting your meal short, heading to the sink to wash your dishes before going out for a drive.

Even if you had stayed seated while Wanda vouched for you, she was convinced you wouldn’t have been listening anyways. You hardly responded to her when she spoke to you, you didn’t even look up. Typically, it took urging from your father to even get her messages across.

Dinner was dull when you didn’t come home later that night. Things normally were when it was only her and Vision at home. Interaction between you and your stepmother was scarce, but knowing that you were home, having you for meals and seeing you occasionally when you came downstairs brought Wanda great deals of joy and comfort. She loved it when you were home from school.

It never crossed her mind how you interpreted her attempts at becoming close with you again, for she always had faith that you’d warm up to her eventually. She knew she had hurt you when she married Vision though she’d been dating him for months prior to the marriage. But she believed that what the two of you had was special. 

You were one of the reasons she felt assured in the decision to marry Vision. Things would be different, but she’d always have you. Wanda strongly believed that although things couldn’t return to precisely what used to be before her engagement, it would take a bit of effort to eventually return to the trust and affinity the two of you used to have for each other.

She hadn’t meant to lose you in marrying your father, and she wasn’t planning on it. She promised to herself to be a good stepmother, although she felt lost at times without a maternal figure to rely on for an example of how to provide for you as you needed.

These days, Wanda thought of Iryna a lot more than she used to. In her failures to earn your affection, she worried she was becoming more and more like her own mother. She had no one to ask advice from and in spite of her tumultuous childhood, Wanda caught herself wishing she had the kind of relationship with her mother in which she could simply call her and ask her for help.

Iryna and her daughter talked a few times perhaps every three months. Their communication was irregular and when they did talk, phone calls would consist of Iryna asking a few obligatory questions about Wanda’s life and listening to answers she didn’t truly care about hearing before the topic was swiftly changed to Pietro, Wanda’s twin brother. 

Pietro was part of a travelling soccer team, having firstly started his soccer practices for a few hours after school when he and Wanda were only children, and was now making his way towards his dream of earning a spot with his team representing their home country in the Olympics. He and Wanda texted a lot more regularly than she and Iryna, and unlike their mother, Pietro attended Wanda and Vision’s wedding a few months ago. 

They were close, and it was only different paths of life that put space between them. Even so, the distance was merely physical as the twins continued to maintain their close connection.

Though they had a strong bond, Wanda truly found herself rather bored listening to her mother drone on about how successful Pietro was in his most recent games, listening to all the countries he’d been travelling to and the games she attended. She’d heard it all from him anyways, but what was more was that Iryna travelled around the world to see Pietro, a total of seven different countries to watch his games and spend time with her favourite child, yet could not even bother to attend her daughter’s wedding.

Wanda was once a favourite of her father before he passed when they were young, and it was no secret that Pietro was always mama’s favourite, even after there became only one parent to share between the both of them. In spite of how the two of them knew Iryna favoured her son over her daughter, any and all of Wanda’s conflicted feelings had always been directed towards her mother rather than towards Pietro. It was miraculous, in a way, that they’d maintained such a close relationship over the years. But Wanda loved Pietro as he did her. It was only her mother that made her feel heaps of unease and burrowed in her years of unresolved insecurities. 

Sitting in the living room with a movie playing on the television though she wasn’t entirely paying attention to it, Wanda wondered about what you were doing. When putting on the movie that was currently only being partially-watched, Wanda hoped she’d be able to catch you coming in to make sure you got home safe. She supposed you were seeing your friends, which you were, but she wondered about what you might be doing with them.

Was it cold out? Did you end up wearing that sweater you brought with you? Would you be back tonight or tomorrow? She wanted to text you something brief asking how you were, but if you wouldn’t have a conversation with her the next time you were home about how you didn’t like for her to be pushy with you, you wouldn’t respond to her text at all, which likely would’ve made her even more worried. 

Her head perked up from her phone when a knock came at the door. She checked the time on her cellphone — it was ten-forty in the evening — before setting it down and heading to the front door and opening it.

Where Wanda expected to see you waiting on the porch stood her mother instead, the handles of two travel luggages in each hand. She felt a strange mix of dread and a kind of frozen pause that came over her body, making her unsure how to react aside from blinking at her mother with parted lips in disbelief.

“Aren’t you going to take my bags?” Iryna asked, urging them forward. 

“O-Oh, yes,” Wanda stuttered, leaning down to take them by their handles. She wheeled them towards her then lifted them up into the front foyer.

Sighing, her mother stepped into the house. “Mannerless child,” she bit passively as she looked around at the house and the living room. 

Wanda asked, “Mama, what are you doing here?” She locked the front door and turned to her mother who continued to survey the house with a great deal of scrutiny. 

“A mother can’t visit her own child?” 

Playing with her fingers in front of her stomach, Wanda said quietly, “You didn’t even come to my wedding, mama. You want to visit me now?”

“Yes,” Iryna answered, looking at her daughter with her head tipped upwards slightly. “You’d like me to leave, then? Give me my bags.”

Wanda blurted out a ‘no,’ before she stepped towards Iryna and let go of the bags. “I’m happy that you’re here, mama. I really am.” She wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders and gave her a hug. 

Her mother was never one for physical affection, though Wanda always was; it was one of the reasons she loved how close she was with you before — you were equally as physically affectionate with her. Wanda missed it. It didn’t feel nearly the same with Vision.

In all honesty, she’d never loved being touched and hugged by anyone as much as she did with you. It was a strangely specific preference, but you always made her feel like you wanted only to be close with her when you held her hand or kissed her cheek. 

To be wanted like that… It felt amazing. She’d only ever felt it with you. She only ever had a place when she was with you.  

She pulled away and smiled at her mother. “How is Pietro?” Wanda asked though she knew how he was as the last she spoke to him was that afternoon. But Iryna’s mood always seemed to lighten when her favourite child was brought up.

The two of them sat on the living room couch, the movie on the television paused, while Iryna went into detail about her trip to Madrid during which she visited Pietro that she’d just come back from. Wanda sat in silence, nodding and listening and occasionally making comments.

It was nearly an hour of listening to Iryna’s recount of her trip and her doting adoration and pride of her only son before the front door was unlocked. You stepped into the house and Wanda’s head perked up. She looked you over quickly and was then relieved at the sight of you — a sweater on and zipped up and even one of your hats from your backpack pulled onto your head. 

Wanda stood from the couch as your eyes darted between her and her mother. “Y/N, this is my mother, Iryna,” she introduced. She’d never talked about her mother before, and all you knew of her was what you supposed after her lack of presence at your stepmother’s wedding. 

She looked like Wanda, in some ways, though her stare was cunning and her eyes frighteningly calculating. A part of you couldn’t believe that the soft-spoken Wanda and her free-spirited twin brother were born from a woman like this.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said finally, taking off your hat and unzipping your sweater. 

“Likewise,” Iryna replied with a cordial nod. 

Wanda felt nervous suddenly, recalling all the times she turned to her mother for advice in communicating with you. She hardly ever went to her mother for help about anything after her high school years, but after being newly-married and becoming a stepmother, she had initially relied on Iryna for help in trying to become closer with you. Her advice was poor and mostly judgemental of her inability to parent, so Wanda soon ceased bringing you up to her.

There was also always something strangely disconcerting about having her mother know things about you. Wanda felt possessive of the knowledge of you and felt uncomfortable that a woman like Iryna knew the kind of person you were and of her once-close relationship with you. 

Now, she felt rather uneasy watching the two of you interact. Iryna was indeed a cunning woman and unnecessarily conniving at times, and Wanda’s relationship with you couldn’t take any more pressure. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you,” Wanda said when you didn’t head upstairs, hoping that you’d leave and spend as little time as possible with Iryna. You gave an awkward smile to her mother and bid her a goodnight before turning and heading up the stairs to your bedroom. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams,” she called softly from the living room. 

You caught sight of the two travelling luggages by the front door as you headed up and you dreaded the next unspecified while until Iryna left. You didn’t have any problems with her, but you were certain that you’d have to get to know her and spend a bit of time with her to be friendly, and that undoubtedly meant you’d have to spend more time with your stepmother.

Wanda and her mother spoke for a little longer as you could hear bits of their conversation while you were getting ready in the washroom. Later on, Wanda carried Iryna’s bags up the stairs and you listened to her lead her mother up to the guest room.

“How long are you planning on staying with us?” you heard Wanda’s muffled question through your bedroom door as she walked through the hallway and towards the extra room. Iryna told her that she’d stay for about two weeks before she’d need Wanda to drive her to the airport so she could take her booked flight back to Russia. 

Two weeks. 

You figured it wouldn't be too bad if you filled up the next little while doing anything else but being at home. 

You were awoken in the morning hearing the stifled shouts of your father from his and Wanda’s bedroom down the hall. He got pretty loud when he felt like it, he really did, and he was rather prone to being overdramatic when he was upset. 

On the night of their wedding, Vision’s family brought up what a perfect match Wanda was for him, how perfectly her sensitive attitude complemented his. In a way it was true, but mostly it just made you roll your eyes. The pair was painfully traditional.

You supposed he was upset about Wanda’s mother staying over without any notice. If you had a say in the argument, words of advice that would matter at all, perhaps you’d make a comment in defence of Wanda solely to argue against your dad. You imagined your words wouldn’t matter much to your stepmother anyways, who disregarded you to marry a man you always thought she never felt much sentiment for. It was he that she chose over you, anyways. Who were you to stand up for her?

Now that you were awake listening to the muffled words of their ongoing argument, you figured you wouldn’t be getting back to sleep, so you climbed out of bed and headed downstairs to have breakfast.

To your surprise, Wanda’s mother was sitting at the dining room table eating buttered toast with a book in hand. Feeling chilled by the sight of her tranquillity, you poured yourself a bowl of cereal and had no choice but to sit down across from her at the dining table lest she think you were intentionally avoiding her.

“Good morning,” she greeted, looking up from her book and setting it down by her plate. You met her eyes and smiled at her before returning her friendly greeting. “A mismatched pair, no?” Iryna said, indirectly referencing the argument upstairs. 

When you stared at her for a moment slightly stunned by her overt criticism, she darted her eyes up at the ceiling where Wanda and Vision were arguing upstairs before looking back down to you. “Oh,” you answered, feigning an onset of realisation. “They’re okay.”

Iryna said, “Wanda never had children of her own. I always told her she married too late. I do not intend to offend you, but I take it you aren’t very close with my daughter.” She chewed on a bit of her toast and swallowed.

“Uh, no, not very,” you answered. You had no intention of being rude to her, but you weren’t sure how to approach her questions. It seemed to you that her words held more weight than she was letting on, and you felt you had to choose your words carefully around her.

“In my own experience, I found it difficult to connect with her at times,” she recalled, cleaning the tips of her fingers from crumbs and moving her empty plate to the side.

You mentioned, “But you’re visiting her here, so that means you must be sort of close.”

“An obligation to check up on one’s daughter. It’s been many years since I’ve seen Wanda in-person. You know of her brother?”

Your eyebrows came together as you tried recalling his name. “Pietro?”

“Indeed. Successful boy. I just returned from visiting him in Madrid. It was a rude awakening coming here to see Wanda.”

“Why?” you asked, feeling strangely interested in Iryna’s recount of Wanda. 

With a sardonic chuckle, Iryna replied, “She’s an unaccomplished housewife, devochka.”

Wanda eventually headed downstairs from the argument while your dad was no doubt fuming in the bedroom, trying to cool down before having to eat breakfast at some point and face his mother-in-law. She sighed heavily as she stepped into the kitchen looking exasperated, a hand running through her hair.

She caught sight of you and Iryna sitting at the table and she froze, her eyes darting between the two of you. “Mama,” she greeted cautiously before smiling at you. Her smile was brief as it dissipated when she looked over her shoulder to her mother. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing important, Wanda,” Iryna said and lifted her cup of coffee to her lips. She watched as her daughter turned and began boiling water for herself. You looked up from your bowl of cereal subtly as she eyed Wanda with a certain scrutiny that made even you uncomfortable, and Iryna wasn’t even looking in your direction. “What was the argument about?” she then asked suddenly.

Taken off guard, Wanda hesitated, “What?”

“The argument,” her mother pressed, a deceiving lightness to her tone in spite of her blunt questioning. “Upstairs. We could all hear it down here.” 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Wanda look over at you, seemingly searching for confirmation, questioning if you really did hear her argument upstairs with Vision. But you refused to make eye contact with her — all you wanted was to get the hell out of that kitchen as soon as you could.

She cleared her throat and prepared her mug for her hot water and placed a teabag of berry tea into it. “It was nothing,” she answered. “It was about work.”

“Not your place of work though, I’d presume,” Iryna asked innocently, though she knew Wanda wasn’t working, and Wanda knew that she knew. Wanda flushed in embarrassment at her mother’s words that held a great deal of criticism despite the benign way they were spoken, and you felt that Iryna was humiliating her on purpose. 

“N… No,” she answered finally, looking down at her empty mug and fiddling idly with the teabag’s string. 

Humming in a way that could be interpreted as Iryna feeling satisfied with the way she chastised her daughter out of the blue, she took a sip of her coffee and picked up her book again.

“Y/N, how was your night out yesterday?” Wanda asked, pouring her boiled water into her mug and looking over at you. 

You weighed the pros and cons of brushing her off with a dismissive response, answering her honestly, or standing up from your seat abruptly and running out of the house like you wanted to do since the moment Iryna made that comment about the argument upstairs.

A part of you felt bad for the passes Wanda had to endure, so while you stirred your spoon around in your bowl of milk, you answered, “It was fine. I met with some friends at this bar. It was slam poetry night.”

Wanda asked curiously, “You presented some of your things?” 

“No.”

“You should. I think you’re a really talented writer.”

The compliment sent chills up your spine and you quickly downed the milk left in your bowl then stood to wash your dishes in the sink. You recalled sharing some of your pieces with Wanda when you first became close with her — a symbol of your trust in her. 

“Will you be going out today too? I was thinking of heading to that greenhouse you like. You could help me pick out some things for the garden now that the snow’s all melted and it’s gotten warm out,” she offered, her spoon weaving in and out from between her fingers.

The mention of the greenhouse made you tense, for it was a common place you and Wanda liked to stop at when you had time for yourselves as an excuse to browse the vast greenhouse gardens hand-in-hand. 

“Yeah, I’m going out later this afternoon,” you replied quietly. “Sorry.” 

You looked over at Wanda and smiled briefly as to not seem abrasive before putting your clean dishes on the rack. You said goodbye to Iryna and quickly made your way out of the kitchen — finally — and headed upstairs before Wanda could reply.

A sense of anxiety settled within Wanda as she watched you scurry away. Her eyes immediately went to her mother. “What did you tell her, mama?” Wanda asked, trying her best to restrain the amount of unease she felt as she let her mind wander. 

Her worry was certainly not at all assuaged when she saw the way Iryna sat at the dining table with a complacent expression. 

“You are not a teenager anymore. Do not worry yourself with gossip and adolescent concerns,” Iryna dismissed though it seemed she found amusement in disregarding her daughter.

Wanda placed her mug down on the table and replied, “Which implies that there was gossip to be told.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no.”

“Mama,” Wanda urged, not yet taking a seat at the table and staring down at her mother.

Iryna scoffed and put her book down before looking up at her. “Prekrati, Wanda. Let it go. I told her nothing she didn’t already know.”

Pulling out her seat, Wanda lowered herself onto the chair, feeling like a sulking child in the shadow of her mother like she always has. “I can’t have her being any more upset with me,” she said quietly.

“You will live without the validation of a child,” Iryna replied bitterly.

Wanda didn’t respond to that. She only set her tea bag aside once it was finished steeping and drank from her cup, feeling weighed down by her mother’s criticisms as they lingered heavily in the silence of the kitchen. 

The next few days passed with you making any and every excuse to get out of the house, much to Wanda’s dismay. She hoped desperately to have some sort of interaction with you that was greater than those that took place in brief passing; you were always busy, you always had somewhere to go or something to do.

One afternoon when you had nowhere in particular to go but a quiet spot in the library closeby, an argument began between Iryna and Wanda downstairs in the living room. Your bedroom door was ajar while you were doing work at your desk, and you could hear Wanda trying to keep her mother quiet as her voice started to rise. Your stepmother was a sequence of hushed whispers and pleads for her to speak quieter for Wanda knew you were upstairs. 

You tensed the moment you heard Iryna hiss out a string of angry Russian curses and you stood from your desk and tiptoed to your bedroom door. Carefully, you closed the door slow enough as to not be heard from downstairs. Then you sat back at your desk, hoping that they’d cease their arguing so you could leave for the library as soon as you could.

The last thing you wanted to do was get in the middle of them again.

After about an hour when you were sure their arguing came to an end, you crept downstairs, staring at the closed door of the guest room as you did to ensure you didn’t signal to Iryna your presence passing through the hallway.

Vision was always rather fastidious about having you ask Wanda for permission to go out when he wasn’t home, which you found pretty ridiculous considering you were now in your last years in college still needing permission from someone in the house to go out. But over time you gave in, finding that exchanging a few words with your stepmother wasn't as bad as having to listen to lectures from your father about safety and obedience.

He’d be home soon, but you were more likely to get the green light from Wanda, who more or less could not bear saying no to you.

You raked through the living room and the kitchen, and even called downstairs for her. Eventually, you found Wanda in the garden on her knees repotting a few flowers from the greenhouse she invited you to a few days ago.

She was wearing a pair of ankle-length jeans and a black blouse with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a sun hat, and her gardening gloves. Her hair was tied back and out of her face aside from some loose strands as she leaned over and dug some space for her tomato seeds. 

“Wanda,” you said when you stepped past the open sliding door and into the garden. She looked up from the ground at you, one hand wrapped around the handle of a gardening hoe and the other knuckle-deep in a pile of mulch. 

Some stupidly-sentimental part of you wished you were as close as you used to be with her last spring because you would’ve never let down the image of her on her knees looking like a total dork with her fingers in a pile of dirt and a massive sun hat on her head. 

You looked away and distracted yourself from the thought as you ran your eyes over the things she bought from the greenhouse. “I’m going out to see a few friends on Friday. Probably won’t be back until Saturday afternoon,” you told her. 

“What will you be doing?” she asked.

“Carol’s hosting this big party at her house, so we’re going.”

Wanda stood up and laid her gloves down on a flower pot. She brushed a speck of mulch off from her cheek with the back of her finger. “I think you should spend more time on your studies,” she said. Her words nearly made you scoff out a laugh, but you were more confused than anything, so you just looked at her.

Continuing on, she added, “You’re never home, and your Spring Break is nearly over. If you were responsible, you’d use what time you have left here to stay home and study.”

“Where is this coming from?” you inquired incredulously. Not only did Wanda hardly ever criticise you for anything, but this was completely out-of-character for her. The strict authoritarian figure didn’t suit her. It made you hate her even more, in fact. “Dad tell you to say this?”

“No,” she replied. There was a hint of uncertainty in her speech, and you felt that though she Wanda was speaking, it sounded like the words were coming from someone entirely different. You weren’t as close with her as you used to be, but this was certainly not Wanda speaking. “I’m just saying that-that you’re a bright girl with a promising future, and I would want to see you take advantage of that instead of… wasting your time.”

You argued, “Wasting my time? It’s one party. And it’s Spring Break. I never do things like this at school anyways.”

Your raised voice seemed to make Wanda hesitate as she spoke her next words a bit more quietly. “But what about that thing at your campus on Friday?” she questioned.

“What?”

“The club enrollment event.”

From what you knew when you looked over the information sheet briefly, it was an evening event on campus showcasing a bunch of different sports teams, sororities, and frats gathering up members for the second half of the semester. There’d be food stands and games. It was a pretty big deal. But you’d never brought it up to Wanda before.

Your eyebrows stitched together in confusion. “How do you know about that?”  

Wanda stuttered and ran her hands down her blouse, seemingly reprehensible. “You told me,” she answered.

You straightened defensively at the realisation of where she could’ve heard about the event. “You looked through my things!”

“N-No! I didn’t. Your things were just face-up on the dining table when I passed and I saw the flyer,” Wanda reasoned, desperate to have your anger subdued. 

You replied sternly, “I’m not going to that. And stop going through my stuff!”

Suddenly, a voice interjected itself into the conversation and your dad popped himself into the garden through the open sliding door. “What event are we talking about?” he asked, looking up at you as he stepped down and kissed his wife’s temple, greeting her after just come back from work. 

“Nothing, just some stupid thing at school,” you dismissed. You looked away from the married couple and at the furthest wooden fence at the back of the garden. You wondered what Wanda and your dad would do if you suddenly just took off running and ran straight through the fence and didn’t stop running until you were two or three cities over. 

But then eventually you’d have no place to go, and you didn’t exactly have your wallet with you at the moment. Or your phone. Your dad and Wanda would catch up after a while. Even in your wildest imagination, you’d still have to face the reality of eventually having to deal with your dad’s scolding. That made you even more upset. 

“You should go,” your father advised carelessly without even knowing what the event was for. 

