#a glimpse into my father's brain

[pizzapasta23045]

I wish there was more of this shit but my father has injured his hand and cannot play atm. He got smited irl.

On the other hand, my sister is heavily considering starting to play when school ends so that'll be cool to see.

Forgot to post it here but my father posted this image to his Instagram

With the caption "When you choose characters purely for the thrill of the brawl."

[somuchstrdst]

life's so fleeting 😔

[tiredmamaissy]

Alpha Sung Jin-woo helping me through my heat? Yes, pretty please.

🔞mdni🔞

alpha!jinwoo x lycan!shadow reader

Warnings: smut, p in v, masturbation, dubcon, heat cycle, dom jin, virginity loss, profanity, disgusting filth, creampie, alternating female + male povs, i.e your pov vs jins

a/n: a fair warning I was ovulating while I wrote majority of this ok? So it’s just kinda filthy I apologize. I’ve been thinking about Jinwoo helping us through heat for quite a while and this was the only way my brain could conjure up a situation to make that possible lol I also alternate povs between yours and then jinwoos so we get an idea of what hes feeling too, so I’m so sorry if this is a tad weird 😂

w/c: 7k

your pov 

Aside from my notably pointed ears and canines, there isn’t much else that sets me aside from the humans. Yeah, my hair looks silver in some lighting but my body is pretty identical to that of a human. Well, for the most part. I do have…extra features. 

I thought that being a part of the master's army would change those things—you know, being dead and all. Yet, things are mostly the same aside from the overwhelming urge to serve Master Jinwoo in every way possible. He’s the better king, anyways. 

My father comes nowhere near him. He made me suffer most months, throwing me in the dungeon in the basement of the castle and letting the moon shove a double edged sword through my body as I cried out in agony. 

I thought that was all over. 

One would assume that existing in this…form would mean no pain and discomfort, or even emotions and needs. But I feel everything like I would back in the castle with my shitty excuse for a father. 

But I just…never expected this. 

Another wave ripples through me, tearing me from my thoughts and bringing me to my knees. The other shadows take notice in this little bubble that we float in until the king summons us. Some turn their heads to look at me, while others turn their heads to ignore me. I suppose we all still have most of our free will. 

I clench my thighs together and will the cramp to radiate down and out my extremities. I seal my lips tight but a little whimper still escapes them, and it shocks even me. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It’s only been a few hours and it’s only getting worse. Just like it used to. At this point, father would be locking the door and throwing away the key.

But I refuse to let this happen in front of the others. At least in my dungeon I had the privacy to suffer and squirm and squeal on my own. I keep my focus on my bruised knees and force the muscles in my thighs to relax. Maybe I can get my own bubble or something. 

I am the only girl here. 

“What’s wrong with her?” I hear a whisper behind me, and the sound of shuffling beside me.

“She kind of…smells.” Another voice fires the words like an arrow through me. 

Not fair. I can’t control that part of this. 

I peek up through my lashes and catch a glimpse of the blockhead called Iron dramatically pointing at me in dead silence. He looks as if he just discovered new land or something. I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind but an armored hand gives his wrist a satisfying smack. 

“That’s rude.”

It’s Igris, my favorite shadow in the army. Not that I really know the others anyways. He’s the quietest of the lot, and is seemingly master's second in command. I’m not exactly excited for him to see me like this, but there isn’t much I can do about it. I look away and curl into a ball to soothe the dull ache in my core. 

“What’s the matter?” Igris takes a knee beside me and looks me over. “Are you in pain?”

Gods, what do I even say? Nothing, that’s what. I give him a slight nod and bite my cheek to stifle the groan trying to escape from me too. 

“She smells good.” Iron speaks like a caveman, inching his way closer to Igris. Igris extends a hand behind him and halts Iron with a shove, forcing him to keep a distance from me. 

“Give her space.” Igris says sternly, a little louder than needed. I guess that message was for everyone. My cheeks heat up. Shit. I tuck my head down to hide my flushed face and that throb down there worsens. 

Igris tenses. I can sense it—he’s strung taut like a bow ready to snap. I can’t help but wonder if it’s me making him that way or if he’s just being his usual self. Regardless, I can’t bring myself to look back at him right now. Not when I’m making a little mess in my panties. No, that would be shameless. 

Igris clears his throat and his armour clanks as he lowers his face next to mine. “You are part Lycan, correct?” 

Igris speaks for only me to hear. It sounds as if there’s a hidden question disguised behind that one. Whatever it is, I don’t answer. He sighs slightly and allows the uncomfortable silence to pass between us. After what feels like an eternity, Igris pulls back and straightens his spine.

“I’ll inform the king.”

Suddenly we’re being sucked out of this bubble and my heated skin is on the cold tile. It feels like I’m sizzling against it’s surface, and the feeling is delectable. I wonder if my master will let me stay here for a while longer. Just until it’s all over. 

“Inform me of what?” Jin-woo stands before me, yet he’s looking at Igris beside him with his arms crossed over his chest. 

I feel like we’re in trouble or something, especially with him standing like that. It’s making me nervous but the sensation deep in me isn’t allowing the nerves to take over. I can’t get up even if I try. I tighten my grip around my knees and my fangs descend and throb in my mouth.

I hate this. 

“She’s…in pain.” Igris speaks with uncertainty in his voice, like if it were a question rather than a statement. Jinwoo shifts his focus on me, looking down at me with a cocked brow. I guess he’s never had issues with one of his shadows like this.

“Pain?” Jin-woo sounds almost intrigued. “What happened?”  

Igris doesn’t answer right away, he’s giving me a chance to speak for myself but I don’t take it. I’m feeling more embarrassed than anything right now. 

“I am unsure, master.” Igris finally says and I look up to meet the glowing eyes of my creator. 

Jinwoo is kneeling in front of me. The king himself, kneeling, before me. My face flames and my thighs rub against one another. I show my submission and look down, how dare I look into his eyes when he’s on his knees? 

“Speak.” Jinwoo commands me, and the instinct to obey rides me hard. I surprise myself when I glance over at Igris, and then back to my master. And just like that, Jinwoo waves Igris away and he fades into a black mist. 

“Forgive me, you’re my first female shadow. I know privacy is important.” My king speaks to me with his hand extended. He’s urging me to take it. Oh, gods. I obey and take it, and suddenly I’m being carried across the room and lowered onto what I can only assume is his bed. 

“Now, talk to me.” 

Now I have to say it. There’s no escaping it. He himself is demanding an answer, here and now. 

“Um…” I begin, breaking eye contact to look down at my feet. They feel heavier and I have way more color than usual. I almost look…alive. And with this annoying ache, I almost feel alive too. Jin-woo angles his head to catch my gaze and what feels like my heart bursts through my chest. 

“Just something…Lycan.” 

“Something…Lycan.” Jinwoo repeats slowly, nodding slightly as if he understands what I mean. “Right. So will it fix itself? I don’t know if the system has—”  

“Yes! Yes.” I answer him quickly, calming down when I realise that I’ve totally interrupted him. “It’ll go away in a couple days. I just need, uhm—” 

“You need…?” Jinwoo draws out the word as he waits patiently. 

“My own bubble.” I speak with feigned confidence. This is my chance and I’m determined not to let the other shadows see me like this.

“Your own…bubble?” 

Master seems confused. 

“Yes.” I say, and give my best smile. “Please.” 

His brows furrow. Master is definitely confused. 

“I need…privacy.” I use the word he did. 

“Ah.” Jinwoo nods, and looks at me with an unreadable expression. It’s that same expression someone makes when they're trying to solve one of those oddly shaped puzzles. “Okay. Understood.” 

Perfect. I’m getting my own bubble, and I don’t need to worry about anything else other than just getting through this shit show.

“But I can’t give you your own…bubble.” 

What? Didn’t he just say ‘okay’? That he understands? 

“Instead, you’ll stay here.” He motions to his room and for the first time I take it in. The grey paint on his walls. His wooden wardrobe. The flat screen t/v mounted to the wall. His bed that I’m sitting on. 

He wants me to stay here? 

“You said, what? A couple days? I have more than enough mana to keep you here.” Master speaks so casually about allowing me in his personal quarters. Unbothered, he stalks towards the door and reaches for the handle. He opens the door and lingers in the frame, back turned to me. “Take the bed. I’ll take the couch.” 

Absolutely not. 

“No! M-Master, you can’t. I will take the couch, o-or even the basement! I really don’t need much space. Even the floor is fine.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jin-woo casts me a glance over his shoulder. “I’ll be tending to a few matters and won’t be here most of the time, anyways.” He walks through the bedroom door, collected and composed. “Make yourself at home.” 

The door closes softly behind him and I’m left alone in a room that smells like him. Every part of this place smells like him. His sheets. His pillow. Even the curtains are stained with his musky scent. 

I feel like I’m floating, being led by my nose like a predator to prey. 

And when I come to, I’m curled up in a pile of his laundry in his bed, stripped buck naked. I don’t quite remember how I got in this position, but I’ve never felt more comfortable in a nest before. All my previous nests have been made of my old blankets, and whatever linen my father throws down in the basement.

This one is perfect. And it smells exactly how it should. I tug a fat pillow towards me and embrace it with all four limbs, inhaling deep and holding it. Heat bubbles in my tummy and I moan into the pillow’s cushioned surface. It muffles it just right. 

My toes curl and my thighs grip the pillow, shimmying it closer and closer to the place where it aches the most. The pressure is sublime. I shove my hand between me and the pillow and my fingers strum at my slippery clit. I bury my face into the pillow and my eyes burn when that hot sensation zings through me. 

“Ahh!”

sung jin-woo’s pov 

I never thought I’d have to deal with one of my shadows being in heat. I got the notification as soon as I summoned her and Igris. 

Notification: [Lycan Shadow] is in heat. Do you want to help her? ☐Yes ☐No

Of course I chose yes. What kind of master would I be if I didn’t help one of my loyal shadows? It’s my responsibility. Plus, she’s female. 

But that doesn’t change the fact that I had no idea what it really meant to pick yes. I’m not an idiot—I know what a heat is, especially for a Lycan. I thought giving her some privacy would be enough but now the system seems to be urging me to do a bit more than that. 

Notification: [Lycan shadow] will peak in her heat in 8hrs35mins12secs. There may be a penalty if the quest isn’t completed. 

Quest? Penalty? 

I shift to my side on the couch—I don’t remember it being this tough. The annoying screen follows me and I wave it away. I don’t have time for this. Just keeping her here in this condition is draining my mana quicker than I expected. 

But a penalty? For what? 

I’ve kept her here, let her in my room, in my bed. Isn’t that enough? What more does she need from me? 

Her scent alone was enough to make my head spin. If I didn’t get out of that room when I did I would have lost my shit. I can’t say for certain exactly what would have happened, but she smells like something I’ve never smelled before. She smells like a feeling. 

She smells ripe. 

Fuck, what am I thinking? Ripe? Like a fucking fruit? I toss over to my other side and smack the pillow a couple times. I need to buy a new couch. Imagine if I let her take this piece of plywood that I’m laying on? Or the floor in the basement? I don’t even have a basement. I live on the top floor of an apartment complex. It makes things easier for me when it comes to Kaisel.

Anyways—is that what her father did? Throw her in the basement when her heat came on? I should’ve made that fucker’s death a slow one. 

I huff a sigh and spring up into a sitting position. I eye the floor, maybe it is the better option. I bury my face into my hands. I have a couple commitments for the hunters association tomorrow but those will need to wait for now. I need to deal with her first…however that may be. 

I wonder if she’s okay right now. She didn’t look great at all. And her aura was very off. She felt weak to me, like she was injured and fragile, despite her being a shadow. It made my protective instincts go haywire for a moment. I know Igris felt it too. Couldn’t he have taken the weight of some of this for me? They both exist on the shadow plane that she likes calls a ‘bubble’. 

Cute. Very cute. 

I see what she meant by needing her privacy, though. With a scent like that I can’t trust my soldiers to keep to themselves. I know Igris wouldn’t allow any funny shit to go down but females like their privacy. Jin-ah made me realize that long ago. 

I know that checking on her now would be an invasion of that. So why do I want to? This badly, too? There’s something deep in me urging me to get up and make sure she’s alright. It’s not just my protective instinct. It’s something more. Something primal. 

And the idea unnerves me. 

I stand and begin pacing in my living room to cool off a bit. But my head won’t clear. My thoughts go from obligations I have to get done, to her. Everything about her. The pink on her cheeks that appeared once I started pouring mana into her summoning. The shine in her silver hair when the moonlight caught it just right. The way she squeezed her thighs together and that scent of hers grew even stronger. I bet that’s where it’s emitting from. 

Fucking hell. Get your shit together, man. 

Whatever she’s going through is affecting me too. That’s clear as day. And now I’m standing in front of her door. My door. Well, it’s her door for the next couple of days. Fuck. What’s wrong with me? This is creepy behaviour. I lean in, tilting my head to press the shell of my ear to its wooden exterior. 

Very creepy behaviour. 

So why can’t I stop? I strain to listen, and my hand rests on the door handle. What am I doing? I rip my hand away from the metal and clench my jaw. 

“Ahh!”

Shit. Go in there and check she’s safe.  

No. She’s fine. She’s safe. She’s in my room. I’m here, guarding her. I need to calm down and get myself together, this is ridiculous. She’s a shadow for Christ sake—

“Mmm~” 

Oh? What was that? 

“Ngh!” 

Yep. That was definitely a moan of some sort. I wonder if I’m actually immune to heart attacks, because it feels like I might be having one right now. Or maybe all the blood is just rushing to the wrong head.

“Mmph!”

Christ. Forgive me. 

I palm my crotch, I can’t help it. My hard on hurts. My boxers have no stretch to them. 

Her little sounds are picking up now. They’re muffled but these walls are thin. I want to know what she’s doing in there to be making those noises. 

I need to know. 

My hand goes for the door handle again but I reign it back in. I force myself to step away from the door all together. I’m not doing this. This is a line that I won’t cross with a shadow. I take a few more steps back, turn and head straight for my bed made of concrete. I slip under the blanket and rest my arm over my forehead. 

I force myself to close my eyes and concentrate on getting some sleep and ignoring those delicious sounds coming from my bedroom. Right, ignoring them. I opt to listen to the electricity from the fridge, the ceiling fan, the clock—anything. But nothing distracts me from those sweet, sweet noises she’s making.

Fuck.

I’m as hard as this couch. Rock solid. I haven’t been this hard since high school for fucksake. I try to ignore the branch in my pants and turn over to go to bed. But nothing’s working. 

My hand slides under the band of my boxers and I grab my cock with a vice-like grip. I want it to go down—go away. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to admit what I’m feeling. 

My shadow is making me unbelievably horny. 

Her sounds. Her scent. 

God, help me. 

My hand moves, up and down. It hurts, so I loosen my grip. I can’t stop my own movements. Just the thought of her in lying in my bed possibly doing things to herself to be making those noises is driving me over the fucking edge. I look over at the door, it’s still shut. 

Good. I can’t have her catching me. This is already crazy as it is. I feel like I’m sneaking around, like I did when I was younger. My hand moves faster. Shit, I’m gonna come already. I can hear her moans from here now, they’re getting even louder and longer. Whatever she’s doing in my room is about to come to a finale. 

And fuck, so am I. 

“F-Fuck!”

“Oh, fuck.” I groan a little too loudly for my liking and explode in my cupped hand. 

I can’t remember the last time I came this fucking hard. I fumble into the kitchen and clean myself up, fixing my boxers and taking a moment to gather myself. I’m going to pretend like I didn’t just cum to one of my shadows and head to bed. 

I’ll deal with this heat thing tomorrow. 

— —

It’s been a few hours and I still haven’t slept. Nor have I calmed down either. I’m getting a little concerned. How many hours need to pass before I see a doctor about having a hard on again? It won’t fucking go down and it’s got its own heartbeat. But how could it when her scent is leaking through the cracks of the door frame? It’s literally seeping out the room in a light tangible mist. 

I don’t know how much more I can take. Her sounds are definitely not helping either. They’re so much louder and desperate—raw and primal. She is most certainly fucking herself in there. And I’d be the world’s biggest liar if I said I didn’t want to be the one in there fucking her. All she needs to do is say the words, and I’d shove my cock in her little cunt so fucking deep. 

I catch my breath. How long was I holding it for? I’m sweating like I’ve climbed a hundred stories and I swear my muscles are swelling. I slip my shirt off, it’s way too tight. The timer says there’s about two hours left until this peaks but I can’t last that long. I’ll have to take Kaisel out to get some fresh air or something. 

Or I’m going to fuck her. 

Shirtless, I grab a coat and bolt to the front door.

“...M-Master.” 

Fuck. She’s calling for me. Fuck. I need to leave now. 

“...oh!...please.” 

My hand grips the door handle and I watch myself turn it. Wait. This isn’t the handle to the front door. It creaks open and her intoxicating scent bursts out and hits me like a ten ton truck. My head spins and my vision blurs for a second. Shit. I blink to focus my eyes and—

Oh, god. 

She’s bent over on all fours in a bed of my linen and laundry, sticking her pussy up in the air. Right in front of my face. Presented on a silver platter for my enjoyment. Swollen and bright pink, and ultra glossy from her heat. 

Fuck, that is where this delicious scent is coming from. 

It looks like it’d be so warm and gooey inside. I need to find out–to be inside. My cock throbs at the thought and I adjust myself. She begins rocking back and forth, thrusting her pussy into the air and then onto my very soaked pillow. Has she been using that thing to get off this whole time? No wonder this has lasted for hours.  

I glance down at her face and the expression etched into her soft features sends a pang through my chest. She’s been suffering, unsatisfied and desperate for a proper release this entire time. I’ve left her here this long because of why again? I can’t remember, but it doesn’t matter. Because I’m going to make this all better.

“You called.” 

your pov

I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight. Not that I’m necessarily surprised or anything, but it still sucks. King Jin-woo’s scent is making this way worse than it usually is. My body probably thinks that a male is here to mate–or whatever my aunt says about Lycans in their heat. Father never allowed that of course, so it quickly became just a bedtime folklore for me. 

But shit, now that it’s happening…everything is so much more intense. 

I rock back and forth. Harder. Faster. It aches, a constant throb of need, pulsing in my womb, in my pussy. I yearn to be filled. By him. By my master, my king. My body craves him, his scent. 

My head feels like it’s stuffed with wool and I can’t concentrate to form a coherent thought. A moan splits my lips and I’m head first into the pillow, arching my back and sticking my pussy in the air. I can feel how swollen I am, and I’m dripping everywhere—down my legs, onto his sheets, his blankets, his clothes.  

My hand mindlessly wanders between my thighs, again. Jokes on it, because nothing it or this pillow can do is going to make it go away. I’ve lost count on how many times I’ve rubbed at that little bump down there. But I know it’s enough to make it really puffy and sensitive. I feel my fingers press little circles into it, and my tears start flowing again. 

I’m crying like an idiot. Thank the gods that I’m alone. The sensation is so overwhelming. It’s too much yet nowhere near enough at the same time. My body is craving more than my fingers can give. Something big enough to reach deep inside me and get rid of that itch I can’t ever reach. My back bows even more and my toes strain and sink into the bed.

I’m presenting my pussy to nobody. 

Because no one’s coming. There is no male. 

My knees drag forward and I hardly bring myself to mount his pillow again. It’s wet from the times I’ve used it to make myself cum. I’m so sore and weak but I can’t help myself. This is truly pathetic, and I ought to be ashamed of myself. But I’m not. I’m really not. I want to call out for him, my master. 

My alpha. 

He’ll make this better, he’ll make the ache go away. 

“...m-master…alpha…” I hear myself croak and another cramp rattles me. “...oh! please...” 

I rock again, sinking my pussy down onto Jinwoo’s pillow and then shoving it back into the air. 

A gust of wind makes me shudder and I hump the pillow another time. 

“You called.” 

Masters’ deep voice envelops me like a cool breeze on a humid day. I didn’t even hear him come in. It feels like my ears are stuffed with cotton, too. My hips thrust my pussy even harder into the air. 

What’s happening to me? 

It’s never been this bad.

“Please.” I barely manage to get out. He should know what I’m asking for, he’s the male. My hips rut my mound into his pillow, pressing my hard, sticky clit into the wet fabric. His footsteps come closer, and I can feel his overpowering presence behind me. It’s so domineering, I feel like I’m suffocating.

“Please, what?” His voice is thick with restraint.

But why is he resisting?

“Please, help me.” I sob the last two words, dismounting his pillow and shuffling back until my knees are at the edge of the bed. “I can’t take it a-anymore, alpha.” 

“Alpha? That’s new.” He lets out a husky chuckle and his fingertips brush against my outer thigh as he positions himself behind me. I whine from his touch and my back sinks even lower. “I guess you could say that I’m your alpha, sure.” 

“Yes, alpha. Please, a-alpha. It’s h-hurting now.”

I’m blubbering. Nothing makes sense. Nothing feels right. I can’t think clearly, I can’t stop my tears, I can’t stop my body. I’m scared, but also excited and aroused. His fingers sink into the fat on my thigh and drag themselves up to my hip, seizing it with force. He tugs me onto him, pressing his clothed bulge against my swollen pussy. 

“Fuck, love. Your pussy is weeping.” He groans, gripping my other hip to hold me steady. I’m not going anywhere. I need this. “Is that how badly she wants me? Enough to cry?” 

He’s speaking about my pussy like it’s got a mind of its own. I mean, it feels that way right now. It’s throbbing for him, leaking clear beads of this sticky liquid it won’t stop making onto his pants. 

He needs to take those off, how will we do this if he doesn’t?   

Master yanks at my hips, ramming me back onto him suddenly–roughly.

“Answer me.” He growls and a sweltering heat floods my cunt. 

“Yes, alpha.” I whisper in anticipation, spreading my legs a little further to make space for his huge figure.

He is alpha. 

“Good girl.” I feel him pluck at the string on his pants and tug them down his legs. “Now, you want me to help you? Yeah?” Jinwoo’s voice is rough and it’s doing things to my body. His hand slips to my inner thigh and his fingertips barely brush against my puffy clit. 

“Mmm—mhm!” I hum and nod, chasing his fingers with my hips. Why is he teasing me? “Please al-pha.” 

“You know, you’re a well-mannered shadow when it suits you, princess.” Jinwoo lets out a subtle chuckle, arching over me until he’s cheek to cheek with me. His cock is prodding at me but in all the wrong places. He needs to be inside. 

“Say the words. And I’ll do it.” His voice lowers to a whisper and he’s putting more and more weight on top of me. “Tell me exactly how you need me to help you.”

I don’t understand how any of this is possible but I don’t care. I’ve never felt more alive than at this moment. 

“Inside. P-Put it inside.” I whimper shakily and my hips stutter to notch him at my opening. It’s becoming obvious that he’s doing this on purpose and I can’t understand why. “H-Hurry please!” 

“Tsk... Put what inside, love?” He tsks, and a menacing smirk tugs at his lips. His knees sink into the mattress behind me. 

“You, alpha. You.” I answer desperately, and he remains stockstill. “Your…cock.” 

“Oh. This?” I feel him tug down his boxers and his cock springs out. It’s hot against me, twitching and pulsing between my pussy lips. I nod like an idiot and my bottom lip quivers. 

Why is he doing this to me?

“Inside where?” His smirk morphs into a little grin and he lets go of my hip to guide himself exactly where he’s supposed to be. “Here?” 

Gods, yes. Yes. Right there.

“Come on. Tell your alpha.” Jin-woo growls the order. 

“Yes. Want you in my pussy! Ple-ase!” I cry out and back up on him, and I hear him chuckle again. What’s so fucking funny? He needs to hurry or I’m going to lose myself completely. 

“God, it's taken everything in me to hold back for this long, you know that? You’ve really been fucking with my head.” Master grumbles, rubbing his cockhead up and down along my slick opening. “Just keeping you here in this form is using most of my mana, princess. I don’t know how much patience I have left in me.”

In this form? What form? I don’t care. He needs to move. 

“Don’t you feel it?” He whispers, catching himself just right at my softest, most sensitive spot. He pushes, gently, slowly. It’s huge. Oh, no. No, he won’t fit. But he needs to. He has to. I spread myself even more, meeting this pressure half way. 

“Don’t you feel…alive? Or is your heat fucking with your head too much for you to notice?” 

What the fuck is he on about?

Smack.

Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh, fuck. 

A high pitched noise rings my ears and I think it might be me. My body tenses and my mind goes blank. The burn is divine but he might actually be splitting me wide open. He’s so big, so deep—so fucking deep. Pushing an exquisite pressure right into that tender, itchy part inside me. It hurts, but it hurts so good. I had no idea that this is what I’ve been missing for all these dreadful months.  

Jinwoo huffs next to my ear, stilling himself inside me. “You okay?”

sung jin-woo’s pov

Easy, Jin. Slowly. Let’s not break her.

I’m pumping mana into her so her form is more real than shadow. From her soft curves down to each strand of hair on her head—I know she’s feeling every little thing as if her heart were actually beating. I don’t think she’s realized though, she’s way too out of it. 

“Don’t you feel…alive? Or is your heat fucking with your head too much for you to notice?”

I attempt to breach her and meet pure resistance. God, she’s tight as fuck. I heave a breath and roll my hips forward, breaking that resistance little by little until I feel a sudden pop. She squeals and her pussy clamps down on my cock, fuck—not good. Not. Good.

The compulsion to sink myself all the way inside is entirely too overwhelming. I try my best to fight it but my hips stammer against my will and whatever strength I have left goes right into forcing my cock inside her tight little cunt in one hard thrust.  

Holy fuck, yes. 

Her pussy isn’t anything near what I imagined. It’s everything and more. And it didn’t give easy. She’s so warm and sticky and soft inside. She’s hugging every inch my cock so fucking tight. 

I grit my teeth so I don’t spray my load inside her. I need to calm down, keep a level head. Make sure I don’t do anything I shouldn’t—like spray my load inside her. But she’s so tight and tense, she’s going to snap my dick in two if she doesn’t ease up. 

She feels like a virgin.