“Dad, it’s nothing. It’s for, like, clubs and stuff. It doesn’t matter.”

Wanda was silent in the shadow of your father, wordlessly listening in on the topic she brought up, the conversation she started. If she wasn't acting like herself then, she was now. Typical for her to start something then leave right in the middle of it just to flee behind your father’s back. 

You weren’t the greatest fan of hers, but the angrier you got with your stepmother, the more you felt yourself sympathising with Iryna. 

“She doesn’t have to go, Vis,” Wanda spoke up, brushing her hand against his as if to nudge him into being more lenient.

“When is it?” he asked, completely ignoring her.

Wanda answered, “It’s Friday, but—”

“Perfect,” he exclaimed. Then he looked at you. “If it’s for school, you should bring your stepmother. I’d go but there’s a conference I have to attend after work.” He kissed the top of Wanda’s head then walked back up the stairs to the house.

“Dad, I don’t want to go!” you protested, turning to look at him.

Not stopping once to look back at you aside from waving his hand over his shoulder, he answered sternly, “I won’t hear it. Wanda’s bringing you and I expect pictures. It’s for school, Y/N, and you’re an adult. It’s time you started taking responsibility for your education.” He shut the sliding door and left you and Wanda in tense silence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” she apologised, stepping forward. “I didn’t mean for him to hear, I just… I wanted to go with you. I wanted to see your school and… your friends and professors. I want to be part of your life.”

You turned to her, a cross expression on your face. “I haven’t seen my friends from here, any of them, in months.”

Wanda apologised again and reached for your hand, but you stepped back from her. “I really am sorry. I-I can still drive you to your party instead.”

“He isn’t going to let me go.”

She reasoned desperately, “It doesn’t matter, I’m the one who’s driving you.”

You made a comment referencing how strict Vision was, and Wanda silently understood the sentiment. All she’d been hearing from him was his complaints and arguments about how irresponsible she was, letting Iryna stay without notice. He wasn’t used to not having a say in everything, although Wanda hadn’t even known she was coming, and he didn’t let a day pass without letting her know it. 

“I won’t force you,” Wanda spoke quietly.

“I don’t have a choice,” you told her before opening the sliding door. But before you stepped into the house, you turned to look at your stepmother, who was looking up at you guiltily. 

“You want to talk about how much ‘time’ I have left here?” you said. “You and dad are lucky that I come home at all. I wasn’t sure about keeping my distance until the end of the semester, but I’ve made up my mind. You’re right — I’ll be responsible.”

Wanda’s expression seemed to be racked with an incredible amount of regret and her lips parted to say something before you shut the sliding door and left without another word.

That wasn’t the first time you and Wanda have argued, but it was the first time that she ever kept her distance from you rather than only the other way around. She seemed extremely troubled by your interaction with her that afternoon, and would not even look up from what she was doing to meet your eyes when you walked into any room she was in. 

You told yourself it didn’t matter, for when you left for your campus’ event, you vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t be home until your Summer Break started.

Friday eventually came around and Wanda once again made attempts to be friendly with you, albeit nervous and hesitant. About twenty minutes before you had to leave, a knock came at your door while you were making your bed before you had to leave. Wanda opened the door and looked into your room, seeing your two packed luggages and your now half-empty room. 

A certain feeling of despair settled within her as she looked at your room knowing this would be the last time until the end of your semester that she’d see you here. 

Quietly, she asked, “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you answered blandly, adjusting your pillows.

“Okay. I’ll wait in the car,” your stepmother replied. 

There was a silence that came after her words and you could see her still standing at your door. You looked up at her, seeing that she looked like she wanted to say something else. She was wearing a black floral wrap dress that reached just below her knees with a pair of black flats. Her long hair was straightened and she had earrings on, and her makeup looked really pretty on her. 

Wanda always looked pretty when she did her makeup, especially when she had on this pinkish-brown lipstick that looked amazing on her. You recalled a time with her when she did your makeup and chose a lipstick colour for you, and you remember her giggling when she saw you blush after she talked about how beautifully certain colours would work with your complexion.

She took a breath and parted her lips, but quickly redirected her attention to your luggages. “I-I’ll take one of these down to the car for you,” she said, stepping into your bedroom and taking one of luggages. She extended the handle then wheeled it out, closing your bedroom door carefully behind her.

It’d been months now since you and Wanda spent time together that was something more than quick exchanges of words. Going out in the evening while Vision was out at work reminded you all too much of those early months of getting to know her when she was just your dad’s girlfriend.

Wanda opened the trunk from the driver’s seat when you rounded the car with the second luggage. You lifted it into the back then shut it before walking back around and getting into the passenger’s seat. She waited for you to buckle your seatbelt before she pulled out of the driveway and started the drive to your campus.

There wasn’t much conversation aside from Wanda asking if you had everything packed and if you wanted to stop for anything before she got onto the highway. Again, it was uncharacteristic of her to be so silent with you. But you didn’t care. None of it was your problem until the summer.

Nearly half an hour into the drive, Wanda said with a quiet tone, “I’m sorry for how I spoke to you before in the backyard when you told me you were going to that party.” You were silent, continuing to look out the window without a word. “Not just because Vision ended up hearing about it, but also because I’m… sorry for what I said.”

She continued, “My mother told me that there was a reason you didn’t want to be close with me, and that I only had to change the way I approached things with you. She told me that I was being spineless and that I had to change the way I was. Normally I wouldn’t listen, but having her over my shoulder every second for the last two weeks has only reminded me of how weak-minded I am with her.”

Regretfully, she said, “Even after so long of being away from her. I’m sorry. I should have known better, and I should have treated you better. You are very important to me, Y/N, and I’m sorry I let anything get in the way of how much I care about you.”

You hated the warm feeling that was instilled in you by her words and you wished you could hate her instead, but you found it harder the more she apologised.

“I didn’t mean anything I said,” Wanda added. “But I do think you’re a very bright girl, Y/N. I meant that part.” 

Suddenly a wave of recollections from the last few days came to you, memories of what Wanda had been dealing with from both Iryna and your father. She’d been criticised relentlessly since she allowed for her mother to stay. If she wasn’t defending her mother from Vision, who never took a liking to Iryna, then she was making attempts at defending herself and Vision from Iryna, who also never took a liking to the life Wanda made for herself.

Without really thinking, you said, “It’s fine. I forgive you. Just forget about it.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Wanda look over at you and smile. “Thank you.”

Then after a moment when she’d looked back to the road, your stepmother confessed, “I’m really excited to be spending time with you. It’s been such a long time, and I miss being out with you.”

The both of you decided that you wouldn’t stop at your dorm and that you’d just go directly to campus then drop off your bags after. Anyways, you wanted to get the event over with, and you hoped you could use the luggages as an excuse to leave early somehow.

Wanda found a parking space behind the science wing close to one of the larger gymnasiums where the event was being held.

As you watched her step out of the car and look around, you found that she stood out from the rest of campus. It felt a bit bizarre to see her walking around in a place neither her or your dad had been before. 

For some strange reason, there was a fondness that grew in you seeing her look around curiously, trying to take in your campus and trying to picture you walking around between classes or hanging out with friends on a bench by the parking lots or something like that. She really did want to be more involved in your life, and she desperately wished to know what you did when you were away from home. 

You hardly ever texted her back when she messaged you when you were at school.

Wanda kept fiddling with her hair and her dress while you walked to where the event was being held, adjusting how it fell around her hips or how her sleeves looked, tucking and untucking her hair behind her ears and running her fingers through it. She seemed nervous, but more than that, she was meticulous about her appearance, though you couldn’t figure out exactly who she was trying to look good for as you didn’t think she expected to see anyone she knew here.

Your campus’ gymnasium was rather large, and inside was a grand array of food booths, games, and club stands. By the ceiling, the windows were cracked open to allow some ventilation, but it still smelled like a delicious medley of foods once you walked in.

One had to purchase tickets at a booth with money then exchange them to buy food and participate in any games. It was a dollar for each one, and Wanda paid for thirty tickets as you assured her that you weren’t interested in playing any games and that you only wanted to buy enough food for dinner. She followed behind you, looking around at the gym and all the club stands curiously as you walked around looking for somewhere to eat.

After apologising to you in the car, Wanda began to talk a lot more with you. She led most of the conversation, which was rather rare to see her do with other people. If you were honest, you don’t think you’d ever seen her as talkative with anyone but you. She talked about a lot of things from her plans for spring gardening to a book club she was thinking about joining that one of the neighbours, Dottie, mentioned to her. 

While waiting with Wanda at the side of one of the food booths for your order, some of your friends from your political science class spotted you and approached you. At the sight of them, Wanda immediately stopped talking and moved back to your side as your friends approached. 

Like you realised earlier, she was really not one to talk much around anyone but you.

“Are these your friends?” she asks quietly, looking at you. But you suddenly felt that you weren’t in the mood to talk with Wanda and you ignored her question to greet your friends, talking about each other’s Spring Breaks and complaints about your poli-sci class.

You talked with two of your friends about wanting to check out one of the swimming teams they were interested in and you went with them to stop by their stand while Wanda waited for the food the two of you ordered.

Eventually, one of your friends that stayed back waiting for you to return with the other two looked over at Wanda. “You must be Y/N’s stepmom,” she said.

Wanda felt rather elated knowing that you talked to your friends about her. She was initially rather worried about meeting your friends amongst everything else. She wanted to be part of your life and wanted to be closer with you, but a part of her also worried if there was a place for her in your personal life at all. It made her extremely happy to know that you’d mentioned her to your friends before.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m Wanda. It’s nice to meet you,” she said and stuck her hand out for your friend to shake.

Instead of taking her hand, your friends exchanged a look in which its negative implications Wanda didn’t catch onto. “We’ve heard a lot about you,” one of your other friends added, a bout of mocking humour in her tone. 

Wanda put her hand down, feeling that they just didn’t notice her hand sticking out. She just smiled, happy to be included while not really catching onto the fact that your mentioning of her was not in any way in a positive light. 

It wasn’t that you hated Wanda so much, but it was that they were just friends from poli-sci, there wasn’t much to talk about besides classes and your immediate shallow issues about each other’s personal life, and Wanda always seemed to be scratching at the back of your head at some point or another.

Your friends, feeling that they wanted to stick up for you a bit in the face of the knowledge of how your stepmother had gotten on your nerves for such a prolonged amount of time, continued the conversation, finding easy segways into abrasive comments veiled at something cordial and friendly.

“It must be nice having Y/N out of the house,” your friend said. “She can really loiter when she has nothing in particular she has to get done.”

“No, I really like having her around,” Wanda replied, feeling some type of comfort talking about you to your friends. “I miss her a great deal when she’s away.”

Another friend said innocently while Wanda was looking at the food stand, eyeing your order and waiting for it to be called out, “I know she hates being at home, so I’m glad she has some time away.”

Wanda looked over to her. “W-What? Y/N?”

“Yeah. She was sort of dreading being home for the break.”

She wanted to not feel hurt about it, for it had to be the truth. There wasn’t any reason for your friends to lie to her as they’d been nothing but extremely kind. Wanda tried not to show the hurt that spread through her chest thinking about how you hated being at home while a large portion of what she did while you were at school was to wait for you to come back.

You being at home while Iryna was staying with her brought her comfort, and she hated to think that you never wanted to be there.

The person tending to the food stand called out the number of your order and she blinked out of her brief stupor and took the food from the stand, muttering out a ‘thank you’ before rejoining your friends. At that moment, you returned with your other friends and quickly said goodbye to them as they planned to sign up for a rowing club together for the summer semester.

Wanda looked at you, trying somehow to read in your expression any sort of hint of what she’d just been told being true. When you looked at her and took your half of your food from her, she looked away.

“Let’s go eat outside. There’s a quieter place by the orchard,” you told her, and Wanda followed behind you, carrying her food and a water bottle while you carried your own. She watched you from behind as if somehow she’d uncover your thoughts staring at your back.

Again, Wanda was uncharacteristically quiet when the two of you settled together at a wooden picnic table amongst cherry blossom trees. Now that it was spring, you thought the orchard looked beautiful, and even moreso now that the sun was setting and the sky was painted a mirage of purple and orange, hinting towards a rather hot day tomorrow.

Indirectly trying to figure out what seemed to upset her, you asked, “What, um… were you and Iryna fighting about? Like, that afternoon I talked to you.”

“Oh…” She fiddled with her fork and poked at her food. Then she looked up and smiled reassuringly. “It was silly, I just brought up something from Pietro’s and my childhood that she didn’t enjoy hearing my thoughts about.”

“She sounded angry.”

“I didn’t mean to bother you with that,” she said regretfully.

You took a bite of your food and you saw Wanda watch you for a moment, looking a bit forlorn, before she forked a bit of her own dinner into her mouth. After swallowing, you inquired, “Does she usually get angry like that? It seems like she’s always mad about something.”

Your stepmother responded, “I’m sorry for how things have been at home; I know you don’t like Iryna. She hasn’t been very kind to me either. I had a very hard childhood.” It seemed to you that Wanda was avoiding answering your questions. She’d gone from discussing every detail in her life, excited to share things about her personal life with you, to becoming completely evasive and almost worried about saying too much.

After hearing that you hated being at home, Wanda didn’t want to burden you with the weight of what was going on in a place you never wanted to be at. Though if she was honest, she also felt fairly saddened knowing how you felt, and now felt much less jovial than she was before.

The drive to your dorm was much less awkward than it was slightly distressing. You wished you knew what was on Wanda’s mind. You’d never seen her so… down. It was different from how she was before. For the entirety of the ride, you didn’t think once about hating her or yourself for the sentiment and concern you felt for her. 

Seeing her act so different made you realise how much you relied on her for the eternal peace she brought, her warm embrace available to you with her open arms, the hopeful meeting of her eyes with yours and her attempts at becoming close with you, even if you had been purposefully avoiding her since her wedding months ago.

And most of all, there was an indescribable hollow feeling that came with watching such a warm light glow so dim.

Your dormitory building’s parking lot was emptier than usual as most people were planning to come back from their breaks after the weekend. Not even your roommates were home yet.

There was a strange comfort that your stepmother brought you as she walked down the hall beside you into your building, seeing her carry one of your luggages and looking around. You waited for an elevator together then took it up to the fourth floor where your place was.

You felt Wanda watching as you unlocked the door and despite how quiet she’d been, you could practically feel her curiosity emanating off of her as she waited to see your place. You let her in first and you watched as she looked around, taking note of the decor and wondering what was yours and what belonged to your roommates. 

After the both of you left your shoes by the closed front door, you led Wanda into the hallway where your rooms were. She trailed behind you silently with your luggage wheeling behind her and stepped into your room once you turned on the light and wheeled the luggage in your hand by your desk. You took off your jacket and laid it on the back of your desk chair before hanging your keys up.

Wanda followed suit and moved your last luggage over to where yours was, still obviously curious about your room and all your things. It was much more decorated here than at home, and it was different seeing someplace you obviously loved being in evident by the care you put into adorning the walls with posters from your favourite movies and shows, covering your shelves with books and little trinkets and gifts.

Standing in your bedroom made her feel like she was in the centre of your life and although it made her happy to some degree taking so much of you in, Wanda also felt a bit downcast looking around and finding nothing she was familiar with — things about you she didn’t know before now.

There was a realisation coming up behind her that would soon tell her that she simply just had to accept that she wasn’t as close with you as she thought she was, and that she likely wouldn’t ever return to the kind of affection she used to share with you, even if only completely platonic. 

“I’m sorta thirsty,” you said, the breaking of the silence making Wanda look over at you. “I’m gonna make hot chocolate. Do you want some?”

“Sure,” she replied with a small thankful smile. 

You led her to sit down on your bed while you went to the kitchen. 

Her hands laid flat against your bedspread, feeling how soft it was while she looked around your room. At the sight of a photo on your dressing table, she stood up and walked towards it. 

It was a framed picture of you and your friends together at someone’s place, and it looked like it was for Christmas. 

Wanda remembered that Christmas; she remembered arguing with her mother over the phone about her father’s death which occurred sometime around the holidays and how Vision cared little, if at all, about her not being entirely present. She remembered waiting for you to come back home. 

You didn’t come back until Christmas Eve, and left on the second of January. 

Textbooks lined your shelves along with some other books Wanda recognized from your bedroom. She looked at your plants and your desk, your pens and your calendar, and though she was painfully curious about all of it, it still hurt her a great deal looking at a life she had no part in. 

Maybe it was selfish. 

You returned with two mugs of hot chocolate and Wanda straightened and smiled at you, thanking you and taking her own into her hands. It wasn’t too hot, so she took a small sip of it before setting it down on your desk, which wasn’t too far from her spot on your bed.

You remained standing, leaning on your nightstand and sort of looking around drinking your hot chocolate. Then after a few moments of silence, you found the confidence in yourself to ask, “If you don’t mind, um, why was it hard? Your childhood. You said earlier that it was.”

“I don’t want to put a damper on your time away from home, Y/N,” Wanda told you and looked up. “I should… probably leave and stop pestering you with my being here.” She stood up and you reached over and took her hand. 

“Well, I wanna know,” you insisted, perhaps a bit assertively, but you wanted to instil in her the knowledge that she wasn’t going to bother you, and a feeling that you wanted to know what was on her mind without explicitly saying you were curious about what was bothering her.

She regarded you for a little bit and you looked at her in return while she was weighing whether or not she should involve you in things she wished she’d never exposed you to. But it was true — Wanda had a difficult time saying no to you.

“It was hard because she has never been any less authoritative than she is now, even in my younger years,” she finally answered.

You carefully let go of her and set your mug down, then took a seat on the bed and in your silent eye contact with her, gestured that she sit down too. 

Almost hesitantly, Wanda obliged and sat down beside you. 

“How does Pietro deal with it?” you asked.

She put her hands in her lap and looked down at her knees. “No, Pietro was different,” she answered. “Pietro was always the perfect son. He did not have to worry about my mother being the way that she is with me, cynical and judgemental, because he’d always been mama’s pride.”

Wanda added, “We are very close. He went to the wedding and I talk with him often, but… yes, we had vastly different childhoods.”

“So, you had to deal with her on your own?”

She nodded and drew patterns against her knee with her fingernail, not looking up. “Her expectations, her criticisms,” she replied. “Could you believe that she’s been saying the same things to me all my life? Things that weigh down on me now I’ve heard her say since I was fourteen.”

Iryna was indeed harsh. You remembered how she called Wanda an ‘unaccomplished housewife,’ and you’d hardly even known her at the time. 

“I wanted to make my mother happy, and I’ve done everything she’s asked me to. I married a man who provides for me and I have a family,” Wanda said. “And still… I’m still not enough for her.”

You couldn’t tell if you felt more angry with Iryna or sad for Wanda. All you knew was that there was a terrible pit in your stomach listening to Wanda recount her experiences with her mother. 

“The days leading up to the wedding, I kept thinking about how happy she would be once she saw me achieving what she’d always wanted for me. I imagined her helping me with the wedding planning and her finally telling me that she was proud of me. But she didn’t even come. I begged her to, I told her she’d enjoy being there, and even that Pietro was coming. Then she visits, out of nowhere, after having not even mentioned wanting to see me since the first year I immigrated to America. And all she can do is pick apart my life; nothing I do is good enough for her. But I wish something was.”

Though you felt slightly useless for it, you took Wanda’s hand. She’d never talked about her mother before, not even when the two of you were together. She wrapped her fingers around your hand and you felt reassured in your action. 

And then Wanda was… She was crying. Her tears fell against your hand and she raised her other to her face, wiping her tears but mostly hiding herself from you, ashamed of taking advantage of your patience. 

“Wanda…” you whispered. “It’s okay.” She tried to move away when you wrapped your arm around her shoulders, upset with herself for being so pitiful as to cry in front of you. But you insisted and your arm rounded her shoulders tightly, your other hand squeezing hers. 

Eventually she moved into your embrace, leaning her head against your chest and crying into you. It came to her how unfulfilled she felt and how much she was disappointing everyone, especially you. She felt like a child for being so upset. She felt pathetic. She wished she was more capable, more competent in being a better wife, a better daughter, a better stepmother. 

You let go of her hand and wrapped both arms around her, enveloping her in a secure embrace while you hushed her softly against the side of her head.

She wiped her tears from her cheeks then straightened a little in your arms to be able to look up at you. “I’m sorry,” she said. 

“Don’t apologise,” you told her and dropped one of your arms to allow her more space to move. 

“No, not about that, I…” Wanda sniffled and took a breath before meeting your eyes. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just— I couldn’t be with you. I’m much past the age I was supposed to be to get married and have children. You have no idea how badly I wanted to…”

She trailed off then looked back up and continued, “But I needed to make something of myself. I’m thirty-two now, and you’re a college student. I felt like it was time I did something serious for myself. I needed to settle with a husband and have children. But I was happy we could stay together. I wanted to stay close with you, but you didn’t want to. You still don’t want anything to do with me.”

A sense of anxiety came over you when Wanda began to talk about her history with you. You weren’t ready to discuss what had happened between the two of you back then, and the heavy feeling of rejection came back up your throat as if the day their engagement was announced to you was only yesterday. 