Shit. I didn’t even consider the fact that this might be her first time. 

“You okay?” I huff, desperately trying to resist the urge to rut into her and work her little pussy open for me. If she is, I’ve probably hurt her. “Don’t tell me I just stole your virginity, princess.” 

She whimpers and nods her head into my pillow. Shit. I did. I should’ve been gentler—stayed in control. Eased her into it, stretched her first. 

“S-shh—‘m sorry. Does it hurt?”

She does a series of nods and shakes, like she’s entirely unsure about how she’s feeling right now. But her eyes say it all, they’re puffy and glisten from her tears. I make sure not to move at all, I’m as still as the statue that once killed me. 

“Breathe. It’ll stop hurting soon.” I coo and force myself to loosen my grip on her hips so I can trail my fingers along her spine. She backs up onto me and I glance down.

Dear God, why did I look down? 

Her pussy is stretched thin on my cock, it actually looks like it's sucking me in. Gratification swirls deep in my belly when the dangerous realization sinks in. 

I’m the first cock to ever be in this pussy. 

This cunt belongs to me, and only me now. A flame ignites within me that’s all consuming. It’s a feeling—a feeling of something that’s been imprinted into my being from the very beginning—an instinctual urge that I must satisfy. 

The urge to claim this female underneath me, to make her pussy mine and to stain her womb with my seed. 

Control yourself, Jin. Look away. 

I fling my head back because there’s no way that I can willingly tear my eyes away from the sight of her virgin cunt stretching so beautifully around my cock. I eye the popcorn ceiling and follow the blades of the fan as they spin. 

Focus, focus.

The urge to look again rides me. I grunt and fight it, I have more restraint than this. I clench my jaw. Fuck, I don’t know if I can hold out. I can feel her pussy relaxing and tightening around me. 

Then she rocks on me. 

Back and forth, back and forth. Like she did on the pillow that’s completely drenched with her cum. A low rumble comes from her, she’s growling her impatience, trying to fuck me. I look down and god, her pussy is quivering, drooling strings of her sweet, sticky nectar on my cock. 

She rocks against me harder and lets out a broken groan, and her thighs start to shake. I think she’s gonna come. Fuck yes, she’s about to come on me. 

“Don’t tell me. Is my little virgin princess about to come?”

My instincts dominate me, and my hips buck against my volition. I’m totally out of control. How in the world is she doing this to me? I'm behaving like a goddamn animal. 

Thrust. 

Please, God. 

Thrust. 

I can’t stop myself. 

She nods frantically and meets my brutal thrusts with desperation and need. I growl and piston my cock inside her pussy, hard. She moans loud and long, and her cunt squeezes me so hard that I get a headrush. Her pussy pulses, coating me in a thick slick. 

She’s cumming. Fuck, she’s cumming. 

“Yes, cum on my cock.” I encourage her, hunching over her petite frame. The skin on the back of her neck looks so soft—so delicate. “So pretty.” I want to bite it. Mark her so everyone will know that she belongs to me. What the fuck? No. I won’t do that. I can’t. 

But I want to. And my cock is already kissing her womb so why can’t I exactly?

She’s my shadow, that’s why. She’s not in the right frame of mind. That’s why.

But I’m not either. 

your pov

Whatever pain I felt is long gone, replaced by an overwhelming sensation of good, and right—how things should be. 

Bright white stars twinkle behind my closed eyes. Waves of raw pleasure smack into me and make my legs tremble uncontrollably. He’s filling me so good that I have no other choice but to take his cock and his every thrust.

“Yes, cum on my cock. So pretty.” His words are a hot mist against my neck and I feel his weight shift on top of me. 

Yes. Mount me. 

“Fuck, why do I want to bite you so bad?” 

I don’t know but he should. I show him my throat and whine low, spreading my legs for him to fuck me again. 

“Do it.” I moan, and my hips rock again. I want him to pound me, and then fill my empty womb—it aches. “Please. Bite me, fuck me.” 

He tenses behind me, resisting again. I don’t want him to. 

“I didn’t know such filth could come from a princess’s mouth.” 

Jinwoo’s dark, monotonous voice sends a spasm through my pussy. His fingers grip my jaw and he tugs my head back, exposing my throat. His hot tongue drags along my pulsating jugular and he shuffles from his knees to the balls of his feet. 

“I don’t understand exactly how you’re doing this to me, but I hope you can take it.” He growls a warning and I break out into a shiver. “Because I don’t think I can hold back anymore.” 

He pulls out of me, leaving his mushroomy cockhead notched right under my pelvic bone. The empty feeling makes me mewl and my hips search for him. 

“You’re so fucking noisy.” He huffs, annoyed, teeth scraping against my skin. “So goddamn needy.” His fingers tighten on my jaw, and he plunges his cock back inside me. I see more stars, more fireworks. I yelp out, and my tears trickle down my cheeks again. 

“Quiet, princess. The floor under us will think I’m doing something you don’t want.”

And then he bites me. 

He sinks his blunt teeth into me, locking his jaw when I begin to squirm from the feeling of being claimed—marked. The fingers wrapped around my jaw quickly slip down my throat and muffle my shriek. 

Gods, it’s too much. Too much. 

“Yes—yes!” I gurgle, and he bites down even harder. I’ll be bruised for weeks but that’s okay. 

He grinds into me, grunting while he’s shoving all he can inside as deep as it’ll go. He works me open, and I feel him deep in my tummy. I guess I’ll be bruised there too, and that’s definitely okay. I want to feel him in me for weeks, until the moon shows me her wicked face again.

Alpha releases me from his bite and he kisses the double crescent mark. I feel him pepper kisses down my shoulder, and he tastes my skin there too. He’s not moving anymore, just staying really deep inside me, hunched over me, breathing hard and loud. I whine loud and suckle on his fingers. 

“Mmm, fuck. Hush.” He snaps at me, breathless. “You want alpha to make it better?”

I nod again, my tears and saliva dribble onto his hand, down his wrist. I see his eyes glow bright in my peripheral vision. He’s going to wreck me and I can’t wait.

“Then be a good girl for me, won’t you?” He growls and smacks into me. 

Once, twice. Thrice. Again, and again. Brutally, cruelly. His thrusts are bloodthirsty, like he’s the beast and not me. He holds me firmly in place, his grip is unrelenting—I can’t get away even if I tried. I’m forced to take each unsparing strike and stroke. 

That heat whirls in my lower abdomen again, and I feel like a matchstick about to burst into flames. His cock is ramming right into that spot super deep, filling it, swelling it. I bite down on his fingers to stifle a guttural moan and he hisses, picking up his pace as punishment. I clamp down on his cock and—

I’m gonna come. 

“Not yet.” He grunts, pulling his fingers out of my mouth and shoving me onto my stomach. 

He yanks his cock out of me and strokes himself with one hand while he uses the other to toss me onto my back. Now he’s looking down at me with an intoxicated expression, bullying his thick frame between my trembling legs. He’s back on the balls of his heels, folding me in half, pinning my legs back so my knees graze against my pointed ears. 

“I want to see what you look like when you come, princess.” 

His cock prods at my sore pussy before he catches it just right and drives himself back inside me with an urgency. He lets out a depraved groan, one that makes me a little nervous, and I swear he goes even deeper than before. 

“M-Master…Al-Alpha…” I whisper as best as I can in this position and my bottom lip juts out. “‘s s-so deep.” 

“Isn’t that what you want, hm?” He uses his strength to push himself into me and his heavy balls press into me. I squeal from the pressure and jolt back but he keeps me where he wants me. “...what you need?” 

My head spins and I start sputtering, switching between mumbling and trying to catch my breath as his weight punches the air out of my lungs. 

“You look so fucked out right now.” He withdraws from me and plunges into me again, putting all of his weight on me. “So drunk on my cock. Yeah?”

I whimper shakily and electricity bolts up my spine. 

“Ooh, fuck. Let me see how pretty you look when you come, love.” He smirks and fucks into me hard and fast, staring deep into my eyes—taking my soul for a second time. “Come on—” He’s growling all his words, his hips striking me with purpose and intention, vicious smack after smack—coaxing my orgasm out of me. “Let your alpha feel your little virgin cunt.” My face screws and I sob when my release takes over me, sending my body into a frenzied convulsion underneath him. “Yes, that’s my pretty girl. Good girl.” He pants and presses his forehead into mine, and his movements falter. “Gonna breed you so deep, so hard, fuck—” 

Yes. Breed me. 

He lets out a sudden, loud grunt, and then I feel it. A harsh throb that isn’t mine, and a heat flooding deep inside me. His hips buck and rut in an uncontrolled manner, and he groans lengthily, darkly. His breath is heavy and fast, and he’s still looking me deep in the eye. I feel myself fade, the dim lights in his room darken some more and my breath won’t stop hitching. I’m satiated and so full—so happy. 

I’m exactly where I should be. 

sung jin-woo’s pov

 I watch her eyes unfocus and her eyelids droop—she’s slipping away. I ease up off of her and throw her leg over to her side, and tuck myself behind her. I stay inside her, making sure not a single drop of my seed is spilled. If I could plug her full of me, I would. My head is still quite foggy, but I can feel that it’s starting to clear now. Her scent is less potent, and her body isn’t as hot to the touch. 

Is it over?

Notification: [Secret Quest: A Lycan’s Heat] is complete.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Her heat has broken. I dismiss the blue screen and glance over to my bedside clock—6:47a.m. An orange hue illuminates behind my grey curtains, and my eyes grow heavier. My mana is dangerously low, but I’ll let it run out completely. 

I don’t want this to end just yet. 

[whirlybirbs]

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning. 

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!" 

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea. 

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase. 

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked. 

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you. 

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them. 

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck. 

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived. 

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here. 

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table. 

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute. 

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even. 

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close. 

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers. 

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this. 

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time. 

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next. 

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life. 

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks. 

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name. 

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches. 

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up. 

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often. 

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life. 

Hawks brings his visor back down. 

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement. 

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing. 

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings. 

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again. 

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors. 

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy. 

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back. 

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'. 

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five. 

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday. 

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining. 

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster. 

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster. 

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out. 

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back. 

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver. 

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter. 

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants. 

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over. 

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun. 

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm. 

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation. 

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke. 

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated. 

[scarlettmurphy]

STARCROSSED +ੈ✩‧₊˚ LOGAN HOWLETT.

logan and y/n — where you are completely in love with a man older then your father by a good 100 years.. and whose in love with another.

- content warning age gap. nsfw. sh. angst. not really happy endings! pairings: older!logan howlett x xaiver!reader

spoiler: horrible yearning!

note this is my first piece of work so i hope it’s okay! i love logan sm i had to write something for him — and this is really angsty :) pls ignore if there’s any bad grammar! i’m a bit lazy rn, also with the timeline for this fic i have no idea when im going for. im saying 2000s-2010s just remember its a bit scrambled timeline wise cos i wanted my favs here!🤭 enjoy!

you hated when he was around. you couldn’t stand it anymore. your longing glances to him, the yearning looks you gave him which were never returned and only thrown back into your face when you saw how he was looking at jean the way you looked at him.. it had all been getting too much. at first you acted like it didn’t bother you and part of your school-girl crush deluded brain pretend you were just seeing things but as the weeks / months had passed you realised that was the furthest thing from the truth.

recently you couldn’t even bring yourself to glance at him because it hurt too much and that wasn’t even being dramatic, the aching feeling in your heart wasn’t worth getting a glimpse of his timeless beauty so every time he was around you bit down the urges swallowed your pride and acted as if he was nobody to you, just a good friend. a father figure, a teammate.

it felt rude at first, to you since you were the only one noticing it, how you just stopped all those little things you were doing but you couldn’t help it or stop yourself from being like that because it was too hard to deal with — loving someone so much with all your heart but you knew you couldn’t have them. you hated to admit it but it destroyed you and that little part of you right now was falling into a full blown rage as you sat on the sofa alongside logan and wade — charles, hank, scott and rogue being present in the room too.

“i just don’t get her.” scott said out, repeating the same line over again, still bitching about the fight him and jean had after they all got back from the mission — everyone could hear the screaming and scott’s harsh gaze when he entered the room just confirmed it all and the second,of course, logan asked a question after wade made a snarky comment that set off scott and he hadn’t stopped mansplaining it since.

“yea’ well certain people don’t.” logan gruffly spoke out as y/n couldn’t stop her eyes from moving over to him at his words, feeling a sense of hurt coarse through her like it usually did whenever he spoke about jean or implied her. everyone knew what logan’s comment meant and y/n could see how scott was biting his tongue, clearly pissed off like he always was around logan. for good reason.

the tension only grew worse when scott couldn’t help himself and made a comment right back at him, his eyebrows raised as he stood from his seat. charles attention turning right to scott instead of logan, “and what’s that supposed to mean, asshole?” scott spat out like his words were venom.

rogue rolling her eyes at his words as hank shared a little glance with y/n who was cursing the entire situation in her brain as she couldn’t stop herself from looking at logan — those very same feelings boiling in her body as she saw the way his mouth twitched and his jaw clenched. how protective he was getting over jean, a feeling y/n couldn’t help have been wishing for the past two years of knowing the man he would get like over her — sure in a friends way he might’ve done it before, at least that’s how she saw but it never like this.

y/n swore she could physically feel her heart aching.

“pretty sure you know what that means pal.” logan bit back harshly, his words falling to the same tone as scott’s did as scott scoffed at what he said as he bit back with full frustration as charles clearly wanted to get involved - a little grimance pictured on his face as y/n studied her fathers expression, him clearly knowing what jean meant to logan, as y/n looked away before her dad could catch her staring her eyes falling onto a pissed off scott who downed the drink he had in his hand, placing it on the table.

“she picked me.” was all scott needed to say as the weight in the room shifted heavily on logan’s end as everyone could see the way logan’s face dropped a little, that comment taking the little coy expression he had right away but y/n didn’t even bring herself to look, scott’s eyes taking her in as if he knew what she was feeling in this moment. his eyes meeting her own as y/n felt a lump form her throat — the tightness almost burning — as he tutted at how silent logan was before he walked out the room without another word.

with this the room fell silent. everyone knowing the feelings logan must’ve been harbouring right now, y/n especially, as she glanced over to him not expecting to be met with his brown eyes looking back at her as he took in her expression before he roughly got up without another word — going right over to the door.

chaeles couldn’t help himself as he spoke up firmly the second he watched logan head for the door, “logan—“

“just goin’ for a piss, wheels.” he roughly said back before the door shut right behind him.

“more like a bitchless weaping session.” wade couldn’t help say as he had left the room, hank and rogue not being able to help their little laughs from coming out as y/n bit down on the inside of her cheek limiting the feelings she was experiencing as much as she could before she stood up.

“—i’m going to shower.” y/n said out lowly, her words slipping out quickly as the others nodded or hummed in agreement, wades eyebrows furrowing as he clearly felt he knew more of the situation then the rest did but he kept that to himself.

“take some pics for me!” wade called back to her, earning a little look from charles as hank scoffed in reply.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

that shower was more like watching a re run of singing in the rain which y/n couldn’t help watch the entirety of for no specific reason before she eventually hoped in the shower. the faint sounds of her speakers being heard as she hummed along to the lyrics of the specific song as she felt the cold water glide down her naked body.

swallowing the pain-filled whimpers that were aching to escape her wet lips as she acted as if the water gracing against all those marks and burns on her skin wasn’t killing her inside despite her ‘little’ case of immortality. immortality sadly didn’t mean you never experienced pain and y/n was clearly the leading case proving that matter as she soon got out the shower after washing her hair and her body.

wrapping the towel around her dainty body as she took in herself in the mirror, the thoughts forming in her brain being within the ‘self loathing’ category as she exited her bathroom. her face falling once she was met with the gruff expression on logans face which turned to one of shock as his eyes scanned over y/n immediately. him swallowing his own spit as y/n hands immediately wrapped around her towel just to make sure it wouldn’t fall.

“lo— shit, i didn’t know you were here.” she quickly managed out, her face a bright shade of red as she watched as logan didn’t move his gaze off her figure.

“—wait.” not a single word escaping his lips as y/n walked over to her bed where her clothes were laid out for her.

y/n’s breath was hitched and she swore she felt all the heat rush to her face as she took in the way logan was just staring at her as she grabbed her clothes with her other hand, taking a few steps back into the bathroom before she swiftly shut the door. her mind a mess as she quickly put on her pajamas before she sprung over to the mirror to double check her appearance before she walked back out to her bedroom.

logan being in the exact same place she had left him — not a single word had left his lips and his facial expression was the exact same as y/n nervously smiled at him.

“what are you doing— uh, here?” y/n asked him swiftly, her words rushed as she swore she could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she saw logan slowly seem to come back to reality, scratching the back of his neck as his lips parted as he tried to say something.

yet it took a little for something to come out as y/n swore she felt something growing in the air as logan finally spoke, his gruff tone a little knocked back then usual, “was coming here to bitch about scott. didn’t mean to see anything i shouldn’t have.”

his words sent a little chill through y/n’s spine as she managed a little smile on her lips, no matter how fake it was she still managed it, as she looked at him. his first words being all the confirmation her heart needed in this moment as she held back her feelings as she felt her heart tense.

“it’s okay.” y/n rolled out quietly, her attention falling over to her bed as she walked over to the foot off it — sitting down on the edge of the bed as logan stayed in place, his arms crossed as he leaned against the fireplace in her room now.

“so scott, you wanna bitch?” y/n trailed off into as logan looked out the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he shrugged his shoulders.

“nah, not anymore.” he said, his voice low as y/n took in his hush voice — his words only adding to the building up tension that was making the air thick as y/n looked at him. her eyes taking in every inch off him and how he looked, her mind wondering how he’d feel.. how’d he’d taste.

yet her thoughts were immediately cut short.

“—you seen jean about?”

his words were like a harsh hit round the face as she felt a lump for her in throat, her mind tingling a little as she glanced over to the door. she hated this, every inch of this. she wanted to scream, punch him in the face. confess right there and there at him but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

no matter how much it killed her inside. every second without him being like a gun shot to the heart as she plainly looked back at him, a soft smile growing on her face which was so fake it was indescribable as she nodded to her bedroom door.

“her room, i guess.”

her low words were enough to make anyone know she was hurt yet of course logan didn’t, or he didn’t show he knew as he gave her a playful wink.

“thanks bub.” he said with a nod as he went to walk out the room — his hand on the door when y/n heard his muttered words.

“sleep well y/n.”

his words fell into silence as y/n watched him leave, the door closing behind him being the utmost reminder of how her feelings will probably never be acknowledged. and that harsh reality left her alone in her bedroom for the entire night and with every toss and turn her mind was on one thing and one thing only. him.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

[pookieace]

✰ . . . minors do not interact !

✰ . . . just over 1k of filth that includes stepcest, stepdad!gojo, dads best friend!nanami, perv gojo, perv nanamin giggles, recording without consent, spying, implied agegap, gojo is a menace as usual. um yeah i need them both. eiffel tower if you will– anyways!! this isn't proofread sorry not sorry. i'm lazy and this has been running around in my head for days.

step dad gojo and his single best friend nanami. both a little bit messed up in the head, satoru more than kento but...

they have regular jerk off sessions to you. whether gojo is convincing nanami to spy on you with him while you're in the shower, or even while you touch yourself. nanami knows it's wrong. you're satoru's daughter. in fact, satoru is in the wrong as well, even more in the wrong than nanami given he's your father, but you're just so damn pretty. it's gotten so bad, became a habit that he hates, that he doesn't think twice about rubbing his growing bulge over his pants as he watches you.

you're so... oblivious, wandering around your room, closing the windows and shutting the blinds before you start to unbutton your pyjama shirt, thinking you're in the comfort of your room. so oblivious that you don't even notice the little camera set up in your bookshelf. satoru was proud of himself for the placement of the camera, it gives the perfect view of your bed.

your stepdad knows your routine by now. what time you wake up, what you have for breakfast and what time you leave for work. he also knows once you're done with dinner and load up the dishwasher, you bid him goodnight and head into your room to touch yourself. satoru isn't quite sure how he started to perv on you like this but it just can't stop. perhaps it's the taboo nature of it that really turns him on, or maybe it's just because you're just so... delicious. so damn pretty and you look so soft all over. if he doesn't get caught, it's not a crime right? and somehow he's dragged his own coworker, his best friend, into the whole ordeal too. nanami's grown used to your routine too, coming straight to satoru's place after work.

they both watch on from satoru's room on the screen as your shirt falls from your shoulders and hits the floor, like they're predators watching their prey. the first glimpse of your round tits have them going crazy already. gojo's smiling, waiting rather patiently, not touching himself just yet but nanami's already fully hard, cock straining against his work pants.

gojo finds it cute how quick you work, laughing under his breath a little as he sees your pants on the floor and your underwear pulled to the side within mere minutes. meanwhile nanami curses, he always forgets just how clear the camera quality is. nothing will beat the up close and personal view but this? it's all he has, and it's almost as good.

soon they both find themselves with their cocks in their hands, attempting to fuck their fists at the same pace your fingers go in and out of you, thinking about how the ring of cream around the base of your fingers should be around the base of their cocks, how your juices should be all over them. nanami's so caught up in watching you through the screen that he doesn't realise when gojo's free hand wraps around his own, covering the entirety of his with how large it is.

"keep watchin', kento. just keep watchin'." gojo starts, and nanami just lets it happen. he accepts it, removing his hand away so gojo's jerking him off. it's rough, it's messy, shlick shlick shlick echoing through the room as nanami bucks his hips into his best friends fist.

you're now burying your face into your pillow, legs threatening to close every second as you get closer and closer to your orgasm. your thighs are wet, splashes of your wetness on your sheets as you fuck yourself a bit harder, a little bit faster.

all this does is fuel gojo and nanami's sick, twisted brains. "hhah–ah... dontcha just wanna hold her legs open?" nanami isn't sure if it's meant to be a rhetorical question or not. they usually don't talk when they watch you like this. it's nothing but heavy grunts and groans and the sickening sounds of their fists working their cocks. satoru has never spoken to him before.

"i do." gojo's voice fills the silence. "i jus'... mmmffuuck... i wanna see her cunt throb on my cock– her fathers cock as she cums. she'd look so fucking cute cummin' f'me. ya think she's as tight as she looks, kento?"

silence...

is he allowed to reply? should he reply? this is his best friends daughter... he can't. nanami's throat feels dry at the thought of even trying to speak. what if he offends him? what if he's not allowed to spy on you like this anymore? what if–

"c'mon kento." gojo speaks, giving the mushroomed tip of nanami's cock a couple of squeezes that have the younger man hissing through his teeth. "answer me, won't ya? you wanna fuck my daughter? wanna bury your fat cock in 'er cunt? stretch it riiight out and watch her cream on it? just talk t'me. say yes. i know you wanna." it's as if he's being tempted by the devil. like he's eve and he's being tempted to eat the apple by the snake. satoru's words have his head spinning and he shakily exhales before replying, hands gripping his scrunched up work pants that are halfway down his thighs.

"y-yes... i do, satoru."

"aaatta boy. knew you were as sick as me."

the sight of you rubbing your clit and fingering yourself getting closer to orgasm with satoru's praise and the grip around his cock have nanami's head spinning more and more, and the second he sees you cover your mouth and your thighs shake, it triggers his own high. nanami's cum spurts all over gojo's hand and wrist in ribbons, shooting up and landing on his dress shirt as well. then finally, gojo cums as well, almost as hard as his best friend by the amount of cum dripping from his cock and pooling at the base, coating the wispy hairs.

the room is full of breathless pants as the two men attempt to catch their breath, watching you take your fingers out and try to fight the urge to fall asleep then and there. and then gojo's asking the same question he always asks nanami after it's all done.

"same time tomorrow?"

yes i'm sick and deranged but if you read it then you're out here matching my freak kiss kiss mwah mwah <3

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

1940s!Bucky x Reader

word count: 2.9k

masterlist

You first met Bucky when you were fifteen years old. Well, perhaps met isn’t the correct word. You saw him for the first time when you were fifteen years old at a fair. He was maybe sixteen years old, a little gangly and boyish looking, but certainly handsome, and he caught your eye. There was only one issue. He was on a date. 

You’d gone to the fair with some friends, but as you waited outside of the bathroom for them to come out, you watched as Bucky won a stuffed bear for some lucky girl who gave him a kiss on the cheek. You felt a bit jealous—maybe because you didn’t have a boyfriend, maybe because Bucky seemed cute and had he not been out with the girl, there was a chance you would’ve gone up to him (yeah right), or maybe a bit of both. Whatever the reason, you tried to brush it off, and went back to hanging out with your friends when they returned. 

A couple of years later, you saw Bucky again. It was at a small, local diner. When you realized he was the boy from the fair, you couldn’t believe that it was him again. He’d grown up a little, like you, and it seemed to make him even more attractive over time. There was a distinct difference between the boy you’d caught a glimpse of at the fair, though. Bucky looked… sad. Bored. Annoyed. Not joyful, as he’d been at the fair. You noticed he was sitting next to a friend of his who had a girlfriend. Ah, third wheeling. Not something you were a stranger to either. 

Bucky gave you that small head nod, the one you give strangers you’d like to know or acquaintances you wish you didn’t. You nodded back. He came over and sat next to you. You simply could not believe your luck. “What’s your name?” Bucky asked casually. 

“Y/N,” you informed. “Yours?”

“James,” he answered politely. “Friends call me Bucky.”

“Which group do you want me in?”

“You can call me Bucky.”

“Whatcha up to, Bucky?” you asked with a soft smile, your hands gently wrapping around your Coca-cola, not sure where else to put them. 

“I’m sittin’ next to a pretty girl,” Bucky answered with a soft grin and you laughed. 

“Charming.”

“Is it?” Bucky challenged, a mischievous glint in his eye, and that was when you really felt yourself fall for him. 

The two of you talked for hours. And even though Bucky didn’t really have all that much money, he acted like he had enough to spare to pay for your drink. Eventually, you’d been conversing for so long that his friends, who he’d originally been third-wheeling with, walked over to tell him that it was time for them all to go home. You gave Bucky your phone number. He smiled and said, “I’ll call you.” But he felt a pang in his chest knowing that he couldn’t, and so he wouldn’t, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you.

Bucky had lost his parents when he was ten. Luckily, his father’s army buddies had taken in him and his sister and raised them both on the army base. Bucky didn’t have a phone, though, and he didn’t have a way to call you. He also didn’t have money—he did what he was told to do at the army base, and he did his schoolwork, and he wasn’t working anywhere to make the money. In short, Bucky was broke, and lacking a telephone. But when he got home that night, he stared at the piece of paper you’d given him, traced the pads of his fingers over the ink, imprinting your handwriting in his brain, memorizing the number he’d never get to dial. 

You waited for weeks for Bucky to call. You made excuses upon excuses for the lack of response. But eventually, you gave up. Sure, he’d been wonderful to talk to, and you definitely had some feelings for him. But if he didn’t call, he didn’t call, and there was no need to get your hopes up any longer. It still hurt though, and you felt the small bruise on your heart. 

You saw Bucky again, for the third time, not much later. He was out with a friend of his and two girls, all done up in his uniform. It stung a little, even though you knew it shouldn’t have. You wanted to go up to him, but… he was the boy that never called. What was the point?

Instead, it was Bucky that walked up to you. “Y/N?” Bucky asked, a sad smile on his lips. 

“How do you remember my name?” you asked, confused.

Bucky chuckled a little awkwardly to himself. “You’re kind of hard to forget.”

“I’m hard to forget, but easy not to call?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could catch yourself. But there wasn’t malice in them. It felt almost… disheartened. Disappointed. 

“I…I should’ve told you, I’m sorry,” Bucky said with a soft sigh, looking regretful. “I don’t have a phone. I lived on an army base with a bunch of my dad’s old army buddies, and I didn’t have money, and I couldn’t call you. So I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, a little disbelieving, but you nodded. “Okay. That’s alright, I get it.”

Bucky smirked slightly. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

You cracked a smile. “No, I don’t.” 

“Well, not to crush the mood or whatever, but uh…” Bucky scratched his neck. “My parents died when I was ten, so my dad’s buddies took me and my sister in. Taught us soldier values and things. Makes me good at it, so I decided to do it for real.” He gestured to his outfit. 

“Oh, God… I’m sorry,” you said, immediately feeling bad.

“It’s fine. Don’t apologize. You got no reason to,” Bucky said kindly. He was clearly used to hearing this kind of thing. “Anyway, I, uh… I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. Listen, I’d love to get to know you better, I really liked talking to you when we first met, and if… if you give me your address, I’ll write you a letter. I can give you mine.”

“What about those girls over there?” You asked, skeptical. 

“Oh, I invited them out trying to set my friend up. They’re not horrible, not special either. I don’t really know them. But I like you.” 

Maybe it was that you couldn’t resist him. Maybe it was that your internal compass always directed you to paths that often got you hurt. Whatever the reason, you wrote down your address on a scrap of paper and handed it to Bucky, who gave you his address. 

“I’ll write you!” Bucky promised with a smile as he left. 

You smiled at him, and gave a small wave goodbye. “Good luck!”

Despite all of your hesitations and skepticism, a letter from Bucky did in fact come—even sooner than you’d anticipated. 

Dear Y/N,

I didn’t think I’d actually get a chance to write this. Not because I didn’t want to—I did. I really did. But the truth is, things here move fast and slow all at once. It’s strange. Some days feel like they never end, and others go by before I can even think about what happened. Still, you’ve been on my mind. More than I probably should admit, considering how little time we’ve actually spent together. But you left an impression. A real one.

Right now, I’m at a base somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t tell you where exactly, even if I wanted to. Just endless trees, mud, and the sound of boots hitting the ground at five a.m. every morning. We wake up before the sun’s out, and by the time it sets, I’m usually too tired to think. My hands are always sore, and my back’s been aching like I’m an old man, but I guess that means I’m doing it right.

We’ve been doing a lot of drills—marching, formations, weapons training. They’re tough on us, but not unfair. I get why they do it. They’re trying to make sure we’re ready. Trying to make us solid. I try to keep my head down, work hard, do what I’m told. But at night, when it’s quiet, my thoughts drift, and that’s usually when I think of you. I remember how your hands wrapped around your drink, how you smiled when I called you pretty. I wasn’t lying, you know. You really are.

I share a tent with three other guys—Rossi snores like a freight train, Jenkins talks in his sleep (it’s honestly concerning), and Mack’s got this laugh that could probably scare off the enemy. They're alright, though. We look out for each other. Makes it a little easier.

Food’s not much to write home about—beans, bread, and coffee so strong it could probably take the rust off a tank. But I’d trade a week of rations for a soda at that diner with you again.

I guess I just wanted to say I’m still here. Still thinking about you. I hope you’re doing okay. I hope things are steady where you are, and that life’s treating you a little more kindly than it is me lately. If you feel like it, I’d love to hear from you. Just anything, really. What you’re up to. What books you’re reading. What songs are stuck in your head. Even just how the weather is back home.

Anyway, I should wrap this up. Lights out soon, and I’m hoping to fall asleep before Rossi starts up his nightly chainsaw impression. Be safe, Y/N. Take care of yourself. And write back if you can—I’d like that more than you know.

Yours,Bucky

Soon, you were writing letters back and forth to each other constantly. Almost every single day, you sent Bucky a letter, Monday through Saturday (no post on Sundays). And it was the highlight of your day when you got one back from him. He tried his best to write you as frequently as possible—his handwriting wasn’t the best, and he was often exhausted. Rossi and Mack teased him for it, but Jenkins would just shake his head and say, “c’mon, guys,” and Rossi and Mack would laugh and move on to something else. But it was worth it, to Bucky. It was worth it for you. 

Dear Y/N,

I got your letter this morning — the one where you described the rain hitting your window like it was trying to get in. You’ve got a way with words, you know that? I could almost hear it. Almost felt like I was there, sitting next to you with a blanket over our legs and a mug of something warm between us. Sounds stupid, but that’s what your letters do to me. They make me feel like I’m somewhere else — somewhere better.

It’s been a rough week here. More drills, more mud, more yelling from guys whose voices never seem to crack or run out. I think I pulled something in my shoulder the other day during rifle practice — nothing bad, don’t worry — but it’s been aching something fierce. Mack offered to “pop it back in place,” and I had to remind him that he’s not a damn doctor. Rossi just laughed and said it was karma for all the times I beat him in sparring. He’s not wrong.

The letters from you? They’re the best part of my day. Every time one shows up, I hide away for a bit and read it in peace, sometimes twice if I’ve got the time. I keep ‘em folded in my jacket pocket, even though they’re starting to wear at the edges. Jenkins caught me smiling while reading one the other night and said, “That girl must write poetry or cast spells or something.” I told him maybe it’s a little of both.

You asked me in your last letter if I ever get scared. I wasn’t gonna answer, but I figure if there’s anyone I’ll be honest with, it’s you. Yeah. Sometimes I do. Not of the work or the fighting or the noise. I can handle that. What scares me is the thought of going through all this and not making it back to the things that matter — the little things. A real bed. Your laugh. The way you say my name like it’s a secret. I’m not saying I’ve figured it all out yet, but I know this: I want to come home and see where this thing between us goes. I think about that more than anything else lately.

Alright, enough of me getting all sentimental like some sap. I’m gonna try to get some sleep before we’re up again at dawn. Jenkins is already snoring — sounds like a train passing through gravel. But I’ll be dreaming of you anyway, so I guess it evens out.

Write soon, if you can. I’m always waiting.

Yours — maybe more than I should be,Bucky

But then they sent Bucky out to battle. 

The letters became less frequent, maybe once a week instead of most days.

Then every two weeks, every three weeks, every month…

And soon, none at all. 

You began to worry about him. You knew it was long, hard, gruelling, difficult work, and sending letters became more and more difficult, but… what if there was a reason they weren’t coming? What if he was hurt? Captured? Worst, dead? The intrusive thoughts crept into your brain, and they didn’t stop. 

You’d started training to become a nurse shortly after Bucky had left for the war, and you had been waiting to tell him when you graduated. But soon, you’re thrust into working as a nurse, and your letters that you send him become less frequent. You lack the motivation as he hasn’t responded in almost a year. 

It had been three years since Bucky first left. You were working in the hospital constantly. “We’ve got someone coming in!” A nurse rolled a man in on a wheelchair. His leg was in a cast, as was his arm. He had a black eye, bruises, scrapes, cuts, his hair was messy, a stubble growing, and yet, he was elated.

“Y/N!” Bucky called, grinning when he saw you. “Y/N!” 

You ran over to him. “Oh… my God. What did you do to yourself? Bucky! Jesus, I missed you.” You carefully wrapped your arms around him, and he wrapped his cast-less arm around you, smiling widely, his eyes closed, content to be back. “I kept writing you, I didn’t know where you were…”

“A lot of places,” Bucky smiled softly. “Anyway, I’m done now, I’m a little beat up.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still resting on his shoulders, trying to take him in — all of him. His face had changed. Not in a bad way. Just… older. Harder in some places. Softer in others. His eyes still held that same glimmer, though — the one you remembered from that night in the diner.

“You’re really here,” you whispered, blinking fast. “You’re really here.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured, smiling like he couldn’t believe it either. “In the flesh. All beat-up and stitched-together, but here.”

You laughed a little through the emotion rising in your throat, brushing your fingers over his hair, his cheek, just needing to make sure he was real. “You look like hell.”

“You should see the other guys,” he smirked, but then sobered, his brows drawing together as he looked at you — really looked at you. “You became a nurse.”

“I did,” you nodded slowly. “Started training right after you left. I was gonna tell you when I graduated, but… you stopped writing.”

Bucky’s smile faded, his expression falling into something deeper — guilt, pain, exhaustion. “I know. I’m sorry. I tried, I really did. They moved us around so much, sometimes in the middle of the night. There were times I didn’t even know where we were. I kept your letters in my pack, though. All of them. Even when I couldn’t answer.”

Your heart ached. “I thought you were dead.”

“I felt like I was, sometimes,” he said, voice low. “But I’d read your letters and remember I wasn’t. You kept me going, Y/N. Even when it got bad. Especially then.”

You blinked back more tears, your fingers brushing along the edge of his cast. “Are you done now? For good?”

“I am,” he nodded, a little breathless, like even saying it out loud made it feel more real. “They’re letting me heal up, and then… I don’t know. I was kind of hoping you’d help me figure that part out.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I can do that.”

Bucky reached up with his good hand, cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek. “You look exactly like I remembered.”

“You look like a raccoon who got into a bar fight.”

He laughed, that familiar, warm sound that made your chest tighten, and his eyes lit up. “Yeah? Still think I’m charming?”

You leaned in, forehead resting against his. “Yeah, Buck. Always did.”

And right there, in the middle of the hospital corridor — with the scent of antiseptic in the air and the chaos of nurses calling for help down the hall — you leaned forward and kissed him, right on his lips. You could feel him smile against yours, kissing you back. For the first time in years, you were in the same place. Whole, and home.

[pinkpunkdynamite]

okay I felt like I really needed to get it off my chest. as always, English is not my native language, would love some feedback as well.

you have no idea how badly I want to give him babies, it's overriding my whole brain chemistry🥺

masterlist

the day Ji first held his twins in his arms was the second important day in his life. the first important day was meeting you.

he burst into tears like a little boy. he shrinked down in the chair to the size of newborns in his arms and cried from happiness and an all-consuming feeling of love, from the fact itself that his dream - to start a family - had finally came true.

Jiyong is a dedicated and doting father to the max - all projects and work were put on hold until you recovered. he's also always the one to get up at night to calm the twins down and to let you get some sleep because you've done the hardest work already - brought them into his world.

also, he doesn't grimace at the smell of diapers (and how does he do that?).

on instagram, there are small pieces and glimpses of twins - sometimes it's a photo of a tiny palm, or a tiny leg with touching words written beneath... these photos and his small love filled words are so cute that it touches his fans too, them swooning over your babies. he's a proud father, but doesn't want to show the kids to the world yet.

and of course, there is an excessive amount of spoiling and pampering. twins immediately get a bunch of expensive branded clothes (to be fair, they don’t really need any of them cause they grow up so fast, but you gotta let the guy show it all off). I mean, if he had the opportunity, he would sign a contract between the twins and Chanel or something like that, you know?

he's sobbing when it's their first time standing up on their own two feet, sobbing even harder when it's their first steps, cries harder than the twins when one of their teeth grow and eventually fall out, cries even harder (what a crybaby, huh) when his daughter asks for help with her hair, and his son asks to choose an outfit. sniffles softly when he's looking at the three of you from the side, finally feeling a sense of comfort and belonging in his chest.

Jiyong is definitely the best father in the world. the one who is on the same side with the children and will always support them and hug them when needed.

they want to spend an evening with cartoons under the blanket? they get it. you're there too, obviously, cause it's not the same without you.

a trip to the amusement park? obviously. most probably, he'll buy out a whole park for a day so no one would bother his family day off.

sitting in the front row when the children perform in the theater? don't have to even finish a question.

overall, Jiyong is like the epitome of the doting and caring father who will put everything on hold just because his kiddos go first.

[jedisupernova]

falling for the mafia boss's son, kwon jiyong

notes minors dni contains fem reader, non idol au, always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but anyone can read, takes place in the late 90s (hence the mention of certain technology or media,) mentions of smoking and drinking, reader and jiyong are both twenty-four, very much slice of life and dialogue heavy, very cute and banter-filled meeting!, jiyong being a flirt (or my attempt at writing flirting,) jiyong and reader are down bad (a lot of banter, her parents are on the stricter side; he has to sneak in) reader and jiyong being silly, yearning, angst (miscommunication, mentions of his hardships, he wants to protect reader from his life but to a fault, arguments, he shows up injured one night and you tend to his wounds YUPPPP, mention of insecurities, reader lowkey needs new friends), smut (keeping quiet, dry humping, oral f receiving, sub!jiyong, p in v, reader gives jiyong a pair of her panties,) and inevitable typos.

requested? no, this is an original idea! its certainly is a 180 from the last jiyong fic i posted, but what is creativity without ambition! so here goes nothing! this is long. enjoy :)

the time on jiyong's watch read 9:13 pm, his eyes drifting to the summer night sky above. it was hot as fuck. the street lamp's fluorescent lighting flickered, making him blink increasingly harder, distracting him from properly inhaling the lit cigarette between his lips—unceremoniously landing a bead of sweat initially perspiring from his temple into his eye. "shit." his mutter disappeared into the commotion of whatever his friends were going back and forth over. last he checked, it was something about someone's car, or some movie, but the other side of his brain just processed technotronic coming from the house the party they were all invited to tonight was in. jiyong took his cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers, using his other hand to rub his bothered eye. neither of his friends took notice, enwrapped in conversation, taking drags of the cigarettes they bummed off jiyong after parking the car some ten minutes ago. a long, defeated breath deflated his chest. "hot as shit, bro—god damn." that earned him concurring nods, their gazes following him to the house peeking over the wooden fence behind them. jiyong wiped his forehead, kissing his teeth disapprovingly; the back of his hand glistened with sweat. he took one last drag of his cigarette, dropping it onto the sidewalk and putting it out with his sneaker. "place better have some fucking ac," he said, turning to his friends. "you ready to head in? alright, lets go."

to his joy, there was air conditioning! and not many people were in the house, so he could actually feel it! hallelujah! he sunk into the couch like it was nobody's business after making himself a drink, laying his head back, letting the rum and coke glide down his throat with a satisfied huff. he mouthed the few lyrics he knew to the music playing from the backyard, trailing into the house from the partially-open sliding door. jiyong's eyes opened at the sound of loud footsteps clambering down the stairs, catching glimpses of a friend group walking down the hall leading through the kitchen and into the backyard. he planned on joining whatever was going on out there later in the night—his friends did so immediately after getting their drinks—but for now, he minded his own. he liked parties, and went to most that he was invited to—unless his father had something to say about it, of course—but his social battery didn't sustain for long. he liked the quiet, or at least as quiet as it could get; settling with himself for the time being.

a while after finishing his drink, he went searching for a bathroom. the one on the first floor was occupied, so he headed upstairs; he's been here before, specifically the barbecue that happened a few weeks ago to usher in summertime. it felt humid upstairs with the window behind the landing wide open, laughter from below mixing in with the speaker sounding like it was on its last breath every time the bass kicked in. just as jiyong raised his knuckles to knock, the door swung open, catching him off guard but startling you entirely. "oh my god." you placed a hand over your heart, eyes closed. jiyong didn't know what to do in those passing couple seconds—his hand was still in the air. you smiled, amused at yourself. "didn't expect that," you muttered to yourself, opening your eyes. "my bad—here you go."

you stepped to the left to make room for him to enter and you exit, but he happened to step the same direction with similar intention. an upside down grin molded your face, hearing him awkwardly chuckle. "stay there." the sound of your warm giggle drizzled over his ears like honey, making him perk up and pay the fuck attention. jiyong's eyes followed you whilst you walked by his right. his feet moved before he knew it, his head looking away when you turned to look at him. in those three seconds, a whirlwind of thoughts ran through either of you. for jiyong, it was she's fine as hell; the image of you in your shirt and denim shorts lingering in his mind for as long as he wanted, topped by the sound of your clipped voice fading with each passing moment since he heard so little.

for you, it was the slight furrow of your eyebrows whilst you descended down the stairs: was that who she was talking about? you wondered—thinking back to the pregame at your friend's house earlier in the evening. rumors had floated around about ju . . . was it—no, its ji. jiyong? yeah, that—about jiyong's family, more-so his father, but no one ever had the gall to ask him. did they just not want to be caught in their own bluff, or afraid of unleashing a weapon-bearing fight if they properly dared mention it to him? no one knows, nor was willing to attempt. your city wasn't necessarily small, but it also wasn't large enough for anyone to fall through the cracks. you could pinpoint countless times throughout the years where you overheard speculations of his family's true source of income whilst in line at the local donut shop on sunday mornings, or his supposed home life becoming the topic of discussion at the sleepover once the clock hit two in the morning—but actually coming across him? perhaps a few times at the grocery store, fleetingly at parties, seeing him walking up the block with his friends, or in his car waiting for the traffic light to turn green—like any other neighbor.

you tsked to yourself, remembering something else from the pregame: "i heard he's been getting a lot of tattoos lately." a friend said after someone else brought up the rumor he'd be at the same party you were all going to, pouring the group shots—nothing was left in the house after scrounging the last few pours of cuervo tequila, so you all made due with the singular zima found in the fridge. you never liked the beer alternative, so on top of holding your miniature glass with a slight grimace, her baseless observation just deepened it: "you think that has anything to do with . . . you know . . . his family?" what did that have to do with anything? people have tattoos for whatever reasons . . . not to fit some aimless narrative. now that the anecdote came back, you do remember seeing a pair of detailed wings tattooed on the back of his neck—so he had to be the, for lack of a better term, infamous jiyong. unless there was someone else with the same name? you thought, until you realized how stupid you sounded. that was him, and that was it.

jiyong made his way outside, shouting over the music for his friends to hear him. it was relatively crowded. partygoers were dispersed all throughout the yard—some roasting s'mores by the small fire pit on the corner of the tiled pavement leading into the grass, others bickering over the party mixtape, and many either cheersing or throwing out their red solo cups for new ones. jiyong spotted you on the other side of the yard, talking to a friend whilst sat in the patio swing. his attention left his own friends, inner monologue drowning them out: move, motherfucker. that person must have heard him via some inter-dimensional force. though he couldn't overhear, your friend excused herself to get some snacks from the kitchen, leaving you temporarily on your own—but not if he had anything to say about it. he left his friends wordlessly mid conversation, making his way over. jiyong didn't think ahead much and acted more-so on autopilot, nearly stopping in his tracks when you looked up from your seat.

"did you wanna sit here?" the nicety slipped out before you could stop yourself, gesturing to the empty seat, halfway to standing on your feet. "i can move." "no, its okay." jiyong shook his head. it clicked for you: oh wow. its him, again. "i can—i'll just. . ." jiyong cut himself off by sitting down. it took a moment for you to process what was happening. "oh," an upside down grin tugged at your mouth. "alright." you sat down, inadvertently copying the direction of his gaze watching the party before you, lingering in one another's peripheries. your friend returned outside, equipped with a small plastic bowl of mini pretzels and potato chips, nearly dropping it upon seeing who took her spot. she scurried to the other side of the yard as fast as her flip flops would let her, grabbing the shoulder of whomever in your friend group that was in her nearest reach; scrambling to find the words, only able to point hurriedly in your direction.

whilst their mouths fell agape, yours remained closed. you glanced at him from the side, fingers toying with the bottom hem of your shirt. jiyong crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes remaining ahead; unsure of what to say but sure of his decision to come to you. albeit . . . he felt a little stupid. he was usually quite smooth with it, and if he was awkward, there was an indescribable charm coupled with it. he wasn't necessarily at a loss for words (at least that's what he told himself,) but it was one of those times where he acted before thinking it through—hence the silence. you turned your head fully to look at him. "is there something you wanted to bring up?" "hm?" he was caught off guard, turning his head towards you. jiyong jutted his bottom lip, shaking his head. "no. why?" you shrugged your shoulders. "people don't usually follow the person they ran into in the bathroom, let alone sit next to them." "i didn't follow you." jiyong countered. "we're at the same party." "okay. you tracked me down, then." "tracked you down?" his furrowed eyebrows amused you, seeing him fall into your unserious trap. "what're you talking about? we're at the same party." he repeated, a little defensive.

you shrugged your shoulders again. "i don't know. seems kind of fishy." "what does?" "this." "how? i'm just sitting here." "next to someone you don't know." "so?" "people don't just do that. even when they're at the same party." "they do." jiyong wanted to win. win what? he didn't know. "they do when they're—when they're . . ." he cut himself off, growing embarrassed. "when they're what?" you asked. jiyong swallowed, adjusting his posture. "when—when they're. . ." he hated that he started to build a sweat, and the humid night air wasn't to blame. "when the other person's really, uh—really pretty." you looked at him. he didn't dare look at you. a big smile unraveled across your face. "all of that," you said. "just for you to be cheesy as fuck." jiyong didn't expect to laugh as hard as he did, let alone his hand that shot up to his mouth, clutching his lips to hold it on—until he glanced at you and caught your eyes on him, the both of you losing it.

"oh god." jiyong hid his face behind his palms. "was it really that bad?" he asked, opening a gap between his pointer and middle fingers, peering up at you. "don't try to save face with that cute shit." you dismissed. "you think i'm cute?" his hands slid back down, a knowing smile on his face. "that's—that's not what i was trying to—" you stumbled on your words. he nodded along, eyebrows slightly furrowed in faux-thought. "oh, okay," he barely hid his grin; now we're back on track, he thought to himself. "what were you trying to say, then? hm?" "go away." you told him, turning away, arms crossed over your chest whilst his eyes stayed on you. "if really you don't like it, you can get up yourself." "no, because i asked you first. and you're the one who came over here." "i don't see you leaving." jiyong said. you let out a breath, admittedly defeated. a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, turning into a full-blown smile when seeing your hand make a talking gesture—the same one waving him off with a small scoff.

jiyong noticed how you both sat with your arms over your chest, finding it endearing. his eyes fell to his knee, mere centimeters away from yours. if only i just sat a little closer. "you're funny." he said, eyes on your knee. "i like that." your hand slipped from underneath your arm, coming up to fan your face. "did you hear me ask what you liked?" this bickering feels like we've been married for decades, his inner monologue voiced. jiyong leaned towards you a little, his movement earning your eyes. "i like a challenge." his voice was smooth, getting his edge back. until you humbled him in a way eliciting whiplash: "that didn't land in the way you thought it would." jiyong let out a breath, eyes closing as he sat back in defeat. "you have me spent." "you've barely tried." you retorted, an upside down grin on your face as you looked down at your lap.

jiyong's eyes opened, sitting up, stretching his arm out before him. "i came all the way over here to talk to you!" he exclaimed, defending himself. "i've been trying!" "so you didn't just come here to rest that pretty head of yours?" your flirting flew right past his senses, jiyong prioritizing the bickering: "this is going nowhere." he crossed his arms over his chest begrudgingly. "it is," you corrected him. "you're just being dramatic for no reason." "i'm not being—" he was about to argue, until your words sunk into his psyche. "oh—it is?" you nodded, cheeks warming, pad of your ring finger wiping the built-up sweat off the side of your nose. it took a moment before jiyong said something: "what worked?" he asked. you shrugged your shoulders yet again, pondering in thought, though you had the answer. "you're funny." jiyong tsked, hiding his sheepish grin by turning his head the opposite direction. "it was fuckin' stupid when i said that." he said, still loud enough for you to hear over the music playing some twenty or so feet away. "it wasn't." you said. "it was cute."

jiyong looked at you; ego boosted, but his smile and raised eyebrow reflected his heart doubling in size. "so you do think i'm cute?" "i owe you after you admitted you came over here to talk to me. even if it was apparent from the beginning." that last part was half-bluff—you weren't completely sure, a bit taken aback when he first approached and sat down. you didn't know where this was going to go, but when it did take off, you would be remised not to have some fun. jiyong was sweet; quickly introducing himself as a witty conversationalist whom both matched your energy and kept you on your toes. his banter was fruitful and his clever use of profanity even more so—like the anecdote of when some guy gave him senseless trouble outside of his cousin's birthday dinner a couple years ago: "i told him that i am indeed the type. the fuck i was, the fuck i am, the fuck i will be." "i can't lie, jiyong. you curse pretty good." or when you told him about the argument that broke out between your friends over what movie to rent from blockbuster last weekend: "its not my fault that i didn't want to waste my time when i've been begging to what feels like a brick wall for months to see angelina jolie in 'gia.' i'm not sorry." "fuck no—and you shouldn't be."

jiyong looked like any other twenty something year old—hiding awkward tendencies behind a charming yet nervous chuckle, or going off on an unbridged tangent about a tv show he likes because he wants to fill the silence; keeping a pretty girl like you tethered to him by any means he could think of. but if anyone looked close enough (and you did, because he was fine), they would find something off about his ensemble of a loose-fitting graphic tee, scuffed sneakers, and basketball shorts paired with hair that looked fresh despite his dried sweat; side taper half-hidden underneath the hair that fell so effortlessly into his comma cut—a little too fresh. or perhaps the most perplexing clue of all: the two-toned watch that fell up and down his wrist whenever he moved his arm. you didn't know much about being rich, or differentiating fake luxury items from the real deal, but how the band of the watch molded against his wrist like it was part of him, and the dial that stared you down whenever he fixed his hair, told you he didn't mess around.

his eyes softened whenever your hand came up to fan your face or swat away gnats, noticing the slight sheen glazing your nose and forehead with a small grin on his face. you looked beautiful. the fact that you gave him the time of day was attractive enough—you didn't need to go out of your way to re-adjust your posture, making your plush thighs rub against the swing's cushioned seats in a way that stole his common sense, or your laughter making his eyes kiss in their corners, his right hand gripping the arm rest to keep his balance. jiyong didn't keep track of the time, so when his friends came over—one who perhaps had one too many, and the other with his arm slung around his shoulders—saying it was a good time to get out of there, he thought quickly on his feet: "its all good, man. i'll—i'll meet you at the car in, like, five minutes."

jiyong stood up, you mimicking his movements without thinking. "do you have a mobile?" he asked you. "no," you shook your head with an iota of irrational shame. "was—was never able to afford one." you let out a nervous chuckle, shaking your head. "its all good." jiyong assured. "whats your home phone? i'll call you." your eyes widened, shaking your head with an added sense of urgency: "my—my parents would never." "oh, okay. i got you." he nodded, understanding. the grin on his face was knowing and a bit cocky, taking a step closer to you. "what should we do then, hm? i'm not leaving here without an answer, y'know." "what about your friend?" "don't worry about him." jiyong said softly, subtly shaking his head. "he could hurl all over the street—like i give a fuck. i'm only here for you." you tsked, looking away to thwart the flustered feeling creeping up your neck. jiyong put his hands in his pockets, grinning when you spoke: "you really need to stop with this cute shit, jiyong." "i don't see you walking away, now do i?" he quipped, chuckling when you nudged his shoulder. he liked this feeling. "cmon," he gestured with his head. "i know you got something. tell me."

you looked at him after a moment. "you're lucky i have the day off tomorrow." "i do consider myself the richest man in the world." "oh my god, fuck off!" your exclaim slipped into clipped laughter, in disbelief over his commitment to the bit. "i'll give you my home phone. but you can only call at specific times, and when i tell you to." "i'll make anything work for you." you scoffed, only deepening his upside down grin. "you're not getting any reactions out of me anymore." you said, only to stumble on your words when he jutted out his bottom lip. "come with—come to the kitchen. i'll find a napkin to write it down, or some shit." and call jiyong did—at noon, just like you told him after scribbling your number down with a bic pen on its last few drops of ink. it was about ten minutes after your parents left the apartment to make the weekly grocery run, strategically landing you at home to finish washing the dishes from breakfast. you dropped the sudsy pan into the sink without second thought when the phone rang, hastily wiping your rinsed hands on your shirt, dashing behind the counter and to the living room.