You stood up, taking your arms off of her and stepping back. “I-I think you should leave.”

Wanda sniffled and stood up, wiping her eyes once more and moving towards you. “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay and talk with you. I want to be here with you,” she confessed.

“I can’t talk about this, Wanda,” you said. She took your hand and prevented you from moving back from her any further. 

She insisted, “You don’t have to talk. Just listen.” 

When you finally met her eyes and shut your mouth, waiting for her to speak, Wanda took a breath. Then she spoke, “There’s a lot I have to apologise for in how I treated you and how I handled things with you. I’m sorry for throwing away the trust that I’d earned from you. I’m sorry for thinking that you’d just follow along with the decision I made without telling you about it first. I’m sorry for putting some nonexistent, childish desire to please my mother over you. I should’ve treated you with the respect that you deserve.”

Wanda looked into your eyes for a few silent moments, seemingly gaining some sort of confidence before her voice broke as she said, “I miss you so much. I think about you all the time when you’re away at school, and even when you’re home. I wish you would forgive me. I wish you would give me your attention.”

She inhaled and while you were frozen, she stepped towards you again so she was standing close in front of you. “I know it’s selfish. I know I’m selfish. But I want you to forgive me.”

Your legs felt weak.

Would it be a bad time to faint?

“I’m supposed to say that I would understand and that I would be okay if you never forgave me and if you hated me, and I would try, but I wouldn’t be able to,” Wanda confessed. She had all her cards face-up on the table. There was no point in hiding now. “Please forgive me.”

You looked at her with uncertainty, or perhaps a blank expression. You couldn’t imagine what you looked like now. All you could come to comprehend was the look on Wanda’s face, the desperation in her eyes, and you could feel the way she squeezed your hand.

“Wanda…” you whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

She took one final step towards you and cupped the side of your face with her warm hand. “Let me show you,” she said softly, her eyes on yours as she leaned forward. Her lips met yours and her eyes closed along with yours. 

It’d been so long.

Your hand lifted to her lower back and pulled her against you carefully as Wanda’s soft lips moved against yours, the very slow speed of her kiss full of impassioned fragility. You walked forwards and Wanda followed, taking steps back until the back of her knees met with your bed. She sat down and parted from the kiss.

She looked up at you as you stood in front of her and she tucked her hands under your shirt. She lifted it slowly and uncovered your stomach before pressing soft kisses there. One hand held your shirt up while the other ran up your side gently, her delicate fingers brushing against your skin and leaving shivers in their wake.

“Come sit down,” Wanda muttered against your skin then lifted her head to look at you again. You sat beside her and she lowered herself onto her knees so you were looking down at her. Her hands ran up your clothed thighs, her eyes not leaving yours for a moment until they darted down to your buttoned jeans. 

Slowly, her hands moved up further and she undid your jeans, her head lolling to the side and resting against your knee. 

From this angle, you could see down Wanda’s dress and at her white bralette, its delicate lace resting against her soft breasts and her nipples hardened against her dress. You swallowed, feeling your cheeks flush as your stepmother slipped your jeans with your panties down to your ankles and tugging them off. She pushed them to the side and moved herself between your thighs, revealing your glistening pussy. 

She gave you one more look and a gentle smile before moving forward and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your cunt. Her hands moved up your hips, one moving to flatten against your lower back and the other slipping back down to rub your bare thigh. 

Her tongue darted out and flicked at the hood of your clit, making you inhale sharply. Her tongue extended and she flattened it against your clit, the tip of it brushing deftly against your opening.

You saw her eyebrows push together as your flavour spread against her tongue. The hand against your back rounded your hip and she laid it against your stomach, gently pushing you back onto your elbows to allow her more access to you. 

Eagerly, she delved deeper, her head burying itself further between your thighs. Her tongue teased at your opening before her lips wrapped around your clit, sucking softly then loosening to apply suction to your entire pussy. She released a few times with gentle pops then ran her tongue up your cunt and through your folds that became stickier by the second.

Your hand came to the back of your head and you entangled your fingers with her hair, looking down your stomach at her as she ate you out. “Fuck, Wanda, you look so pretty,” you uttered and you sort of saw her blush, and that made you smile.

Wanda’s hand came to your lower stomach and her thumb began rubbing circles against your clit while her mouth moved south, her tongue sliding itself in and out of your hole, coaxing herself further and further into you as she switched between having her tongue inside you and flicking it against the rim of your opening.

Her eyes opened and green eyes met yours with a chilling focus and you could swear you nearly started choking on the air you were breathing. 

Jesus Christ. 

Your fingers tightened around her hair and used it as a means to keep her pressed against your pussy while your hips began to buck upwards, grinding your cunt against her face. Each time you moved yourself upwards, Wanda’s lips parted momentarily from you and you could hear the wet suckling of her lips from around your pussy.

Your head was thrown back when she lifted herself from her heels and moved onto her knees. Both of her hands came to your ass, lifting you up against her as she ate you out with an indescribable fervour after growing impatient with the way you kept pulling your cunt away from her mouth with your thrusting.

“Come in my mouth, Y/N,” she breathed against you, her words muffled. “I’m here for you.”

Your orgasm coiled tight in your stomach and it took only a harsh pressure from Wanda’s thumb for you to finally come against her chin and mouth. Your walls constricted around her tongue and her thumb maintained its flicks against your clit. 

Slowly, as you came down from your high, Wanda’s thumb ceased its actions and she carefully began cleaning you up, careful not to overstimulate you. She slid her hands out underneath you and watched you from between your thighs as you caught your breath, her fingers wiping at her chin and around her mouth. 

There was a momentary feeling of doubt that came over her, the idea that perhaps you’d just send her home feeling worse than she ever had while feeling no less affectionate towards her as you did an hour ago. But you moved yourself onto your hands and leaned down to her, cupping her cheeks with her hair between your fingers. 

You kissed her lips after angling her face up and Wanda closed her eyes, still on her knees as you sat in front of her. One hand moved down and you wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her up so she was on her feet. 

Parting from the kiss, you buried yourself in her breasts, pressing kisses up the soft swells that made the sweetest little moans leave your stepmother while your hands did quick work of undoing her dress. Wanda’s hand rested on your shoulders, fingers playing with your hair a little bit. 

Your hands lifted to her sleeves and pulled them down her arms. Her dress fell to the floor and left Wanda in her bra and underwear in front of you. You trailed gentle kisses up from her lower stomach, your hands following along with your lips as they moved up her sides, squeezing her gently, possessively, until your lips reached the valley of her breasts. 

Standing from the bed, your hand went to the side of her neck and supported her head as you delved into her neck, kissing her there and sucking gently at her pulse point. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” you told her.

Wanda buried her face in shoulder, overcome by your compliments and feeling her eyes well up from the sheer joy she felt being with you. She was led onto the bed and you kissed her hip when she was on her knees before she laid onto her back, her hair spread out against your pillows. She watched as you dug through your nightstand, eyes following as you lifted a strap and its harness out.

Teasingly, you moved the tip of the cock to her face and ran it down the line of her jaw and you and Wanda exchanged a humoured smile before you kissed her forehead. She watched in admiration as you stepped into the harness and fastened it around your hips. Then you undressed in front of her until you were completely bare and Wanda felt her heart skip several beats.

When you leaned over and kissed her while you got onto the bed on top of Wanda, she lifted her hands to your body, one hand brushing against your breasts and the other running up your side as one would caress a work of art. 

You kissed her cheek and trailed kisses down to the corner of your stepmother’s jaw. Your hands rounded her body and unclipped her bra, then discarded it somewhere onto the floor. With two hands, you groped her breasts then squeezed them together before running your tongue over each erect nipple, feeling pride in the way Wanda’s breathing quickened.

“Turn around and stick your ass up in the air,” you told her. She obeyed immediately, her hands wrapped around the top of your pillow, her back arched and her ass stuck up for you.

You moved onto your knees, hands running up her hips then down the sides of her thighs, taking with you her panties. They were slid from her ankles and you lowered yourself to part her pussy with your thumbs, making Wanda hum in embarrassment into your pillow and bury her face into it. 

“Tell me that you know you have a pretty pussy, Wanda,” you instructed, looking up over the curve of her ass to look at her. She turned her head and uncovered her face.

“I… I have a pretty pussy,” she repeated bashfully. 

You smiled then patted her beautiful pink folds with your fingers, making her flinch forward slightly. “That’s right. Smart girl.”

Slowly, you slid your strap between her thighs then rounded your hips to her between her thighs where you pressed the tip of your cock up against her core. You carefully thrusted against her cunt until she became slick with her juices.

Wanda’s eyebrows stitched together and her lips parted to release her tiny moans, her fingers tightening around your pillows at the feeling of your cock rubbing against her delicate cunt. Then you slid your cock into her hole and began thrusting. Her eyes screwed shut and her moans became louder. 

“Is this okay? Do you like that?”

“Yes,” she breathed out.

You pressed, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes,” she said hastily, then reached back to tap your hips with her fingers. “Faster, I want it faster. Don’t be gentle, Y/N. I can take it for you. I can take anything for you. Fuck me hard.”

You wrapped your arms around her hips and jerked her body back against you while you thrusted your hips forward into her bare ass. Your leg was lifted up around her thigh and pulled you against her further, giving you more leverage to fuck down into her pussy. 

Her ass bounced beautifully each time you rutted against her, skin slapping rapidly as you fucked your stepmother. She moaned noisily, half her face shrouded from being pressed against her pillow. She whimpered and squealed when you took a handful of her ass and squeezed painfully before delivering a harsh slap to the delicate flesh.

You spanked her over and over until the soft ivory of her skin became a flushed red. You took pleasure in the way Wanda cried out at the feeling of being hit by you. 

Driven by the sounds of her cries, you spanked her one more time then took her hair into your fist, pulling her up and forcing Wanda to put her arms out and hold herself up, arching her back and applying more pressure onto your hips from her ass. Her hand reached back further and she placed it flat against your lower back, encouraging your thrusts. 

With your one arm still wrapped securely around her hips, holding her in place, you let go of her hair and took her wrist instead with your free hand and pulled her backwards, arching her back almost painfully and only pulling her back against your hips further.

“Take my cock, Wanda,” you grunted. “Fuck. Take it just like that, stupid slut.”

“I love your cock, Y/N,” she whined. “L-Love your cock.”

You watched as her breasts bounced with every one of your thrusts and you let go of her wrist to grope one, twisting one of her nipples and making her mewl something high-pitched and desperate. 

Your hand rounded her body and you shoved her forward so her face was pressed back down into your pillow. Your hands wrapped around her hips and took hold of her body, fucking her pussy on your cock like she was a lifeless little fucktoy. 

Her hands grasped at the bed sheets, pleasure coming over her body in overwhelming waves and making Wanda into nothing but your cockdrunk slut, whining and crying out your name, whimpering with every harsh thrust into her pussy.

“Y/N!” she cried out when she felt her walls begin to squeeze around your strap. “Ah! I’m going to come, Y/N—” Her words were cut off when she came around you, her loud moans reducing into a long cry that was constricted even further into tiny squeals. 

Her sweaty body fell forward and she attempted to catch her breath until you continued fucking into her. “N-No more, Y/N, I can’t,” she pleaded, trying to pull away from you and move herself off of your cock.

You pulled her arm back and lifted her up before sliding your cock out of her. 

“Please, I can’t do anymore, I’m—” 

You cut off Wanda’s pleads with a harsh kiss and she immediately melted into your arms, letting you turn her body and press her back against the adjacent wall your bed was pressed up against. You lifted her thigh up and positioned yourself between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around your waist and you thrusted yourself back into her. 

An arm snaked around her waist and you helped her bounce on your cock while you thrusted forward against her, her upper back pressed against your wall. Her arms wrapped around your neck for support as you started fucking her against the wall, her breasts pressed against yours and her head lolled forward, her forehead slick with her sweat laying against your cheek.

“You’re gonna take my fucking cock, dirty slut,” you bit, grunting into her ear. “I’ll fuck you whenever I please. Won’t you let me, mommy? Won’t you let your special girl use your slutty pussy whenever I want?” 

“Y-Yes, yes, Y/N,” Wanda answered. “You can take what you want. I’m yours.”

Your hand moved between your bodies and you squeezed Wanda’s breast before you ducked your head down and wrapped your lips around one of her nipples. She sighed out at the heavenly feeling, opening her eyes just enough to be able to see you suckling greedily at her through the mess of her damp hair.

Her orgasm quickly built up again and her fingernails clawed at your upper back, feeling that this orgasm was creeping up stronger than the last. “I’m close, Y/N,” she whispered, her throat sore from crying out.

“Come for me, mommy,” you told her, biting down on her nipple and making her yelp out. Then you lifted your head and kissed her cheek to grunt into her ear, “Show your sweet babygirl how much you love her big thick cock fucking your tight little pussy.”

Wanda’s hand slid up to the back of your head and she held you in place, loving the feeling of having you close to her. Her head lolled back against the wall and she let you scratch at her hips and grope her breasts, bite down on her neck and pull her hair.

The pressure in her lower stomach finally snapped and Wanda partially-muffled her pleasured screams with her face buried in your neck, allowing you to hear each break in the outcries of her orgasm, the way she called out your name, each syllable ghosting against the tip of her tongue as she spoke it through her release. Her thighs tightened around your hips, keeping you in place.

With her arms squeezed around you, her sweaty body warm and breathing hard against your own, you suddenly felt overcome by a wave of emotion.

When you lifted your head to see Wanda after having come down from her high with her head laying against your shoulder, her messy strands of hair against her damp forehead and her mascara mostly gone and slightly smudged under her eyes, her lipstick faded and likely spread across your own face, you felt that you’d never seen anything so beautiful.

“Are you feeling alright?” you asked. 

“I’m so happy,” she replied quietly, her eyes closed. “I love being with you.”

With a smile, you lifted her from the wall and laid her down on the bed, letting her breathing steady for a moment while you removed the harness from around your hips and laid it down on the floor.

“That tired me out,” she huffed when you laid yourself on top of her.

“Old woman,” you teased and buried your face in her neck, kissing up to her jaw. “Who knew you’d be so good at eating pussy?”

She grinned slyly albeit with a twinge of fatigue that made her look so cute. “You couldn’t have guessed?”

“What was your time in college like? Were you as much of a slut then as you are now?”

Wanda laughed and you kissed the corner of her mouth, adoring the way she looked when she smiled. “Bigger.”

“No way.”

She laughed harder. “I’m kidding.”

“Dude. I was ready with several questions if you were actually more slutty then than you are now. Because I mean… damn.”

“Y/N,” Wanda giggled.

“I’m joking. I think you’re amazing, you know?” 

You kissed her temple, letting your lips linger for a couple moments while Wanda closed her eyes, letting herself feel loved. 

When you pulled away, she opened them and met your eyes. “I know.”

“Cool,” you said and laughed through your nose. You slipped off of her and helped Wanda get under the blankets before you followed. Carefully, you removed her earrings and reached over her to set them down on the nightstand. Then you kissed her. 

Wanda’s hands came to the sides of your face, her thumbs rubbing your cheekbones gently, adoringly. She pecked your lips one more time when you pulled away. “I want to wake up with your hands on me. I want to be yours even in my sleep.”

“You’d like that, mommy?” you teased lightheartedly.

Wanda flushed and looked away, but you kissed her cheek and you felt the corner of her lips pull up into a smile against your own. “It makes me blush when you call me that.”

“Stay the night,” you told her. “Don’t leave.”

“Really? Here?”

You nodded.

She asked, “On the couch?”

“No,” you laughed. “Here. Right here. With me.”

Wanda regarded you with soft eyes and a small smile, feeling so filled with love and admiration for you. Then she said, “You’re going to regret doing this with me, Y/N. Maybe not tonight when you wake up and find me still here laying with you, or tomorrow, but someday you will.”

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked and moved onto your elbow.

“It is no life for someone as young as you with so many other opportunities to find something better, to choose a life with someone older. Someone like me. Even if only for a short while.”

You shook your head immediately and Wanda cupped your cheek with your hand, telling you that she understood and that it was okay. But you brushed her hand off of you and looked down at her seriously. “Wanda, this isn’t just going to be a short while. I… I want this. I want you.”

“You don’t want me.”

“I do,” you insisted sternly. She shook her head and looked away. You placed your hand on the side of her face and made her look at you. “Why are you doing that? Why don’t you believe me?”

“All I do is disappoint people, Y/N. You don’t think that, at some point, my mother had faith in me? And everyone who ever thought I’d be more than what I am now? And you?”

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, feeling yourself tear up. 

“Don’t cry, baby, please,” Wanda said, reaching up to wipe your tears. But you sat up out of her reach and looked down at her.

“This is real, Wanda,” you told her and dropped your hands into your lap. “It’s real. How I feel about you is real. It isn’t just going to be something that’ll go away when you make a mistake or when things get hard. I’m not going to go anywhere.” She looked up at you, seemingly astonished. “You’re not going to get rid of me. I’m not going to let you.”

She whispered your name quietly, but you continued, “I don’t care what you think will happen. I want to be with you.”

You must’ve started crying at some point because Wanda sat up and wrapped her arms around you, rubbing her hand up and down your back, hushing you softly and holding you close to her. Your tears warmed her bare shoulder and you hugged your arms around her. 

“Okay, I believe you, Y/N,” she said.

“No, you don’t. You’re just saying that to make me stop crying.”

Wanda pulled away and looked at you. “No, I’m not. I believe you,” she asserted. Her arms unwrapped from around your shoulders and she held your face in her hands. “Thank you.”

It was when your tears finally dried that you saw that Wanda was crying too. You leaned forward and kissed her. “You won’t leave? In the middle of the night or something?” you asked. She shook her head. 

Wanda laid back down in your bed and you followed after turning the lamp on your bedside table off. You wrapped her arms around her body the moment you sunk down in bed with her, your bare bodies sharing in each other’s warmths under the blankets. 

“I love you,” you promised.

She replied, “I love you too.”

Wrapped in your body and feeling filled to the brim with your promises of love and commitment, Wanda was kept up in your bed after you fell asleep as she basked in the scent of you, the silence of your bedroom, the sound of your breathing. 

Iryna always had the power of making Wanda feel like a child, of a wandering daydreamer with an overly-sensitive spirit set on a path of following her heart and nothing more.

Maybe her mother was right about her.

And for the first time in all her life, Wanda felt proud about that.

[augustinewrites]

“your nose is running again.”

you shoot a glare at alhaitham’s reflection in your vanity, swiping at your nose and clearing your throat a few times before croaking, “it is not.”

“tch.” he has the audacity to look unimpressed with your lie, fiddling with the collar of the nice shirt you’d practically wrestled him into for tonight. “this happens every year, i don’t know why you keep trying to deny it.”

“there’s nothing to deny, because i’m a doctor and we don’t—” you pause, face scrunching when you feel a sneeze trying to fight its way out of your system. “— get sick.” 

so what if your throat was scratchy and your entire face felt hot with sinus pressure? one could claim it was allergies, not sickness. 

taking a seat to pull on his shoes, alhaitham only scoffs disbelievingly at you. he’s acting so smug, and maybe that’s because last week you’d ignored his warning about how cold nighttime in the desert got. or maybe because you refused to take the vitamin c tablets he put beside your coffee each morning because their texture was like that of chalk. 

before he can open his mouth and say these things, the sneeze you’d been fighting takes you by surprise. you immediately turn away and lift your elbow, sneezing into it not once, not twice, but five times in quick succession.

(okay, so maybe you were feeling a little under the weather.)

you turn away from the dresser with a sharp look in your eye, just daring him to let slip the i told you so that always seemed to be sitting on the tip of his tongue.

instead, you feel his fingers tugging at the laces of your dress and his lips pressing softly against your forehead. (too warm, you swear he murmurs.)

“we don’t have to go if you aren’t feeling well. nilou will understand. do you really want to be fighting a cold while you’re surrounded by a group of your friends—”

“our friends,” you correct with a sniffle.

he ignores you. “who are going to make you—”

“make us.” 

“—endure cake and small talk?”

you roll your eyes. for someone so fearsome, your husband really could be quite dramatic, brought to his knees by something as simple as cake and small talk. 

“we missed her performance last month because we were stuck with work, so we’re not missing her birthday.” you turn around to shove lightly at his shoulder. “and don’t think you can use my cold as an excuse to get out of this party.”

alhaitham pulls back to look down at you with an irritating combination of a scoff and a smirk on his lips. “ah, so you finally admit that you have a cold? maybe if you’d taken the vitamin c for your immunity like someone suggested...”

“those supplements taste like shit, haitham,” you cough, expression pinching as you recall the disgusting tablets that you’ve called ‘not as good as the real thing.’ “the only vitamin c i like is in those mondstadt imported sunsettias...”

“you’re like a child,” he scolds. “now get undressed and back in bed before—”

“undressed?” you question, swatting his hands away from your dress. “i’m going to the party.”

“no, you’re not.”

“what if i—”

“no.”

“but darling—”

“sorry, love, but you’re not going anywhere tonight,” he decides, ignoring your quiet grumbles of protest. “i know you don’t get sick often, but when you do it hits you pretty hard.”

he leaves the room briefly at that, returning with something sitting in his palm. 

you shake your head, holding your hands out to keep him back. “no. no! that stuff is worse than the vitamin c.”

“huh, if you’d taken that, then maybe you could have avoided this.” he hums, unscrewing the lid and letting that disgustingly sweet, syrupy scent flood the room. it was so potent that even you clogged sinuses could pick it up. “perhaps, doctor, one of these years you’ll learn to take your own advice. or perhaps listen to your husband’s…”

you lean backwards when he reaches for your chin. “haitham, if you make me drink that i will call the general mahamatra on you.”

“go ahead, he doesn’t scare me.”

he tries again, only for you to side-step his hand. “take your damn medicine!” 

“you’re not supposed to yell at a sick person!” 

“i’m not yelling. i’m simply insisting because you are being childish.”

maybe you were being childish, but that medicine was just so damn gross. “can i at least go down and say hi to everyone?” you try. “it’s been so long since i’ve seen them all.”

“fine, but only for ten minutes. and you have to take your medicine first.”

“but it always makes me sleepy,” you argue. “then you’ll be there enduring cake and small talk all by yourself.”

“it’s a birthday party, not a war. i think i’ll survive.”

you scowl at him, snatching the bottle and taking a gulp of the bitter liquid. “yeah, yeah. just wait until a drunk kaveh gets his hands on you and i’m not there to save you.”

the medicine starts taking effect almost instantly. you make it eleven minutes on your own feet before you’re clinging to alhaitham’s arm and leaning heavily into his side, nose still leaking and throat still tickling.

by then, all it takes is a single, ‘you don’t look too well’ from tighnari to convince alhaitham to drag you up into nilou’s spare room and into bed. 

too disoriented and drowsy to argue anymore, you thank him dazedly and reach out to pat his cheek before letting your eyes drift shut.

__________

you’re not too sure how long it’s been when you wakes, but when you pry your tired eyes open, there’s a tray of steaming food on your bedside table. the room is glowing and warm, the source being the flickering candle that alhaithm is reading his book under

he glances up when you shift in bed, closing his book. “feeling better?” 

“‘m not leaking anymore,” you shrugs, rubbing at the tip of your nose. “how long was i out for?”

“a little over two hours,” he answers, taking a seat at your bedside and pressing a hand to your forehead. “you’re not as warm as before. the medicine must be working.”

“yeah, well i still feel gross,” you mutter, not wanting to give that disgusting concoction too much credit.

“you look it, too.”

“the akademiya scribe,” you mutter, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “charming as ever.” 

he scoffs at that, scooping up the tray of food in one hand and offering you his other. “charming enough that the amurta darshan’s sage took my last name.”

“well, don’t let it get to your head,” you huff, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. his thumb strokes your wedding band as he guides you to sit on a fur rug positioned in front of the fire. “pretty hard to say no to a guy that practically begs you to marry him.” 

“it was not begging—”

“haitham, dearest, that’s exactly what it was.”

you burst into a fit of giggles when he tells you to save it, his cheeks turning pink at the memory. your laughter quickly dissolves into a series of coughs, to which alhaitham pounds you on the back a little harder than necessary. 

“alright, you had your fun,” he murmurs, picking up a bowl of soup. “you need to eat something. i made your favourite,” he dips the spoon into the bowl. “i already picked out the cabbage,” he adds when you open your mouth to complain. 

unable to deny the slight rumble of your stomach, you reach for the spoon in his hand, pouting when he pulls it away. “i can feed myself,” you protest, voice hoarse from your coughing fit.

“the last time i let you feed yourself when you were sick, you sneezed and ended up throwing a spoonful of soup in my face,” he reminds you, the grim look on his face making it seem as if you’d stabbed him with the spoon instead. “open up.”

you narrow your eyes at the spoonful of soup. “it’s red,” you state. the original colour of recipe was a warm, almost translucent gold. 

“good to know your eyes are still working.”

“haitham,” you groan. “you know i don’t handle spice as well as you.”

“it’ll help clear up your sinuses,” he reasons, though there’s something teasing twitching at the corner of his lips. 

your body is wracked by another series of sneezes, each one stronger than the last, making him laugh.

“are you sure you’re done?” he teases, handing you a tissue.

“a good husband would just say, bless you,” you pout, blowing your nose and weakly tossing the soiled tissue at him. 

defeated by a clogged nose and a smug husband, you reluctantly open your mouth and let him spoon-feed you the eye-wateringly spicy soup. it slides down your throat like fire, and it…kind of does help with your sinuses and throat. 

you’d never admit that, though. it’s a new low you’ve discovered, a doctor taking medical advice from a semiotics major. 

the universe always finds ways to keep us humble.

when the bowl is half-empty and alhaitham is convinced you’ve eaten enough, he sets the bowl aside and wraps a blanket around your shoulders before he goes. your eyes are drooping again, the result of a warm blanket enveloping you and a satisfied stomach. 

he returns with a glass of water and a cool washcloth, gently pressing it to your forehead before situating himself behind you. “need anything else?”

letting yourself relax against his chest, you shake your head. his arms are warm around you, the steady sound of his heart and the soothing light of the candle slowly lulling you to sleep once more. 

“shouldn’t you get back to the party?” you murmur sleepily. but you’re already snuggling against him, hands curling greedily into the soft material of his shirt to keep him close.

“not particularly. i’ve already greeted nilou and done my share of…small talk,” he explains quietly. his small sigh is heavy, his posture deflating slightly. it wasn’t that he disliked your shared friends or their company, it was just that his social battery ran out faster than others, and without you there to keep him afloat? two hours was more than enough for him. 

“besides, i can’t exactly relax if i know that you’re up here positively suffering.” 

“you’re teasing me, but fine, i’ll let you stay.” 

no medicine or soup could do to you what a warm blanket and your annoying, teasing husband could for you, anyway.

[yunjardi]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝!𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

[𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 [𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢], 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞 & 𝐲/𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱 (𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠), 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫, 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭, 𝐰𝐡��𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐦𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠!]

𝐩.𝐬. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 '𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬' 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞!

"but babe," jake pouted as he looked up at your face from the way his head was positioned on your lap, "trying for another won't hurt, right?"

'another' meaning another baby.

"jakey," you sighed, lacing your fingers between strands of his silky black hair, "i love you but being pregnant was such a pain in the ass, and i'm not sure if i wanna do that again. besides, when we tried for a baby last time, we ended up with two." you chuckled softly, recalling the shock on jake's face when the ultrasound revealed two little peanut-shaped things inside your tummy. needless to say, having twins was far from anything you planned, but you wouldn't want it any other way.

"okay, but think about it," jake started excitedly as he sat up from your lap, "having 3 cute little babies running around the house and playing with layla. isn't that so cute? i know how much you love the little pitter-patter of the twins' tiny feet on the floor." he became an excited puppy by simply voicing his thoughts of having another baby. "plus, your sex drive was way up while you were pregnant," jake added with a smirk.

he wasn't wrong; your sex drive was completely out of control while you were pregnant with the twins. so much that you and jake had sex or did something of sexual nature at least twice a week.

and as for the thought of your family growing, jake was right; it was adorable to think about, but you weren't too sure you'd be able to handle it. you and jake's daughters were still young, and adding another baby into the picture would most likely drive you crazy but after thinking about what jake said, you weren't completely against it. maybe this time the baby would bear more of your features than the twins do, both of them sharing most of jake's genetics such as his boba-like puppy-dog eyes and pretty lips. also, jake was an amazing father to your kids, and you knew he was more than capable of handling anything baby-related that came his way.

your baby girls getting pouty? jake knows exactly what to do to put smiles back on their faces. putting the girls to bed? jake is a natural at getting the two to fall asleep. teaching the girls how to use their manners? jake is an expert at guiding them toward kindness.

after all, he'd been dreaming of having a family of his own for years.

and that's how you ended up caving.

"okay, we can try on one condition," you stated to which jake nodded for you to keep going, "we stop trying at the end of the week when the girls come home." jake sighed lightly but agreed, giddy and excited that you agreed to try for another baby.

the girls were with jake's parents for the whole week because his mom figured the two of you could use a break from your daughters considering the fact that you've been practically hovering over them for 2 years straight. little did his mom know, you guys were about to use this little break to make another baby, which is the whole reason you were given a break in the first place.

jake was quick to begin running his big hands all over your body, not wanting to waste a second of precious time he could be using to fuck you until you were guaranteed pregnant. you undressed yourself until you were only covered by your matching bra and panty set that jake had bought you as a way of hinting that he wanted to have sex as often as you two used to before having the twins. you pulled on jake's arm as a way to get him to lay on the bed as you became needier by the second, but he insisted on getting undressed before hopping onto the bed, wanting to tease you by making you wait.

"please hurry," you begged quietly as his metal belt buckle clinked lightly, the sound making you more aroused knowing that you were about to get your pussy pounded.

"my needy girl," jake chuckled sexily as he climbed into the bed wearing only boxers, "tell me how badly you want to be filled up, how badly you want me to give you another little baby." jake's words were sweet but had a somewhat mischievous undertone which never failed to turn you on.

jake knew exactly what to say and do to make you become so aroused that you couldn't think of anything but him.

"daddy," you mewled needily, "need you now." jake couldn't help but get an ego boost from witnessing how impatient you became when you were deprived of his touch.

carefully, jake hovered himself on top of you, balancing himself with one forearm while using the other to spread your legs wider. you let out a soft whimper when jake lowered his hips down to yours, rubbing his clothed hard-on on your wet panties. the pace that he chose to go at was painfully slow, making you needier and needier by the second.

"please?" you begged once again as you grew more and more desperate to which jake let out a low and sexy chuckle at your neediness. "you want me already?" jake asked with sarcasm, his hand trailing from your abdomen down into your panties, his cold fingers sending chills all over your body, "i can tell by how wet your pussy has gotten for me in such a short amount of time." you felt shy at jake's sudden comment, your head instinctively turning away to avoid him seeing your bashful expression. "you're gonna make me blush," you pouted from underneath him. "it seems i already have," jake pointed out with a chuckle as he swiftly swapped your positions, him now being on the bottom while you straddled him, "i love how innocent you look before i fuck you like a slut." his comment almost made you pout again, but you held your true reaction in because you knew that he'd only prolong his teasing if you reacted like that; jake loved seeing how flustered you got when he'd sweet-talk you.

"wipe the innocence off my face, jake," you breathed out whilst running your hands down his torso. he gulped at the sudden sensation of goosebumps forming on every inch of his body. "fuck," jake breathed out as he toyed with the elastic waistband of your panties, eventually beginning to pull them down your waist until they were around your ankles to which you lifted your legs up one at a time to fully take them off and discard them onto the floor somewhere. now that your bottom half was left bare on his boxers, jake became more eager to touch you.

swiftly, jake lightly lifted you to the side so that he could discard his boxers. you bit your lip at the sight of his pretty cock springing out of his boxers and hitting his lower abdomen. jake couldn't help but smirk at the way your eyes were glued to his member.

"are you ready for me, baby?" jake asked amorously as he pumped his cock with his hand. in response, you gently grabbed his hand and led it down to your dripping hole, moaning quietly as you let his fingers dance around your entrance before letting go of his hand. "well, that answers my question," jake chuckled sexily as he rolled you into your side and put one of his big hands on your thigh, lifting it up so he could have easy access to your pussy. you couldn't help but get wetter at the fact that jake was starting off in your favorite position. he knew how much you liked being fucked rough but also maintaining romantic skin-ship, therefore side-fucking was the way to go.

he teased your clit with his thick tip before letting it pass through the first few inches of your entrance, causing you to let out a gasp as you gripped on the duvet. jake gave you some time to get used to his size since you guys weren't having sex as often anymore, but it ultimately turned him on even more to feel your walls grip desperately to his hard cock. you mewled out as he slowly began to pull his cock in and out of your needy hole, your body becoming more engulfed in pleasure with every stroke. you felt yourself becoming weak upon his touch.

"it's so deep," you moaned out as jake trailed his hand down to the skin right below your belly button, applying pressure to the spot where you could feel him inside you. you couldn't help but squirm as jake let his free hand touch all over your body, still continuing to pound your pussy while leaving harsh spanks on your ass until you were sure his hand print was left on your skin.

"if i cum right now, you'll feel it all up in here, right, baby?" jake smirked while rubbing circles on your lower abdomen, "you're gonna be so full when i'm done with you." nodding, you grabbed onto his wrist to squeeze it, overwhelmed with pleasure as you bit down on your lip to conceal your moans. "jake!" you moaned out loudly in pure pleasure, instinctively putting your hand over your mouth to keep quiet since you were used to having to do so. jake gently took your hand off your mouth and guided it down to your clit instead. "no need to stay quiet, baby," jake whispered in your ear, kissing your neck softly, "let it all out; moan like a whore for me. you know how much i love the way you sound when i fuck you." his statement alone was enough to cause a little mewl to escape your lips. "that's my good girl," jake praised lowly as he continued his clean thrusts.

"w-want to be on top of you," you subtly requested with a quiet squeak, "please, daddy?"

hearing you call him 'daddy' while he fucked you was enough to make him cum hard right then and there considering that you were about to make him become a father of three by giving him your body.

"fuck, okay," jake breathed out as he pulled his wet cock out of your pussy and leaned against the headboard, giving you time to get up and sit on top of him. you placed your hands on his shoulders for support as he guided your hips back down into his throbbing hard dick, making you let out a lustful moan once he was all the way inside you again. taking it slow, you began to roll your hips against his, causing his head to fall back in pure pleasure whilst you fucked yourself on his cock. "s-so good," you whined out while bouncing on him, "need to cum so bad, daddy." jake let out a deep groan, melting at how vocal you were being about wanting him. his grip on your waist suddenly tightened as he adjusted himself underneath you, getting ready to abuse your pussy the way he knows you like it. without warning, jake began to thrust his hips into yours, the two of you meeting in the middle with your lower halves.

you couldn't help but let out a loud moan for him as you lost all the stamina you thought you had. jake hammered his thick cock into your tight entrance whilst keeping a strong grip on your waist, wanting you to feel him as deep as you possibly could. he repeatedly hit your sweet spot until you were crying out as you creamed all over his veiny cock, your lower half numbed with pure ecstasy. while you were distracted by your intense orgasm, jake took it upon himself to slickly unclasp your bra and begin sucking on the soft skin of your boobs, causing you to grow even more overstimulated though you didn't mind.

"good girl," jake praised in between the kisses he planted on your breasts as he felt his member become coated with your arousal, "yeah, just like that, keep cumming for me. fuck, i can't wait until your tits get all swollen again when you're pregnant; it's so fucking sexy." jake added, the images of your pretty breasts already sparking in his sex-clouded mind as he continued to tease your sensitive boobs with his tongue.

the deep yet whimpery moans that jake was letting out along with the way his core stiffened was a dead giveaway that he was close to the edge.

"please fill me up," you begged, knowing that he was getting closer and closer by the second, "w-want to have your babies. a-all of them, please." you practically pleaded. and with that, jake was creaming your pussy. the two of you let out synced moans as jake worked his cum deep into you, making sure none of his seed went to waste.

panting, jake let his head hit the pillow that laid beside him as you rested your head against his chest where you could hear his still rapid heartbeat.

"god, this is gonna be a fun week," jake let out an airy chuckle as he held you close.

"this is our last day to try, so you better make the most of it," you teased jake as you booped him on the nose, making him pout. "okay, okay," jake breathed out, "i'll make you feel good." he promised.

gently, jake slid his veiny member past your wet slit as you whimpered and held onto his forearms for comfort. your legs trembled once he fully bottomed out and began thrusting into your sore hole.

after all, you two had been fucking every day that week. jake's determination to get you pregnant again was stronger than you anticipated.

"feeling sensitive?" jake cooed, placing a kiss on your neck. you nodded your head gently while focusing on adjusting to his size. eventually, you were able to calm your body down and let jake take control of pleasing you.

he left no part of your body neglected: your neck was being kissed gently while simultaneously having one of jake's hands tangled in your hair all while being stuffed with his cock. jake always managed to spoil you when it came to sex whether it be rough or slow and passionate. needless to say, you were a lucky girl to have somehow managed to bag such a charming and caring man like jake.

soon, your core began to heat up at the feeling of jake passionately making love to you, the sensation becoming increasingly difficult to handle, but you didn't feel too self conscious about it considering that it was obvious that jake wouldn't last long either.

the two of you fucked so much this week alone to a point where you'd definitely need to take a long break from it.

that being said, the two of you quickly came undone only minutes after starting.

"only time will tell if all of this sex was successful," you giggled, giving jake a kiss on the lips to which he smiled as he kissed you back. "pregnant or not, i still loved fucking you for a whole week," jake remarked, kissing you one last time before the two of you drifted off to sleep.

"i swear, jake, you've gotta make another batch of brownies. please, please, please?" you begged, pestering jake into baking more for you, "plus, even the girls love them as just as much as i do, so it'll be a good surprise for when they wake up from their nap." you added, still trying to convince him by using the family card.

"okay, okay," he sighed with a smile, "after all, i can't say no to the love of my life." jake was met with a swarm of kisses all over his face before you let him make his way into the kitchen. little did he know, you tricked him into making one of your biggest cravings just so you could have some alone time to take a few pregnancy tests while he was occupied.

for the past few weeks, you'd been experiencing some of the same, and a few new, symptoms that you had during your first pregnancy, so taking a test was a bit overdue considering how you'd been feeling.

you quietly crept into you and jake's bedroom and dug through one of your clothing drawers to find the pregnancy tests that you've been hiding away ever since jake mentioned wanting to have another baby.

unboxing the tests, you took a deep breath before taking them, your stomach in knots due to your anxiousness regarding the results. waiting for the tests to process felt like the most grueling three minutes of your entire life, and you felt like you were about to explode. finally, you looked up at the clock and saw that three minutes had passed which meant that the pregnancy tests were fully processed.

taking a deep breath for the nth time, you flipped them over to reveal the results:

double red lines all across the board.

you tried not to squeal with excitement too loudly, still wanting to surprise jake with the joyful news.

you wanted to think of a creative way to tell him, but your excitement got the best of you and caused you to simply walk into the kitchen to tell jake. you kept the tests hidden in your sleeve as you approached the kitchen where jake was stood putting the brownies in the oven. sensing your presence, jake looked over his shoulder to see you watching him with a warm smile on your face, causing a smile to grow on his face as well.

"you may or may not be making those brownies more often," you started, jake cocking his head in confusion, "...because i'm officially eating for two again!" you exclaimed as revealed the tests to him. "no way, really?" jake said in disbelief, hoping that you weren't joking but upon looking at the tests, he knew you were serious, "oh my god, we're having another baby!"

jake's ecstatic reaction to the news made your heart flutter as you pulled each other into an embrace, slowing rocking each other back and forth.

you knew the next step was to schedule an ultrasound appointment, after hugging jake, of course, so immediately after breaking your embrace, you called the doctor's office.

the highly anticipated day was finally upon you.

the drive to the doctor's office felt like an eternity, and you could tell that jake felt the same way from the way he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. eventually, you arrived and eagerly climbed out of the passenger's seat, holding jake's hand as you walked in. thankfully, you were let in right away with everything ready for your appointment.

you went through the whole question process with the nurse before she finally pulled out the ultrasound machine. you took a deep breath before she placed the camera against your stomach which was a familiar feeling. searching for a few minutes she finally found the area where the baby should be. you studied the screen for a second and after looking hard enough to see, you looked over at jake who had the exact same shocked expression on his face that you remembered from two years ago...

a/n: hi gang 🫵 the (lowkey crappy i'm sorry) sequel for ms. double lines is finally here after a literal month lol. i hope you guys are able to enjoy it :,)

perm. taglist (send an ask to be added!) : @axartia @jjhmk @valiantwastelanddelusion @jayroseyy @ayohahaha @asaheyow @lhsng @i-dalso @bunhoons @red-xherry @duolingofanaccount @lix-freckle3 @l0st-h0p3s @leeis @muffinminnie @green-orangeade @imbaeksbae @sunghoonmybeloved @tum73er @dilftime

©yunjardi on tumblr

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Want You Back | ateez x reader

Pairing: werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

Genre: fluff mostly, romance, poly, a little angst?

Warnings for this chapter: none

Word Count: 1774 words

a/n: ahhhh it's so surreal to know so many of you like this story!! thank you, thank you thank you so much!! your comments, likes and reblogs mean the absolute world to me!! I already have another fic in mind that I can't wait to share hehe. I was hoping to have this posted yesterday but the week was a bit busier. I'm aiming to post twice a week now that the story will pick up from here! hope you enjoy this chapter!! lots of love <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3

Things hadn't been the same for the boys anymore. It was six months since you disappeared, without any trace and they were unable to locate you with their bond. Fear had engulfed them when they were told of the attack. They wasted no time in getting back to the mansion to protect you, as their mate and alpha protectiveness senses rang out.