"hello?" "sorry i'm late—had to get away from my parents." jiyong laid more comfortably in his bed, foot shoving a stray sock off his comforter; the rustling transferring from his nokia. you looked over your shoulder at the analog clock hanging next to a framed family photo, seeing it was barely past 12:01. "you're actually quite punctual." you told him. "you sound surprised." he said. "can you blame me? you're a man." "not just any man—" "—its only been, like, ten seconds," you cut him off, sitting down on the couch. "don't make me already contemplate hanging up." jiyong smiled wide. "you're sharp." he said. "i like that." "in the twelve hours that we've known each other, i don't think i've ever asked what you like. and i don't plan on it." "i think you're just going to have to suck it the fuck up, because i like you." he let out a satisfied huff hearing you scoff. "plus, i think we've known each other for more than twelve hours. i've seen you before. the grocery store, maybe? i knew you looked familiar—think i finally placed you." he tried to play it cool, though he knew the answer.

"most likely, yeah." you nodded despite him not being able to see, your other hand twirling the phone cord between your fingers. did he think about me last night? "i've been working there part-time for a while. its been hard finding a full-time gig, as embarrassing as it feels to be two years post-grad." "i don't think you should feel bad. its hard out here." said jiyong, sincerity coming through the grainy audio. "i mean, i went to columbia, but you don't see me in a suit with a briefcase and shit." "hold on," you waved your hand. "you can't just be the most random person i've ever met." "what do you mean?" "i went to a nobody-knows community college that i'm sure will be caught in a class action lawsuit for money laundering in ten years time, but i'm just sat here talking to a scholar?" jiyong chuckled, running his hand over his warming face. "i'm not a scholar, i'll tell you that much." he toyed with a loose thread on his comforter—memories of his father repeatedly reeling how much he poured into his spot at the university flashing in his head, beckoned away with a small, defiant flick of his head.

you brought him back down to earth: "i'm gonna go get my thesaurus." he kissed his teeth disapprovingly, pout evident in his voice. "like the fuck you are. stay on the phone." he panicked slightly at the prolonged (it was five seconds) silence from your end of the line. "please?" you grinned. "you're really cheesy." you teased. "how is talking to a fine ass woman fuckin' cheesy?" "you can't just say shit like that casually, jiyong." "well, i will. hear me loud and clear." he cleared his throat into the receiver, catching you off guard, holding back your laughter. "you're fine as hell. do i need to keep saying it?" "maybe." "are you free for dinner tonight? i'll tell you in person." "maybe." "what'll convince you?" you said the first thing you thought of: "if you wear that watch of yours again." jiyong smiled, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "you like the finer things in life. don't you, baby?" he said smoothly. your cheeks felt warmer by the second, unsure of what you just started. "its hard to take you seriously when i can hear that smug grin on your face." you responded, voice akin to velvet despite the crackles over the line. "you already know me so well." jiyong's fingers toyed with the drawstring of his sweatpants. "m'starting to think we're meant to be. that doesn't sound corny, does it?"

"i'm relieved you're able to pinpoint that yourself now." you heard him chuckle. "and, no. it doesn't for once. you can be sweet when you want to be." "i can be good." he told you earnestly. "i can be really good, you know." "i believe you." you told him. "i hear it in your voice." a beat went by. "you know," said jiyong. "i didn't think you were capable of being nice." "don't be a dumbass right now, jiyong. this was such a good moment." you couldn't stop the grin stretching your mouth hearing him burst into laughter. "you're goofy as fuck, boy. oh my goodness." you giggled, running a hand over your face. "okay—okay, stop laughing. do you know where we're going for dinner? because i've long thought of what i'm going to say to get out tonight." jiyong got serious real quick. "oh shit—damn, okay. let me think." he cleared his throat. "there's this—there's this place i know by the rec center that has really good subs. does that sound—" "—fine by me." you didn't give a fuck what you ate. you just wanted to see him. "okay. okay, cool." jiyong nodded, licking his lips in thought. "you wanna meet there? or i could—i could come pick you up, if thats okay. i know we just met and all. and your parents might not be the most . . ." you waited for his choice of word. he didn't disappoint. "enthusiastic."

you let out a laugh. "you're right." you said. "you can pick me up from one block over." "whatever works for you works for me." "i can't lie to you, jiyong," you said. he hasn't sure where this was going. "but i really like the sound of that." jiyong took his ear off his phone, turning his head the opposite direction on his pillow, silently screaming into his palm. i hit the jackpot! i hit the fucking jackpot! his inner monologue rejoiced. he quickly brought the phone back to his ear: "you do?" "mhm." the sound of your voice made him kick at nothing, covering his face from no one. "i do, jiyong." "oh my god." he muttered. "i think i love you." you scoffed, unable to thwart your grin or increasingly flustered state. "what's my favorite fucking color, jiyong?" "i still think i love you," he avoided the question. "i'll know by the end of tonight, anyway." "i don't even want to ask if you're referring to my favorite color or whether you love me because you're starting to get on my nerves." "is it the right one?" "jiyong." "at least tell me if its the right one. look, i'll be honest and tell you that i'm just really happy i sat next to you last night." a moment went by before you spoke. "i am too." you said honestly. "and yes. it was the right nerve." jiyong buried himself behind his palm. "tell me where i should pick you up from. i can be there at seven."

it wasn't long before you started sneaking him in. up the fire escape that conveniently lead into your bedroom on the second floor of the apartment building you've lived in your entire life—it was a no brainer. it also wasn't long before jiyong got you a pager and mobile phone to go with it. to use at your own leisure, of course, but also already programmed with speed dial: "just press eight and i'll pick up anytime." "anytime?" "anytime, baby." "even when you're on the shitter?" "now that you mention it, yes. even when i'm on the shitter." jiyong came at ten pm on the dot on nights you gave him the green light. those first few times, it often began with the two of you bickering in hushed whispers when he didn't lift his leg high enough to climb over the windowsill, losing his balance and leading his foot to come clambering down, echoing off the steel grates.

you looked at each other in silent panic, his eyes dashing to your door behind you; both listening for footsteps, his shoulders sinking in relief when nothing followed, only to straighten back up when you smacked his shoulder. "get it the fuck together!" you whisper-yelled. "do you want my parents to wake up!?" "alright, alright—damn!" jiyong tsked, clearly annoyed, but his voice remained quiet. "its not my fault the developer built this shit higher than a fucking city skyscraper!" "use your nimble legs, they usually get you far enough." "i don't have nimble—" "—its a compliment, jiyong." "i don't have time for fuckin' riddles. give me your shoulder—it'll help me balance." he beckoned you over, hearing you huff. you stepped forward, feeling his palm secure your left shoulder. you leaned in as he prepared to attempt to climb in again, hand on his other cheek, bringing his closest to your lips. "you whiny baby." you whispered. "you making fun of me isn't helping either of us." "that wasn't me making fun of you." "you know what—i can just head home." he gestured behind him. "my car is right across the street." you looked him in the eyes, waiting for a moment or two. "i don't see you leaving, jiyong." "well, i was just—" "—get inside before i close the window."

he watched you like you just did him. "right—goodnight." you reached up to pull the window down. jiyong scrambled; "wait, no—shit! wait!" he reached up and tousled his hands with yours, either of your fingers clumped together. his face was directly in front of yours, looking into your eyes. a small, please-forgive-me grin stretched his mouth. "you look really pretty." he whispered sweetly. "just shut up and get inside." you stepped aside, feeling his hand on your shoulder. he climbed in successfully, arms making residence around your waist in no time, bringing you in for a kiss. "you're lucky i like you." he whispered hurriedly with intent, quickly reconnecting your lips. "excuse me?" you felt him giggle against your lips. "its—its the other way around. have to deal with your goofy shit all the time." "but you like it, right? because you like me." his arms pulled you closer to him, your supple cheek squishing against his lips. "right?" he kissed harder, your failed attempt at acting annoyed manifesting in a curt tsk. jiyong was in his own world: "right, my pretty girl?" "i wanna say no just to fuck with you." jiyong abruptly stopped, sinking his face into your neck. "i like hugging you." he murmured. "i think you just like annoying me." his giggle was your answer, feeling a chaste kiss pressed dotingly onto your neck when your hands traveled up his back and into his hair. "you're a pain in the ass."

jiyong was someone who knew what he wanted. so when he asked to be official after your second date, you were surprised and even let out a small laugh, thinking he was playing—but he was dead serious: "you've known me for less than a week, jiyong." you said from his passenger's seat. his gaze left your apartment building a block down and returned to you, shrugging his shoulders. "i mean, sure—yeah." he concurred, wiping the sweat off his forehead. the mechanic still didn't fix his ac right. "but i'd say i've known you long enough to know that i want you." he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was. why waste time, especially when you know the other person feels the same? warmth mounted your cheeks, averting your gaze to the center console. "can i think about it?" you asked. jiyong grinned, eyes momentarily watching your fingers glide against the leather lining of the console, avoiding the urge to hold your hand by tapping his own against the steering wheel. "yeah," he responded gently. "but i already kinda know what the answer is." "no you don't." you tried to quip, your quiet voice a giveaway. "did you not say yes to getting ice cream tomorrow? at the pier? maybe i misheard—" "—you didn't, ji."

he smiled. "good. thats good." he spoke softly. he faced you, eyes fluttering down before taking your hand in his. he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss. he turned to your palm, mouth molding against the clammy skin before making his way down to your wrist. his eyes opened when your nerves acted before you could think, wordlessly calling him over to you when your palm now rested against his cheek. jiyong moved without an iota of hesitation, leaning over the center console. his eyes looked into yours with a look of can i?, voice unexpectedly barely moving a morsel above a whisper. "can i kiss—" "—yes. come here." he didn't need to be told twice, closing that gap damn near immediately. your hands held his face when he tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss. his lips felt soft albeit somewhat chapped, molding against your lips in a way that made a shaky breath exit your nostrils; his hand trailing up your thigh.

"jesus—fuck." you were startled by someone lugging their garbage into the dumpster a few feet away from the car, a hand coming up to your chest as jiyong cursed under his breath. he looked over your shoulder, eyes narrowing at the unsuspecting stranger. his attention returned to you upon feeling your fingers toy with the collar of his graphic tee. jiyong leaned in, the chaste kiss sweet. "my answer's yes." you muttered against his lips. "that's news to no one, baby." his hand rested atop your thigh, thumb tracing your plush skin. "at least act surprised," you tutted, holding his face in your hands, amused at his lips being half-puckered; clearly expecting another kiss. "i have a reputation to uphold." he smiled, not hiding his chuckle, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. "what—for who?" you tried to come up with something witty, but each passing second prevented anything from landing correctly. you shrugged your shoulders, playfully defeated. "i can't lie to you—i've heard them say that in movies, and it always sounded really cool." he erupted into colorful laughter, his forehead falling to your shoulder. you caught him, unable to hold your own giggles back.

nights in your bedroom were spent underneath your duvet; recounting your days to each other in hushed whispers, making plans for future dates after swiping that day's newspaper from the kitchen counter—"'eyes wide shut' is still playing? seunghyun mentioned wanting to see it recently, i think. i think he went the other day." "tom cruise kind of freaks me out. what about 'but i'm a cheerleader,' tomorrow at 7:15? i heard its good fun.", giggling in between sweet kisses, or attempting to stay quiet if things got heated. whether it was you unbuttoning his jeans or his hand slipping past the hem of your underwear, either of your free hands was covering the other's mouth. jiyong's mewls were muffled behind your palm as your fist pumped his hardened cock— incessant ruffling of his briefs against your hand hidden behind the innocent creak of the bed when you turned onto your back to spread your thighs further, giving his thumb enough leverage to nurse your clit. his body followed your movements without hesitation, laying on his side, bottom lip caught between his teeth at how your t-shirt bunched up in the space between the bottom of your back and the top of your ass—breathing heavily into your palm.

it was easy to tuck him underneath your shirt when he made love to those perky nipples, relishing in the sound of your sharp breath after the chill of his watch band pressed against the warm, bouncy skin of your right breast, his tongue tending to the left. his ministrations were experienced, but how his hand trailed up and down your side, squeezing and rubbing your hip dotingly felt personal. or the way he hummed to himself in satisfaction from time to time, muttering whispers of "one and only," and "how can you be so fucking hot." he didn't give a fuck that his lips were begging for some vaseline, or that his jaw was feeling increasingly tighter—your breathy "jiyong, baby . . ." was all he needed to hear to keep going. even better if you arched your back, squishing his nose against your chest whilst his re-adjusting his posture stretches out the shirt you slept in. he moved to your right breast, encircling your areola before capturing it between his lips. he moved to lay atop you, waist between your thighs.

you felt his bulge against you. "you know whats f-f—mmph!—funny?" you whispered. "hm?" jiyong hummed. "you're in the perfect p-position t-to—s-shit—to f-fuck me if you wanted to." "don't put that idea into my head," jiyong whispered quickly, popping sotly off of your nipple. "you don't know how long i've been thinking about that." "there's no way we'd stay quiet enough, s-so forget 'b-bout it—least for now—shit!" your hand shot up, covering your mouth as the warmth of his tongue made your eyes roll back. "s-show me." it was hard to clarify with how scattered your mind was at the moment. "p-pretend to—i can feel you—j-ji, baby." you cut yourself off, thinking it was useless to try to compose yourself; thoughts coming out fragmented. he got the message, though—practically shoving of his cock caged in his briefs against your clothed pussy, moving his hips against yours. you let out a small gasp, back arching. jiyong collided his hips harshly with yours, feeling your thighs jiggle and a sound of surprise from your lips. "damn! go slow!" you exclaimed in a whisper, amused smile evident in your tone.

he did it again, eliciting a peculiar small grunt from his forcibly-muted efforts, amusing you further. "i get you that hot and bothered, huh?" "you have no fucking i-idea—f-fuck." he came to a halt, catching his breath, feeling how desperate his dick was between his fucking temples. "if you act up like this," you said. "then there's no way we can fuck here." "no—i'll behave myself." he hurriedly assured, making you grin. "i'll behave, baby. i will. holy fuck—its hot under here." jiyong carefully slid out from underneath your shirt, gradually standing on his knees on the bed. he let out a breath, wiping his cheeks and forehead with the back of his hand. "like i was saying," he let out a breath. "i'll behave—" "you're ridiculous." you cut him off. jiyong looked down at you, seeing you propped up on your elbows. "what?" "since when did you rival fedex?" "what?" he repeated, confused—until he followed your gaze; so hard, and with how the fabric of his briefs looked, it was as if his dick doubled in size.

he bit at corner of his bottom lip, hands on his hips. "i mean—" he began. "you asked me to show you, so here you go." you tsked, raising your leg, nudging his shoulder with the ball of your right foot. he caught your ankle, pressing a kiss before letting your leg go. you propped your feet against the bed, knees together in the air. "nah—open 'em." he tutted softly. "gonna have a taste before i leave. make you feel real fuckin' good." and he fucking did—face sunken into your cunt, his tongue going back and forth between nursing your clit and hole; hands atop your thighs, holding them in place. he heard your whimpers, as muffled as they were, even through the erratic meshing of your plush skin against his ears. your other hand sunk into his hair before having to use both to cover your mouth once that knot began to form in your abdomen. "j-jiyong!" your ghost of a whisper penetrated his senses. his response manifested in one arm slung over your stomach, his other hand trailing past your stretch marks, reaching for the closest breast and kneading it in his palm; humming in content against your slick pussy.

you and jiyong lived in your own world those first few months. neither of your respective friends knew—not because it was hidden on purpose or anything, but jiyong was too busy running red lights to come see you, and you were occupied with thinking of a slick way to end a phone call after hearing the pager beep in your nightside table drawer. though there wasn't verbal confirmation until later, there were definite signs: a particularly blunt friend pointing something out when you got to lunch ten minutes late ("there's something different about you, but i can't place it—" "—she smells like sex. also has the glow." "hey! no i don't!"); jiyong thinking his bucket hat would deter attention from the mostly-faded-but-still-noticeable hickey on his neck, only for seunghyun to point it out the moment he got in his car to head to the mall ("that goofy hat isn't doing shit." "she calls me that, too." "it takes nothing to get everything out of you, ji."); when you were too quick to leave a night out, saying you'd take public transit home, ultimately leading you to be cornered by the same friend, strategically pulled you into her car away from the others ("be for real. are you seeing someone?" "we're still—" "—okay, so you are. who is it? don't tell me its that co-worker that ate the—what was it? expired tuna? willingly?" "i'm offended that you think i would ever consider that. we met at a party, anyway—" "jiyong!? oh my god! oh my god!" "how did you—" "—i saw you two on that swing, but i didn't think—oh my god! tell me everything!" "only if you let me get a fucking word in—holy shit!"); to jiyong straight up telling seunghyun "i can't tonight, man. m'seeing my girl." to which his best friend responded "she rang me up the other day at the market, but i don't think she knew who i was. you need to fix that."

things took a turn the night your parents were out at a co-worker's wedding. they left at eight, not expected to be back until well past midnight. jiyong was in your bedroom no later than 8:10, shoes kicked off, hand comfortably behind his head, slumped against the pillow next to yours in bed. perhaps it was the fact you two were truly alone for the first time with your parents gone and window closed—for once not at the ready to dash out if footsteps erupted down the hall—that the conversation trickled elsewhere. something about these last few months was just something different for jiyong . . . he felt connected. safe. most importantly, trusted. you felt cared for, desired, and seen. it showed in those lingering stares; the air just feeling right whenever you two are together; his hand ghosting past yours before working up the courage to hold it in a way that always granted him that shy grin of yours; your cheeks brushing against one another's when you're looking at the same thing . . . the list was endless. something just—it just clicked. the question of are we moving too quickly? pestered at the back of either of your minds . . . but one look, and the puzzle was completed. the answer clear. any doubts eradicated.

trust was in bloom, and so was his willingness to be vulnerable. when it occurred, you shut the fuck up, putting your own shock aside: "my parents have never been the type—nah." jiyong chuckled. it was after some anecdote you brought up from middle school about parent-teacher conferences—specifically how you were outed for having a failing grade in chemistry. "my mom went to those things, but my dad—its like you'd have to drag him there. he was always busy, or some shit." you hummed, reaching over and softly grazing your finger against his forehead, fixing a fallen strand. it wasn't intended, but jiyong took the gentle gesture as a means of saying you can tell me anything. his eyes flickered to the linen before fully turning onto his side, directly facing you. he avoided the stirring turmoil in his chest, bringing his pointer finger to your bottom lip, pulling it down and letting go; chuckling at the small plop it made against your top lip, endeared by your playful scoff.

"listen, uh—" he began. "i know people—people talk. about my . . . about my family, or whatever. about my dad, specifically." he rubbed his eye, avoiding looking at you. "he does work, uh . . . he does work—he works underground—" "—jiyong, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." you told him, seeing the strain on his face. "no," he shook his head. "i want to. i mean—if i can find the fucking words." he let out a curt chuckle, frustrated with himself. he took a breath, still not looking at your eyes, but the bottom hem of your shirt. "i guess i—" he huffed. "i guess i always kinda knew something was different. like, my 'uncles' weren't my uncles. well, two of them are. but most aren't." you listened carefully, cheek rubbing against the pillowcase when you nodded. "it was a feeling, i guess? and then in sixth grade it was like . . . my frontal lobe developed. that's real fucking early, i know, but i don't know how else to describe it. everything just—it just made sense."

jiyong finally looked up. your expression was unreadable, but you didn't look scared. or intimidated. so that was a good sign. "i'm just jiyong." he spoke softly. he wasn't sure why he said that but something in him compelled him to do so. his hair ruffled against the pillow, subtly shaking his head. "i don't do any of that. i'm set straight—normal." for the most part, his inner monologue voiced. you scooted closer, the tip of your nose brushing against his. your brought your hand up, pad of your thumb tracing his stubble. he watched you with a glint in his eyes; entranced. "no one's interrogating you." you whispered, a smile stretching your mouth, seeing him visibly relax. he let out a long breath, forehead falling onto yours, eyes fluttering closed. "and you are just jiyong." you told him, hand reaching behind him, coaxing tenderly up and down his back. "well, my jiyong. specifically speaking." "you got that right." he kissed your cheek, nestling into your chest, arms slung around your waist. you held him without hesitation, quickly combing his hair back with your fingers as it tickled your chin. jiyong closed his eyes, letting something else slip out: "you make my life feel normal." he muttered, hidden in your warmth. "you make my life a lot more interesting." you told him, the vibrations of your chuckle making him hold you tighter.

a couple hours later, he was out of your bed, stood in front of your rotating fan perched beside your dresser. "you'd think it wouldn't be still hot as shit in damn near october." jiyong muttered, quickly leaning down once the fan turned him way, flushed cheeks momentarily relieved. "i know." you concurred, left in nothing but a shirt and underwear; laid on your side in bed, head propped up by your hand. jiyong huffed when the fan turned away, tugging at the collar of his shirt and pulling it over his head, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the fabric. you quickly looked away when he turned around, sitting on the edge of the bed. the unintended brewing silence caught his attention, turning his head to look at you. "this is the longest you've gone without talking since we started dating." "shut up, ji." he grinned, leaning down, bringing his lips to yours.

"you've seen me like this before. why so shy now, hm?" he murmured against your mouth; the kiss slow, deliberate. "s'cause you're fine." you mumbled. "s'my line, baby." you stopped the kiss, lips hovering above his. "you're so cheesy sometimes that it hurts, jiyong." he laughed against your mouth. "but you like it. i know you do." he said between kisses. his hand reached your hip, sliding down your thigh until his fingers tried to nestle between them. you opened your thighs enough to let his hand in, closing them around his wrist. he cupped and palmed your clothed pussy as best he could, kissing you a bit harder. "i know my girl likes it when i'm half fucking naked." he whispered. his eyes opened when the kiss ceased, feeling your quiet breaths brush against his mouth. you perched your left foot atop the bed, effectively separating your thighs, allowing jiyong to feel your puffy lips underneath the fabric of your underwear. "look at her. so good f'me, so ready." he praised, glancing down as his hand tucked into the hem, sinking his middle finger between your puffy lips. he moved it side to side, watching you as a small gasp left your mouth. you adjusted your hips—to your fortune, the move aligned the pad of his finger to your clit, making you shudder, fighting rolling your eyes back by squeezing them shut.

aimlessly, your hand pawed at his bare chest. "j-ji—kiss me." he leaned in, the side of his nose aligning with yours. "don't ever need to ask," he murmured. "jus' do it." he kissed you repeatedly, going slower when you moaned into his mouth; it was the way you liked it—purposeful and fucking sensual. you both were present and so fucking crazy for each other that it could suffocate any room . . . and it was beginning to be your own. "both of your lips are so soft against my mouth, baby," he muttered atop your mouth, adding his tongue to the mix. "y'know i have dreams of eating that pussy, right? can't get enough of it—" "—j-jiyong!" you gasped, holding onto the back of his neck when the pad of his finger fastened its speed. "should i do it now? hm? should i eat this sweet pussy—make love to your fucking clit before i fuck it? yeah?" that latter was his usual dirty talk that got you the fuck going, putting the idea into your head before giving you brain that had yours malfunctioning. it felt so risky with your parents down the hall, so you never did it until—wait.