But when they returned, you were nowhere to be found. Cleo, who had been saved by a member of the pack recounted what happened up until you two went separate ways. They searched for you but came back with no clues.

Where did you go? 

In fact, when they tried to call for you through the soul bond, they discovered how strained the bond had become. 

Slowly, each member began to realise just how little they had seen or been with you, and could not even recall the last time you spent time together. At first they tried to deny the truth, surely, there had to be another reason? They couldn’t fathom not taking notice sooner and allowing the connection to reach like this. 

Hongjoong's father wasted no time in educating them about their actions when they came to him seeking answers, especially when his wife tried to pipe in.

“It’s your fault.” he declared unapologetically. 

As he recounted everything to them, they were shattered and distraught by their actions. It dawned on them how ignorant they were to assume that you would always be there no matter what. If there was anything they were taught, it was how precious life is and how important it is to care for those around you. 

How could they do this to you?

"We all make mistakes." Mr. Kim said, "But one can only be redeemed, when he’s willing to learn from it and make a change."

After that confrontation, neither of the boys were the same again. With you now apart from them, your missing presence was felt more than ever in the home. Yeosang walked the mansion’s hall completely despondent, hoping to possibly find you in the little corner where the two of you read, every time he entered the room. Alas, you were not there. When Yunho woke up every morning and heard movement in the kitchen, his heart raced as he believed it was perhaps you, making breakfast just as you always would…but it was only Seonghwa who carried about low-spirited and disheartened. Yunho noticed the dark circles that were forming under the eldest eyes - Seonghwa never slept like he used to, getting approximately 3 to 4 hours of sleep and waking up at daybreak, trying to busy himself so he could forget the aching feeling in his chest just for a little while. He didn’t cry but rather, bottled up his emotions since being the eldest, he felt like he needed to be the strong one for the others. But, like every glass that reaches its brim, Seonghwa finally broke down when Yunho approached and back-hugged him in the tightest hug possible as he let his own tears fall. 

Unlike Seonghwa, San and Jongho slept all day when they could and only left their rooms, if it was for something important. But nothing else felt important except you, so much to their disdain, they ventured out of their rooms, only to head straight back once they got home. Wooyoung became quieter and stuck to Yeosang like glue. He didn’t do or say anything much, he was just there. Sometimes he would stare at the front door, hoping to see you waltz in with your charming smile and he could rush to you and spin you around like he always did. And then playfully scold you and then apologise profusely.

However, there was one particular wolf who was extremely impacted to the point where nothing could comfort him. While the others still tried to find solace in sleep or in each other, Mingi was unable to find consolation in anything. He felt like his heart had been ripped off his chest and there was a void that was only something you could fill. But they still couldn't find you. Mingi tried to initiate the bond hoping that you would feel it and call out to him, but like all the other times he tried, there was no response. He cried until the early hours of the morning and he could not sleep. Even if he dozed off, his dreams were of you and then he would jolt awake again, the aching, distressful and bitter void resurfacing again and he remembers you’re still not here. Then the cycle would continue.

As the boys coped differently, the most different was Hongjoong, who by all accounts had become emotionless and also very mean. He would let Lila wrap her arms around him as if they were a couple, he would try to bring her home only to have Seonghwa immediately denounce it and make it abundantly clear that this kind of behaviour would not be allowed or tolerated. Lila would leave the second she stepped foot into the foyer and Seonghwa and Hongjoong would have it out until the latter stomped off to his room never to be heard from again until the next morning. And that was if anyone did see him. He would leave before Seonghwa came out of his room. It took all effort in Mingi when he did see Hongjoong to not punch him in the jaw. He did not know what he was playing at, and quite frankly, he did not care to know Hongjoong's excuses as he was already extremely fed up, especially because of the way Hongjoong's mother spoke.

"Maybe you should forget her and move on with someone else," she said as she eyed Lila, “The pack needs their Luna and people are talking.”

That was during a family dinner with all their respective families. First and foremost, Mingi was not amused. He was already dragged to the dining hall against his will, and then when he saw Lila present standing next to Hongjoong, he was ready to just explode into thin air. And then, Hongjoong’s mom decided to speak, and that was the last straw. 

It didn't take even a second for Mingi to slam his hands on the table and get up with a low growl in his throat.

“With all due respect Mrs Kim, I suggest you stay out of our personal lives and let us handle it on our own. Your comments are very unnecessary.” he seethed venomously. 

 Mingi then stalked off, slamming the door behind him. He didn't care if he was disrespectful, he was fed up with the nonsense. It baffled him as to why Mrs Kim had such disdain for you, ever since he met you, you told him about her low tolerance for you but there was never a clear indication as to why. 

He knew you were still alive and he knew the other boys felt it too. Your soul connection was still there, though strained, he could feel it lingering. But where exactly were you? He was interrupted by Wooyoung shouting his name.

“Mingi wait!”

“What are you doing here Wooyoung?”

“I wasn’t going to let you leave like that, not everyone is pleased at your outburst.”

“And? I do not care Wooyoung, I’m not going back to listen to Mrs Kim spew ridiculous nonsense. Lila shouldn’t even be there.”

“I know and I agree. Mrs Kim has wanted to replace Y/N since the beginning but she should know better than to even suggest something like that.”

“Go back and tell them I won’t be coming back any time soon. I need to clear my head.”

“Fine but please reach out, I can’t lose you too…” Wooyoung muttered.

Mingi turned to the black-haired boy and saw the fear in his eyes. Wooyoung is the second youngest and basked in being taken care of, doted on and adored by you. In contrast to Jongho who was more reserved most of the time and sought you out privately, Wooyoung, although an alpha, is like a playful child. You were right in between Mingi and Wooyoung in age and so, right before you came Mingi and at a time like this, Wooyoung saw Mingi as the closest.

“I will, don’t worry.” he answered in a soothing and reassuring tone.

After Wooyoung left and Mingi decided he wasn't going back home to get an earful from his parents, he sauntered off towards the lake and the Moon temple. 

He recalled Cleo saying it was the direction you went when you two broke off. Maybe he could find something there.

Arriving at the clearing of the lake, he saw the shimmering blue water glistening under the moonlight. It was another full moon, just like when you disappeared. He had to spend the holidays and his birthday without you and he hated it. Mingi couldn’t even recollect the times he had spent holidays and birthdays by himself. As soon as you and the boys came into his life, his life became a kaleidoscope of colours. 

When Mingi saw the temple, he felt his walls come down. He forgot about Mrs Kim’s comments and the anger that bubbled through his veins. Instead, the wave of pain and hurt opened like a locked dam and he fell on his knees in front of the temple, choked with tears.

"Please..." he cried, "Please bring her back. I need her. I-I was so wrong for what I did. I can't believe I treated her that way. I promise! I'll do better! I won't ever neglect her again. Please bring my angel back. Please."

Mingi sobbed and sobbed profusely that he didn't hear the rumble the first time. He thought it was his stomach and now was definitely not a good time. But then the second time, when he realised it was coming from elsewhere, he turned around to see the ripples in the lake and how much more brightly the water shone under the moonlight. It was mystical and divine. He approached the lake cautiously, he couldn't explain it, but he felt a pull and for some reason…he felt you. Your tie to him and your aura felt to be coming from the lake. But was that possible? He pushed away any intrusive thoughts, focusing solely on you, a clear image of your bright smile and eyes lit up etched into his mind. It was the way you would always look at him as you cupped his face in your hand and teased him before kissing him.

Mingi inched closer, trying to take his time.

But then he fell in.

[kenuis]

Come Through and Chill || plug!draken x fem!reader

You were just supposed to pick up some bud for the weekend... so how did you end up in bed with the hottest plug around?

Cw:weed, pussy eating, finger sucking, ptv, dirty talk, squirting, draken has a big cock (like coke can thick), belly bulge, pet names (baby, angel, good girl), not beta read (we die like men)

WC: 7.9 k I don't wanna talk about it.

Extra: Plug! Draken playlist.

‘Come through as soon as you’re off work, I got you.’

Blinking down at your bright phone screen you blink once, then twice. You hadn’t expected him to respond that quick in all honesty. “Hey girl.”

“Umm hello?!”

“Hey!”

You jolt as your friend calls your name, an amused tilt to her voice as she takes in your blotchy red cheeks. Tucking your phone away lightning quick you clear your throat, slumping back against the counter. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come out tonight?” Shaking your head, you cross your arms over your midsection as she tosses you a knowing smirk. You chew on your lower lip as trays of food and drinks whizz by you. Your legs and feet ache, hours of doing exactly what your co-workers are currently doing wearing on you. Your closest work friend raises her eyebrows as she leans her elbow against the shelf opposite of you. “So what’s the big plan then if you’re gonna be all by your lonesome?” You shrug, tucking your hands in your hoodie pockets, rubbing your finger over the ring that lays on your thumb. It’s a nervous habit you haven’t quite learned how to break. The spinning of the metal helps to center your thoughts as you stand there. You’ve already ordered a meal to take home after your shift, a bottle of wine in your fridge and endless hours of Netflix to carry you through the next few hours that will bleed into your first two solid days off in over a week. There was only one thing you were missing.  Your phone buzzes again and your eyebrows hit your hairline.

`1 location attached.`

‘No rush though, just wanna make sure you find the place okay.’

A place you’d been quite a few times if you recalled correctly. Sure the nights of partying were a little hazy, but you’d been to this particular spot enough times to know your way on your own.

‘I’ll let you know when I’m on my way, it shouldn't be too much longer.’

“Umm, just gonna pick up some smoke and then go home and veg. I’ve worked so many doubles over the past week.” It’s your co workers turn for her eyebrows to hit her hairline. Her smirk grows and the amused tone in her voice quickly turns to teasing as she straightens up to pinch your cheeks. 

“Ohhh you’re gonna go see that hot ass mechanic that was eyeing you up last weekend.”

You smack her hand away, trying to hide the way your face burns. “it’s not like that, I swear.”

“Suuuure.” She grabs your chin in her hand, squishing your cheeks together while she makes you look at her. “Is that why you gave him your number the last time we pulled through there? Cause you ‘just need bud.’” She giggles as she makes air quotes with the other hand. Letting out a snort, you manage to smack her hands away. “I’m serious!” Laughing you grab the to go box as the cook behind the window calls your name out. You grab what you’ve been waiting on and book it out the door, trying to ignore her hoots and hollers of, `it’s about damn time.` 

The night air is sticky, twilight blues and purple mixing with the fading pink and orange that paints the sky that’s about to throw her dark blanket of night over. Your keys dangle from your hand, jingling together as you walk towards your car. I

t’s a perfect evening, with most of the summer heat knocking out of the air the darker it got. Setting your food and bag in the passenger seat, you pull your phone out as you fiddle around with the stereo system. Bobbing your head along to the song that starts, you find the last message thread you had pulled up on your phone. ‘Draken’ complete with a little dragon emoji makes you roll your eyes.

‘On my way. Be there in 20.’

‘Perfect. It’s right under the mat, just like I said. Enjoy, angel.’

Confused. 

That’s the first feeling that creeps up on you as you walk down the hallway to his apartment. Usually it’s louder, a whole crowd that normally gathers here on Friday and Saturday evenings. There’s almost always music going, laughter coming from inside, the smell of food. It’s why you’d asked him to leave what you needed somewhere you could find it. The thought of being around tons of people after a long day of serving customers made you want to curl up in a ball, hidden away from the world.

Checking your watch you let out a small ‘huh’. It wasn’t late at all. 9pm glows up at you from your watch. It was early sure but still by now there would be at least some type of noise coming from the apartment.

Shrugging it off as you walk up to the door, you crouch down. Fingers brushing the rough edge of the door mat, you lift it only to find it empty underneath. Your brow knits together as you lift the entire thing only to find nothing but cold concrete staring up at you. Rising with a groan, you brush your hands off, watching as dust falls to the cement below your feet. Raising a fist, you almost hesitate, but as your foot hits the edge of the mat, another flash of annoyance shoots through you. 

All your weekend plans consisted of were your tv, your snacks, your wine and unfortunately, his bud. Letting out a sharp sigh, you knock, the rapping of your knuckles on the black door breaking apart the silence that hangs heavy in the hallway.

Rocking back and forth on your heels as you wait, you pull your phone out. No new notifications flash on the screen and you open your messages, shooting one off before you knock again.  You hear the chime of his phone and cross your arms over your mid section, waiting as you hear footsteps approaching the door. You turn your head to look over your shoulder, seeing that you’re still alone in the hallway when the door swings open, causing you to stop short and your mouth to dry out all in one swoop when you turn back to look at him.

The first thing you note is that he’s fresh out of the shower. A wafting scent of fresh pine, whatever scented soap he uses drifting across your nose. It tickles your senses, drifting into your nose. But that’s not where your eyes zero in. 

Your eyes flick down to the exposed skin of his abdomen. He’s in the middle of pulling on a black t-shirt, the material catching and sticking to still wet skin. Water droplets roll down the ridges of his muscles, carving a wet path that your tongue would kill to follow. His abdomen is on a brief display for you, each outline of solid muscle searing into your mind’s eye. The deep V of his hips seem like they were chiseled out of marble, something you would find in the finest art galleries.

Your eyes flick back up, trying to pull your attention away from the hard lines and dips in his skin. His shirt flutters into place but at this point none of that even helps. 

Wide eyes catch the dip of confusion in his brows, the way they knit together as dark eyes take in your form in front of him. Trailing down to see the frown that tugs at the corner of his mouth, pink lips opening and forming words. Forming words? Shit, he was talking to you and you couldn’t get your eyes off the droplet of water that trailed down his neck and clavicle, disappearing underneath his shirt. It warps around the gold chain that he pulls out of his collar and your stomach rolls at how insanely attractive the motion of his fingers and the sparkling gold against his skin is. “-okay angel?” Snapping your eyes to his, you swallow dryly . He raises a brow at you now, the tiniest upturn of his lips and the amusement that flashed through his eyes has you flushing. He definitely caught you checking him out. Finally your brain catches up to what he’s asked you. “Everything okay angel?” Blinking quickly, you look down at your feet, shoes scraping the doormat. It reminds you of the reason you knocked on the door in the first place. Looking back up at him, your lips curl over your teeth by a fraction. Frustration returns to your body, grounding you as you seem to snap out of your thoughts.

“Yeah uhhh.” The edge of your shoe catches the welcome mat and you nudge it. “I’m missin’ a little something.” His brows dip again, but then an exasperated sigh is falling from his lips and a light dusting of pink dances across the tip of his nose up to his ears. One hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, his bicep straining against the arm of the t-shirt he’d just put on. His other hand tucks into the pocket of his gray sweats. “Fuck I got caught up. Lowkey I was supposed to put your shit under the door when I got home and I had to handle something on the phone so I forgot.” He looks so endearingly bashful, the annoyance that has settled in your chest dissipates like smoke. Awkwardly, you scuff your toe against the ground, shrugging as nonchalantly as you can manage. “It’s fine I just, was hopin to get it and go.” 

“Here, come on in and I’ll get it for you.” He moves to the side, a jerk of his chin the only hint of an invite you get to coming inside. Still feeling awkward inside of your own skin, you follow him in, arms still crossed like a shield. You offer him a tiny half smile as you cross the threshold, moving past him. There’s a crackle of electricity as you move past him that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up straight. 

Chewing on the corner of your lip as you turn to look at him, you find heated and amused onyx eyes trained on you, His mouth tugs up in the corner again and a smirk spreads across his cheeks. “Whatcha lookin so nervous for?” He moves past you, his movements, fluid and smooth. When he moves past you, he glances slightly over his shoulder with a wink. “I don’t bite. Come on, my shit’s in my room.” There’s a heat that crawls up your neck and face, and you’re sure that your whole face is on fire as you trail behind him, hands going into your hoodie pockets. You’ve left your shoes at the front door, and your socked feet pad quietly behind him. “Didn’t say you did. Just kinda weird in here when ‘s quiet.” He chuckles as he opens the door to a room you recall being in once. It’d been filled with hazy smoke, and there’d been people packed in here like sardines, passing around blunts and listening to bass heavy music. You also briefly remember that it’s the night he put his number in your phone. You’d been leaning against the desk that night, while he sat in his desk chair right next to you. 

At one point you’d been zoned out, sufficiently buzzed and listening to all the noise around you. A single finger had looped in your belt loop and tugged to get your attention. He’d checked on you, made sure you were good and given you water, watching with eyes that were more alert than they should have been for someone who had smoked as much as he had. His finger stayed hooked in the belt loop of your shorts the entire conversation and he’d only let go when your friends called your name, dragging you out of the room. But not before he’d tugged on your shorts, plucking your phone out of your back pocket. He put his number in and shot you a look that could only be described as heated. “In case you’re ever in need of some good bud.” Recalling the heat that had flowed in between the two of you, you want to bolt out of there like the entire place is on fire. It’s unnerving, it makes your insides hot and the feeling makes something in you burn specifically for the man in front of you to look at you the way he did just a mere week ago. “Yeah, ‘s a lil weird when people aren’t here but it’s nice to have a quiet night in. My roommates are both out tonight. Eatin’ at your joint tonight I think Did you just get out of work?” He takes a seat at his desk, turning the chair so he’s facing you. He pats the bed that’s pushed up next to it, motioning for you to take a seat. 

Hopping up, you nearly groan in relief at being off your feet and something so soft. His eyebrows raise as he pulls out a scale, a jar full of bud and a small green pill bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk. “You good?” If your face gets any hotter, you’re pretty sure you’re going to resemble the surface of the sun. “Yeah I’m good. Just had a long day at work. I opened the restaurant this morning and ended up staying later than I mean to cover one of the other girls who was late and…” You trail off with a shrug as you tuck your hands into the sleeves of your oversized hoodie. “I didn’t realize how much my feet hurt until I sat down.” “Mmmm.” He makes a non committal noise as he measures out product. Long deft fingers are fucking with the scale, placing a pill bottle on it and dropping little green nugs into it. “You said 3gs right?” “Uh yeah. Don’t need much, just a little to relax this weekend. I finally have a weekend off and I’m gonna take full advantage of it.” You grin despite yourself, thoughts of a freshly rolled blunt and food with a bottle of wine and the softness of your couch filling you with happiness. 

“Damn girl, look at you.” The tips of your ears start to feel the same heat as your face as he looks at you with a teasing grin. “Got any specific plans?” “I’m going to melt into my couch and not move for three days.” You bite your lower lip when he fully turns to you, a thoughtful look crossing his handsome face. He twirls the pill bottle in his fingers as he looks at you, eyes half lidded with an emotion you’re not sure you want to name. 

The both of you are friends, acquaintances really and you’re not entirely sure if you’re ready to cross the line to anything besides that. But the way he’s looking at you promises something inevitable. He holds the bottle out for you and before your fingertips even brush it, he snatches it back towards himself, a smirk planted on his mouth. “How about you start your relaxing weekend here?”

Your brows furrow and your lip sticks out in the softest pout. A sharp protest sits at the tip of your tongue and you can’t help the whine that comes out in your tone. “Hey!”

“How about… You start the relaxation now?” Your brow furrows as he speaks, confusion flitting across your face. You stare at him for a long moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

“What do you mean?” “I mean, smoke with me.” He leans backwards in his chair, reaching for a pack of blunts. Honey white owls, the same as he had at the party. It’s a good flavor, one of your favorites and it’s so tempting to start now. His bed is soft and his room is surprisingly clean, and it smells like a mix of his cologne and extremely good bud. Plus it’s one on one time that you two have never had before outside of a stolen moment of him grabbing you a drink in the middle of one of his and his roommate’s parties. “Come on angel, I don’t bite and it looks like you could use the chance to unwind.” “I have food in the car.” It’s the only thing that comes out when your mouth opens even though the word ‘yes’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. “I don’t want it goin bad or anything…” Trailing off, when his onyx orbs stay planted on yours, you realize that any argument is futile and you sigh. The mega watt grin that he gives you speaks of his satisfaction over his victory and he holds his hand out. “Gimme your keys. I’ll bring your food in and put it in the kitchen for ya.” Smacking your lanyard in his outstretched palm, you can’t help but roll your eyes at his instance and the boyish charm that drifts across his face. In exchange, he plops a rolling tray in your lap with strict instructions to start rolling while he gets your things sorted. 

This is crazy. Absolutely insane that one smile from this male had you turning into putty in front of him and you grumble under your breath but get to rolling away. When he walks out it’s silent except for the sounds of the metal grinder in your hands. 

It’s a familiar mindless process of rolling, and you do it quickly and efficiently. By the time he walks back in with your purse in hand you’re licking the end of the blunt wrap to seal it. His eyes flick down to your pink tongue that sticks out from your pretty glossed lips. You don’t even notice as you’re focused on what you’re doing, brow furrowed cutely in frustration. 

“Lemme see how good you did ma.” Your eyes flick up to his at the use of the pet name at the end of his sentence and you give him a bland look that has his lip tugging up in a smile again. You hand him the blunt before leaning forward to place his rolling tray on the desk, not realizing as you do that he’s already walking forwards. Your shoulder bumps into his abdomen, the same chiseled one you spotted earlier when he was sliding his shirt on. 