"j-ji—jiyong. stop—wait." you reached down, fingers wrapping around his wrist. he halted his ministrations, looking at you. "c-can't—can't think." you breathed heavily. "what's up? everything okay?" he asked, lips finding your temple. his finger left its spot between your puffy lips, palm resting against you. "do you—" your mind was scrambled. "do you have a condom? i want you. tonight." there was a small gap between his lips—until it clicked in his head. "right. right—" he nodded, reaching into his pocket and opening his wallet. if he thought he was flustered before, his cheeks were on fire now. the one fucking time—his inner monologue cursed. "shit—i don't have any." "go get some." "one step ahead of you." his hand slipped out of your underwear, sucking briefly on his middle finger before grabbing his shirt from the floor, shoving his feet into his shoes. "won't be longer than ten fucking minutes. i swear." he told you, leaning down and kissing your lips. "just—just stay horny." jiyong said a little awkwardly before climbing out the window. his own libido clouded his senses, dizzying his temples as he descended down the stairs and climbed down the short ladder. "will do." you muttered to yourself, chuckling.

your bed creaked as loud and incessantly as either you or jiyong willed it to. once he was in and you were adjusted ("how's it feel, baby? feel okay?" "y-yeah. just—just hold me, ji."), he fucked you right and good. you felt like everything he dreamed of and more—all those nights he lulled himself to sleep tracing the linen back and forth with his palm, imagining it was your hips; balling the fabric in his fist as he showed himself no mercy with the other, dreaming of what you might sound like around him. "f-feel good with me, baby. c-c'mon." he'd whisper to himself in the confines of his bedroom—panting it next to your ear whilst his hips rammed into yours. you felt as if you achieved your final form: arms above your head in bliss, shirt pushed up to your neck whilst your tits bounced intermittently, your fine ass man between your legs; fucking you with such tenderness coupled with carnal desire, stretching you out in a way you didn't know you needed or was possible, quite frankly. jiyong took his time to memorize your body: all the divots and crevices poetically curated by your cellulite, the uneven lines of your stretch marks, how the rolls adorning your hips jiggled differently than those on your stomach. his hips stuttered, vulnerable moan escaping his lungs when your thighs wrapped around his waist as best you could in your horned-out haze, pleading "more, jiyongie—m-more. want it harder," so beautifully. he leaned down, both of your heavy breaths meshing together as he adjusted his balance on his knees, rutting into you harder than before. all mine, he thought to himself, eyebrows curling upward at the sound of your indescribable moan, how fucking lucky am i?

the only problem was once you started . . . you couldn't stop. this newly-emerged can of worms was barely contained when your parents were once again just down the hall—but ambition was nothing without strategy. you two mapped out the least-noisy parts of your bed and acted accordingly: if jiyong's behind you, he's on his feet whilst your elbows propped you up on your bedside, your feet on the carpeted floors as his pelvis pounded your globes (nearly popping a vein trying to keep quiet in the process); if you were on top, strangely enough the top middle of your bed worked well, but jiyong couldn't change how he sat once he settled; or the one time you fucked on the floor because you really wanted to try the position whilst laid on your sides, but the bed would be too nosy. you swore to never do it again after waking up with a migraine and stuffy nose from the air conditioning blowing directly onto your head.

at some point, you couldn't take it anymore. it was after the thanksgiving holiday—the early hours of black friday, to be specific. whilst your friends were hitting the mall, jiyong was hitting it from the back. he drowned himself in your duvet trying to keep his whimpers at bay, your own palm suffering under the pressure of your mouth. when you finished, he kept his balance by gripping your left globe, squeezing it to thwart the urge to smack it silly. drool threatened to leak out the corner of his mouth, swiping it with the back of his other hand before pulling the condom off. a thin string connected your palm and your mouth, that same hand going into his hair without thinking upon feeling his lips against your cheek. "i love you so much." he whispered, hand tenderly rubbing your hip. "l-love you too. can't keep—" you swallowed, mouth dry. "can't keep being quiet. s'too hard." "i know. i feel the same." "help me—help me stand up, jiyongie." "i got you. c'mere, baby."

you were on the brink two weeks later. swiveling your hips, his hands holding your waist and lower back in place, swallowing his mewls and whimpers with your connected lips. jiyong was so needy—cut fingernails clawing at your bare back, faint whispers of "keep fucking me. keep f-fucking me just like that—hngh!" against your mouth, hastily re-connecting the kiss to muffle his verbose libido. he was more whiny than usual that night—this being the first time you've seen each other in a while from misaligned free time and abrupt family plans. it showed. "oh f-fuck yeah, baby—" his whisper was so faint and high he sounded as if he was depleted of oxygen. the way his face was scrunched up—mouth hung open, eyes shut, eyebrows knit deeply together—didn't help. "k-keep fucking me—keep fucking jiyongie just like that. y-yeah! fuck—" your mixed slick combined with the lubricated condom made his dick slip out of you a few times, permitting a breather, but not for long. your knees burned and you felt dizzy, but his cock was fucking addicting. it was all for you and no one fucking else's. his pathetic fucking whines merely scratched the surface of attesting to that—how about him chanting your name like a goddamn prayer? catching him grinding into the duvet when he's eating you out? begging for mercy with that fucking quiver, only to stutter a million thank yous once that euphoric wave hits? it was endless. he was yours. you'd take that tylenol and hydrate later—for now, it was just you and him. no one else existed in your shared world.

your gummy walls clenched around him, sending him into an untamable orbit. "a-agh!" he whined aloud, sucking in a breath with your hand covered his mouth with haste, his eyes widening. "you better stop moaning like a bitch." you whispered. his eyes were misty, subconsciously mourning the temporary loss of movement. "i c-can't help it, baby," he shook his head, shaking off your palm. "y-you feel so fucking good. m'so fucking turned on right now—you have no idea, holy s-shit." both of his arms wrapped around your waist, pressing kisses onto your bare chest. "i'll be good. i'll—i'll behave, baby." he whispered, looking up at you. his hand grabbed your right breast, eyes watching yours with a glint. "i'll be your good boy—your good jiyongie. look, i'll do this to keep quiet." his tongue encircled your nipple before taking it between his lips, lapping the peak repeatedly.

it was an effective method, considering when you started moving again, all that could be heard was the moderate, non-suspicious tinkering of your metal bed frame—but now your self-control was withering away. your fingers entangled in his hair, vibrations of his moans molding into your plush skin . . . you couldn't help yourself: "f-fuck!" you gasped, hand aimlessly grabbing onto the wall in front of you, nails scratching against the chipped paint. jiyong sucked diligently as if nothing happened. you attempted to squish this shit like a bug, needing your boyfriend to wake the fuck up: "cut that shit out, ji—ha-a!" you sucked in a breath. "i can't k-keep quiet." "if i don't have this, i'm going to wake up the entire neighborhood." he muttered. "not before we wake my fucking parents!" you whisper-yelled. you nudged the side of his head with a tsk, your nipple slipping out of his mouth with you leaned to your left, grabbing your shirt. "oh hell no—" jiyong realized what was happening, you cutting him off: "shut up." you tutted, putting your shirt on. "thats what you get."

you held either side of his face, kissing his lips sweetly. "i love it when you're like this." you felt him hum. "all desperate." "i know," jiyong answered, kissing you back. "you ride my shit into the sunset whenever i do." he chuckled when you turned away, clearly flustered. "come back here." he murmured gently, lips decorating your supple cheek. "but m'being honest. this is how you make me. s'fucking hard keeping quiet, baby." "i can't keep doing this, jiyong." you shook your head. "i'm going crazy." "i know, pretty girl, i know." he nodded, palms rubbing up and down your thighs. "my place isn't really an option, either." he shook his head, seeing you nod. you talked about this before. "always busy with some shit. but i'm gonna get us a room—its about time. so we can be loud as we want to, yeah? fuck good and hard?" "y-yes." you let out a shaky breath, slowly beginning to move your hips. "needed it, like, yesterday." "i'll book it first thing tomorrow." he whispered, bottom lip choked between his teeth. "just finish us off, baby," his voice was already an octave higher. "no one does it like you—ha-a—a—oh f-fuck!"

it was an interesting feeling, knowing you were going somewhere just to fuck your boyfriend. those car rides were either humorously quiet or overly conversational—the little white lies you told your parents at the back of your mind as you filed into jiyong's passenger's seat after your shift ended: "i'll be late tonight. its someone's birthday," "i'm picking up another shift," or his personal favorite "the girls and i are having a sleepover." ("am i one of the girls?" "in your dreams.") he swiped his card at the hotel receptionist's desk without a second thought; clothes on the floor and bed creaking less than an hour later. the nearby 24 hour mart was the go-to for condom and snack runs, or the neighboring strip mall where you went for dinner ("do you want to go re-fuel?" "'re-fuel' is crazy, jiyong.") or he'd pick up an order—styrofoam take-out containers sprawled out in bed, eating your burgers and curly fries with nothing but the thin hotel quilt atop either of you, talking about whatever as the local weatherman played on the box television.

"keep moving like that! holy shit! holy shit!" he cried out one night, fucking up into you as you slammed down onto him. his hands went back and forth between gripping the side of your thighs to smacking either of your plush globes; or laying his palms on your thighs, looking down as he both watched and felt them shake with each unrelenting thrust. "i love feeling this fucking j-jiggle," he sucked in a breath. "and gripping this shit." his hands squeezed your ass before kneading to your love handles, looking up at you upon hearing you moan. "have no idea how fucking gorgeous you are," his breathing was jagged, sweat perspiring across his forehead. "the fuck do y-you—hngh!—t-the fuck do you mean no one's ever wanted you this bad? huh? felt like i needed to start a prayer service when i met you, baby—f-fuck! oh my god—ha-a—a!" he whimpered, hips stuttering to a sudden halt after you clenched around him. you let out a breath, adjusting your knees, hands letting go of the headboard to opt for your arms wrapping around his shoulders. "thats it, thats it." he praised gently. "get comfortable f'me. for your jiyongie—your good jiyongie. there you go, baby." he found his face lost in your neck when he started moving again; fingers entangled in his hair, nails scratching against his tattoo. "o—oh! j-jiyong! oh f-fuck, b-baby—" you cut yourself off with a gasp, guttural moan following. you felt so free. "felt like i needed to start a prayer service when i met you, baby—f-fuck! oh fuck—yeah! yeah!" he was close, determined to finish his thought. "felt like i needed to go to church and t-thank g-god herself for bringing me t-to you—f-fuck!"

no part of the room was spared. godspeed to whomever was on the housekeeping shift that saturday morning after the stench you two left in that damn bathroom . . . meant to get in the shower at ten to make the eleven check-out time and also complementary weekend brunch . . . but its not your fault the both of you are fine as fuck! "like that! like that! m-more—more! f-fuck!" your voice bounced off the tiled walls; acoustics of the bathroom drilling your moans into his brain for his next however so many lives—not that he was complaining what-so-fucking-ever. your knee was atop the counter, stomach laying comfortably in the sink as your hands held onto the wall and mirror before you, being fucked delectably from behind. the plop of his heavy balls against you hardly rivaled the sound of the air vent, let alone how loud you were. "o-oh my god, baby! f-fuck—fuck me! fuck me just like that! a-ah!" your walls swallowed and spit him out whole, leaving nothing to the imagination with the condom covered in creamy slick. he was panicking a little, though, because all of his cock was in you. he didn't have anymore, so he just went harder.

it seemed to do the trick. his mouth fell open at the sound of your shaky "oh my fucking god!", glancing at the mirror and seeing an expression on your face that he thought only existed in his fantasies. "f-fuck!" he whimpered. "y-you're f-fucking tight—feels so f-fucking good—a-agh! jiyongie f-feels so good!" referring to himself in third person was a tell-tale sign he was pussy drunk, only making you more hornier, knocking over the hotel hand soap in your effort to fuck him back. damn—is my dick really that good? he wondered to himself, nearly stumbling in trying to regain his balance. it ended in you two making it on time to brunch—but with his t-shirt on inside out and backwards, and droplets of water adorning your hair, along with a sheer streak of body lotion on display whenever your lifted your arm to take a bite of your omelette, of course.

godspeed to whomever was next door, too, like that one time a couple took an overnight pitstop during their road trip. it was downhill for them starting at 11 pm that friday night. you were stroking jiyong's cock as he laid on your chest, his moans muffled by your mouth, but the boyfriend's eyebrows raised nonetheless as he got ready for bed. the girlfriend nudged his shoulder and gestured to the wall when you were getting your pussy ate, moans undeniable as jiyong's tongue made love to your clit, slurping you up like never before. she kept her laughter in, eyes widening humorously at the circumstance. the smile was swiped clean off of her face when jiyong started fucking you—grunts of fighting for power as your ass rammed his pelvis, mewls of pleasure, and whorish moans bleeding through the walls like it was made of paper. the couple stared at the ceiling in complete darkness, not a wink of sleep in sight for either of them. to top it all off, a phone kept ringing. until something went crashing down.

"who keeps—who keeps fuckin' calling—god damn!" they heard him curse when your mobile rang again. "m-must be one of the girls." you were out of breath, the ringtone dramatically deafening. "c-can you—can you get it? take out the battery or something. i can't reach—can't think straight, sick of the phone—hngh!" your thoughts came out fragmented, shutting up once jiyong leaned over to the bedside table; inadvertently shoving his cock deeper inside you. he slid the back off, picking the battery out and shoved everything onto the floor hastily. "thats fucking better—f-fuck!" you pushed into him, feeling him grip your hips and rut into you at breakneck speed. "y-yes! yes!" you cried. the girlfriend was fed up, but not with you: "why don't you fuck me like that?" she asked her boyfriend. "uh—" he stuttered. "she's—she's playing it up. clearly. i mean, who really sounds that dramatic? right?" he was overpowered by the sound of you calling jiyong's name so delicately that anyone could see what was really going on. the girlfriend huffed, turning away from him and onto her side, tugging the duvet. "that's what someone who doesn't know what they're doing would say." she muttered. "good-fucking-night."

its true: jiyong knew you like the back of his hand. no matter how he got on your nerves sometimes (with love, of course.) however, as your five month anniversary went by, and you rang in the start of the 21st century together ("we survived y2k, baby. i think this calls for some celebration." "just finish your cig in peace, ji."), you realized you didn't really . . . know him. like, some of the basics. here's some context—what initially tipped you off was something completely unrelated: a conversation that arose when you were out with friends; out at brunch at a local diner, taking up an entire booth, catching up after some time apart. an anecdote filled your ears: "we went all the way to his mom's for his little brother's birthday," a friend was recounting her previous weekend with her boyfriend; the tinkering of silverware and iced teas decorating the air. "it was fun. the food was so good—i haven't stopped thinking about the baked ziti." a wave of chuckles spread around the booth, including from you. as she went on, your inner monologue took your attention away from your french toast: does jiyong have a sibling? i think he mentioned having an older sister before . . . but where does he live? oh my god—where does he live?

you grabbed your glass of water, taking a sip, mentally going down the rabbit hole. does his mom live with him? are his parents divorced? i mean, with his dad's work, its highly unlikely . . . but still—what's his family like? holy shit, i don't even know his favorite fucking movie. now the standing question is was this a product of your own actions, or was he just secretive to the point it all fell under the radar? it felt complex and confusing, and also as if the universe was targeting you directly. the next thing cemented it: the mention of your name from someone in the group took you out of your head. "hm? what's up?" you muttered. "does jiyong have any hobbies?" you have got to be kidding me. you thought to yourself, out of everything i could've been asked. and i don't even fucking know. the look on her face was almost knowing, but in a different way. the subtle snarkiness ruminated in some of your friends since you told them you and jiyong were dating—a product of not having the gall to ask you about his family directly, you've figured. "he does," you quickly said, nodding. "he likes making mixtapes—" "has he made you one?" "yeah, he has. a couple, actually." you nodded again. now lay off; and she did.

not only was jiyong the type to know what he wanted, but he knew when something was up. a lifetime in a household riddled with conflict will do that to you. he doted on your cheek with sweet kisses, remnants of your shared desire sporadically sprinkled throughout the hotel room the following weekend. his arms were wrapped around your naked body, bringing you closer to his own whilst he lowly hummed in content—but you weren't paying attention, and deliberately so. your eyes remained glue to the uninteresting re-run playing on the late night television channel. jiyong was losing his patience, but kept himself leveled: "is something on your mind, baby?" he asked gently. "no." you responded curtly. he pursed his lips, "your pout says different." you let out a huff, defeated, turning your head towards him. a moment passed before you spoke: "i don't know you." you blurted. immediately confused, jiyong's eyebrows furrowed. "what?" "i mean—" you shook your head, "let me explain." you turned to face him fully. "the other day, i was out with my friends. one of them talked about, like, going to her boyfriend's mom's house for a birthday party, and i just thought about how i didn't even know where you live. like, what part of the city, or something." you thought aloud.

your effort to find your words subconsciously led you to sit up in bed, hand out as if you were rifling through the metaphorical word bank. "like, i don't even know what your favorite movie is, ji." you shook your head. "the godfather." he joked, shit-eating grin on his face; head propped against his palm, elbow on his pillow. "this is what i fucking mean!" you exclaimed, gesturing towards him. "be for real, jiyong. now's not the time." "okay, okay. i'm sorry," he apologized, sitting up himself. "i'm not really one for movies." he said. "i'm more into tv—like twin peaks. i really like that show." you looked at him. your subtle pout made you look kissable to the level of a federal offense. "what's your favorite ice cream flavor?" "easy: rocky road." answered jiyong. he looked at you for the next question, but it didn't feel satisfactory. nothing did. your face sunk into your palms. "i don't even know where you live, jiyong." you repeated, albeit with an added sense of self-pity. "that's, like, the first thing someone knows about their significant other. i said 'i love you' before i even knew whether you live on a fucking cul-de-sac, or some shit."

his chest felt heavy. he knew you were right. perhaps his efforts of protecting you from the mess of his life backfired. he didn't feel the need to be retaliatory or on the offense, but instead owned up to it. "i'm sorry." he muttered. "no, jiyong. don't apologize," you shook your head. "that's not what i—you know what . . . i don't even know what i meant. just—just forget it." "no, don't do that." he tsked, shaking his head. "that's the last thing we should do right now. c'mere, baby." he scooted closer to you, wrapping his arm around you, bringing your head to his shoulder. "i'm not the best at being open." he murmured, only for your ears to hear. "but i'm going to try my best to change that—for you. you hear me?" he kissed your temple. "its the least i could fuckin' do." he thought aloud. a long breath left his lungs, eyes fluttering closed, letting himself feel the uncomfortable emotions stirring in his chest. "how about i bring you around tomorrow before i drop you home?" he spoke into your supple skin, pressing a kiss. "my parents won't be home, so it won't be a lot at once. but it'll be a start. how's that sound, baby?" "okay. as long as you're good with it." you said. "i'm more than good with it." he assured with a nod. "you're the person i trust the most, y'know."

his family's house was beautiful. lived in, personal, and not intimidating whatsoever—in fact, it was normal. luxurious, yes, but normal. he lived in a gated community lined with homes with price tags you could only imagine, parking his car on the driveway made with any regular asphalt (you felt asinine for being compelled by such a small detail, but couldn't blame yourself either). the few granite steps leading to the front door were lined with potted flowers in bloom on either end. you had hardly any time to take in just how fucking wide the door was, because before you knew it, paws were pitter-pattering on the floor, followed by a handful of barks. "this is rodney." jiyong bent down after taking his shoes off, scratching behind the beagle's ears. "we got him for my older sister when she turned sixteen. i didn't name him that nerdy shit—she did."

jiyong then gave a tour: the wall of family photos that lined the left side of the hallway leading to the kitchen—the frames aged yet elegant (the portraits weren't giving jcpenney but a friend of a friend of a friend who knows an exclusive french photographer, and mixed in effortlessly with developed photos from disposable cameras and polaroids from family reunions); a descriptive yet comedic detailing of the food in the fridge after you mentally got over how spacious the kitchen island is ("this sliced meat right here—my dad's gone to the same butcher since he was a kid. oh, and this tupperware—my mom's bulgogi marinade is top tier." "i can't wait to try it one day, ji." "you will, baby. you will."); peeking out the windows on the lited doors serving as an entryway into the backyard, staring at the pool before harkening your attention back to him standing in the living room, the couch and nintendo 64 between you two ("me, and this couch. like this—" he crossed his fingers. "every thursday at nine for twin peaks." "no wonder you disappear." "prior obligations, baby."); to finally his bedroom, with rodney filing in and settling into his duvet whilst showed you his cds ("wu-tang clan changed my life." "can i borrow it to listen to it sometime?" "its like you want me to drop everything and propose right now." "its never ending with you, jiyong.")

when rodney decided he was over it, he jumped down and left the room, allotting the bed to you and jiyong. some time later, you laid comfortably atop the duvet, fingers entangled in jiyong's hair as your lips molded against his, his palms tenderly rubbing up and down your side. from time to time, you grew flustered, breaking the kiss and turning away, beckoned back to him upon his lips trailing from your cheek to the corner of your mouth. when it happened for the third time, a smile stretched his mouth. "hey," his breath was hot against your cheek, deepening your sheepish state. "come back here. stop doing that, baby." he purposefully elongated the last syllable, kissing your supple skin slowly. "don't get all shy on me." "i don't know," you muttered. "sneaking over to my boyfriend's house . . . making out with him in his bedroom . . . getting all shy like this. its like i'm finally experiencing what everyone else did when they were sixteen." you looked at him, slightly embarrassed. "does that sound stupid?" "not at all," jiyong shook his head, admiration apparent in his eyes. "you're so fucking cute that it pisses me off sometimes." he laughed at your scoff and eye roll, leaning closer when you nudged him away. "like, i get to be your baby. can you believe that?" "you're always on the brink of being my enemy." "that's hot." "jesus—its never ending!"

slowly ushering you into his life began to mend some things. he pushed aside those movie dates where you sat at the back of the theater, lips together like there was some sort of magnetic force; the gelato café where you've tried every flavor twice and repeatedly beat him at chess on the set out for customers; you two fighting the glitchy atm as he tries to deposit money to pay the overpriced rental rates for pattleboats at a nearby waterfront ("its like the universe doesn't want me to ride the dragon paddleboat." "you sound more like me everyday, ji.") for a restaurant his family has frequented since he was a kid. it was lavish and elegant—yet a sense of community was palpable. jiyong greeted the hostess like he's known her his entire life (because he has), cooly pulling out your chair out for you before settling in himself. he had a pristine suit on coupled with the watch he met you in, wearing them both with ease like a second skin of sorts, ordering the chicken parm for the both of you ("its the best dish and also ginormous") and a wine you were pretty sure had three digits after the dollar sign on the menu.

as out-of-body of an experience this was, you felt you blended in somewhat. it was all in your outfit: a long sleeve red dress that draped just above your knees, complemented by black tights, pearl earrings jiyong gifted you for christmas, and a coat to protect from the bitter winter cold outside. jiyong could tell you were uneasy at first, eyes lingering on you whilst the waiter poured water into your glasses, seeing you try to hide your pensive expression with a grin. "c'mere," he called softly, arm draped on the back of your chair. "see that lady over there? the one with the blue silk top?" "mhm." "has some of the worst french tips you've ever seen. she used to babysit me when i was a kid—shit was in my nightmares." "what a way to reach consciousness." you giggled, making him smile. "i know, right?" he concurred, looking around. "oh—that guy over there, by the plant," he pointed to the right. "he was caught with his twenty-one year old secretary. his wife took the kids—think they're about my age now—he went to turkey and got a hair transplant." he wanted for it to be in view. "move your head, motherfucker." jiyong muttered, glancing at you when you nudged his shoulder. "jiyong!" you chuckled. "what? i wanna show you—look! now!" he whispered. you were taken aback. "i'll be for real with you: i would've never guessed." his commentary was disarming and helped you relax; the kiss he planted on your cheek helping his case.

you felt the fleeting glances from others in the restaurant throughout the night. everyone really knows each other, you thought to yourself as you cut into the chicken parm. however, it wasn't attached to a flare of vitriol or scoping-out-the-fresh-meat, like your one friend would suggest if she knew where you were tonight, but with an air of curiosity and gentle would you look at that? before returning to their business. many, if not all of your fellow diners, were older and had known jiyong his entire life. it was tight-knit, exclusive—further illustrated by the aunties that came up to your table when you finished your meal and were waiting on dessert, doting on him with "you've grown up so well," and smiles brightening even more so upon seeing you. what topped it all off was when an elderly man greeted jiyong at your table in the midst of sharing a small plate of flan, followed by his wife and two younger children—all dressed to the nines. jiyong shot up from his seat, extending his hand, only to be pulled into a hug. you quickly figured this was one of his uncles, standing to your feet after jiyong said your name: "this is my girlfriend," you walked around the table, smiling politely. after making introductory small talk, you returned to your seat, not seeing the uncle grab jiyong's elbow: "you look married." he muttered, making jiyong chuckle, nodding.