You scowl when you hear his low chuckle sound throughout the room. “If you wanted to hug me that badly you should have asked.” Your lip curls over your teeth as he plops down on the bed in front of you. “You think you’re real slick aren’t you?” “I know I am.” He throws you a wink as he polyps down on the bed, leaning against the wall as you lean back against the headboard, pulling your knees up. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he hands the blunt back to you along with the lighter. “Guests light up.” “Thanks.” There’s a soft shick of the lighter sparking, and then a sizzle as you hold it to the end of the blunt and inhale. Draken doesn’t say anything while you take your first deep inhale, instead opting to turn on the bluetooth speaker that rests on the shelf mounted to the wall above his bed. There’s a gentle boom of the system connecting, and then a few notes fill the room before music starts to flow out. Despite your reservations your shoulders relax a fraction as you blow out the smoke you’ve held in, the familiar pepper and citrus taste of the bud heavy in your airway and drifting over your tongue. You take another deep inhale, deep enough to make your lashes flutter and you’re completely unaware of the eyes that are currently glued to your face. 

Draken doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone as pretty as you. All soft curves and shiny locks. A pretty smile that stretches wide over your cheeks. The way your head tilts back a little when you laugh and your nose scrunches. Truthfully, he was floored the first time you rolled up with your friends at one of the infamous house parties. You looked so out of place, skittish and shy until your friend shoved a blunt in your direction and told you to relax. Come to find out there’s a little fire, a spark that simmers underneath the shy outer shell. He can’t help that you’re intriguing enough for him to want to know what it looks like when you strip away all the layers to where you burn. Burn for him. 

Your eyes open as you let out your second inhale and you lean forward, holding out the blunt for him. Your small, soft hands brush past his large calloused ones and the warmth that radiates off of them makes him want to groan as he thinks about how they would look wrapped around his length. He has to fight the temptation to grab one down while he places the blunt to his lips, right in the place where your glossed lips have been. 

The cherry flavor from your lips gloss lingers on the blunt, mixing with the flavor of weed and the blunt wrap. His mind drifts to the thought of what you would taste like. If he sucks your tongue, would you taste like cherry and bud and something else? He inhales and looks at you again through heavy lids. Truthfully he’d smoked half a blunt the minute he’d gotten off work, but the thought of sharing one with you was too tempting to pass up. 

When you’d sunk onto his mattress like it was your salvation he jumped at his chance and for now, he can tell he made the right call. 

Now that he’s got you here though, there’s a little bit of hesitancy that lingers in the pit of his stomach. It’s been a long time since he’s tried something like this with someone who’s caught his attention like you have. It makes his insides churn with anticipation and he can’t help but sigh out his inhale, the smoke curling out of his mouth. One of the first things he noticed about you is that you don’t have the need to fill the silence with empty words. You’re content sitting with him in the silence, and it’s something he appreciates after a full day of dealing with customers. He takes his second inhale before he’s handing the blunt back. His eyes stay on yours when he wonders when this.. Tension that’s been building between the two of you is going to pop.

It’s like a bubble that traps the two of you in it, but instead of expanding, it shrinks, pressing down and pushing you two into each other. It’s been a month and a half since the first time you graced his doorstep and he’s thought of you every other minute since. 

You’re about halfway through the blunt when you let out a sigh, sinking a little further into the pillows. You lick your lips and he tracks the way the tip of your tongue wets your plus mouth. Bloodshot eyes drift up to look into his, and he watches as a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Thanks for this. I really needed it.” “Any time angel. You know. You’re kind of my favorite customer. Although you can’t tell anyone else that. They might start askin’ for special treatment and then I’ll be outta a side hustle.” He reaches over and grips your ankle, tugging a little in jest. His thumb brushes over the pretty anklet dangling around it and the minute the metal hits his thumb something shifts. 

He traces the delicate gold chain, running his thumb over the tiny links. It glints against your skin, a little angel dangling from the chain and resting against the hollow of your ankle. A low dangerous chuckle vibrates through his chest even though the energy in the room is anything but light hearted. “Guess I was spot on with the nickname.” 

“Yeah…” Your voice is just as low as his, as if, if you speak too loudly you’ll break whatever tentative vibe has taken over the room. “Um Draken?” “Ken.” He mumbles it as he moves, leaning a little closer. He leans on his elbow with your feet near his abdomen, nearly laying on his side as he blinks over at you. “Call me Ken.” “Ken..” The sound of his name leaving your mouth in a near whimper does him completely in.

Before he thinks too much, before his nerves get the best of him, he places the blunt directly in between your lips. There’s not much left to it, maybe one last hit. “Finish it.” There’s a soft demand in his tone and the feeling in his chest gives way to admiration as you do exactly as you’re told. “Ash tray is on the desk.” He murmurs the sentence out as he presses his lips directly to your anklet. You let out a soft whine before you swallow dryly, half lidded eyes taking in the sight of this big broad man laying the softest kidd on your skin. “I…” “You can tell me to stop when you want me to.” He looks up at you, his nose skimming the skin of your calf. The sight of it, the heat from the weed and the overall tension pops as you shake your head. “Don’t… Please don’t stop.” Your cheeks burn even hotter than before when he grins a heated smile up at you. Your breath starts to come a little faster as he works his way up your leg, large, rough, warm calloused hands moving up your calves to the back of your knees, spreading them wide enough for him to slot himself between. His hands don’t stop moving, massaging your sore calves. His fingers knead the knotted muscles so expertly and gently, you can’t help but melt into the touch. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth drops open in a groan. The moment your attention is off of him, he takes his chance, grabbing you and sliding your hips forward. You yelp in surprise when your back meets the mattress and he gives another deep chuckle, one that shoots a bolt of heat straight to your core. You’ve always been touchy when high, when your senses are heightened to a point where pleasure gets overwhelming. You swallow thickly and open your eyes so they’re glued to his. The music in the room continues to fill the space where both of you linger, and you’re unwilling to break the vibe besides a groan when his hands move from your calves to the top of your thighs. Squirming despite yourself, your eyes finally fall from his to where the backs of your thighs rest on the top of his. He’s broad in between your legs and your heart jumps in your chest as he moves to sit back on his heels. Draken’s - no Ken -  is glued to the apex of your thighs, right where your clothed core rests. It’s right below his growing erection and the sight of you squirming underneath it makes him impossibly harder. “Fuck that’s a fuckin’ pretty sight.” You may have been unwilling to break the silence but a high Ken is also a vocal and touchy Ken. Reaching down, his hands skim up your thighs, over the flesh of your plush ass to your waist. He grips it hard, tugging you to sit up so he can slot his mouth against yours. Even cotton mouthed from smoking, it’s the sloppiest kiss of your life, His soft lips meet yours and he presses hard, claiming your mouth. He consumes you, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He strokes it against yours, one of his hands coming up to thread in the strands of hair at the nape of your neck. His fingers thread into your hair and he tugs, tilting your head back so your throat is exposed. A whimper leaves your throat and small hands come up to clutch at his forearms. 

You push back against him, tentatively letting your tongue meet his, stroke for stroke. There’s little strings of saliva that connect the two of you when he finally finds it in him to pull away. It’s lewd and wet, your eyes glazed over as they flick down to take in the sight. The hand on your waist leaves, coming up to tap on your lower lip. “Open.” The command is stern, growled out in impatience until you obey, mouth dropping open. You cling to the edges of your shyness, and as much as he finds it endearing, he’s waited too long for this. “Stick out your tongue.” You’re practically panting as you do as you’re told and two fingers are laid on the wet pink muscle, rubbing against it. Your eyes widen and another whine slides out around his fingers, muffled and wet. “There we go. Feels good doesn’t it?” This man hasn’t even gotten you out of your clothing and you feel like you’re going to cum already. How he figured out your oral fixation you’ll never know but he’s exploiting it to it’s extent, moving his fingers in and out of your mouth. All you can do is cling to him and suck, little whimpers and moans falling out around his large fingers. Your hips start moving on their own accord, rolling against him until he’s tugging you into his lap, settling your aching core over his tented sweats. His hand in your hair trails down to your hip, rolling you over his erection with a groan. Every noise you make spurs on his insatiable need, and even though he feels impatient, even though he feels like tearing through every layer of clothing you two currently have on, it’s nothing compared to the desperate way your hips are chasing your high. 

“Shhhhh.” The hand at your hip cups your ass, squeezing the denim of your shorts. The seam presses into your dripping core, the pressure of it and his length currently pressing into it with every roll of your hips makes electricity creep up your spine. Your eyes widen and you begin sucking his fingers even harder as the band in your belly starts to tighten. “Go ahead. Go ahead angel, show me how good this feels.”

Your eyes drift shut and your brow furrows just as cutely as he knew it would. A single tear gathers on the corner of your shut eye and with a shudder you come apart on top of him, just from him grinding you down on him and letting you suck on his fingers. He guides your hips against him the whole way through it, waiting until your mouth lets up on his fingers. Waits until the fierce sucking of his fingers eases into small kitten licks and your hips slow to a stop.

“That good baby?”

You can’t believe you feel this good already. Your mind is already halfway numb from a combination of the weed and his overwhelming presence, but a shyness lingers around the edges of your psyche and you can’t help the flush that takes over your cheeks. His fingers draw out slow, gentle as he drags them down your lower lip and over your chin. Realization of how easily he’s turned you to putty in his hands washes over you and your eyes widen a fraction.

Embarrassed, you lean forward, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. His entire chest rumbles with a deep laugh that sounds more like a rumble. “I.. I’m sorry I….”

He shifts, moving the both of you. Your world spins and all of a sudden you find yourself still in his lap, but now he’s got his back against the headboard. “That was the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long fuckin time.” Opening your mouth to apologize for a second time, you don’t even have the chance to say a single word when his mouth claims yours again. This kiss is hotter than the last one, a new burning passion to see you fall apart coming through every stroke of his lips. He swallows your whines, only breaking apart from you whip your shirt and hoodie off of your frame. You can’t even believe for a second that you let him, raising your arms to help. The sight of you sitting there in your pretty lace bra lights an even hotter fire in onyx orbs. Fingers dance up your spine while he brings his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking a line across your jaw and down your neck. You melt, hands slipping underneath his shirt to trace your fingers along the ridges of his abdomen. You trace every muscle with curious fingertips until you splay your palms flat on his stomach pushing his shirt up and over his head. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” The compliment flows from his lips as he sucks on your collar bone. You’re grateful you have the next three days off, because the marks he’s leaving are going to be impossible to cover up. Another soft whine leaves your lips as his tongue flattens and runs over the swell of your breast. The sight of it makes fire lick up your insides but a flash of silver in the middle of the pink muscle makes you stop cold. He has a fucking tongue piercing. 

Currently he’s using that to his advantage as he slides your bra off, gathering both of your breasts in his hands and kneading the fat as he pushes them together. “Pretty fuckin’ tits. Fuckin’gorgeous.” His thumb swirls over your nipple before he’s dragging his tongue over it so the ball of his piercing flicks it hard. You squeal, squirming in his hold. You’re tempted to dart out of his lap, roll off of him and take a breather but he bucks his hips up at the same time he scrapes his teeth across the stiffened peak and your head tips back, another sinful moan falling from your mouth.

He shifts and the world spins again, your back hitting the plush mattress as he leans over you, raining kisses down your rib cage, sucking on the skin so hard it bruises. He does this in a path all the way down your abdomen, and you never thought you’d be this needy after already cumming, but there is a pulsing want and ache that only he can fill pulsing in between your legs. You’re practically panting by the time he reaches the spot you need him the most. 

Your thighs are practically shaking when his big hands grab the back, pushing them towards your chest. A sharp nose runs up the seam of your shorts up to the button. “W-Wait, I…” “God you smell so fuckin good. I gotta taste you baby. Need to see how pretty she looks after she came for me.” Dark lashes brush his cheek bones as he looks up at you and pops the button of your shorts open with his teeth. You swallow thickly and thread your fingers into his hair, almost tugging it free from the ponytail it’s in as you lift your hips for him to slide your shorts off. 

The rumbling growl that leaves his chest makes your eyes roll back, and your weeping hole to clench around nothing. His thumbs come up to your folds, spreading them open for him as you buck your hips up, chest heaving with deprived pants. “Please. Please.” You beg without even really knowing what you’re begging for, just needing something, anything to relieve the fire that’s starting to consume. Your high still hasn’t worn off and the extra sensitivity from where his touch presses into you is driving you close to the edge. “Ken, please.”

“Look at me.” His rough tone is demanding, drawing your attention to him as your mouth twists in desperation. “Keep your eyes on me or I stop. Ya hear me angel?”

You nod, but his hand darts out to grab your jaw, squeezing your cheeks until you speak, your tone cracking a little with want. “Yes, I hear you.” “Good girl.” His eyes stay on yours as he dips down, releasing your jaw in favor for spreading you wider. He purses his lips, before he lets out a long string of saliva, thumbs spreading you open again so he can watch as it drips in between your folds. You clench even though you’re achingly empty, a soft gasp filling the air in between you too. It bleeds into loud keen when his mouth finally touches you. 

He sucks one of your folds into his mouth and your hands tighten in his hair as he alternates, sucking them until they turn puffy, swollen and aching with need. He moans into your pussy, running his tongue through your slick until the ball of his piercing flicks harshly against your clit. A squeal sounds from above him and he does it again, over and over until you’re bucking wildly onto his tongue.

He should prep you. He needs to prep you but your walls are already to spasm around his tongue and he’ll be damned if he lets you come anywhere but his cock. 

Pulling away and sitting up just enough to work his dick out, he thrusts forward, his heavy, thick cock smacking against your abdomen. Your eyes fly open and you look down, letting out a desperate whine when you realize his length extends well past your belly button. 

He’s got the prettiest, heaviest cock you’ve ever seen. Swollen and red, the slit weeping pretty pearls of precum that streak your stomach as he lets his length smack down on your abdomen again. “‘S not gonna fit.”

You look up at him with wide watery eyes, lips parted as you pant despondently. But no matter how much your voice shakes, your hips move, trying to slip him inside as desire takes over every cell in your body. “Ken, ‘s not gonna-” He chuckles breathlessly, sweat starting to break out on his hairline as he draws back to rub the aching head of his cock along your folds. “‘S gonna fit angel. Imma make it fit.” Slowly, he pushes in, head tilting back as he starts to push in despite the resistance he’s met with. You’re so fuckin’ tight he’s pretty sure that he’s already ready to blow his load and he’s only got the tip in. “Goddamn. Fuuuuuck.” The little high pitched whines that fall from your plush mouth and he can’t helo but reach down and grab your waist in his broad hands. Grip bruinsingly tight, he fucks into you, pulling out and fucking back in shallowly, inch by agonizing inch. Your pussy is gripped around him so tight it’s practically strangling his cock. “Relax ‘f me. God you’re so fuckin’ tight angel. Need you to relax.” A shuddering breath leaves your mouth, and his thumb drifts down to the little bundle of nerves that pokes out, working it in slow circles. Your thighs shake even more as you give. Your walls relax, eyes rolling back as his entire length finally sinks into you. A wet cry leaves your throat as tears leak from your eyes and the man above you lets out a moan so deep you feel it in your own soul. “There it is. Fuckin’ took the whole thing. Such a good girl.” Your hands grip the sheets, lower lip trembling as a tiny sob leaves your mouth. “Ken… so full. I’m so full. ‘S too big Ken. ‘S too fucking bi-” Before you can finish your sentence he’s pulling out and sliding back in, using the grip he has on your waist to drag you up and down his length. You cry out, loud and high as he bumps into your cervix. Your chest heaves and you squeeze your eyes shut as he starts to move you up and down. He’s so big and broad and strong all you can do is lay there and take it as he moves you up and down, eyes glued to the way your slick is coating his cock, how some of it sticks to his abdomen. Strings of slick connect the two of you as he moves you, practically the length of his cock, soaking even his thighs. One of his warm palms spreads out over your abdomen and he pushes down on the bulge that’s appeared. His mouth practically pours out filth as he pushes on his cock pushing through your stomach and you scream his name. “Fuck baby. Look at that. Pokin’ through your stomach. You look so fuckin sexy like this. So fuckin pretty all fucked out on my cock. You like that baby?” You nod, sobbing as he starts to move you faster, your clit hitting his pelvis with every rough smack of his hips. The orgasm that hits you, hits you out of nowhere, hard and fast and so overwhelming that you see nothing but pure white. “‘M cummin’ fuck fuck fuck fuck ‘m cummin!” Your legs kick out and shake as your cream around his cock, a frothy ring of white forming as he fucks you. He hasn’t let up, his grip still tight on your waist as he moves you, rolling his hips into and fucking you onto him. His head dips down into the crook of your neck, heavy pants brushing past the skin of your neck as you sob and keen through your orgasm. Your hands fly up to bury into his hair, moving until your arms are wrapped around his neck. All you can do is hang on as he fucks up into, using your body  for his pleasure. “Takin’ my cock so fuckin’ well angel. You were made for it. Made to take my cock.” His breath stutters on the sentence as your velvet walls pulse around him and you whimper, your nails digging into his muscular shoulders. His masculine scent envelopes you, and everything about him crowds your senses as he drives into you. The entire room is filled with the sounds of your slick squelching around his cock, the cries that fall from your mouth and the filthy words he breathes harshly into your ear. 

“I’m gonna fill you up. I have to. Have to fill this fuckin’. Perfect. Pussy.” Each word of is enunciated by  a sharp thrust of his hips and you practically wail out his name. 

“Can’t.. Can’t take anymore Ken please.” Bleary, misty eyes look up at him, blinking past tears as your body jolts with the force of each thrust. His pace is picking up and he’s huffing out deep breaths, and you can tell by the way his abdomen tightens that he’s about to cum. His thrusts are getting sloppier, but you’re right on the edge with him, walls starting to clamp down again. “Ken I can’t!” “You can.” He places a soft kiss right under your jaw, dragging his lips up until they’re resting against yours. “I know you can. Give me one more baby.” You try  to shake your head but your mouth falls open when a hand snakes between you two again and starts to make firm circles on your swollen puffy clit. “Ken.. please I…” 

Your cheeks heat and your hiccup out an embarrassed sob. You’re not inexperienced by any means, but you’ve never had something that feels like this. That feels this overwhelming and good. You’ve never had someone who fills you this much, who hits every sensitive spot, whose cock is so big it sticks out from your tummy and pushes past your cervix with every sharp thrust. There’s a foreign feeling that’s settled in your stomach and it increases the more he plays with your clit and with every thrust that rams into the tight ring of muscle inside of you. Words tumble out before you can stop them and the minute  they’re out, embarrassment and lust flood you in the same instant and it makes you dizzy. “Ken please.. Feel like I’m gonna go to the bathroom!” A rumbling groan is the only answer and his thumb speeds up its pace, his thrusts sloppy. “Fuckin’ squirt baby. Squirt on my fuckin’ cock. I know you can. Make a mess ‘f me.” Another sharp thrust and a pinch of your clit sends hurtling into oblivion as you do just that. Your last release comes squirting out of you, coating his hand, his thighs, the mattress, his abdomen. You feel it run down the swell of your ass as you cry, your nails clawing at his back as you call out his name, sobbing and cumming as he doesn’t relent, panting and groaning into your neck. Hot ropes of cum start to coat your insides, filling you to the brim as he moans. It’s unhinged and messy, his cock head pushing past your cervix to coat your insides, filling your womb almost overly full. Your name leaves his mouth in a rumbling shout before his teeth sink into your shoulder, biting down to muffle the moans that leave his throat. 

His hips finally slow and he lays his forehead into the crook of your neck, his hands drifting down to your quivering thighs, massaging them as you both catch your breath. You let your palms lay flat on his broad back, running them up and down as little shuddering breaths leave you. 

Finally moving to look down at you, he blinks the sweat out of his eyes, brushing the hair out of yours. Both of you are a mess, covered in sweat and slick, your entire body marked with his love bites and his back scratched from your nails. 

Bliss and submission is written over your face and your eyes drift shut as his palm comes to cup your cheek. You’re so good for him, it makes his chest squeeze tight. He’s already softening inside of you, and surprisingly, you both still feel a little high, the combination of pleasure, euphoria and rapture making it that much more heightened. 

Both of you hiss as he slides out of you, moving so he’s hovering over you and bringing you to relax your legs completely. There’s a few moments of silence, soaking in each other’s presence.The air between you two settles into something you’re not sure you’re ready to name and you turn your head to say something to him, but find him already staring at you. He pulls you onto his chest, uncaring of the sticky sweaty mess you’ve become. His hand drags up your spine slowly, gently, and he pushes your head down so it’s tucked onto his shoulder. Ken is gentle as he continues to rub up and down your spine, grounding you and bringing you back down to earth. Humming contently, you drift until a rumbling laugh rouses you, and you move your chin until it rests on the top of his chest and you’re looking into those dark alluring eyes. Your hand comes up to trace the dragon tattoo on the smooth skin on the side of his head, following the inky black swirls as he continues to dance his fingertips up and down your skin. “So… wanna smoke again?”

All works belong to @ kenuis do no repost anywhere else without permission.

[acapelladitty]

Captain Boomerang/Female Reader - Unexpected Visit

Summary - Digger interrupts a 'private' moment and the fallout is more fun that you could have anticipated.

It wasn’t the fact that you were two fingers deep in your cunt - curled digits stroking along those sensitive parts within your walls that made your breath stutter as your toes curled against the sheets. It wasn’t even the fact that your bed directly faced the door which Digger was currently filling like he owned the place.

No.

The issue was the headshot of Digger which lay clenched in your free hand and the fact that the shit-eating grin on his face told you that he had heard you moaning his name as you stroked frantically along your aching clit.

“Thinking about old Digger, eh?” Digger announced, his laughter somewhere between a growl and a giggle as he palmed his rapidly-stiffening cock with his left hand. “Maybe, if ya ask nicely, I’ll see fit to replace those fingers with something almost twice as big and throbbin’ for a quick root.”

Shame burning across your face, the heat in your cheeks as your fingers pull free of your hole with an obscenely wet noise flares in an instant; your throat tightening across the moan which threatened to break free as he pulled his fat cock from his jeans and gave it a quick tug, readying it for a chance at your willing hole.

x-x-x-x-x

Not that he was bad at it. Far from it. What he lacked in practised technique he more than made up for in enthusiasm as he quickly read the signs of what movements made your thighs tighten around his ears as your lips moaned and vibrated around his fat cock. His beard and muttonchops even provided a wonderful sensation as the graze of the coarse hair on your thighs and soaked cunt added a layer of burning discomfort that made you writhe all the more desperately in place.

Following your embarrassing little impromptu show, Digger seemed determined to experiment with various positions and it had been his stellar idea to indulge in some mutual oral sex. His appetite was ravenous and even the very thorough fucking he had only just finished delivering didn't seem enough to appease him.

But still, even you had to admit that the man had a talent for suggesting amazing ideas which very quickly went awry.

So, no.

He wasn’t bad at it.

However, this did not prove to be the issue either.

But where Digger’s good idea went to die was in his decision to take the ‘below’ position in your sixty-nine adventure. A surprisingly gentlemanly choice given that he seemed to enjoy the sensation of you pinned beneath him, held in place by his thick frame while he railed you with a messy ferocity.

Being on top had suited you to begin with, the freedom of movement allowing you to set the pace as you hollowed out your cheeks and worked slowly around his pulsing shaft. His cock wasn’t the longest but the sheer girth of the thing made it a difficult task as any attempt at taking further into your mouth essentially plugged your throat entirely.

What Digger had failed to consider, when proposing this little game, was the impressive strength which you could muster with your inner thigh muscles and how tightly you were able to hold him – his face buried deep within your cunt as you rode your orgasm out on his thick features. In that wonderful moment, his natural need to breath was long disregarded and it wasn’t until his blunted nails dug bloodied crescents into your outer thighs that you recalled that little facet of the human condition and pulled yourself free of his face with a panting gasp.

“Not the worst way to go.” Digger exclaimed cheerily as he sucked in huge, desperate inhales of air. His lower face was a mess, glistening and visibly wet with your juices as his pink tongue lapped at his own lips like a particularly thirsty dog. “But I don’t think me old mum would appreciate a retellin' of the story at my eulogy.”

[chuuyrr]

GORGEOUS — NAKAHARA CHUUYA

⊹ CW(s): f! reader, famous! singer! reader, strangers to lovers, crushing (you fall first but he falls harder), heavy references to taylor swift and her reputation album, 3.9k words

⊹ SYNOPSIS: in which you write your crush a song, and he finds out

inspired by: gorgeous by taylor swift !

applause and cheers flood your ears as you stand before the stage, a smile on your red-painted lips, albeit a little breathless as you bring the microphone to your lips, ready to deliver your speech and express thanks for the award bestowed upon you.

what began as a passion for music and songwriting has grown into stardom, as evidenced by the best female musician award you were now receiving on stage, surrounded by other artists in the business and, most importantly, your fans.

just as you were ready to begin when another music artist, much older than you, interrupted you. you stood there perplexed, but then the much older and taller artist grins at you, almost darkly and mockingly.

"yo, [name]!" he exclaims into your microphone, stealing as he addresses you with such familiarity, "i'm really happy for you. i'mma let you finish, but, she has won the best video award of all times!" he exclaims, gesturing at the other female music artist sitting on the sides, but she looks just as perplexed as you.

"one of the best videos of all time, i tell you!" he says into the microphone again, facing the crowd as if rubbing salt in your open wound, then shoveling the microphone back to you as if nothing happened.

in any case, the sudden interruption of the said male performer stunned the entire stage and audience. as you move about the stage, you find yourself uncomfortably laughing and unsure what to do.

the audience suddenly begins to yell "boos!" instead of clapping and cheers, and your hands shake so much that you nearly drop the trophy in your grasp. the shame seeps deep into your flesh, and the fact that cameras were flashing everywhere and this awarding was also being done live didn't help.

you couldn't find your voice, and the stage appears to be tilting as your eyesight blurs.

your great moment, your glory, vanished in an instant.

your reputation.

as you hold the glass in your hand, you sigh and tap the rim before giving it a quick, delicate spin, allowing the ice to clink against the glass before you drink the burgundy liquid, letting the addictive yet mild taste of fermented grapes strike your tongue and throat.

you twirl the glass in your palm one more as you recall the incident that occurred during your awarding. you recall the dazzling lights of cameras, the gasps and shouts from the audience, and what's more, that very artist who humiliated even stated that you owed him something sensual for making you famous.

a smile tugs at your lips as you shake your head and look at the music playing in the pub. it served as a gentle reminder that this was your current situation.

even if you remember it like it was yesterday, it has been a while since then. customers at the bar are singing along to the fairly spiteful yet powerful tune and lyrics of your song, enjoying the piano and beat.

"but i got smarter, i got harder in the nick of time. honey, i rose up from the dead, i do it all the time. i got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined—i check it once, then i check it twice, oh!" the crowd of the bar sings, jumping up and about with their drinks in hand.

"look what you made do! look what you just made me do!" they continue to sing the lyrics, some even dancing to the choreography while others were just cheering and such.

your little revenge song appears to have polarized music critics, with some praising your new direction and hailing it as a fierce comeback, while others were disappointed with your change of style from your usual romance-esque and heartbreak songs to a dark electroclash and dance-pop, as well as the hidden message that underpins it.

"huh, that was a nice build-up to a crescendo build in the pre-chorus from the sparse verses," a voice next to you comments.

you blink, your eyes widening and your heart trembling slightly.

shit. did you got recognized already?

you slowly turn your head, and there stands a red-brunet with his hair framing his face and a black fedora on top of his head. he's dressed in a white button-up shirt underneath a gray vest, a black choker, a black ribbon bolo tie kept together with a little silver clasp, an open black cropped jacket with sleeves pulled up at the elbows, black slacks, a black belt dropping off his right hip, and black low-arch shoes.

you can feel your heart pounding. this man appears to be a big deal, possibly like you? was he a music critic, perhaps? you thought you heard him say something about your song, “look what you made me do”, playing in the background, but you couldn't be sure.

but there was something oddly appealing about this man, and you found yourself glancing at his face rather than his suit, and…

ba.. dump..

you feel the blood rush into your cheeks and your heart skip a beat when you notice he has beautiful blue eyes that remind you of the ocean.

your gaze ultimately settles on the creases of his face, from his brows to his nose and all the way to his lips. he is so gorgeous that you find it difficult to swallow the lump growing in your throat, your words becoming tangled in your tangle of thoughts and feelings.

for a brief moment, you've forgotten what you were drinking and thinking about because he—this stranger—has taken over everything in your mind.

when he finally turns to you, allowing you to be face-to-face with him as he sits on the cushioned stool next to you, you shift in your seat, becoming nervous once more.

"are you okay?" he says, and you notice him watching at you carefully, but with some concern, as he notices your flushed cheeks and how you appeared to be a little shaken in your seat.

"wha—?" you murmur out, blinking in confusion.

he blinks back before narrowing his eyes slightly, a look of uncertainty on his face, yet the way he does it is igniting feelings inside your chest right now.

"i asked if you were okay. is everything okay, miss?" he asks again, and this time a chuckle escapes his lips.

"o-oh, yeah. i’m fine, no worries," you exhale, a sheepish smile on your face as you manage a brief fit of laughter. you were still in awe of this man.

you assumed he was a music critic or a businessman wanting to interview you or get you into a deal for collaborations, but from the way he speaks and addresses you, he appears to be neither.

what's more unexpected is that he doesn't seem to even recognize you.

you were already expecting him to start bombarding you the instant he laid eyes on you and sat next to you, but it was something you didn't mind at all. it was a strange feeling for you, yet it was reassuring in some ways.

being famous always meant having eyes and cameras trained on you at all times, which you acknowledge was a touch stifling. you couldn't really blame yourself because you've made quite a name and reputation for yourself with the songs you've composed since you were a child.

you gently sit back, more calm now that he doesn't appear to recognize you, and order another glass of wine from the bartender, who kindly pours you some from the bottle.

"hey, is that a pinot noir?" you hear him speak again, commenting on the beverage you got.

you turn back to face him, "yeah, it is. why?"

"that's a great wine to have by itself," he explains, chuckling softly.

"you seem to know a lot about wine," you smile at him before taking a sip of your drink, welcoming the taste of the wine in your taste buds once more.

"and you seem to have a good eye," he says, smiling. at least, that's how you perceive it. the sort that you'd see from your fans, not the ones that reminded you of bad music critiques and certain people in your life.

he turns to the bartender to order himself a drink, which you see sends a little surprise from the bartender as you hear the bartender fumbling over when he orders a wine called petrus, oblivious of how ridiculously pricey it was.

"you have a problem with me ordering petrus? hah?" he asks, arching his brow at the bartender, and you find yourself giggling at the sound of his tone.

something about the way he spoke when he was agitated, the subtle growl in his voice, was sending you.

"oi, what's so funny?" huffs the red-brunet, staring at you with a little but not necessarily mean glare.

"nothing," you remark between laughter as you sipped your pinot noir, "you just sound like a cute but angry puppy."

"EXCUSE ME?!"

maybe you did drink a little too much that night.

the next thing you know, you're seeing the same man you saw about a week before, and strangely enough, you discovered him in the club doing who knows what.

it was bizarre, truly, but you felt drawn to this man you had no known about. you didn't even know his name when you met him in the bar, so you did what any normal person would have done.

you simply stay far from the crowd admist the blasting lights and music in the dimly lit room because you don't dare to approach him, but little did you know, he was here for a reason, and one thing he wasn't expecting was to see you again the moment he does.

"you again?" he asks as he purposely bumps into you when he walks across the crowd.

"i think i should be saying that to you, mister fancyhat," you say back with a smile tugging on your lips.

his eyes widen a bit at the nickname and for a second he scoffs, "the hell?"

"well, you never gave me your name," you playfully roll your eyes at his reaction, giggling and immediately saying, "i mean it though. your hat is pretty fancy."

"well, thanks," he shrugs his shoulders before asking, "so, would you like a drink?"

"you bet i do," you smile softly with a wink. how could you not accept this man's offer?

"well then," he says, a small grin tugging on his lips, "how does whisky on ice sound this time?”

"sounds good," you remark, shrugging your shoulders, but what he says next takes you by surprise.

"but do me a favor and get behind me real quick, sweetheart," he urges sternly, forcing you to move instinctively to do what he says.

small gasps fill the club at the unexpected ruckus, some even afraid by the red-brunet's sudden cruelty to this stranger, but all settles down when he states that the guy was snapping pictures of you without your permission.

for some reason, even though he was yelling and threatening the paparazzi, the manner he protected and guarded you from them was not alarming to you. it even made your heart skip a beat for some strange reason.

you never imagined that stranger you met could be that interesting. he definitely had a reputation, possibly as big as yours, if not bigger—and you were enamored like a schoolgirl with a big crush.

could he possibly be a spy? or even a mafioso? the possibilities were endless. you had no idea what it could be, but it gave you a rush of thrill and excitement. he was so cool.

"hey, um," you manage to say, blinking out of your sight as chuuya scoffs at the person taking pictures without your permission—you didn't know how to explain to him that the guy he had just nearly beaten up was your paparazzi, but you were grateful.

"what? you okay? that guy was following you, ever since i saw you in here, actually," chuuya adds, pulling you by the wrist to take you somewhere secure in the club, unaware that he was also there for another reason involving his line of work.

"yeah, i'm fine," you admit with a sheepish smile, "more than fine, actually. let's just drink.”

chuuya sighs and scoffs a little, but smiles at you, "just try not to get drunk and make fun of me like last time, okay?"

you can't help but quietly giggle as you recall getting drunk on your wine the last time you met in person at the pub. to be honest, the growl of his voice and the way he says his r's as he becomes irritated at the bartender's answer to his request for a petrus tickles your brain in a hilarious manner.

"i'll try not to then, but no promises~"

"you better not damn it."

from the moment you met chuuya a spark ignited in your very heart. as you spent more time together in secret, the ember grew into a flame, fueled by shared laughter and late-night conversations.

it was in those moments that you discovered the layers beneath chuuya's tough exterior, the vulnerabilities that made him undeniably human.

one evening, inspired by the depth of your emotions, you found yourself sitting with a guitar in hand, fingers strumming gently. the lyrics flowed like a river. each word echoed with sincerity, a testament to the connection you had forged. you wove a tapestry of emotions into the song, from the subtle nuances of his laughter to the way his eyes held the oceans of stories.

lyrics always came to you naturally the minute you felt inspired to write a song, but this time was different.

instead of simply focusing on your reputation, past painful experiences, those who had wronged you, and even past lovers who now serve only as heartbreak and lessons, this time it was all about him.

you found the sweet whisperings of love gently tugging at the strings of you heart. as you navigated the complexities of your emotions, you stumble upon a connection that felt like destiny—a love story in the making.

with pen in hand and heart wide open, you pour your emotions onto the blank pages, each word a declaration of the feelings blossoming within. the verses were a canvas painted with shared moments, laughter echoing in the lyrics, and the subtle nuances of chuuya's essence woven into the melody.

as the melody and chords resonated with the rhythm of your emotions, you realize that in writing a love song for chuuya, you were not just creating another song; you were navigating the path to love once more.

and each lyric became a stepping stone, leading you towards a renewed understanding of affection and the beauty of opening one's heart to another, and it was a celebration of the love that had rekindled within you after everything.

late into the night, you penned the final verses, pouring my feelings onto paper. the melody became a vessel for the unspoken, a silent confession wrapped in the chords of a heartfelt song of bubblegum pop.

it was a labor of love mirroring the evolution of your feelings for chuuya, and as the last notes faded away, you knew you had given voice to the emotions that had taken root in your heart.

chuuya was in his office at the port mafia headquarters, having completed his report for the boss.

he was merely looking out his office window with a glass of wine in hand, a neutral and albeit weary expression on his face, letting out a tired sigh as the radio playing from his desk said the following words just before a new song came on,

"here we have next is a new single from the one and only, [surname] [name], entitled gorgeous!"

chuuya's eyes widen as he hears your very name on the radio. he may have only recently learned your name, but he remembers it vividly, as the song begins.

there was no doubt that was you and your voice singing on the radio, and this song doesn't simply tell about someone who is in love with a new love interest in a promiscuous manner in an attempt to attract the attention of a prospective lover.

“ocean blue eyes, looking in mine. i feel like i might sink and drown and die—you're so gorgeous! i can't say anything to your face.”

chuuya stands in stunned silence as the melody filled the atmosphere when the bridge comes in. the song was a heartfelt composition, capturing every nuance of his personality and the shared moments between you two.

“you make me so happy, it turns back to sad, there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have. you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad. you make me so happy, it turns back to sad. there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have and, guess i'll just stumble on home to my cats alone.. unless you wanna come along?”

the drum beats, synthesizers, and the gentle cadence of your voice resonated with emotion filled the air. it took chuuya a moment to register that the words were meant for him, a love letter crafted in the form of a song.

as more of the lyrics unfolded, he felt the weight of your affection settle in his chest, each note a testament to the depth of your feelings. it was a revelation that left him breathless, realizing that someone had taken the time to compose a symphony of emotions just for him.

the lyrics danced between vulnerability and strength, capturing the essence of your connection. in that moment, chuuya understood the magnitude of your love, and a warmth enveloped him.

chuuya feels his face grow hot, only because of he was too oblivious for a mafioso to not recognize you, to not realize he had been speaking to a famous artist like you out in the open just like that, thinking you were just some beautiful girl in the bar and club he'd go to. no, you were more than that.

and now, going back to it, it makes sense as to why he would constantly find people trying to take pictures of you, as to why you would seem quite tense at times, or even why you would keep staring at him.

"fuck," chuuya curses to himself, "oh, fuck."

the final chords of the song lingered in the air, not long after, and without hesitation, he reached for his phone, fingers tapping with urgency as he dialed your number.

the phone rang, each tone echoing his anticipation. when you answered, he could hear the warmth in your voice, a familiar timbre that matched the melody he had just experienced.

"was that... you?" he asks, his voice a mixture of awe and genuine curiosity.

there was silence for a moment, before you answer, "so you heard it on the radio." you says softly in the call.

as you confirmed it was indeed your creation, chuuya couldn't help but smile, a rare and genuine expression breaking across his face. the connection between you two deepened with every word, the song serving as a bridge that brought your emotions to the forefront.

in that moment, over the phone lines, chuuya felt a profound connection, grateful for the beautiful revelation you had shared with him.

the warmth in his voice betrayed a mix of emotions as he spoke, "it was... incredible. you wrote that for me, sweetheart?"

there was a brief pause, filled only by the static hum of the phone line, before he continued, "i never knew. i... i don't know what to say, but i had to hear your voice, to tell you that it meant everything."

a playful chuckle escaped your lips as you tease him, "took you long enough to connect the dots, didn't it? turns out you've been with a famous artist all along." there was even a lighthearted tone to your words, a mixture of amusement and affection.

chuuya's response was a hearty laugh on the other end, a sound that resonated with genuine delight.

"well, i guess i’m not the fastest at catching on," he admits, the hint of self-awareness in his voice. but then, a sincerity washed over his words as he continued, "but damn, you just made me fall harder for you, sweetheart."

the exchange of laughter and genuine emotions continued, bridging the gap between the revelation of your identity and the newfound depth of your connection. the melody of your shared feelings played on, a harmony that echoed between two hearts that had finally found each other.

excitement radiated through the phone as chuuya declares, "enough of phone calls, i need to see you right now."

there was now a newfound sense of urgency in his voice, a genuine desire to bridge the physical distance that remained between you two at this moment, "where are you right now?"

you share your location without any hesitation, without waiting for another response, he swiftly made his way.

as chuuya reaches the familiar spot, his eyes scanned the surroundings eagerly, searching for the person behind the melody that had woven its way into his heart.

and then, there you were, standing under the soft glow of a streetlamp, a smile playing on your lips as you locked eyes with chuuya.

the world seemed to fade away as he closed the distance between you, the anticipation building with each step. without a word, chuuya pulls you into a tight embrace, savoring the reality of your presence after the emotional journey of hearing your song on the radio in his office.

in that moment, the bustling world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a shared understanding and newfound depth of affection.

chuuya whispers in your ear, "i needed to see you, to feel this. no more hiding behind melodies and phone calls, damn it. just you and me, together."

his arms held you in a comforting embrace as the world around you embraced the quietude of the night. the streetlamp cast a gentle glow on both of you, and the soft hum of the city formed a distant backdrop to the shared moment.

breaking the silence, chuuya gazes into your eyes, a mixture of gratitude and genuine emotion reflected in his intense gaze. "i can't believe i've been so blind to what was right in front of me. how could i have not known who you were, and that song.."

you smile softly, a tender acknowledgment of the connection that had finally blossomed between you two, "i meant every word, chuuya. you have no idea how much i want you."

he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch a gentle reassurance. "well, i'm done letting things slip through my fingers. i want this, with you," his breathy words hung in the air, carrying the weight of a promise.

and so, beneath the canvas of the night sky, chuuya's lips met yours in a gentle, yet fervent kiss. it was a collision of emotions, a fusion of longing and realization.

as you melt into the kiss, the embrace held a promise of a beginning, a tender affirmation that echoed louder than any song you've written before, and the melody of your hearts played the sweetest tune, and the night whispered secrets of a love that had finally found its voice.

⊹ a.n.: thank god my finals is finally over because i finally got to finish writing this !! *literally cries* i also think i went all out for this one too because it ended up reaching 3.9k words, which is crazy. oh, and to the anon that requested this, i hope you enjoyed reading this one, in fact, all of you who made it this far—i love you and thanks for reading (honestly felt like i wrote a bit too much for this fic but oh well lol) <3

[victorie552]

Ok, so Noldolantë, "The Fall of the Noldor" is a lament composed by Maglor about what happened before, during and after First Kinslaying at Alqualondë. It's such a good song that it's played regularly in Aman and Valar listen to it often (I swear, I swear it was in the Silmarillion I just can't find it now).