"blood-related?" you asked him a moment or two later, glancing at the family being seated on the opposite end of the room. "take a guess." said jiyong, wiping the caramel drizzle from the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin. "hm. . ." you thought aloud. you genuinely considered it: they shared a similar cadence and held their postures akin to looking into mirrors, but something in you said it was otherwise. "i'm gonna say no." you looked at him, hearing his spoon tinker against the porcelain plate. you shrugged your shoulders, "intuition, i guess." jiyong swallowed his bite of flan, smiling afterward. "what?" you questioned. "did i get it right?" jiyong nodded. "you did, yeah. he's my dad's oldest business partner. used to take me on fishing trips—it was him that shocked me the most when i put the pieces together, y'know?" "mhm. i see, i see." you nodded. you scooped some flan in your spoon, slipping it into your mouth. you sat back on your chair, letting out a breath as your arms crossed over your chest. jiyong couldn't help his grin—you looked like a natural. "you're gonna fit in well here." he told you. "i barely know what i'm doing." you said. "well," he countered. "there's nothing to know. i'm just . . . . me. you just need to be you."

you grabbed your wine glass, stirring it with a subtle rotation of the stem held by your fingers. "i told my parents about us." said jiyong. "you did?" you asked, eyebrows furrowed, taking another sip. jiyong nodded, "i told my mom, like, two weeks after we met. she was so excited." he tried to act cool about it, but you saw through the sudden avoidant eye contact and nervous chuckle; amused grin on your face. "how about your dad?" you set your glass down. "he found out through her." explained jiyong, seeing you nod. "then—then he tried to ask me about you like he didn't know. he's not that good at being subtle." he shook his head, smile stretching his mouth hearing your laughter. his family sounded sweet and admirable, a stark contrast from their perceived reputation. a product of being multi-faceted and cunning, you figured, but you found it endearing nonetheless. "would you—" jiyong cleared his throat. you knew what was coming. "would you ever tell your parents about me?" "absolutely," you answered without hesitation. "they might, y'know, stop drop and roll to the hospital. but they're just going to have to suck it the fuck up, quite frankly."

jiyong smiled so big that his eyes kissed in the corners. "that's right." he chuckled, nodding. "would they be more calm if there was a diamond on your ring finger?" you gave him a look, eyes narrowing a little. "i think that might induce cardiac arrest, but not before it does me—because i know you're not about to get down on one knee right now." "i'm not!" he smiled, shaking his head. "i promise, i'm not! well, not yet—" "—jiyong." "its just an idea!" he defended. "to think about!" you tsked, unable to hide your grin, watching as he took the checkbook from the waiter. "yeah, okay," you nodded. "think about it, silently, to yourself as you pay the bill." "mhm, mhm." he nodded, biting his bottom lip; utmost failure of keeping his smile at bay, placing his card into the book and handing it back to the waiter. "you don't see us doing that, though?" he wondered aloud. "if i say yes, you can't use it against me and make me all flustered and shit." "i can't promise you that." "well, then i guess you'll never know." jiyong smiled knowingly. "think i got my answer, baby."

as the good fluttered in, so did the bad. things got real rather quickly—in every meaning of the word. it wasn't that you were naive and expected some adrenaline-pumping life with jiyong. he was normal, and just a person whom was born into circumstances out of his control. he felt so lucky to have found someone so generous and grounding, accepting of his family without materialistic expectations or with a looming hunger for intel. you wanted him for him; the good, but also the ugly—no matter how visceral it may be. living a life of nuance wasn't a culture shock. everyone experienced it in their own respective lives, whether it was what you perused for at the grocery store, how you were raised, the car you drove, your personal quirks, your defining experiences; the list was endless. jiyong's just happened to be the talk of the city, and on full public display when he was pushed to the edge. so when he showed up to your window on a late thursday night, knocking softly and one when your bedroom door was closed (the rules you established long ago), with small cuts on his face and a bruise forming on his chin, you didn't know what to do.

"h-hey baby," he smiled—an effort to fight his increasingly glossy eyes. "how are—how's it going?" "ji," your voice was quiet, taking the sight of him in. "what . . . what happened?" "uh—" he licked his lips, wiping a fallen tear, seeing it mixed with a droplet of blood leaked from a cut on his eyebrow. its now or never, he thought to himself. "y'know how—y'know how when he first met, i told you sometimes some guys try to give me trouble?" he sniffled. you nodded, "yeah." "well, sometimes," he sucked in a breath. "sometimes i let them." the shame felt atomic. it all happened so quickly . . . out to dinner with his friends . . . having a smoke in the parking lot outside . . . the son of his father's many business partners that's been on the brink of being ousted coming up to him . . . the beef trickling back to jiyong, the eldest and only son of his father's, having to take the heat . . . next thing he knew, he was flooring it to your apartment complex, his face pulsating.

he shook his head. "i didn't have anywhere else to go." he looked at you pleadingly. "its—its—" hard to explain, his inner monologue finished, but he couldn't get the words out. "do you . . . do you have a first aid kit?" his voice fell to a whisper. a moment went by before you responded, everything starting to sink in. "i do have something—" "—t-thank you!" he let out a breath. he grabbed your hands, kissing your inner wrists. "i'm so sorry b-baby. i didn't mean to scare you—i love you so fucking much." he cried. "hey, ji, i need you to breath." you brought him back down to earth, watching him inhale and exhale shakily. "you stay here and out of sight until i get back." you motioned to the brick wall to your left. he's done it before, hiding himself during a close call with your parents early in your relationship. "okay?" "y-yeah." he nodded. "don't—don't take long." "i won't."

you did what you could with the tools at your disposal: a bottle of antiseptic that's been lodged in the bathroom cabinet for years in case it was needed; applying it to his cuts with a cotton round, neosporin that was bought recently after your dad nipped his finger fixing a loose hinge on a kitchen cabinet, and a pack of bandaids that have been there as long as the antiseptic. it wasn't much, but it did the job. jiyong didn't have it in him to hiss at the slight stinging, let alone scrunch his face up in muted discomfort. you two sat in silence, you carefully placing the bandaid on his eyebrow as best you could, your other hand lifting his hair so it wouldn't stick to the adhesive. "do you wanna tell me what happened?" you spoke quietly, fingers fixing his hair. jiyong shook his head. "its fucking embarrassing." a beat went by. "i don't wanna scare you—or something." "you wouldn't. its not embarrassing to tell your girlfriend about something, ji." you told him. he recounted the night as best he could, but didn't lift his head to look at you; falling into mutters when it got to the more sensitive parts. it left you bewildered, but accepting—there wasn't any other choice.

"i'm sorry, jiyong." your hand rubbed his bicep tenderly. "you don't deserve that pressure. no one does." "it can get real fuckin' tough." he nodded, feeling the tears brew again. "like there's no way out sometimes. just gotta suck it up, y'know?" he looked up at you, sniffling. "i know." you whispered. "can i—" he let out a shaky breath. "can i stay here tonight?" "you know that's not possible, ji." you said—your parents down the hall. "i know," he nodded quickly, wiping his cheek. "but i just—i had to ask. how about the hotel? do you wanna go?" "i have work early in the morning." "oh shit—yeah. i forgot. sorry." he muttered. he knew this was coming: he'd have to deal with these emotions himself. he wasn't new to this, but it would've been nice to spend the night with his love. "its okay." you assured, reaching for his hand. "can you—can you hold me? i'm sorry, i don't wanna be a burden—" "—shut up." you cut him off, pulling him into your embrace. he nuzzled his face into your neck nearly immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist, eyes closing at the feel of your hands traveling up his back, settling behind his shoulders. you talked to him in a way that would resonate: "when you're the love of my fucking life, there's no such thing as being a burden." you whispered into his ear. "do you fucking hear me, ji? hm?" "yes." he responded meekly, holding onto you tighter.

your palm smoothened his hair, petting the back of his head like he’d wither away at any second. “i told my parents about us.” “you did?” he expected the worst. “what did … what did they say?” “they brought up your dad,” sounds about right, jiyong thought to himself. “which is surprising, since they usually keep to themselves, so i didn’t expect them to know. but i guess if you don’t talk, you listen.” you thought aloud, hearing and feeling jiyong hum as he listened. he opened his eyes, pondering if he should say what was brewing in his head. i’ve spilled so much tonight, he figured, might as well. “what did you say?” he asked. “i told them they have no idea what they’re talking about,” his eyes fluttered closed, holding you closer. “and left it at that.” he felt his face grow hot. “would they—would they ever wanna meet me?” “funnily enough, my mom asked me this morning before she left for work.” your hand traced up and down his arm. “between you and i,” you grinned. “she looked a little excited at the prospect.” “really?” jiyong lifted his head. “that's—that’s amazing.” a twinkle returned to his eyes. “we can take her to val’s,” the restaurant he took you to, “anything she wants, she gets. i don’t give a fuck how high the bill is.” he shook his head, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “what about your dad?” “he’ll come around.” you said. you saw his face drop a little. “it’ll take some time, but he’ll come around. i promise.” your hand came up, fingers fixing his hair, though it looked fine; you just wanted to be near him. jiyong nodded, turning his head to kiss your palm before leaning in, bringing his lips to yours. “i don’t know where i’d be without you.” “me neither.”

the next several months were smooth sailing. your first valentine’s was spent at val’s before making the headboard bash into the wall at the hotel—the bouquet of roses jiyong gave you sitting idly next to the gifts you got for one another on the tv stand. come spring, you met his family! not only his immediate, but most of his extended, as well. it called for extensive preparation: “what do i wear?” you asked him from your end of the line, mobile flip phone held between your ear and shoulder as you reached for your go-to cereal. “i don’t know—something casual?” jiyong lugged his laundry bag down the basement stairs. “its a fuckin’ dog’s birthday party. wear anything you want.” he let out a breath, lifting the top of the washer open. “no, jiyong,” you huffed, pouring your cereal into your bowl. “be for real. i’m not showing up in jeans. tell me so i can thrift accordingly.” “thrift? fuck no. i’m taking you to the mall to figure this out. what time’s your shift end?” “two.” you looked at the time on the oven—you had to be out the door in twenty minutes. “great,” you heard jiyong as you chewed. “we’ll be there at two-thirty.”

rodney’s adoption day party was as lively as a graduation or wedding engagement celebration. the love was in the air, specifically an excuse for a huge family to get together and eat good food. jiyong’s mother dashed over to you in her kitten heels before her son could utter a mere syllable, harnessing the most welcoming aura. “you’re more beautiful than i ever could’ve imagined, oh my goodness!” she seemed like the happiest person in the world, holding your face so softly in her hands as if you were god-sent. she took the boxed tiramisu you brought with a look of appreciation, taking your hand in hers, and effectively away from jiyong as she brought you to the festivities in the backyard; much to his chagrin. “how’re you feeling?” jiyong asked when his mother was beckoned away by an in law, hand on your lower back. “a lot of things,” you nodded. “many things—good things. colliding.” he chuckled. “good,” he nodded. “come here, we’ll start with my cousins.”

no one had to tell you his father was the one standing on the opposite end of the poolside, the way he carried himself did the talking. he was conversing with a small group when jiyong brought you over. he was half an inch taller than jiyong, never faltering his posture, even when extending his hand to shake yours. you were so fucking nervous, looking up at him with your best smile and polite greeting. it was like he knew, because what he said next was so disarming it nearly made you dizzy: “i’d usually be a lot less formal with my son’s girlfriend, but i’ve got a reputation to uphold with these guys.” he gestured his head to the right. you let out a laugh, missing him patting jiyong’s shoulder and giving him an approving, re-assuring wink. you went to motherfucking town on that bulgogi, coupled with bottomless in-house mimosas (“compliments to the chef, your mom—holy shit.” “that’s what i’m saying!”); surprised when rodney recognized you after only meeting a couple times, delighted when he came over and sat by your feet (“you’re his mommy.” “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”); or him watching happily when you got along with one of his older cousins, talking to her about coldplay’s upcoming record. a job well done; a new chapter opened.

you were invited frequently back to his house for dinner thereafter. your parents did come around, treated to dinner at val's—jiyong answering whatever questions your father threw at him with unbridled ease. finally, after all this time, it felt as if things were falling into place. so much so that when it came time for his birthday, several weeks after celebrating your first year together, you took a page out of his book: making a mixtape. sure, your family computer was running like a jet engine by the end of it … and you picked up an album of an artist he likes just in case it didn’t work … along with something else … but its the thought that counts, right? right. you handed him the small gift bag before after he climbed out your bedroom window, ready to say goodnight. “happy birthday, my love.” you held his face, bringing your lips to his. “thank you, baby.” he smiled. “what is it?” you tsked, making him chuckle. “open it when you get home. its just … a little something.” “a little something?” “a token for you to remember me by.” you grinned, referring to his family’s week long trip visiting his elder sister and brother-in-law, set to fly out early in the morning. “your dramatic ass.” he teased, giving you a sweet kiss. “i love you. i’ll be back before you know it.” “i love you too,” you rested your hands on the windowsill, watching him descend down the fire escape. “page me when you get home—drive safe!” “i will!”

the mixtape worked, holy shit! he read the accompanying card with a grin on his face, heart doubled in size, practically seeping out of his pores when he opened a greatest hits cd of one of his favorite artists. he set them down on his nightside table, peering into the bag and seeing a box was left. he fished it out—it looked like it would house jewelry, nothing bigger than that. did she get me a bracelet? necklace, maybe? he wondered, lifting the lid. what stared back at him was unmistakable ribbed knit black fabric, lined with what looked to be white elastic hemming tucked into the sides; half of the brand name visible. “holy fucking shit.” he whispered to himself. he’s seen you wear this pair before—better yet, he’s taken it off of you before. he picked the folded underwear out of the box, watching it dangle off his fingers in awe. a thought flashed in his mind. he leaned in, inhaling. then he inhaled again. and again. and again. is that why she went to the bathroom before i left? to fucking pack this—he inhaled sharply, looking down and seeing how hard he was through his shorts. holy fuck.

he triple checked that his bedroom door was locked, taking an extra precaution and lodging the top of his desk chair underneath the handle. jiyong kicked his shorts and briefs off, laying comfortably in bed. he took a deep breath, beginning to stroke himself. he started slow, not wanting to work himself up too quickly. he stared at your underwear held in his palm, letting it dangle onto the linen before scooping it back up, teeth raking over his bottom lip. “look how hard you made me, b-baby—s-shit!” he whispered to himself, stomach curling inward, that fucking knot in his abdomen already threatening him. “look how hard you made your jiyongie.” the amount of precum he already had was (to him) embarrassing, making him grip his stiffened dick more firmly to prevent it from slipping; inadvertently making his mind numb and toes curl. “f-fuck!” he mewled. “keep—keep f-fucking me, b-baby! keep fucking jiyongie just like that—a-agh!” his voice escaped into a higher register, almost invisible in his broken whisper. he pressed the back of his hand against his lips to quiet himself, bringing your underwear back to his nose, eyes rolling back upon catching your scent again. a vein popped onto his temple, sweat building on his forehead—eyes shut, thinking of how your skin jiggles every time he fucks you; the way you look up at him before taking his dick in your warm mouth; the thought of you taking your underwear off in the bathroom and packing it for him.

“o-oh my god!” he whimpered. without thinking, he wrapped your underwear around his dick the best his horned-out mind could, fucking his fist. “c-can’t h-help it, b-baby—can’t hold it in—f-fuck!” he came so hard, feeling it bleed through the fabric and trail down his balls. he breathed so hard he could power a fucking windmill, body feeling like jelly as he aimlessly reached for his jeans on the floor, fishing out his flip phone and speed-dialing you. all you heard was his heavy breathing: “hello? ji?” “i’m gonna f-fucking marry you.” he huffed, chest heaving. “what?” you furrowed your eyebrows, the microphone a little muffled. “is everything okay?” “i said—” he licked his lips. “i said i’m gonna marry you—a-agh! f-fucking—f-fuck.” he whimpered into the microphone, his mewls making it all click. you looked down at your thighs, heat brewing between them. “did you—” you swallowed. “did you like your gift?” “like it?” jiyong huffed. “baby, i—i came in it.” how could she act all innocent when she knows what she’s doing? oh my god—i’m gonna get hard all over again, his inner monologue rambled, breathing finally leveling. your jaw fell, catching it quickly behind your palm. “good to—good to know.” you muttered, hiding your face from no one. i wonder if that hotel would accept guests at one in the morning … you thought to yourself.

by the end of your second summer together, there was a stack of photos on your dresser—developed from various disposable cameras. most were from the same barbecue, beginning with a photo of you and a friend making drinks in the kitchen; the snacks lining the counter; the small bonfire that somehow became overexposed when developed; jiyong giving a thumbs up when the flash went off—a tester photo when you thought you fucked the camera up; you and your friends trying to coordinate a photo; you in the middle with jiyong and seunghyun (you finally know who he is! he’ll never let that inside joke go) on either side of you; and two of you and jiyong smiling grandly in both—the first with his arms around you sweetly; the second he calls “just let your dad handcuff me right now,” his hands visibly on your ass, cigarette hanging between his lips as he grinned. he couldn’t help the very characteristic thing he said after picking the photos up from the department store, rifling through them with you in his car: “damn. we look hot as fuck, baby.”

honey's tag list! ૮ ˶�� ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf; @infinetlyforgotten; @riddlerloveb0t; @mesopotamism; @pepsicolapussi; @breakmeoff

[bttrflybb]

cw: angst, blood, reader death, madara x reader, child mention

a/n: sry abt ia! been studying for a test :p here's a lil something i wrote during my downtime. inspired by a song, 'like blood from a stone' by old gray. real vague, idek what timeframe this is set in. i just want to study my madara characterization... i have like 3 drafts in the work so dw more soon, i just gotta get the next couple days over with.

there’s a man with eyes that flicker between a dark calamity and crimson rage soaked in sorrow. his gaze softens when it finds your pathetic figure, like a hunter's soft smile when it catches the fawn of the stag he just slaughtered. he loves you, he will always love you, but there are things bigger than you. things he can’t ignore. things that haunt him even when he’s in your embrace.

he won’t allow himself to be washed in your naïve love. not now. there are things bigger than this. things he has to protect you and his child from. in another world, where the tendrils of retribution don’t have such a hold on him, he is able to love you. love you with a pure, worthy love. to let your innocent love influence him. but not in this world. in the world he creates for the two- no, the three of you, only then will he be at peace with you all.

his name is the first word to leave your mouth as the red-hot pain of the gash in your torso is replaced by the quiet chill of the air. you’re getting cold. steel blue and fiery orange illuminates the edges of your vision as you gaze into the sky, unable to move. his blood-curdling screams and the tremors of susano’o almost make you giggle. now, as the light is fading from your eyes, only now do you hear something indicative of the love he held for you. something more than the tenderness you’d catch glimpses of- the gentleness you made so difficult to suppress. what a wrathful man. you curse yourself for spurring his rage on. you know what your death will do to him. you know the plan you've set in motion. all you wanted was to soften his harsh edges, to bring those walls down so he could truly enjoy his involvement in your shared life. your throat burns with tears- your body too weak to bring them to your eyes.

flashes of the life you dreamed of shutter in your brain. where you get to watch your child grow alongside his father and take his spot as the leader of the clan. pain shoots through you again as you weakly cry out. you cry for the peace you were so close to seeing that you know you have singlehandedly shattered- being killed by a group of ninjas bearing that double-ended pronged crest. you cry for the past and future deaths that will be for nothing. you feel hopeless. you know your husband. you know the pain he will dispense in response.

his silhouette is above you, tears streaking the blood stuck to his face as you're shaken in his arms. slots of time are missing in your brain, you don't know when you were scooped up by him, his strong frame swallowing your frail body up. his voice barely hums through the static. the only thing you can make out is his face- his despondent expression and those wartorn, crimson eyes like stubbornness and struggle, like the sculpted ruins in abandoned villages that refuse to fall completely.

"oh, madara." you hum. your eyes soften at the sight of him. "i'm so sorry, my madara." you weakly sing, a bittersweet tone beneath your words. you're smiling. his face is stricken in despair, lip quivering and his eyebrows contorted in disbelief. in his eyes, you see your own, eyes that gleam back when the light of hope is shined on them, eyes that believe in a future where mothers like you aren't forced to leave their children behind in the name of another's vengeance. you hold empathy for your killers. young senju who were orphaned years ago by your clan, you're sure. misguided sweet things.

"i'm so so-" "don't." he stills. "please don't." his voice wavers. his gloved hand brings your hand to him, pressing the knuckles of your cold fingers to his lips. he feels sick at how icy they are, how you're already so much paler than usual. the blood rising in your throat causes you to choke a bit, wheezing before you can get more words out. "not you, please- not you," a sob wracks his body, and you've never felt more loved. with the last of your strength, you splay out your fingers to take his chiseled cheek in your hand, the pad of your thumb swiping the mixture of blood and tears away. "you can't." he wept. he's crying.

"don't cry." you whisper, "be strong, madara. be strong f-for me," blood sputters up as you speak and you heave, lurching forward with the support of his arms. "you have t-to, madara," your tone shifts, that smile still poignant on your face, "be strong for itsuki." your body is heavy, head like the bulb of a tulip too dense for the stem to hold up. death doesn't scare you, but leaving your husband and son behind in such a tumultuous world does. "p-please, madara-," you warble, weakly squeezing his hand. "okay." he responds, his tone bleak and dull. you realize, your hope is dying with you.

a small laugh sighs from your nose and slump against him, shoulder and head thudding against his chest. "okay." your voice was lower than a whisper, and your fingers loosened around his and were suddenly heavier in his grasp. there's so much more to be said between the two of you. there are so many more promises and wishes to leave behind, but your body and voice have both been relinquished from you like a soldier from his duty.

then there's that cacophony of ghosts reminding him of his destiny for failure. he's seeing three of you in his arms, heartbeat so hard it's vibrating his vision and shaking him from the inside like a chorus of war drums. madara has been defeated once more. you're slack in his arms and once he gives you a shake, your head lulling back, and those eyes that once held the most worried kindness he had ever seen are dull- and he knows you're gone. he knows you're not here to hear the wail that comes from him. the cry that releases the spiritual bars holding back his hate, dust and pebbles dancing on the ground at how loud it is.

you knew your husband. even at the doorstep of death, before you're whisked away by whatever god is taking you to the afterlife, you knew his hate. his love.

this plan he kept reserved in the back of his head, you were supposed to be a part of it. you were supposed to be happy. that peace you craved- he was going to give it to you. everything you wanted, for you. it was all for you. the bitter taste of disdain on his tongue mixes with the blood bubbling up from his throat, raw from screaming. names, curses, pleas. the moon taunts him, like a statue depicting a worthless god as he holds the body of his lover before it.

those tendrils of retribution dig beneath his skin, rooting his soul to the conviction he needed to follow through with this plan. upon this night, upon this moon, it is set in motion.

[vagabond-umlaut]

every rose and its 'twin prickles'

Or: you and the two fearsome monsters, your knightly husband must wage a war against everyday, for the sake of a glimpse of you.

▸ dad!gojo satoru x mom!reader; 1.45 wc; fluff, fluff, gallons and gallons of fluff; a pair of cute, possessive and too-wise-for-their-age babies who love their mama wayyy too much; poor miserable deprived 'toru; sprinkles of humor too added in there; implied no curses!au

▸ i dump the blame of this on @afortoru's shoulders. A, look what you made me do ▸ writing this genre for the 1st time! characters, image or divider used aren't mine. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

Do you know what’s the best thing about work? 

Every evening it ends early. 

Do you know what’s the best thing about home? 

Every evening you’re there.   

Walking into the barely-lit flat, a soft smile lights up the expanse of Satoru’s face as the quiet sounds of snoring float over from the bedroom. Dumping the bag on the sofa and shrugging off the coat, the man moves silently further into the apartment – weary mind conjuring images of you in an oversized black tee [of his], curled into yourself in the king-sized bed, the cutest little pout on your lips as you babble in your sleep – then pauses, a hand on the doorknob.  

Two pairs of blue eyes sparkle at him from the almost-darkness of the room.  

Satoru closes the door behind and slumps against it.  

Two matching grins aim at his heart from the human blanket over your form. 

Sharp. Shrewd. Cruel. 

You wrap an arm round each of those two monkeys – the latter back here from their grandparents', two days before schedule.  

Ten years ago, were anyone to tell Satoru there would be a day in the future when he would have to fight for you, only to taste defeat, again and again and again, the man would have emptied his glass of champagne on their clothes, then kicked them out of the reception party. 

Yet, now... as he trudges closer to the door and extends a hand to brush a few wily wisps of hair away from your forehead – only to have it slapped away harshly by a little palm – he can’t help but wonder what sin he committed in his previous birth, to have received an angel like you as his wife, but two demons like them for his children.  

Sachiko, the older of the twins, glares up at her father. “Papa, no!! Mama’s sleeping,” She whisper-yells, eyes darting from him to you than back to him, lips tugged down in a scowl, the likes of which he has only seen in a mirror. On your other side, a mop of white hair nods, albeit not without a tiny yawn – Sachiro’s definitely inherited your sleepiness in a rainy weather.  

Satoru lifts an eyebrow in return. “I can see that, you two. Now go, play with your toys or something. I wanna cuddle with my wife.” 

“But we too wanna cuddle with Mama,” Sachiko retorts as she slips out from under your arm and sits up on the bed. The tiny ponytail on her white head stays in a complete disarray; your husband watches your daughter tug at it a couple of times, frowning, before she gives up, returning her glower to him as she continues, “So, you can’t cuddle with her. Mama is ours now.” 

Your son again gives a small “yes” at her words, followed by a yawn – a reaction which Sachiko doesn’t deem to be enough, apparently, given how she throws a glare his way next. “Hey, whose team are you on, dumbo? Mine or Papa’s?” 

The answer arrives in an instant, in the most matter-of-factly voice possible from a five-year-old. “Yours, obviously. I don’t want Papa to steal Mama away. She’s ours.” 

The smug grin directed his way next makes Satoru want to flick two foreheads pretty hard – but he doesn’t. Any rash or impulsive action can only do him more harm now, driving him further away from his goal.  

So, cogs whirring in his brain, he crouches down to his kids’ eye level and smiles.  

“What do you think of a compromise, kids? Why don’t you make a deal with me?”  

Two pairs of blue clash with the original pair of blue for a while, suspicion in one, suspicious curiosity in the other, while challenge swirls in the last; before a huff breaks the staring contest and your daughter folds her arms across her chest. Exchanging a glance and a nod with her, your son too sits up and announces, “Okay, we’re interested. What’s the deal?” 

Your husband lets out an internal whoop of victory. 