It's also a more or less common fanon that Maglor continues writing Noldolante through the whole First Age. Makes sense - it's about fall of the Noldor, and Noldor did a lot of falling back then.

Headcannon time: So my first thought was that Noldolante must a long, long, long epic of a song. So it probably has many parts, right? Iliad has 24 books/parts, somehow I think Noldolante would be at least just as long, and there are longer epics. And again, just like Iliad, unless you're a scholar, in the daily life you don't really listen to/read the whole thing, just reread and repeat the most dramatic fragments. What I'm trying to impress upon you all is that the story would have different segments, or chapters, if you will.

And if Maglor continues to write the story during the FA, there would absolutely be a moment in the lament where the OG Noldolante becomes Noldolante 2, and even Noldolante 3. There may be the same musical motif or something, I decided that Maglor IS that good of a bard to keep it all consistent enough so you know it's all the same story, but the style changes a lot - it's been 400 years in the making, let The Music Elf have fun!

So, Point 1: Many, Many Parts, basically Maglor's FA WIP

My second thought was that, while Feanor invented his alphabet, elves learned their history mostly through oral tradition aka songs and spoken stories. Noldolante is definitely a historical record, where a historical event was archived for future generations.

(It was a also a way to deal with grief, guilt and blame Maglor and all Noldor have faced regarding First Kinslaying - free therapy! But that's not what this post is about)

Archived.

My 2.5 thought was that Noldolante isn't just recallings of how pretty and horrified the beach looked during the murdering or how mad and sorrowful the sea was at everyone during the voyage or even how awesome and charismatic Feanor looked during his speeches that every single Noldo was ready to fight Morgoth barehanded in his name - no, this is a record of who killed who, who got killed by whom, and how.

Noldor and Teleri knew each other (were friends, even!) before the First Kinslaying, so I'm confident that after a lot of interviews, detective work, and cross-referencing, Maglor could and would create a very good... name list. Practically every Noldo and Teler present during First Kinslaying would get a stanza in a song, more if he killed someone, most if he killed many people. Killers and killed would show up twice, first in a fragment listing the killers and their victims, then in a part listing the victims and their murderers. Basically it's the same thing twice, but from different POVs. With when, where and how included.

(It was seen to be in bad taste to compare kills during Maglor's Regency, when most of his interview-part work happened. People did it anyway. There were a Saddest Kill, Funniest Kill, and Weirdest Kill discusions. There was a Tier List. These were weird times to be a Feanorian Noldo.)

(It WAS in Bad Taste, but at least people talked about it. I cannot stress enough how much free therapy this lament provided)

(Little did they know, when Teleri started getting reembodied in Aman, they had very similar discussions, but more in a "I can't believe he killed me like THAT" way. Long, long, long after the First Age. Noldolante is a gift that keeps giving)

So, Maglor had all the historical grith and no common shame to create a "We Killed All These People And We Feel Bad About It" banger of a song, and every Noldo had a very personal reason to at least remember the fragments they are in. It's a hit on a scale never seen before.

(I'm not sure how to tackle the issue of Nolofinweans and Arafinweans learning about Noldolante after crossing the Ice. But there were discussions. There was anger, there was "????", there was controversy. Basically, the song got bigger and bigger rep no matter what your opinion on it was. By the time of Mereth Aderthad it was an important cultural and political piece and at least Fingon's forces were included in the main song. It had parodies.)

Point 2: Archive Function/Kill count storage. Cultural phenomen, every Noldo included

This is where my personal nonsense begins: Main Noldolante was done, there was nothing more to say about First Kinslaying, all killings and deaths were well documented.

But the Siege started. And the Noldor kept dying.

It was less dramatic than it sounded - between the big battles the siege was maintained, but orc raids also happened and sometimes one to few Noldor died in skirmishes. The legal procedure was to document the death of a fellow elf and send a word to king Fingolfin. The cultural procedure, technically started by Feranorians but adapted by many more, was to send the name, common characteristics and cause of death to Maglor's Gap. After few months, King Fingolfin would send reinforcements, short condolences and financial compensation if they had family. After few months, family of an elf would also receive a personal lament for them and a place for them in a Noldolante.

Yes, every lament Maglor created in that time was technically part of the Noldolante. Noldolante 1.5, if you will. Laments make in that time were very customized, and simpler than Noldolante Main, but were still considered a part of the same song. Of course, nobody was expected to know and remember laments for every single Noldo, younger Noldor born in Beleriand could even only know fragments about their family members. Only Maglor would ever know Noldolante in full, but it was understood that everyone had their place in The Song.

The results of Great Battles were harder to document, but Maglor did that. Of course, Dagor Bragollach was hard on him personally, but he worked his way through.

(High King Fingon forbade creating laments for his father. There were no songs for Fingolfin. Apart from in Noldolante, of course. Of course. Maglor did not share the lament with anyone, but he sat long hours and many nights with a blank paper before him, looking at the candle flame and thinking of the past and the future. The song unsung, but there)

Nirnaeth was... Maglor was never more hated and more approached at the same time than then. Still, Noldolante grew and grew, as if people knew the end was near.

It was Second Kinslaying that destroyed the myth of Maglor's song. Feanorians didn't know the Sindar they killed, but surely, they couldn't just left their names unmentioned like they did with orcs? So, Noldor talked, but the battle happened in caves - it wasn't uncommon to find dead bodies in empty rooms, with no witnesses to what happened. Surviving Sindar didn't want to share any names, even when Maglor strong-armed some into talking with him, and good for them. Maglor made a big lament anyway. Maglor, wild, with no shame and dead brothers, with legacy crumbling around him. Noldolante, with holes.

After Third Kinslaying, Noldor didn't want to talk. Lament for Sirion didn't have any names. Clearly, songs weren't a way to go anymore, it was always about live witnesses. And so Maglor raised the twins.

Lament for Maedhros was sung repeatedly. There was no one to hear it.

Point 3: Only Maglor knows Noldolante in full. But that doesn't matter, because everyone knows the important part: the Noldolante is finished. The Star of Hope rises in the West and the story goes on. The Fall has ended.

[benijbol]

ꔫ Melancholy

A/N; My mind is an OSHA violation,,, genuinely dk if i wanna continuously post my writing on here or just goof around el oh el ,,,

Summary; Your father betroths you to some old lousy lord and Davos helps take your mind off of it . Davos Blackwood x Fem!reader.

Warnings; 18+ smutty. choking?

3630 words.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The sun hangs heavy in the sky, beating down with an unforgiving heat that’s almost unbearable. The air is thick and stifling, the kind that clings to your skin and makes every breath feel like a struggle. The meadow stretches out in front of you, a sea of wildflowers in full bloom—pale blues, deep purples, vivid reds, and soft yellows. You wander through them, one hand trailing lazily over the tops of the tall grasses, the other clutching a single wilted daisy that you had picked without thinking. 

The news of your betrothal still echoes in your head, like a bell that won’t stop ringing. Some lord whose name you barely remember. Old, balding, with the kind of belly that speaks of too much wine and too little work. You can’t quite picture his face, but you can picture your father’s, stern and unyielding. “It’s a good match,” he had said, as if that would somehow make you forget the man is twice your age and rumored to have a temper as fierce as a summer storm.

Your stomach twists at the thought of him. Lord Selwyn or Ser Sefton, was it? You don’t even care to recall his name. You were always told your duty would come someday, that your family’s honor and the weight of your name would eventually fall upon your shoulders. You just never thought it would be this soon or this… distasteful.

The sun catches in your hair, and you brush a few damp strands away from your forehead. The humidity is unforgiving, clinging to your skin like a second, stifling layer. Your dress, made of light cotton, sticks to your back, and you curse under your breath as another bead of sweat trails down between your shoulder blades. You feel the sting of it, itching, irritating, but you make no move to brush it away. 

You pause at the edge of a small stream that winds its way through the meadow. The water is clear, trickling softly over smooth stones, and for a moment, you think about plunging your hands into it, just to feel something cool against your skin. But then you hear footsteps—clumsy and unmistakable—and you know who it is before you even turn around.

“Davos,” you say, not bothering to mask the irritation in your voice. You don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus on the flowers, on the soft rustle of the wind through the tall grass. 

He’s been following you since you left the hall, and while you’re not surprised—he’s always been a persistent shadow—it’s not a comfort today. Today, you’d rather be alone with your thoughts, even if they are bitter.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Davos replies, a bit too cheerfully for your liking. There’s a rustle of leaves and a grunt as he climbs over the low stone wall that separates the meadow from the woods beyond. He’s trying to sound casual, but there’s an awkwardness to his tone, a hesitation that you haven’t heard before.

“What gave it away?” you mutter. “Was it the fact that this is the only place I go when I’m trying to be left alone?”

He chuckles, a little breathless, as if the walk has winded him. “That, and the fact that you’ve been glaring at anyone who comes near you since the news of your betrothal.”

You whip around to face him then, the wilting daisy crumpling in your grip. He looks exactly as you expect: messy dark hair that curls slightly in the heat, his tunic sticking to his chest in a most unflattering way. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and his expression is somewhere between sheepish and amused.

“If you came here to mock me, you can go back to wherever it is you skulk about these days,” you say, voice sharper than you intend.

Davos blinks, taken aback, but he doesn’t leave. He never does. “I’m not here to mock you,” he says, a bit more seriously now. “I’m here to… I don’t know. Keep you company, I suppose. Seemed like you could use it.”

“I don’t need company,” you snap. “Least of all from you.”

His smile falters, and for a moment, you almost feel guilty. Almost. But then he shrugs, trying to play it off. “Well, you’ve got me anyway,” he says, plopping down on a patch of grass beside you. 

You sigh, exasperated, and turn back to the stream. The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable, like the humid air around you. You can feel him watching you, feel his gaze lingering on your profile, and it makes your skin prickle with annoyance.

“Do you even know who he is?” he asks finally, breaking the silence. “This lord they’ve promised you to?”

“An old fool with a red nose and yellowed teeth. My father would trade me to the highest bidder if he thought it would earn him favor at court.”

Davos's face twists in an expression of distaste. “He’s an ass, then.”

“An ass, yes,” you agree, “but an ass with land and men. Apparently, that’s what matters most.”

There’s a bitterness in your voice that you don’t bother to hide. You bend down to pick another flower—a bluebell this time—twisting its stem between your fingers until it snaps. Davos watches you, his eyes flickering over your face, searching for something in your expression.

“You could run away,” he suggests, only half-joking. “Steal a horse and ride to the edge of the world. I’d go with you, if you asked.”

You snort, shaking your head. “And where would we go? To the Riverlands, where your father would have us both dragged back in chains?”

“Could be an adventure,” he replies with a grin, his teeth bright against the dirt on his face. “We could join a mercenary band. Or a pirate crew. You’ve always looked good in leather, after all.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “Leather would be too hot in this weather,” you quip back. “I’d rather not die of heatstroke before I get to taste freedom.”

Davos chuckles, and the sound is warm, familiar. It eases the tension in your shoulders a little, though you’d never admit it. He shifts closer, just a fraction, his knee brushing against yours. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to make you acutely aware of how close he’s sitting. How close he always sits, now that you think about it.

“Maybe you just need to cool off,” he says, his tone light but his eyes watching you carefully. “The stream’s right there.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting I dunk my head in the water?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” he replies with a smirk. “Might knock some sense into you, too.”

You swat at him, half-heartedly, and he catches your wrist with surprising ease. His grip is firm but not rough, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist where your pulse is fluttering a bit too quickly. You glare at him, but he doesn’t let go. In fact, he holds on a little tighter, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity you’re not quite used to from him.

“What?” you snap, more to break the moment than anything else.

Davos' smile fades, replaced by something more serious, more uncertain. “Nothing,” he says softly. “Just… you don’t have to go through with it, you know. Not if you don’t want to.”

You pull your hand away, feeling a sudden wave of frustration. “And what choice do I have, Davos?” you demand. “Run off with you to join the pirates? How noble. How honorable.”

“Maybe honor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he mutters.

You scoff. “And maybe you’re just a fool.”

Davos looks like he wants to argue, but then he shrugs, a resigned sort of smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I am. But I’d rather be a fool than see you miserable.”

There’s a pause, a heartbeat of silence that stretches on too long. You don’t know what to say to that, so you say nothing, turning your attention back to the flowers at your feet. But then, you feel his hand on your shoulder, tentative and awkward.

“What are you—”

Before you can finish, he’s leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I mean it,” he murmurs, his voice low. “You could have more than this. More than him.”

Your breath catches, and you don’t know whether it’s the heat or his words that make your skin feel like it’s on fire. You twist your head to look at him, and there’s something in his eyes—something you haven’t seen before. Or maybe you have, and you’ve just been too blind to notice.

“Davos,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You’ve always been too good for them,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Too good for any of them.”

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “And what about you, Davos Blackwood? Are you saying you’re good enough?”

He doesn’t answer, but his gaze is steady, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your neck, thumb brushing the line

 of your jaw. There’s a reckless determination in his eyes now, something bold and unrestrained, and it sends a shiver down your spine despite the oppressive heat.

“You could find out,” he suggests, and there’s a hint of a challenge in his voice.

Before you can stop yourself, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his with more force than you intend. He makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hands come up to cradle your face, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss.

It’s awkward at first, all teeth and misaligned mouths, but then he tilts his head just right, and your lips slot together more easily. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing tender. It’s heated, desperate, like you’re both trying to prove something. You taste salt and sweat on his skin, feel the press of his chest against yours, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of your dress.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice rough. “Tell me to stop if you want me to.”

You don’t. 

Your hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin through the damp fabric of his tunic. You can feel his breath, hot against your cheek, hear the unsteady rhythm of his heart beneath your palms. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, surprising yourself with how much you mean it.

He grins, and it’s a little wicked, a little wild. “You always did like playing with fire,” he says.

“Shut up, Davos,” you reply, but there’s no venom in it. Only want.

His hands move down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he pushes you back against the rough bark of a nearby tree. The sudden contact makes you gasp, but he covers your mouth with his again, swallowing the sound. His lips move against yours with a new urgency, a kind of raw hunger that sends heat pooling in your belly.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his forehead resting against yours. “Is this madness?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse.

“Probably,” you reply, breathless, and he laughs softly.

His fingers find the hem of your dress, skimming up along your thigh, and you shiver despite the warmth of the day. “Then let’s be mad together,” he whispers, and there’s something fierce and determined in his tone that makes your heart race.

He leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice dark, “tell me what you want.”

Your voice catches in your throat. “I—”

He cuts you off, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple through the thin fabric. “Tell me,” he insists, a little more forcefully now.

“Touch me,” you breathe, and he obliges, his hand slipping lower, beneath the hem of your dress.

He watches you closely, his expression intense, waiting for the slightest sign of hesitation. But there is none. You feel his fingers brush against the dampness between your legs, and your breath hitches, a low moan escaping your lips.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and there’s something darkly triumphant in his voice. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and the heat between your legs only grows more insistent. You feel the roughness of his palm against your inner thigh, his fingers deft and exploratory as they tease along the edges of your smallclothes. You should be embarrassed—should feel some kind of shame at how wet you are, how much you want this—but you don’t. Not with him.

His eyes never leave yours, even as his fingers dip beneath the fabric, brushing over your slick folds with a lightness that makes your breath hitch. He grins at the sound, his mouth hovering just inches from yours, and there’s something wicked in the curve of his lips.

“Sensitive today, aren’t we?” he murmurs, a teasing lilt in his tone. You shoot him a glare, but it lacks any real venom. Your body betrays you, arching into his touch, wanting more, needing more.

“Don’t play with me, Davos,” you warn, though your voice comes out breathier than you’d intended.

He chuckles, low and dark. “Oh, I think you like being played with,” he counters, his fingers slipping between your folds, finding the spot that makes you gasp and clench around nothing. “Like a fine-tuned lute… I just have to find the right strings to pluck.”

You bite your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape, but Davos seems to notice, his eyes lighting up with amusement. His thumb circles slowly, deliberately, around that sensitive bundle of nerves, not quite touching it, just enough to tease. You can feel your breath quicken, your skin flushed, heart racing like a wild thing.

“Davos,” you growl, and he laughs again, that soft, husky sound that sends heat pooling low in your belly.

“What? You want more?” he asks, voice mockingly innocent. His fingers press deeper, stroking, exploring, and you can’t help the small sound that slips past your lips.

“Say it,” he demands softly. “I want to hear you ask for it.”

You glare up at him, trying to muster some shred of defiance, but it’s hard to think with his hand between your thighs, with the rough pad of his thumb brushing over your sensitive clit, making your head swim with sensation. The heat is unbearable, the humid air wrapping around you like a shroud, but all you can feel is him—his breath on your skin, his fingers inside you, coaxing, teasing, filling.

“Please,” you finally whisper, hating how desperate you sound, but unable to care. “Please, Davos.”

“Please, what?” he presses, his grin widening as if he’s enjoying this far too much. “You have to be specific, my lady. I’m not a mind reader.”

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. You’ve never been good at asking for what you want, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something dark and intense and… hungry. It makes you feel bold. Reckless.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathe, barely recognizing your own voice. “Now.”

For a heartbeat, he freezes, as if he can’t quite believe what you’ve said. Then a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face, and he leans in close, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “As you wish,” he whispers, his voice a low, dangerous rasp that sends shivers down your spine.

In one swift motion, he pushes your dress up over your hips, his hands firm and demanding. You feel the cool breeze against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing against yours. He steps back, just enough to fumble with the laces of his trousers, his eyes never leaving yours.

There’s a hunger in his gaze now, a wild, reckless glint that makes your pulse quicken. You want to say something, anything, but words fail you. All you can do is watch as he frees himself from the confines of his clothing, his cock hard and thick in his hand.

He looks at you, almost as if seeking permission, and you nod, a small, jerky motion. His grin returns, sharp and wolfish, and he steps forward again, pressing you back against the rough bark of the tree. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you with surprising ease, and you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the head of his cock brush against your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice rough, and there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes, something almost… vulnerable.

You nod again, and he doesn’t wait for further confirmation. He pushes into you with one smooth, powerful thrust, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips at the sudden, overwhelming fullness. He stills for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

“Gods,” he groans, his hands tightening on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. “You feel… perfect.”

You can’t respond. All you can do is cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he starts to move, slow at first, then faster, each thrust deep and sure and deliberate. The rough bark of the tree scratches against your back, but you barely feel it over the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body.

His mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing over your skin, and you shiver at the sharp sting of it, a delicious contrast to the heat of his tongue as he soothes the bite. His hands are everywhere—gripping, squeezing, exploring. One hand slides up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin, his voice a low, husky growl. “So needy. So desperate for me.”

You should be offended, should slap him for his insolence, but instead, his words only make you moan, make your hips buck against his, wanting more, needing more. He chuckles, dark and amused.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs. “You like it when I talk to you like this.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to spill from your lips, but he’s relentless. His hand tightens around your throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp, to make your blood sing with the thrill of it.

“Say it,” he commands. “Tell me you like it.”

Your voice comes out in a ragged whisper, barely more than a breath. “I… I like it.”

His grin widens, and he leans in to press a rough, hungry kiss to your mouth, swallowing your gasp as he thrusts deeper, harder, making you cry out against his lips. His hand moves from your throat, sliding down to where your bodies are joined, his fingers finding your clit with practiced ease.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his voice low and husky, and the praise sends a rush of heat through you, pooling between your legs. “Come for me. I want to feel you come.”

You don’t know if it’s his words or his touch or the sheer intensity of it all, but you feel the coil tightening in your belly, winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, a wave of pleasure crashing over you so intensely you see stars. You cry out, your body shuddering around him, and he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate.

“Fuck,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it almost hurts. “Fuck, you feel so—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, his words dissolving into a low, guttural moan as he comes, his hips jerking against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. You feel him spill inside you, warm and wet, and for a moment, the world seems to blur around the edges, the only thing that matters the feeling of him, the weight of him, the heat of him.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of your heavy breathing, the pounding of your heart in your ears. Then, slowly, reality begins to seep back in. The heat of the sun on your skin, the sticky humidity of the air, the rough bark of the tree at your back. You feel Davos’s breath against your cheek, hot and uneven, and you realize he’s still holding you, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he’s afraid to let go.

Finally, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and uncertainty. “Are you alright?” he asks, and there’s a note of genuine concern in his voice.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. “I… yes. I’m alright.”

He studies you for a moment longer, then nods, his grip on you loosening slightly. “Good,” he murmurs, and you can see the relief in his eyes.

You both stay there for a moment longer, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around you slowly coming back into focus. You know you should say something, but the words elude you, tangled somewhere in your throat.

Davos seems to sense your hesitation because he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You know,” he says, his voice light, teasing, “if you wanted to distract yourself from this betrothal nonsense, you could have just asked.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, but there’s a warmth in your chest that you can’t quite deny. “Next time, I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply dryly.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

I feel like i should be making a taglist of some sorts idk UHM,, if ur up for itttt... im so awkward sorry