“Belgian chocolates in exchange for a cuddling session with my wife.” 

“Bleh!” Sachiko makes a disgusted face – something which takes him back to his younger days when Suguru and Shoko used to imitate his expressions – and whines, “They are so bitter, yuck! Suggest something better.” 

“A doll house for you and a car for Sachiro, if that’s the case.” 

The latter is the one to turn down this time. Tone brimmed with disappointment – something he can only ever learn from you – he says, “But you just bought us one last month, Papa! Mama always asks you to save money... why don’t you ever listen to her?” 

A knife of guilt lodges itself into his heart and twists. Satoru sighs. “I do... I try to, always, but you two make it so difficult for me to! Why are you like this? Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her? She is as much my wife as much she’s your mom.” 

“We know,” The addressed two answer in unison with sage little nods of their head. The girl continues with a grave expression matching her brother’s, “But we can also ask you the same, Papa. She is as much our mom as she’s your wife. Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her?”  

“Besides, you spent five extra years with her, before we were born. We just want to make up for the time lost,” Sachiro chimes in with a pout. “Tell us, Papa,” The two again speak in a heart-wrenching chorus, “Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her?” 

“The kids are right, y’know?” A mumble pops the gravity of the situation at hand, and Satoru looks down to find you awake, cracking an amused smile at them. He huffs, rising from the floor and plopping on the bed next to you, arms folded against chest.

“Can’t believe I am so unloved and unwanted in this world. My kids don’t love me. They don’t listen to me. My wife too doesn’t love me. She never supports me. Welp, got to be the unluckiest to be in my shoes right now, I guess.” 

Your husband pauses, giving a small break for the words to sink into everyone, before you let out a long exhale and send him a minor twitch of your lips. Sachiko moves to pat his head, the same moment Sachiro reaches over to clasp his small arms around his neck. You too rise and embrace him from behind, placing a small kiss in between his shoulder blades.  

“Y’know, it’s not like that,” You say, placing your ear on his back, “Just ’cause the kids love me more doesn’t mean they don’t love you. And it’s not even your fault – my personality is so awesome, everyone can’t help but adore me the moment they see me – isn't that right, babies?” 

“Right, Mama,” A pair of wonderstruck voices ring out in reply to your jocular question – you continue in the same note, with another kiss, this time on the nape of his neck.

“And because your awesome Mama’s asking you now, will you two be good babies and let Papa too sleep here with us? Look at him: he’s so tired and sad. You don’t want your dearest Papa to be sad and tired, right? You will let him cuddle with us, won't you?” 

Satoru watches the twins look at each other for a second, then the younger acquiesce, “Papa can cuddle with us. That’s okay, maybe.” The two then proceed to shoot a particularly sharp look at him; one he responds to with a cheeky smirk, which disappears into a soft smile when he feels you manoeuvre his face towards yourself, a light grasp on his chin.  

“See, the kids agreed. Now, are you feeling loved and wanted?” 

“Infinitely more,” He replies with a peck on your lips – however, before he can deepen the kiss a tad more, you bring him into a sleeping posture beside you, the kids immediately piling on top of the two of you. You offer him something between a cute pout and a sorry smile, which earns a wink from your husband. 

Turning to one side, Satoru drags you, Sachiko lying on top of you and Sachiro lying in between him and you, into himself, letting him be lulled to sleep by the melody of your laughs and your kids’ half-hearted harrumphs.

  

Do you know what’s the best thing about life? 

Every tiniest bit of it he gets to spend beside you, the light of his life, and the two imps, your and his love brought into this world – even if he knows he’s going to get kicked out of bed the very microsecond you fall asleep again. 

▸ masterlist

[nutellavvv]

Eyes That Wander (Humanoid! Enderman x F!Reader)

Summary:

“Beware of the purple eyes.” In an alternate Minecraft universe, Y/n is warned of Endermen, a mythical humanoid species that come from The End. Y/n lives in a humble village, living with a weary overbearing mother, and a missing father. In Y/n’s youth she wanders into the forest and encounters a young Enderman. A naive decision gives her a taste of freedom, but leads her down a path of risky decisions and a forbidden romance.

Themes: Romance, Drama, Angst, Smut, Childhood friends to Lovers.

Disclaimer: In this universe Endermen and other select monsters are humanoid compared their original Minecraft designs. The Endermen in this series look more human!!!

——————————

Prologue: Love at First Purple

wc: Almost 2k

A/N: I feel like this is so niche… But I hope yall like it. Find me on AO3 @/nutellav !

“Whatever you do… don’t look at them.”

“If you catch a glimpse… pretend you didn’t.”

“… Don’t look them in the eyes.”

5 years later…

When Y/N was 5 years old her father had gone missing. And asking about it wasn’t an option, her mother avoided the question. But there was one thing Y/N knew for sure, purple eyes meant danger.

"Endermen, a species of lost souls reborn through The End Kingdom.” At least— that’s what she had learned about them in school. It was vague, and her mother had a heavy dislike of them.

“They’re dangerous, that's all you need to know, okay sweetie?” A teacher explained to her once.

Y/N was lost in her thoughts when suddenly she heard someone call out to her.

“Y/N! We’re going to play hide and seek’ today… when the moon comes out!” The little boy, Jax, exclaimed with a mischievous smile, “Can you join us?” 

Y/N’s friends all stared at her, the silence hanging heavy in the air.

She spoke hesitantly, “I don’t know guys… My mom wouldn’t allow that—“

”C’mon Y/N! Your mom doesn’t let you do anything—! You can't even play with us in the morning, what's up with that?” Another friend of Y/N’s whined, frowning.

”H-Hey…! Don’t be mean to Y/N. Her mom is strict… we can’t do anything.” Lilith, Y/N’s best friend interrupted, looking stern but supportive.

The little group of friends went quiet, the whole village knew Y/N’s father had gone missing.

Whether it was through their parent’s gossip or whispers throughout the town. One thing the community knew for sure— was that it had heavily impacted Y/N’s mom.

Y/N walked home, feeling down once again, it’d been years since she had properly gone outside.

The small girl entered her home, the air heavy.

”Ah! Y/N! I’m so glad you made it home safely!” Her mother gasped, tumbling over and gripping the girl tightly in her arms, “Dinner will be ready soon, sweetie.”

There was always this frantic undertone to her mother’s actions. She could never pinpoint why.

Later at dinner, Y/N scooped at the mushroom soup— but she was deep in thought. Debating if asking to go out with her friends was worth a shot. But before she could finish her thoughts, her mother spoke.

“Y/N… I feel like… I’ve been hard on you lately. I’m sorry, sweetie.” She spoke up hesitantly., 

Mother cleared her throat, ”You deserve to go outside, play with kids your age… Explore this world. That's what your dad would’ve wanted.” 

Tears began to bubble up in Mother’s eyes, “I’m sorry for shutting you in! You’re a growing girl! J-Just because I’m afraid of losing you… I shouldn't keep you trapped!” Mother gasped between words, her form looking weak and defeated.

Y/N was hesitant to speak— but then Mother wiped her tears. “Is there anything you want to do? Let me know, you’re a big girl now.” She said with an awkward smile.

Y/N paused, her 10-year-old brain processing the moment. Was this her chance to ask?

“M-My… friends are going to be playing at the park later tonight! It’s close to our house… there will be lots of adults there and lots of torches!” Y/N blurted out quickly, “… they invited me… can I go?”

Mother had a nearly horrified look on her face, but took a deep breath,

”Okay. T-That's… fine-“,

”YAAAY—!”

—————

“Really? Your mom said yes?” Lilith asked. 

Y/N nodded excitedly, her friends looking at her in surprise.

”Psh… Hurry up, guys! Let's play hide and seek already, I’ll count first!” Jax yelled.

Suddenly the children started to disperse, running in separate directions.

”Let’s hide over here Y/N,” Lilith whispered, the little girl grabbed onto Y/N’s hands, running into the forest together. 

The girls ran towards a bush, but it wasn’t big enough to hide the both of them.

Y/N whisperer, ”You hide here, I’ll hide over there!”

Y/N began to trek through the oak biome, the lights from their village lightly illuminated the surrounding forest they explored.

”Ready or not! Here I come!” Jax shouted from afar.

Y/N’s steps began to quicken, attempting to find a place to hide. This was her first time playing with her friends in a while, she would make this hiding spot memorable.

The air was cold, her eyes focused ahead, the forest getting denser, darker. 

”Found you!”

She heard Jack’s voice faintly from afar, nobody was going to find her at this distance—she thought.

“AHHH—“ Thump.

In Y/N’s haste, she tripped, falling onto the grassy forest floor. Scrambling off the ground, she suddenly heard the floor crunch behind her. The girl looked behind her—

purple.

purple.

purple.

Purple eyes that glowed in the darkness surrounded by a white sclera.

It appeared to be a young Enderboy. His skin was a brown tan with a grey undertone— he had black hair that appeared to be buzzed. He was tall but looked similar in age to Y/N.

But those eyes, it was like looking into a galaxy. His eyes were full of life… but most noticeably, they were purple.

Wait— purple?

“Don’t look them in the eyes.” She remembered.

Y/N gasped, covering her eyes. 

“I-I didn’t see anything!” She shouted. Y/N shivered in fear, heart pounding. She had made eye contact, it was clear as day! She looked into those beautiful glowing purple eyes and was going to die now! 

Any moment now...

Now?

Wait. Nothing's happening.

Y/N carefully, but cautiously, peeked out through her fingers.

"Hey!" The boy shouted, frightening Y/N to cover her eyes back up.

"You... didn't run from me. Why? Why didn't you run away?"

The boy knelt, looking at Y/N like she was some strange creature.

"W-What do you mean..?" She replied hesitantly.

"—Answer me! You saw my eyes, why didn't you run?" The boy snapped, a raspy distorted undertone escaping his throat at his slight frustration.

"I..." Y/N thought of his mesmerizing gaze, a cemented image in her mind

"I thought your eyes were beautiful... I couldn't look away. I don't know..." She mumbled awkwardly, fitting for a simple-minded 10-year-old.

The boy was silent. He stood up, resting his hands on his sides. He was puzzled, the first time he had been puzzled in his life. All because of this confusing human girl.

After a long drawn out moment, he took a deep breath,

"You can open your eyes..." He said gently.

"A-Are you sure—! But—!"

"You already looked at my eyes and I'm not attacking you, am I?!" The boy snapped. 

Y/N quieted down, realizing that it didn't seem like she was in any danger. And... this boy didn't look like the dangerous Endermen that were often described to her. He was... so little. With cautious hands, she uncovered her face, meeting the boy's gaze. 

The boy stared at her suspiciously, he looked puzzled and lost, but... on the other hand, he looked... intrigued.

"You're a strange human," He commented, his posture loosening up. 

Y/N gasped, "Hey! What do you mean by that?" She shouted, almost immediately regaining her composure.

The Enderboy paused, "I mean... most humans see me and run away. I'm scary, right? I-I'm a monster, you're supposed to run away!" He exclaimed insecurely. 

Y/N listened intently, he was right for the most part. But for some reason, he wasn't scary, and she couldn't find the instincts to run.

"You're pretty short for an Enderman... are you an Enderman?" Y/N questioned.

"I'm not short!" He snapped, "I'm just... shorter than most. B-But it's because most of the Enderman in the overworld are adults! I'm going to be tall like them too someday..."

Y/N nodded, the thought piqued her interest. "Oh! I see... are there other... Enderkids like you?"

"Tch! No! I'm the only one brave enough to explore the overworld," He said, with a confident smirk, "The End is so boring!"

Y/N raised a brow. "Really? But doesn't it get lonely without your friends?"

"Friends? I don't have friends, and... I don't need friends to explore!" The boy shook his head.

"No friends!?" Y/N gasped.

Then an idea dawned on her, her eyes gleaming with inspiration. An idea that would change the course of her entire life. But the kindness and curiosity in her heart wouldn't stop her.

"Hey! How about I be your first overworld friend? I could help you explore..." Y/N smiled.

The Enderboy froze, raising a brow. He took a moment to think about it.

"Sure. You can be my friend." He said, a nonchalant expression on his face, but the sides of his mouth twitched, hiding a naïve excitement, "But we'll be exploring places far from your home."

Y/N's eyes widened, in interest and intrigue.

Suddenly,

"Y/N! Where are you!" Jax called out. "We're done playing now! Come out we're going to go home now!" Lillith shouted.

Y/N quickly turned around, thinking rashly, "Ah! I-I have to go now... let's meet here tomorrow! When the sun sets? I want to talk to you more!"

The steps of her friend's were getting louder, and closer. "Hurry, go! My friends might freak out if they see you!" Y/N whispered frantically.

"Wait, what's your name?" The boy asked.

"Oh— right! I'm Y/N!"

"I'm Eros." He smiled.

Suddenly Y/N heard loud rustling behind her, turning around to the noise swiftly.

"There you are Y/N! Geez, you're so competitive, we almost got the adults involved!" Jax said.

Suddenly his eyes widened, noticing what was behind Y/N.

He let out a scream.

Y/N panicked, "Wait! Jax, I can explain! I- its-"

Then Lilith burst out laughing.

"Jax, you're such a scaredy-cat, getting afraid of a chicken?" The girl began to giggle hysterically.

Y/N whipped around, seeing that Eros was nowhere in sight. 

"C'mon, let's go home." Lilith giggled.

The children made their way back to the village, conversing about the fun and eventful night.

Y/N was lost in thought, satisfied with the encounter she had. She was surprised, being told for years the vague and scary things about Endermen. But she had just met one— and he wasn't dangerous or scary! She had to tell her mom about this... she had to tell everyone! Maybe if her mom met Eros... she wouldn't be afraid any more—

"AAAAHHHH!"

A blood-curdling scream cut through the air.

"An Enderman! Someone— please help! HELP ME!"

Y/N's blood ran cold, she and her friends were frozen in fear at the sight before them.

A large Enderman held her mother up in the air with long grotesque limbs. His mouth was foaming with an odd black substance, his eyes a blinding purple— it was lifeless, nothing like Eros's eyes.

Suddenly a few men cried out, slashing the monster from behind— it let out a feral screech before teleporting away.

Mother fell to the ground, looking utterly shaken. Mother's frightened gaze caught site of Y/N.

"Y/N!" She screamed, dashing off the ground, her hair and outfit disheveled, "I-I'm so... Everything's okay... Mommy is okay. My baby is okay. We are okay..." Mother hyperventilated, holding Y/N in a tight grip.

The moonlight loomed over the town, setting an unsettling mood.

"Mommy's never going to let those monsters get to you... You're safe... If anyone touches my baby they're... dead." Mother mumbled in between overwhelmed gasps.

Behind Y/N she could hear the cries of her peers, her body locked in place by her mother's tight grip.

The sound of sobs, screams, and angry shouting commenced, Y/N's eyes focused on the bright full moon— thoughts raced through her mind.

No.

She couldn't tell her mom about Eros.

Not anyone.

Not now— not ever.

It was too late to turn back now, the young Y/N had made her decision.

From that day on, the connection between Y/N and Eros grew in secret.

—————————— End

Up Next:

Chapter 1: What's it like when an Enderman turns 18? Well... It's a lot more dangerous than you'd expect.

Tag List: 🦗

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hi! It's me again! I'm here hoping to inspire you or simply share some thoughts and ideas!

1. What if we knew the harbingers before they became harbingers. For example when piętro was still studying to become a court mage.(At least I think that he was a court mage), or when Capitano was training to become a soldier and we were a doctor or a nurse, we knew dottore when he was a kid and so on and so forth. They believe we are long dead but surprise bitch we are still kicking. I thought that maybe in Dottores and Pantalones part we were an adeptai or simply something that lives a lot longer than humans. And surprise bitch number two we were looking for them the entire time because you know we love them. The moment they see us they think they see a ghost or something that came back to hunt them for their mistakes.

2. And my second idea is much more wholesome. We are simply a kid that adopted them as our fathers/uncles. And they don't want to get rid of us because we remind them of well them when they were kids. Imagine one day they come to a meeting with a kid hiding under there Coat and when ask they are like the meme with Spencer from Icarly with the smoothie and the ostrich.

So yeah these are my brain dead ideas and if they are interesting or something you would like to read more of I would be happy to send more

But anyway remember to take care of yourself first!

(Wha- You said piętro! The keyboard said piętro!!! Only I am allowed to misspel Pierro's name as piętro 20 times a day, dlaczego masz polską klawiaturę?!!)

✧ I always kind of headcannoned Reader as a person capable of living many years - either because they are Khaenri'ahn, another species, or an Adeptus; it's not really up to me. Whatever intricate details people like to imagine are up to them. ✧ Imagine knowing a Harbinger centuries before they were a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps you and Pierro were apprentices to the higher sages in Khaenri'ah, spending countless times sharing secret vows before the Cataclysm separated you. Perhaps you were Capitano's first-ever formidable opponent, one who held immense respect for you as a warrior and admired your enigmatic capabilities, yearning for another battle with you. Perhaps, you knew the young boy Zandik way back in Sumeru and you are the only being left who remembers the ruby-red eyes staring at you with determined wonder. ✧ No matter the backstory or origins of the past, this Harbinger never forgot you, and despite the 500 years of separation, this person would now use all his power and intel to seek you out. Clinging to ancient memories of the past, he still yearns to see a glimpse of you. Even if it means to reach the Abyss and back, he is still seeking.

That, in my opinion, is the best trope for the Fatui fics. Even when I write about different scenarios.

✧ A wholesome Father/Uncle/Teacher Harbinger to smaller reader is just a recipe for comic chaos. You have this high and mighty Fatuus, who with a single gaze can deep his subordinates into silence, yet now this same man is running around the Zapolyarny Palace, trying to catch you because you refuse to do your homework. You will either exhaust him to death, or he will exhaust you from running away and causing shenanigans.

One way or another it ends with both of you dozing off an armchair later that evening. The Harbinger holding you in his arms, wrapped up in a comfy blanket, while he rest his weary head on his knuckles, the fireplace crackling nearby. <3 ✧ As always, lovely suggestions, my friend! I will tag you if I manifest them into fully-fledged fics. Thank you, and hope you're doing well

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 7

Source for pic

Trouble 7

Word Count: 4814

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Dead Animals Mentioned; Reader in a terror-like state; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I told you guys this was going to get worse... and believe me or not... it STILL gets worse. Also, mind the red tag, above, please.

Masterlist

The police. 

You need to tell someone, and the police are the obvious choice. You've been tossing and turning in your bed for over an hour, and this is the smartest, simplest answer. 

Zoro is unreachable for a week, so the next best option will have to do. 

You remember your ex, Ichiji, once had a problem with a girl who loved and followed the Vinsmoke siblings everywhere. She was obsessed with the whole family, but mostly Ichiji, since he's the eldest. She resorted to possessive letters and creepy calls, and you've been trying to rack your brain as to how he dealt with the problem. You're almost positive he went to the police. 

And they couldn't help. 

That was when he hired the bodyguards. 

Maybe they took care of the problem? 

A shudder that has nothing to do with the cold travels through your body. Anyway they dealt with it, you don't have the resources to do the same. And Ichiji's bodyguards were real beasts: massive, bulky, scary. They were elite, all-stars. 

You don't have anyone like that to look out for you. 

Lies. 

You have Zoro. But you'll have to be very careful about how you'll tell him once he gets back. And even though the police did nothing to help with your ex’s problem, that doesn't mean they won't help now. 

Oh! 

You still have the picture he sent you of Rob Lucci, that has to get them to act! 

You sit upright in your bed and grab your phone. It's been muted and silent since you retired to your bedroom after closing all the doors and windows, including the door to your room. 

You left the light in your bedroom on anyway, too scared of invisible shadows, too frightened of unseen ghosts.

Obviously, there are texts waiting for you. You knew that, and that's why the phone was silenced. The dread in your stomach seems like it has come to stay, but it still manages to increase as you read the texts. 

Unknown: How are you feeling, Kitten? You barely ate dinner. You need to eat.  Unknown: Tucking into bed already? Don't be scared. You're safe. No one will harm you.  Unknown: You're mine. 

You don't know who it is, but that doesn't mean your mind doesn't conjure up the scariest, raspiest voice to go with the possessive texts. With a heavy sigh, you swipe the texts aside and search for the picture. 

It's gone. 

Just like that. 

You know you deleted some texts when you first started to receive them, but you didn't delete the picture, no matter how ghastly it was. But it's gone. 

With a shaky inhale, you return the silenced phone, face down, to your bedside table and curl up on your bed, comforter tucked high against your chin. You'll still go to the police. You have to tell someone. 

A creak of the old house brings desperate tears to your eyes and you stifle a sob. You don't dare turn off the light and you know sleep will elude you tonight. 

God, you miss Zoro. 

And he's barely been gone a day. 

-*-

Sometime during the night, you must've fallen asleep from exhaustion because the sound of the rooster’s call jolts you awake with a surprised gasp. 

Daylight seeps through the closed curtains, and you will your heart to steady to a normal beat. Nothing bad happened, you're safe, you're alone in your room. You're fine. 

Everything's fine. 

You refrain from grabbing your phone, trying to prolong the moment you’ll have to face the creepy texts, perhaps even new texts waiting for you, and instead head to the bathroom to freshen up and get ready to face a new day.

Your eyes are baggy and darkened, likely because you only slept two or three hours. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you lay down your plans for the day: feed the animals and do the morning chores, then head to the police station and tell the cops about what’s going on. 

They will have to help you. And even if they don’t do much, at least you won’t feel so alone. 

As you finally gather some courage to grab your phone, a shaky laugh escapes your lips: there’s nothing new. No new text, no new photo, nothing. You were suffering from anticipation without any cause to do so. So, you take the phone off silent mode and stuff it in your pocket. 

The day already seems lighter and brighter. Perhaps you won’t even need to go to the police.

Grabbing a quick breakfast, you open the door, still chewing on your apple, ready to face the day. You don’t find it unusual that there are hardly any birds singing. 

Though you should’ve.

Because as soon as you open the door, you’re assaulted by a foul smell. The apple you are holding rolls in your hand and falls to the floor with a thud. Blood. There’s so much blood. 

Nausea turns your legs to jelly, and you grip the handle of the door tightly as your eyes widen and sweep the scene. There are countless dead birds, squirrels, rats, and even cockroaches. They’re scattered across your porch and thrown carelessly over the railing and the porch chairs. Blood is smeared and pooled everywhere, and the smell of rot and decay makes your eyes tear up.

You gag and fight for your breakfast to remain inside your stomach as your hand flies to cover your mouth. What could this mean?

Then, from the corner of your eye, you find your answer: there’s a cat - its fur an oddly close resemblance to the colour of your hair - dead, lifeless, gutted, and covered in blood, pinned to your door. The note attached to the poor animal is written in crimson words, and the message is clear as day:

Don’t tell anyone, Kitten.

You’re powerless to stop the retches and heaves as you fall to your knees. 

-*-

After what you found on your porch in the morning, you lock yourself in the house again. With the windows locked and the curtains closed, you curl into a small ball on the couch, put on your headphones, and will yourself to just disappear. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

But he doesn’t leave you alone.

Unknown: I love seeing you scared, Kitten. The way your big, bright eyes widen. The way your chest heaves. Unknown: You’re so beautiful. Unknown: I hope you understood my message, darling. Don’t tell anyone.  Unknown: Not. A. Soul. Unknown: Or next time, it won’t be animals…

More threats. More possessive words. More praise.

The tears keep falling from your eyes, and you feel trapped and utterly alone. How did this happen to you? Who could this person be? He’s a man - you can tell because of the hand that was holding Rob Lucci’s eyes in the photo. That much is clear. 

But who?

Who would want to hurt you? Who would want to scare you?

Unknown: You don’t need to be afraid of me, Kitten. I won’t hurt you. Not you, never you. Unknown: I think your dad’s animals might be hungry.  Unknown: Are you going to be cooped up inside all day? Do you need me to feed them?

What? How sick is he? How can he say this? Is he close? How close?

A whimper escapes your lips as you clutch your face in your hands, shaking your head and shutting your eyes shut. 

He’s right, though. You need to feed the animals. You’ve been inside the house for around four hours already. The animals must be starving.

It takes you about fifteen minutes to gather the strength and courage to face the slaughter on your porch and then another five minutes to gather a trash bag and gloves. Then it’s with heavy breaths that you place your shaky hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly, your eyes still closed. 

The smell is still overwhelming, but it’s not as bad as you thought it would be after the dead animals were left rotting in the sun for hours. With another shaky breath, you finally open your eyes.

There’s nothing there.

No animals. No blood. No note or cat pinned to the door.

For a fleeting second, you think you’re going crazy. You have to be. But then your eyes fall back on the door. Your nails scrape gently against the dark wood: there’s a mark where the knife was pinning the cat and the note. 

You didn’t dream it, you didn’t imagine things. It happened.

And he cleaned it all up.

What is going on? Why is he playing these mind games with you?

Suddenly, you hear a distant noise coming from the treeline, just beyond the barn. Your blood runs cold, and a shiver filled with dread makes you tremble. With a shaky step forward you grip the railing, straining your eyes against the brightness of the day to try to discern if there’s something lurking there. 

Your breathing slows down, and your knuckles turn white with the force you’re clutching the railing. Dread rises from somewhere in the pit of your stomach and settles right in your chest.

There’s definitely something - someone? - there. And it looks big. Massive, even. 

The shadow moves forward, and you gasp at the same time your phone begins to ring. A scream climbs up your throat, and you stumble backwards, fumbling with your pockets to fish out the blaring phone. 

Nami.

You pick up shakily, your eyes already moving back to the place where the shadow had been. “Y-yeah?”  

“Hi!” Nami’s voice is bright, she might not have noticed the strain in yours. Your left hand grips the railing again as your eyes dart left and right. Nothing. “How are you, honey? Are you feeling lonely now that your broody cop left for the week?” She giggles, and you force out a shaky, fake laugh. Nothing! “I thought you might want some company. Want me to come over?”

Nothing at all.

Fear grips you again, and you stumble backwards, closing the door with force and leaning against it with heavy breaths. “Come over?” Breathe. Just breathe. There’s no way in hell you’re going to tell Nami to come over. No matter how much you want her company, how alone you feel, or how much comfort you seek. You won’t risk her getting trapped in this person’s web. “Sorry, Nami. I can’t today. Maybe another time?”

She groans on the other side of the line as you move to the window, your eyes scanning the trees again. “Fineee! I was just postponing some boring house chores anyway. I’ve been procrastinating since the weekend.” She giggles. “Talk soon, then?”

You let out a noncommittal noise, and silence fills the line. “Are you okay?” She asks, worry lacing her voice. Calm down! You try to force some semblance of control back into your voice. Nami always sees right through your bullshit, so you need to be a good liar. Just this once. One time.

“Of course I am! I’m just sooo tired! Ace couldn’t help me today, so I’m tending to all the chores alone. I need rest.” You let out another shaky laugh and hope against all hope she believes you.

There’s still nothing out there. 

“Hmm, okay, okay. I believe that. Farm chores are so tiresome. ‘K, gotta go. Call me later?”

“Sure, Nami. Thanks for checking in.”

She hangs up, and you grip the phone tightly. You could’ve sworn that the shadow was coming for you when you picked up the phone. And that thought alone is enough to make you stay cooped up inside for another hour. 

-*-

You don't quite know how you do it, but you force yourself to tackle your morning chores, even though they’ve now turned into afternoon chores. 

Every little noise, every tiny movement makes you tremble and whimper. Even the cows sense your discomfort, some of the older ones gently bump you as you pet them and whisper soothing words. 

How ironic is it that you're the one in need of soothing, not the cows. 

Somehow, you manage. And as soon as you're done, you rush inside, bolting the door and sighing as you lean against it. You did it. You're safe inside. He can't get in. 

He can't get in. 

You're safe. 

-*-

You take a quick shower and have a meager dinner. You wouldn't be able to eat anything different even if you were hungry. Your fridge and pantry are almost empty. You should've gone grocery shopping yesterday, but the sick cow threw those plans out the window and now the last thing you want to do is leave the safety of your home to buy food supplies. 

You can always survive on nuts and cereal. 

A groan leaves your lips as you finish cleaning the dishes. No, you can't. 

You place the towel on the rack to dry, then halt your movements, tilting your head to the side to listen for any noise. You’ve closed all the curtains, but you still feel watched. It's like someone is creeping in on you, watching every move you make, every sound, every thought. 

Shaking your head, you leave the kitchen, turning off the light and running towards the stairs like a child scared of the dark. Your stomach still rumbles a bit, though you're so nauseated and scared that, even though you're hungry, you know you can't eat anything right now. 

Plus, empty pantry and all that… 

So, tomorrow, grocery shopping will have to be. Get out, buy stuff, get back in. 

How hard can that be? 

-*-

Hard. So very hard. 

Considering you didn't sleep much last night. Maybe an hour, two at most. He kept texting you with praise and soothing words, telling you to turn off the light and rest. But how could you turn off the light when he was watching you, and every shadow felt like it was looming closer? How could you rest when your heart kept pounding with adrenaline? 

You don't know how much longer your body can function without sleep, with barely any food and under constant stress. But the truth is, you can't even bring yourself to worry about those things when the real terror hides behind creepy texts. 

And there are still three more days before Zoro returns. 

Trying to ignore the dread in your stomach or the way your breath leaves your mouth in shaky exhales, you open the front door, bracing yourself for anything. 

But there's nothing. 

A longer and much more relieved exhale empties your lungs, and you feed the animals before rushing to your car. The farm feels eerily silent, as if the animals can sense all the apprehension coursing through you. 

And they probably do. 

You drive a little faster than you should on the way to the store and as you park the car and exit with rushed movements, new texts greet you, and you grimace in consternation 

Unknown: Slow down, Flash. There's no one following you, don't worry. No one will get near you. 

Right. No one but this creep, whoever he is. There's no need to worry at all. 

Fear induces hurry, and you take little care in picking the prettiest vegetables or the plumpest fruits. You just want to grab your essentials, and get out. Rush home, and lock yourself in until Zoro returns and you can find some solace in his arms. 

Is that too much to ask? 

“Well, hello there, gorgeous. I see you're all alone today.”

Oh, no, no, no. 

“Hi, yes, I'm in a hurry, excuse me.” It's the store clerk who flirted with you when you returned. And his advances are especially unwelcome today. Even more so since Zoro isn't around to pretend to be your boyfriend. 

He places an arm on your cart, a cheeky smirk in his lips and you suppress a groan as his hand inches closer to touch yours. “I'll help you. What do you need? Besides my number?” He chuckles and now it's the urge to roll your eyes you suppress. 

You feel a faint vibration in your pocket and push the cart forward as you decide to ignore it. “I really don't need your help, thank you.” 

“Are you sure?” You nod and try to push past him again, but his hand moves, gripping your forearm instead of the cart. “Because I can be very… serviceable.”

Hell, no. 

A loud crash from the next aisle - that sounds like broken jars - echoes through the store, and the clerk groans. “Not the pickles, come on. They stink up the place!” He releases your arm with frustration, and you seize the opportunity to slip away, grab the rest of your essentials, and cash out. 

Your nerves are frayed to the breaking point, and all you want is to curl up and disappear. 

It's not until you finally get home, unload the groceries and lock the door, that you look at the unread texts on your phone. 

Unknown: Who does he think he is?  Unknown: He dares flirt with you? He dares TOUCH you? You're mine!  Unknown: Don't worry, Kitten, I won't let him bother you again. 

No! Oh, no!

A quick online search shows you the phone number of the grocery store and you're fast to dial it, your foot tapping the floor impatiently as guilt gnaws at your insides. 

You can't let anyone else get hurt because of you. It's not fair. Not fair at all. 

Someone picks up at the third ring and it's an older female voice. It's not him. You try your best to describe the clerk you wish to speak to and, thank God it's a small town, because the woman on the line knows who you're talking about and calls him. 

The phone buzzes in your ear and you glance at the text while you're waiting. 

Unknown: How selfless of you, Kitten, trying to save him.  Unknown: You can't, though, you know? 

“Hello?” He sounds pissed. 

“Hi! Oh, thank God. Are you okay?” You collapse into a kitchen chair, your legs wobbly all of a sudden. 

“Who is this?”

“Right! Sorry! Uh… I’m uh… The girl you were talking to earlier? Erm… The one you offered to help?”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “The gorgeous one? Yeah, I remember you. Guess you really needed my number, then.”

Bzzzz.

Unknown: He's gone, Kitten. Might as well say goodbye now. Nobody touches what's mine. 

“Good! Listen, you're in danger.” Your voice falters as you think about how crazy you must sound. How delusional. “I can't tell you much, but someone might try to harm you. Don't ask me how I know, I just do! Please don't leave the store alone! And go to the cops, please!”

There's a moment of silence on the line and you hope he's considering your words, listening to the faint edge of fear on your voice, something that shows him reason. 

“Wow…” He's not convinced. “This has got to be the most elaborate excuse anyone’s used to get me to back off.” He chuckles again, but this time in disbelief. “Listen, I get it, okay? I'll back off. You're not interested. I won't try again.”

“No, no, wait! That's not what I–”

“Don't worry, miss. I got it.” He sighs. “I got to go, some asshole spilled the whole aisle of pickles and that shit’s already spilling to the other aisles. Er… Bye, I guess.”

And he ends the call. You hold the phone to your ear, ignoring the beeping signaling the end of the call. This can't be happening. It can't. Someone will get hurt again because of you. 

You drop the phone, and it slips to the floor with a thud, your fingers threading through your hair and gripping tight. The walls feel closer now, the air thinner. You're alone. You're frightened. You're vulnerable.

And you will be responsible for another terrible crime. 

-*-

The chores that could be postponed, got postponed. Those that couldn't, got done half-heartedly. It will have to do. At least until Zoro comes back and you can rely on him. 

You miss him. You need him. So, so much. 

As per usual, you lock the door tightly and double-check all the other locks on the back doors and windows, though you haven't touched those since this whole ordeal started. Everything's locked, and though apprehension still grips your heart tightly, you feel as safe as you're going to feel for now. 

He won't get into your home. You're safe inside. 

You still rush up the stairs and lock yourself in your bedroom, lights on and covers pulled up to your chin. 

After you've settled, and after you've made sure there's nothing hiding in the shadows or inside your closet, you unlock your phone, skim through the new set of texts: ‘You're mine’, ‘Sleep tight’, ‘Drink water and get some rest’, and then open the website of the local newspaper again, dreading the time when you'll see the store clerk's picture or some reference to him. 

It dawns on you that you don't even know his name. 

And yet, you're going to be the one to blame for whatever gruesome thing that happens to him. Should you go confess to the cops? 

No… You can't. He doesn't let you go to the police, you got that message loud and clear: if you do that, somebody else will get hurt. And maybe next time it could be one of your friends. Or you. 

A shaky inhale leaves your lips as a new set of tears threatens to fall. How do you have more tears to cry? How are you still hanging on? How long will you last without fully breaking? 

-*-

Like all the other nights, you eventually give in to exhaustion and fall asleep for a few hours. Except this time, the events from the day before are still pretty fresh in your mind, so the first thing you do is grab your phone - no new texts. Yet. - and open the newspaper website. 

Nothing. 

A relieved sigh empties your lungs, and you actually manage a small smile. Maybe this person, this stalker, is all bark and no bite. 

Though even as you think this, you know you're wrong. He's very vicious. Rob Lucci, the dead animals… You feel he's capable of terrible things. But maybe, just maybe, this time he was just bluffing. 

Bzzzz. 

No. No. No. 

It's a picture. 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: I always follow through on my threats, Kitten. 

And then there's an address. 

No. It's your fault again. You know you shouldn't open the picture, you already know it's gruesome, you already know you'll regret it, and yet… 

You still open it. 

The shop clerk is blindfolded and tied up with intricate knots, the rope is binding his chest, his legs, his arms. His face is swollen and barely recognizable. There's blood everywhere. And his hands… They're detached from his body, hanging on his neck like a necklace and holding a paper with a bloody note: Nobody touches what's mine. 

-*-

You used the address to make an anonymous tip to the police. You didn’t even know you could do that online, but apparently, there are specific websites that offer that anonymous service. 

You can’t bear to look at the picture one more time, but you hope he’s still alive. All he did was talk to you. Just like Rob Lucci. 

They aren’t guilty of any other crime. And that’s why you feel so responsible for what happened to them. 

The urge to tell Zoro all that’s been happening is stronger than ever, but then there’s a nagging feeling at the back of your mind telling you that if the stalker managed to do this to men who only flirted with you, what could he do to Zoro, someone you’re actually interested in?

You know Zoro is a cop, and you know he can take care of himself, but still… 

You fear for his safety more than you fear your own.

And that is terrifying.

-*-

Shanks called and said he and Beckman are having a wonderful time, and business is blooming. Some of your father’s best horses have already been selected by breeders, so, unfortunately, Shanks is going to have to prolong his stay for at least three more weeks. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell him how alone and terrified you felt. So instead, you feigned happiness that all was going well for him and told him he could stay for as long as he wanted because you had everything under control. 

Lies, after lies, after lies. 

The rest of the week passes in a haze. You barely sleep, hardly eat, and are in a constant state of stress and nerves. The only time you leave the house is to feed the animals and clean the stables. And even then, there are times you manage to ask Ace for help, pretending to feel sick. 

The rest of the time is spent curled up, frightened, and being constantly harassed over text by this creep.

You’ve been wracking your brain as to who he is, but you have no idea. Absolutely no idea. And the fact that he could be some random person might even be scarier than if he were someone you know. 

Friday finally arrives, and as you down your third mug of coffee of the morning, sitting iyour couch, your phone rings. And this time you’re actually happy to see the name on the screen.

It’s Zoro.

But as you’re about to answer, the call disconnects suddenly. Did he hang up?

Bzzzz.

No. He didn’t. 

Unknown: Remember, Kitten, don’t tell him anything. You don’t want to see the cop pinned to your door next, do you?

Zoro calls again, and once more, the call dies before you pick it up. 

Unknown: You know by now that I don’t make idle threats. You do not want to see me mad, Kitten. I don’t want to hurt your friends because I don’t want to see you sad, but I will hurt him. 

Zoro calls again, and still you have no time to answer. 

“Shit!” You almost sob. “I won’t tell him anything… I won’t…” You mutter to yourself, tears already gathering at the corner of your eyes as the feeling of being trapped and alone overpowers you. 

This time, when Zoro tries again, you manage to pick up. 

“Hey, Troublemaker! What the hell is wrong with that damned phone?”

God, oh God, you missed him so much. His strong voice, his confident demeanour, the way that just hearing him speak to you makes you feel instantly safer.

It’s too much.

Too much.

You try to keep the tears and the sobs at bay, but you can’t. “Zo…” You sniffle, and it’s clear that he immediately stands at attention on the other side of the line.

“What’s wrong, Trouble? Talk to me. I’m still heading home, I’m about two hours away. What’s wrong?”

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Kitten… don’t disappoint me. 

“Nothing!” A wet, shaky laugh climbs up your throat, and you bring your knees to your chest, trying to feel smaller. “I’ve just been feeling lonely this week. Nami and Robin have been busy, I don’t want to bother Kaya and Usopp. Luffy is busy at the fire station, and… and… I’ve missed you so, so much… I’m such a crybaby, I’m sorry.”

Is this enough?

Silence stretches, and all that you hear on the other line is the sound of cars and chatter from his coworkers. “I’ve missed you too, Trouble.” At least his worry is hidden behind a semblance of softness. It might’ve been enough. “Are you sure that’s it?”

Another excuse, quick.

“Yeah… I mean, my dad just called saying he has to be away for more weeks than he initially thought, I guess that I also miss him…”

Zoro chuckles softly, and you sigh in relief. 

“You’re an emotional mess today, Trouble.”

You laugh softly and sniff, your hand cleaning the remnants of your tears from your cheeks. 

“I guess I am.”

“Well, Nami texted me earlier, saying the gang’s going to meet at Robin’s. Are you coming?”

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. You don’t want to put any of them in danger, but you don’t think you can spend more time alone inside a locked house. You need your friends, you need Zoro…

“Yeah, I guess.”

“See you soon, then?”

You hum, and before you can say anything else, the call ends again. Did he hang up? Was it the service? Or… maybe you should think about changing phones…

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Such a good girl, Kitten. I knew you could do it.  Unknown: I hope you think of me at the gathering later. I do want you to have fun, you know? But remember…  Unknown: Behave, Kitten. You do not want to see me angry. I don’t want to have to punish you.

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000

|Chapter 8|

[metaphoricgibberish]

hi, hello - my name is sara and i write depraved things about pedro pascal characters. i'm not super into writing one-shots (love reading them tho) so all my stories are in series format. my DMs are always open, i love talking fics, pedro, tlou, narcos, and anything at all regarding men old enough to be my father.

happy reading, i appreciate you all tremendously <3

To the Light [ joel miller ]

"He was such a greedy fuck, when had that happened? What was it about her that had turned him into this… desperate, frenzied, fucking insatiable man that had stooped to the point of planning his entire day around getting a glimpse of her. It wasn’t just one thing, he knew that, rather it was an amalgamation of everything about her, everything he could see, everything he knew, and the large cavern of things he didn’t know, but wanted to so badly it ate away at him, like a virus, like fucking cordyceps, surging through his body and altering his brain chemistry, his ambitions and intent, so that it was just her, his sole focus was just her."

summary: Joel finds a young woman being held hostage by a group of men while he's out on patrol one day. He brings her back to Jackson, where she's given the opportunity to have something resembling a real life, for the first time. The two of them orbit around each other, destined to crash, if both of their reservations don't get in the way.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 96.8k (completed)

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Joel finds the love of his life lost in the woods.

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Fic playlist on Spotify

Read insatiable (a To the Light one-shot) here.

Read hearth (a To the Light one-shot) here.

Dawn [ javier peña ]

"It had been wrong, back then, his feelings for her. He'd known that and that's why he'd never let anything happen between the two of them. But he'd always been weak. That first time he'd seen her after Richie had gone off to fight a war just as brutal and useless and the one he'd been fighting out in Colombia, that first time he'd really seen her— just a glimpse as she left the market, bag hoisted up on her hip, long, wavy hair bouncing behind her, shapely legs visible in that little yellow sundress that hugged her waist just right— he'd been a fucking goner."

summary: Javier Peña returns to his hometown after leaving the DEA. He doesn't want the undeserving praise everyone is trying to push on him, he doesn't really want anything at all, beyond a quiet life on his father's ranch, such a stark contrast to the atrocities he'd witnessed over the ten years away. But there's one familiar face that he can't seem to shake no matter how hard he tries.

pairing: javier peña x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 80.8k (completed) a.n. first chapter of my new Javi fic is up! each chapter will be named after a Lana Del Rey song with a corresponding lyric (idk Javi is Lana coded to me). I hope you enjoy <3

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Javier Peña falls for his best friend's little sister.

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Nights Like This One [ joel miller ]

"Joel couldn't resist the tug any longer, finally succumbing to the dull ache at the base of his spine as he turned around and locked eyes with her— bright fucking blue, twinkling animatedly when they met his. Most of the time her eyes looked hollow, devastatingly so, but he'd noticed that when they got into these bickering matches her eyes lightened, and so then how was he ever expected to stop?"

summary: Joel Miller is hired by an elderly woman to fix up her home. However, in the middle of the renovations, she dies and her daughter, Lily, moves from California to Austin to live in her mother's home. Joel continues to work on the house despite the two of them constantly butting heads. Tensions rise and the two are destined to crash whether they like it or not.

(Initially takes place pre-outbreak, story spans through outbreak day, all the way to 2023).

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 142.6k (completed) a.n. hi my friends! a few things: i did change sarah's age because i wanted to, i have creative liberty this is MY FUCKIN STORY!! lol. also i know nothing about construction, so i apologize, watch me make shit up with only google as my guide. please don't hate or be mean to my OC, she's going through some shit and the roles will be reversed later on after outbreak day, so let her be the emotionally unavailable, cold one for now. chapter length will be much shorter than most of my other fics solely because this has so many chapters. i'm writing it more in novel format than fic format, so forgive me. blame my useless, $120k creative writing degree. i hope you enjoy this. i'm having a lot of fun writing it.

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Joel Miller finds the love of his life right before the world ends.

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Amor Fati [ alpha!din djarin au ]

"Perhaps it was his own form of rebellion that he still had not had the Vision, at forty-five years old. Not that those things were controllable, but it did serve as some bit of flimsy vindication that Din did not have a mate, someone to fuck babies into for the satisfaction of the government. Of course, not every alpha had a true mate, but those that didn't still usually mated with one of the unmated omegas, they still served their purpose. Din had never fucked an omega, would never fuck an omega."

summary: Din lives in the lonesome world of unmated alphas. Ever since The Collapse he's hated this world, what it's become, what it's turned people into. Until he has The Vision, perhaps twenty years too late, he sees her face.

And then nothing, not even his flimsy morals, can keep him from finding her.

pairing: din djarin x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 64.4k (completed) a.n. hi my friends!!!! i've been cooking this one up since November, so i'm super excited to start sharing. i've never written ABO before, so please be gentle with me. i may break some rules, but i do hope you'll forgive me. FYI this will be real AU -- no helmet, no star wars, mostly modern world with some world building involved. i hope you enjoy!

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The Din Djarin A/B/O AU

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Spotify Playlist Here

The Human Condition [ therapist!joel miller au ]

"Joel passed his palm over his mouth, his eyes drifting over to the clock on his office wall for perhaps the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. He dreaded his one o'clock appointment, but not for the reasons that he should. He dreaded it because he looked forward to it far more than was appropriate, for reasons that would surely get him fired."

summary: Violet Wood is lost, thinks perhaps she's been lost since the day she was born.

Joel Miller is a psychiatrist who has experienced a tremendous loss of his own.

Neither of them are expecting each other.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 53.1k (completed) warnings: extreme trigger warnings for suicidal behavior/attempts, mental health discussion, EDs, self-harm, depression, anxiety a.n. i have been thinking about this forever, and i'm really excited to start sharing, albeit slowly. hope you all enjoy <3

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The Joel Miller Therapist AU

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The Age of Innocence [ joel miller]

"He didn't know what was coming over him, he'd always thought she was sweet, cute maybe, but never once had he noticed just how full her bottom lip was, how pert her ass was, how pretty it was when the apples of her cheeks filled with color."

summary: Nestled in the Sierra Nevada mountains is an old gold mining town— Twain Harte— named after the American authors Mark Twain and Bret Harte, both of which never lived there. A woman named Liliana does though, and when she was a little girl she was saved by a man, a man she has spent twenty years loving from afar.

Until something changes.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 57.8k+ (ongoing - 8/11 chapters) a.n. lmao i hate myself. i've been slowly adding to this idea for a while, and i'm too excited about it to wait until after i write Fate Forgone Virtue, so i guess i'm writing them simultaneously?? I used to live in Twain Harte, so i'm very excited about the setting of this one. each chapter will be named after a place within the town. also the playlist for this one is a little different, i wanted to compile a bunch of songs that remind me of my time living there, rather than ones that relate to the story per se. i'll shut up now! i hope you enjoy <3

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Joel Miller finds himself infatuated with a young woman who has loved him all her life.

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Fate Forgone Virtue [ dark!joel miller ]

"Solitude forges in people a very specific kind of hurt. Not when that solitude is fleeting, or induced by situation, but solitude that is born, solitude that lends itself to a certain breed of man. It's a bone deep hurt, one that is drilled into the soul, it molds it into something misshapen and ugly. An unsocialized dog will bite the hand of a stranger out of fear. Fear bred from solitude."

summary: A man, gone brutal and cold, stalks through life with blood on his hands and violence in his head.

A woman, hopeless and desperate, seeks death’s embrace like a lover’s warmth. 

This is their story.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 1.7k+ (ongoing - 1/13 chapters) warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, non-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, gore, bondage a.n. hello everyone!! welcome to hell! please take the tags seriously. this is not like my usual fics. i will not be adding a warning to every chapter, but everything is in the tags. no hard feelings if this one is not your cup of tea, but for those of you willing to come along for the ride, i'm really excited about this one! the first two chapters will be somewhat of a short introduction to the story, the following chapters will be longer. have fun! ;)

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Joel Miller gives a young woman a second chance at life, as his pet.

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Sanctuary [ javier peña ]

"She glanced over at him, her lips hinting at a smile as his pretty brown eyes locked on hers. She wanted him to tell her something now, not that she had taken him here as a greedy means of give and take, even though that’s all their relationship was. Give and take. Just sex. If she couldn’t know his last name or why he had scars all over his chest, then she wanted to know what he thought was beautiful, what he thought was ugly, what existed in both spaces for him."

summary: Takes place after the third season-- Javier moves to San Francisco to escape what he'd witnessed in Colombia over the past several years. The DEA is desperate to get him down to Mexico to help take down the Guadalajara Cartel, but Javier isn't so sure he wants to continue down that path. His decision only becomes increasingly more difficult when he meets a bartender named Emma, whose commitment issues seem to mirror his own.

pairing: javier peña x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 93.4k (complete)

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Javier Peña meets his match in the form of a little bartender in San Francisco.

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[00ops1e]

simon riley and fatherhood

When Simon came home from a deployment to find you, his sweet Mrs. Riley, about a month pregnant- he panicked.

He had never given much thought to children. To be frank, there simply was too much on his mind to even consider the possibility. Given his profession and upbringing, he always assumed parenthood just wasn’t for him. 

He knew you've always had a secret longing for a baby, keeping it to yourself out of respect for him and his sanity.

So, after the initial shock wore off, he couldn’t deny his excitement. Your giddiness certainly rubbed off on him. He acted a bit nonchalant, but you knew him better than that. 

You knew for sure there was nothing to worry about when you caught a glimpse at the open tabs on his computer, pregnancy blogs, lists and lists of names and ideas and tips 

The way he obsessively worked on the nursery was a big tell too, having taken time off to enjoy this privilege that he was lucky enough to share with you.

If he hadn’t initially panicked, he definitely started losing sleep when you found out it was a girl that you were having

Now, we all know and love Simon as a girl dad, but before he grows into the role, he’s a mess.

He’s terribly worried he won't be a good dad to her, that she won't be able to connect with him and somehow without that connection, he’d turn into his father.

For Christ’s sake Tommy was never able to give him a niece to prepare:(

Watching you nest, so excited for the arrival of your little girl, (along with a TON of late-night reassurance) He slowly let his worries slip away to enjoy the last couple of months with just the two of you.

If there  was any anxieties left, they melted away from him the moment he held your daughter for the first time. 

Half sitting on the hospital bed, pressed against you. His arms under yours, supporting your exhausted limbs. The limbs currently cradling your beautiful newborn.

He tears up while taking in the image of his girls, committing it to memory.

On those nights when it seems like sleep is the farthest thing from his daughter’s little mind, he stays up to soothe her.

Not so much because he’d rather you be able to sleep, more because he's completely infatuated with the way those little fingers wrapped around his one, the way babygirl seemed to relax when he spoke.

Simon walks up and down the length of the hall slowly, gently swaying with babygirl in his arms. There's definitely a visible trail formed by the heavy man’s constant, slow pacing.

When you wake up and find him not next to you, you rise and peek out the cracked bedroom door. Simon is lounging in the rocker, humming softly to babygirl. Talking to her as if she can comprehend his words. He is smitten.

To quote some comedian whose name I can't remember, he would take a bullet for you, but goddamn he’d use you as a human shield for this little life bundled in his arms. The love he has for the both of you scares him. He's completely whipped. 

Babygirl got your eyes, and lord knows he can't say no to you. This child will be the death of him.

this was supposed to be shorter but gd it was too heartwarming to stop. but moving on, HI GUYS LONG TIME NO SEE! sorry im morbidly depressed. anyway there will be a part two of this because its rotting my brain and i wanna take a look at when babygirl is older!!!! let me know what everyone's thoughts are please!